^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ V
NORTHWESTERN
UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY
The Gilt of
Law Library
CONTENTS.
page.
Trrus Amdbonicus, 1
King Henby VI., Paet I . 29
Love's Laboob's Lost 59
The Comedy of Ebbobs, 88
The Two Gentlemen of Vebona, 108
A Midsummeb-Nxght's Dkeam, 132
King Henby VI., Pabt II., 155
♦ m 189
Bichabd III "33
jlomeo and Juliet, 264
Richabd IL, 297
King John, 327
The Mebchant op Venice . . 355
King Henby IV., Pabt I., 383
" II 414
King Henby V., ....... 447
The Taming op the Sheet:, . , .... 481
The Mebby Wives of Windsob, 509
Much Ado About Nothing, 537
As You Like It, 564
^jcwelfth Night. 592
Julius Oesab 618
^^AMLET 645
All's Well that Ends Well, 686
Measube fob Measube, 716
Tpdilus and Cbessida, . 745
Othello, 782
King Leab, .... sli
AI4CTETH, . . . , , 856
AntoVy and Cleopatba, 882
cobiolanus, . . . . ^ 91?
vui COXTENTS.
TmoN of Athens 958
Pemct,es, 985
Ctmbbline, 1011
The Tempest, 1049
The Wintek's Taijs 107:5
Kino Henki VIII., . . ' 1106
POEMS.
Venus and Adonis 1141
The Bape of Lucbece, 1155
The Passionate Pilgeim, 1175
Sonnets, 1180
A Lovee's Complaint, 1203
The Phcenix and the Tuetle 1207
GIjOSSAKY 1209
TITTJS ANDEONICUS.
(written about 1588-90.)
' introduction.
The great majority of English critics either reject this piay ailogether, upon the ground that
in style and subject it is unlike any other work of Shakespeare, or accept as true the tradition of
Baeentcroft, who altered the play in 1687, that "it was not his [Shakespeare's]," but that he only
gaTS "some master-touches to one or two of the principal parts or characters." Says one critic:
" Shakespeare's tragedy is never bloodily sensual; . . . . this piay is a perfect slaughter-house, and
the blood makes appeal to all the senses It reeks blood, it smells of blood, we almost feel
that we have handled blood—it is so gross." Besides the traultiou of Ravemcro/l, the external
evidence with reference to the authorship of Titns is the following : (1) It is mentioned by Meres
(1598) among other undoubted plays of Shakespeare. (2) It is printed m the First Folio. A play
called Titus and Vespasian was acted in 1592, and though itself lost, a translation into German,
acted early in the 17tn centui y by English comedians in Germany, remains in existence. It is not
the play attributed to Shakespeare. Henslowe also mentions a Titus and Andronicus as a new
play, acted Janumy 23,1594 : it is doubtful whether this was the Shakespearean play. If it be, and
it was then written, the tragedy is certainly not by Shakespeare. It is impossible to believe tliat in
1594, when Shakespeare had written bis Venus and Adonis and his Lucrece, he could have dealt so
coarsely with details of outrage and uiin.atural cruel^ as does the author of this tragedy. Ben
Jonson, in the introduction to £artlu>toinew Fair (1614), speaks of Titus Andronicus, with Jeronimo,
as belonging to " twenty-five or thirty years" previously : this would carry back the date of the
play (if It tie of this Titus Andronicus that Jonson speaks) to 1589, or earlier. That It was a play
of that period, and was re-touched by Shakespeare, we may accept as the opinion best supported by
internal evidence and by the weight of critical authority. The Importance of the tragedy lies in
the fact that, if Shakespeare wiote it, we find him as a young man canded away by the intluence of
a" storm and stress" movement similar to that which urged Schiller to write his liotttfers.
Titus Aiulronicus belongs essentially to the pre-Shakespearean group of bloody tragedies, of which
Kyd's Spanish Tragedy is the most conspicuous example. If it is of Shakespearean authorship,
it may be regarded as representing the years of crude and violent youth before he had found his
true self; his second tragedy, Itomeo and Juliet, as representing the years of transition; and
Hamlet, the period of maturity and adult power.
dramatis
Saturninus, son to the late Emperor of
Rome, and afterwards declared Emiieror.
Bassianus, brother to Saturninus ; in love
with Laviuia.
Titus Andronicus, a noble Roman, gene¬
ral agaiiist the Goths.
Marcus Andronicus, tribune of the people,
and broker to Titus.
Lucius, "j
mTr-tius' f Titus Andronicus. ■
Mutius, J ♦
Youno Lucius, a boy, son to Lucius.
PuBLius, son to Marcus the Tribune.
SbmproniUs, )
Caius, ' > kinsmen tp Titus.
Vausntine, )
person2e.
JEmilius, a noble Roman,
Alarbus, 1
Demetrius, > sons to Tamora,
Chiron, )
Aaron, a Moor, beloved by Tamora.
A Captain, Tribune, Messenger, and Qown ;
Romans.
Goths and Romans.
Tamora, Queen of the Goths.
Lavinia, daughter of Titus Andronicus.
A Kurse.
Senators, Tribunes, Officers, Soldiers, am'
Attendants.
Scene ; liome, and the gountfy near it.
2
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
{Act t.
ACT 1.
Scene L Borne. Before the Capitol.
The Tomb of the Andbonici appearing; the
Tribunes and Senators Uoft. Enter, below,
from one side, Satubnincs and his Fol¬
lowers ; and, from the other side, Bassianus
and his Followers; with drum and colors,'
Sat. Noble patricians, patrons of my right,
Defend the justice of my cause with arms,
And, countrymen, my loving followers.
Plead my successive title with your swords :
I am his first-born son, tliat was the last
That -wore the imperial diadem of Rome ;
Then let my father's honors live in me.
Nor wrong mine age with this indignity.
Bos. Romans, friends, follower^, favorers
of my right.
If ever Bassianus, Ciesar's son, 10
Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome,
Keep &eu this passage to the Capitol
And suffer not dishonor to approach
The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate.
To justice, continence and nobUi^ ;
But let desert in pure election shine.
And, Romans, fight lor freedom in your choice.
Enter Marcus Andbonicus, aloft, with the
crown.
Marc. Princes, that strive by factions and
by friends
Ambitiously for rule and empery.
Know that tlie people of Rome, for whom we
stand 20
A special party, have, by common voice,
In election for the Roman empery.
Chosen Audronicns, surnamed Pius
For many good and great deserts to Rome
A nobler man, a braver warrior.
Lives not this day within the city walls :
He by tlie senate is accited home
From weary wars against the barbarous Goths;
That, with his sons, a terror to our foes.
Hath yoked a nation strong, traiu'd up in
arms. 30
Ten years are spent since first he undertook
This cause of Rome and chastised with arms
Our enemies' pride : five times he hath le-
tum'd
Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sous
In coffins from the field ;
And now at last, laden with honor's spoils,
Returns the good Audronicns to Rome,
Renowned Titus, flourishing in arras.
Let us entreat, by honor his name.
Whom worthily you would have now succeed.
And in the Capitol and senate's right, 41
Whom you pretend to honor and adore.
That you withdraw you and abate your
strength ;
Dismiss your followers and, as suitors should.
Plead your deserts in p: ~xe and humbleness.
Sat. How fair the tribune speaks to calm
my thoughts!
Bos. Marcus Audronicns, so I do affy
In thy uprightness and integrity.
And so I love and honor tliee and thine,
Thy noble brother Titus and his sons, ' CO
And her to whom my thoughts are bumbled
aU,
Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament,
That I will here dismiss my loving friends,.
And to my fortunes and the people's favor
C' mmit my cause in balance to be weigh'd.
\Exeunt the followers of Bassianus.
Sat. Friends, that nave been thus forward
in my right,
I thank you .oil and here dismiss you all.
And to the love and favor of my country
Commit myself, my person and the cause.
[Exeunt the followers of Saturninas.
Rome, be as just and gracious unto me fit
As I am confident ana kind to thee.
Open the gates, and let me in.
Bas. Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor.
[Flourish. Satuminus and Bassianus
go up into the Capitol,
Enter a Captain.
Cap. Romans, make way : the good An-
dronicns.
Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion.
Successful in the battles that be fights.
With honor and with fortune is retum'd
From where he circumscribed with bis sword.
And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome.
Drums aim trumpets sounded. Enter Mabtics
and Mutics ; after them, two Men bearing
a coffin covered with black; then Lucius ana
Quintus. After them, Titus Andronicus ;
and then Tahoba, with Alabbus, Deme¬
trius, Chiron, Aaron, and other Goths,
prisoners; Soldiers and people following.
The Bearers set down the coffin, and Titus
speaks.
Tit. Hail, Rome, victorious in tiiy moumiiig
weeds! 70
Lo, as the bark, that liath discharged her
fraught.
Returns with precious lading to the bay
From whence at first she weigh'd her anchor¬
age,
Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs.
To re-salute his country with his tears.
Tears of true joy for his return to Rome.
Thou great defender of this Capitol,
Stand gracious to the rites that we intend I
Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons.
Half of the number that King Priam had, 30
Behold the poor remains, alive and dead 1
These that survive let Rome reward with love ■,
These that I bring unto their Iat«»t home.
With burial amongst their ancestors :
Here Goths have given me leave to sheathe
my sword.
Titus, nnkind and careless of thine own,
Why suffer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet.
To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx ?
Make way to lay them by their brethren.
[The tomb is opened.
There greet in silence, as the dead are wont,90
And sleep in peace.slain in your country's waisl
sckne i.]
0 sacred receptacle of my joys,
Sweet cell of virtue and nobility,
How many sons of mine hast thou in store.
That thou wilt never render to nie more !
Luc. Give us the proudest prisoner of the
Gotlts,
That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile
Ad manes fmtrum sacrifice his flesh,
Before this earthy prison of their bones ;
That so the shadows be not unap]}eased, 100
Nor we distiWd with prodigies on earth.
Tit. I give him you, the noblest that sur¬
vives, •
The eldest son of this distressed queen.
Tam. Stay, Roman brethren ! Gracious
conqueror,
Victorious Titus, rue tiie tears I shed,
A mother's tears in passion for her sou :
And if thy sons were ever dear to thee,
O, think my son to be as dear to me !
Sufflceth not tltat we are brought to Rome,
To beautify thy triumphs and return, 110
Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke.
But must my sous be slaughter'd in tlie streets,
For valiant doings in tlieir country's cause ?
0, if to fight for king and commonweal
Were piety in thine, it is in these.
.\ndronicns, stain not thy tomb with blood :
Wiit thou draw near the nature of the gods?
Draw near them then in being mercifiu :
.Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge :
Thrice noble Titus, spare my first-born son.
Tit. Patient yourself, madam, and pardon
me. 121
These are their brethren, whom you Goths
beheld
Alive and dead, and for their brethren slain
Religiously they ask a sacrifice :
To this your son is mark'd, and die he must,
To appease their groaning shadows that are
gone. [straight;
Luc. X-ma,y with him ! and make a fire
And with our swords, upon a pile of wood.
Let's hew his limbs till they be clean consumed.
lExeunt Lucius, Quintus, Murtius, and
Alutius, with Alarbus.
Tam. O cruel, irrell^oiis piety ! 130
Chi. Wiis ever Scythia half so barbarous ?
Item. Op)x>se not Scythia to ambitions
Rome.
Alarbus goes to rest; and we survive
To tremble under TituS' threatening looks.
Then, madam, stand resolved, but hone withal
Tlie self-same gods that arm'd the Queen of
Troy
With opportunity of sharp revenge
Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent,
May favor Tamora, the Queen of Goths—
When Goths were Goths and Tamora was
queen— 140
To quit the bloody wrongs up»n lier foes.
Re-enter Lucius, QuintUs, Martius, and
Mutius, %oith their swords bloody.
Luc. See, lord and father, how ,we have
perform'd
8
Our Roman rites : Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd.
And entrails feed the sacrificing fire.
Whose smoke, like incense, doth perfume the
sky.
Remaiueth nought, but to inter our brethren.
And with loud'larums welcome them to Rome.
Tit. Let it be so ; and let Androuicus
Make this his latest faiewell to their souls.
[Trumpets sounded, ami the coffin laid
in t)ie tomb.
In peace and honor rest you here, my sons ;
Rome's readiest champions, repose you here in
rest, l.'il
Secure from worldly chances and mishaps !
•Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells,
Here grow no damned grudges ; here are no
storms,
JTo noise, but silence and eternal sleep :
In peace and honor rest you here, my sons !
EiUer Lavinia.
Lav. In peace and honor live Lord Titus
long ;
My noble lord and father, live in fame !
Lo, at this tomb my tributary tears
I render, for my brethren's obsequies ; 160
And at tliy feet I kneel, with tears of ]oy.
Shed on the earth, for thy return to Rome :
O, bless me here witli thy victorious hand,
'Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud !
Tit. Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly
reserved
The cordial of mine age to glad my heart!
Lavinia, live; outlive thy father's days.
And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise I
Lnter, below, Marcus Andronicus and Tri¬
bunes; re-enter Saturninus and Bassianus
attended.
Marc. Long live Lord Titus, my beloved
brother.
Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome ! 170
Tit. Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother
Marcus.
Marc. And welcome, nephews, from suc¬
cessful wars.
You tlrat survive, and you that sleep in fame !
Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all.
That in your country's service drew your
swords :
But safer triumph is this funeral ^lorap,
Tliat hath aspired to Solon's happiness
And triumphs over chance iu honor's bed.
Titus Androuicus, the people of Rome, 179
Who.se friend in justice thou hast ever been.
Send thee by me, their tribune and their trust.
This palliameut of white and spotless hue ;
And name thee in election for the empire,
With these our late-deceased emperor s sons :
Be candidatus then, and put it on,
And help to set a head on headless Rome.
Til. -A better head her glorious body fits
Than his that shakes for age and feebleness:
What should I don this robe, and trouble you ?
Be chosen with proclamations to-day, 190
To-morrow yield up rule, resign iny life,
TITUS ANDRONIVUS.
4
And set abroad new business for you all?
Kome, I li.ave been thy soldier forty years.
And led my country's strength successfully,
And buried one and twenty valiant sons,
Kui|;hted in field, slain manfully in arms, '
In nght and service of their noble country ;
Give me a staff of honor for mine age.
But not a sceptre to control the world :
Upright he held it, lords, that held it last. 200
Marc. Titus, thou ahalt obtain and ask the
empery.
Sat Proud and ambitions tribune, canst
thou tell ?
Tit. Patience, Ptiiice Saturfiinus.
Sat. Romans, do me right :
Patricians, draw yonr swords, and sheathe
them not
Till Saturninus be Rome's emperor.
Andronicns, would thou wert shipp'd to hell.
Rather than rob me of the people's hearts !
Luc. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the
good
That noble-minded Titus means to thee !
Tit. Content thee, prince ; I will restore to
thee 210
The people's hearts, and wean them from
themselves.
Bas. Andronicns, I do not flatter thee.
But honor thee, and will do till I die ;
My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends,
I will most thankful be ; and thanks to men
Of noble minds is honorable meed.
Tit. Per^le of Rome, and people's tiibnnes
here,
I a.sk your voices and your suffrages :
Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicns?
Tribunes. To gratify the good Andronicns,
And gratulate his safe return to Rome, ^1
The ^ople will accept whom he admits.
Tit. Tribunes, I mank you: and this suit I
make.
That you create your emperor's eldest son.
Lord Saturnine ; whose virtues will, I hope.
Reflect on Rome as Titan's rays on earth.
And ripen justice in this commonweal:
Then, if you will elect by my advice.
Crown him, and say ' Long live our emperor 1'
Marc. With voices and applause of every
sort, 2.'10
Patricians and plebeians, we create
Lord Saturninus Rome's great emperor, <
And say ' Long live our Emperor Saturnine!'
[A long flourish till they come down.
Sat. Titus Andronicus, for thy favors done
To us in our election this day,
I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts.
And will with deeds requite thy gentleness:
And, for an oaset, Titus, to advance
Thy name and honorable family,
Lavinia will I make my empress, 240
Rome's royal mistress, mistress of my heart, '
And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse ^
TeU me, Andronicus, doth this motion please
thee ?
Tit. It doth, my worthy lord ; and in this
match
[Act i.
I hold me highly houor'd Of your grace:
And here in sight of Rome to Saturnine,
King and commander of our commonweal.
The wide world's emperor, do 1 consecrate
My sword, my chariot and my prisoners ;
Presents well worthy Rome's imperial lord:
Receive them then, the tribute that I owe, 251
Mine honor's ensigns bumbled at thy feet.
Sat. Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life!
How proud I am of thee and of thy gifts
Rome shall record, and when I do foiget
The least of these unspeakable deserts,
Itomaus, forget your fealty to me.
■ Tit. [To 2'amora] Now, madam, are you
' prisoner to an emperor ,'
To him that, for your honor and your state,
WiR use you nobly and your followers. 260
Sat. A goodly lady, trust me ; of the hue
That I would choose, were 1 to choose anew.
Clear up, fair queen, thai cloudy countenance:
Though chance of war hath wrought tliis
change of cheer,
Tliou comest not to be made a scorn in Rome:
Princely shall be thy usage every way.
Rest on my word, and let not discontent
Daunt all your hopes: madam, he comforts you
Can make you greater than the Queen of Govs.
Lavinia, you are not displeased with this? 270
' Lav. Not I, my lord; sith true nobility
Warrants these words in princely courtesy.
Sat. Thanks, sweet Lavinia. Ronuuis', let
us go;
Ransomless here we set our prisoners free:
Proclaim our honors, lords, with trump and
drum;
[F/owisA. Saturninus courts Tamora
in dumb shoiv.
Bas. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid
is mine. [Seizing Lavinia.
Tit. How, sir I are you in earnest then, my
lord ?
Bas. Ay, noble Titus ; and resolved withal
To do myself this reason and this right.
Marc. ' Sunm cuique' is our Roman jus¬
tice : 280
This prince in justice seizeth but his own.
Lmc. And that he will, and shall, if Lucius
live.
Tit. Traitors, avaunt! Where is the em¬
peror's guard ?
Treason, my lord ! Lavinia is surjirised !
Sat. Surprised ! by whom ?
Bas. By him that justly may
Bear his betroth'd from all the world away.
[Exeunt Bassianus and Marcus with Lavinia.
Mut. Brothers, help to convey her hence
away.
And with my sword I'll keep this door safe. '
[Exeunt Lucius, Quintus, and Martius.
Tit. Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring
her back.
Mut. My lord, you pass not here. 289
Tit. What, villain boy !
Barr'st me ray way in Rome ? [Stabbing
Mutius.
Mut. Help, Lucius, help ! ■ [Dies.
TITUS ANDRONlaUS.
SCKNB I.]
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
6
[Dxuring the fray, SatHminut, Tamora,
Demetrius, Chiron and Aaron go out
and re-enter, above.
Re-enter Luoics.
Luc. My loid, you Are unjust, and, more
than so<
In wrou^ul quarrel yon have slain yOurson.
Tit. Northou, nor he, are any sons of mine;
My sons would never so dishonor me ;
Traitor, restore Lavinia to the emperor.
Luc. Dead, if you will ; hirt not to be his
wife, 1
That is anotlier's lawful promised love. \Exit.
Sat. No, Titus, no ; the emperor needs her
not.
Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock: 300
I'll trust, by leisure, him that mocks me once ;
Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons.
Confederates all thus to dishonor me.
Was there none else in Rome to make a stale.
But Saturnine ?. Full well, Andronicus,
Agree these deeds with that proud brag of
thine,
That said'st I begg'd the empire at thy hands.
Tit. O monstrous t what reproachful words
are these ?
,Safc • But go. thy ways ; go, give that
changing piece
To him that fionrish'd for her with his sword;'
A valiant son-in-law then shalt enjoy ; 311
One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons.
To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome.
TiL These words are razors to my wounded
heart,
Sat. And therefore, lovely Tamora, qneeu
of Goths,
Tliat like the stately Fhc^ 'mongst het^
nymphs
Dost overshinethe gallant'st dames of Rome,
If thou be pleased with this my sudden
choice.
Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride.
And will create thee empress of Rome, 320
Speak, Queen of Goths, dost thou applaud
my choice ?
And here I swear by aU the Roman gods,
Sith priest and holy water are so near
And tapers bum se bright and every thing
in readiness for Hymenmus stand,
I will not re-salute the streets of Rome,
Or climb my palace, till from forth this place '
I lead espoused my bride aiong with me.
Tatn. And here, in sight of heaven, to
Rome I swear.
If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths, 330
She will a handmaid be to his desires,
A loving nurse, a mother to his yontlr. i
Sat. Ascend, fair queen, Paulheon. Lords,'
accompany '
Your noble envperor and hisdovely bride.
Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine,
Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquer^: '
There shall we consummate our spousal rites.
[Exeunt all but Titus.
Tit. I am not bid to wait upon this bride.
Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone, 339
Dishonor'd thus, and challenged of wrongs 7
Re-enter Mascus, Lucius, Quintus, and
Maktius,
Mare. 0 Titus, see, O, see wliat thou ha.«t
done! ,
In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son.
TH. No, foolish tribune, no; no sou of mine.
Nor thon, nor these, confederates in the deed
That hath dishonor'd ali our family ;
Unworthy brother, and unworthy sons 1
Luc. 'But let us give him Imrial, as be¬
comes ;
Give Mutius burial with our brethren.
3^. Traitors, away! he rests not in this
tomb:
This mcmument five hundred years hath stood,
Which I have sumptuously re-edified : 351
Here none but soldiers and Rome's servitors
Repose in fame ; none basely slain in brawls:
Bury him where you can ; he comes not here.
Marc. My lord, this is impiety in you :
My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him;
He must be buried with his brethren.
Q>(in. 'lAnd shall, or him we will accom-
Mart. j pany.
TU. ' And shall!' what villain was it
spake that word 7
Quin. He that would vouch it in any pl.ace
but here. 3(i0
Tit. What, would you bury him in my
despite 7
Mare. No, noble Titus, but entreat of thee
To pardon Mutius and to bury him.
Tit. Marcus, even thou hast struck upon
my crest.
And, with these boys, mine honor thou bast
wounded :
My foes I do repute you every one ;
So, trouble me no more, but get you gone.
Mart. He is not with himself; let us
withdraw.
I Q((in. Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried.
[Mttrcus and the Sons of Titus knCel.
Marc. Brother, for in that name doth
nature plead,— 370
Quin. Father, and in that name doth nature
speak,—
Tit. Spe,ak thou no more, if all the test will
Mare. Renowned Titus, more, than half my
soul,—
Luc. Dear father, soul and substance of
us all,—
Marc. Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter
His noble nephew here in virtue's nest,
That died in honor and Lavinia's cause.
'Thou art a Roman ; be not barbarous :
The Greeks upon advice did bury Ajax
That slew himself ; and wise Laertes' son 380
Did graciously plead for his funerals :
I.et not young Mutius, then, tiiat wasthy joy.
Be barr'd his entrance here.
Tit. ' Rise, Marcus, rise
The dismall'st day is this that e'er 1 saw,
6
To be dishonor'd by my sous in Rome!
Well, bury him, ami bury me the next.
[Mitius is put into the tomb.
Luc. There lie thy bones, sweet Mutlus,
with thy friends,
Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb.
All. [Kneeling] No man shed tears for
noble Mutius ;
He lives in fame that died in virtne's cause.
Mare. My lord, to step out of these dreary
dumps, 39i
How comes it that the subtle Queen of Goths
Is of a sudden thus advanced in Rome ?
Tit. I know not, Marcos; but I know it is :
WhethM by device or no, the heavens can
teU;
Is she not then beholding to the man
That brought her for this high good turn so
far ?
Yes, and wiU nobly him remunerate.
Flmirish. Be-enter, from one side, Satur-
NiNUs attended, Tamoba, Dejietrivs, Ohi-
ROK, and Aaron ; fronx the other, Bassia-
Ntrs, Lavinia, and others.
Sat. So, Basi:ianns, you have play'd your
prize :
God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride !
Bos. And you of yours, my lord ! 1 say
no more, 401
Nor wish no less ; and so, I take my leave.
Sat. Traitor, if Rome have law or we have
power,
Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape.
Bos. Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my
own.
My truth-betrothed love and now my wife ?
But let the laws of Rome determine all;
Meanwhile I am possess'd of that is mine.
Sat. 'Tis good, sir: you are very short with
us;
But, if we live, we'll be as sharp with you. 410
Bas. My lord, whtt I have done, ^ best 1
may.
Answer I must and shall do with my life.
Only thus much I give your grace to anow:
By all the duties that I owe to Rome,
This noble gentleman. Lord Titus here.
Is in opinion and in honor wrong'd ;
That in tlie rescue of Lavinia
With his own hand did slay his youngest son.
In zeal to you and highly moved to wrath
To be controll'd in that heTrankly gave : 420
Receive him, then, to favor. Saturnine,
That hath express'd himself in all his deeds
A father and a friend to thee and Rome.
Tit. Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my
deeds :
'Tis thou and those that have<dislH>nor'd me.
Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge.
How I have loved and honor'd Saturnine !
Tarn. My worthy lord, if ever Tamora
Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine.
Then near me speak inmfferently for all; 430
And at my suiL sweet, pardop what is past.
Sat, What, madam I be diwonorid openly,
{Act I.
And basely put it up without revenge 1
Tarn. Not so, my lord; the gods of Rome
forfend
I should be author to dishonor you I
But on mine honor dare I nndertake
For good Lord Titus' innocence in all;
whose fury not dissembled speaks bis griefs :
Then, at my suit, look graciously on him ;
Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose,440
Nor with sour looks, aittict his gentle heart.
[Aside to Sat.] My lord, be ruled by me, be
won at last;
Dissemble all your griefs and discontents :
You are but newly planted in your throne ;
Lest, then, the peoi^, and patricians too,
Upon a just survey, take Titus' part.
And so supplant you for ingratitude.
Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin.
Yield at eutreate ; and then let me alone :
I'll find a day to massacre them all 450
And raze their faction and their famUy,
The cruel fathw and his traitorous sons,
"To whom I sued for ray dear son's life.
And make them know what 'tis to let a queen
Kneel in the streets and beg for grace in vain.
[AUmd.] Come, come, sweet emperor; come,
Andronicus ;
Take up this good old man, and cheer the
heart
• Tliat dies in tempest of thy angry frown.
Sat. Rise, Titus, rise; my empress hath
prevail'd.
Tit. Itliauk your majesty, and her, my
lord : 460
These words, these looks, infuse new life in
me.
Tarn, Titus, I am incorporate in Rome,
A Roman now adopted happUy,
And must advise the emperor for his good.
This day all quarrels die, Andronicus ;
And let it be mine honor, good my lotd.
That I have reconciled your friends and you.
For you. Prince Bassianus, I have pass'd
My word and promise to the empmror,
• That you will be more mild and tractable. 470
And fear not, lords, and you, lAivinia ;
By my advice, ail humbled on your knees.
You shall ask pardon of his majesty.
Luc. We do, and vow to heaven and to his
highness.
That what we did was mildly as we might,
vTenderiug our sister's honor and our own.
Marc. That, on mine honor, here I do pro¬
test
Sat. Away, and talk not ; trouble us no
more.
Tarn. Nay, nay, sweet emperor, we must
aU be friends : 479
The tribune and his nephews kneel for grace ;
I will not be denied : sweetheart, look l^k.
Sat. Marcos, for thy sake and thy brothoT'e
here.
And at my lovely Taroora's entreats,
I do remit these young men's heinous faults ■'
Stand up.
I.avinia, though you left me like a churl.
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
SobNE I.]
TITUS AXDUOmCUS.
7
(foand a frieud, and aore aa death T swore
I would uot (rnrt a bachelor from the priest.
Come, if the emperor's court cau feast two
brides,
You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends.
This day shall be a love-day, Tiimora. 491
Tt<. To-morrow, an it please your majesty
To hunt the panther and the hart with me.
With horn and hound we'll give your grace
bonjonr.
Sat. Be Itso, Titus, and gramercy too.
[Tiota'isA. Exeunt.
\
ACT II.
ScBNB I. Rome. Before the Palace.
Enter Aaron.
Aar. Now cUmbeth Tamora Olympus' top,'
Safe out of fortune's shot; and sits aloft.
Secure of thunder's crack or lightuihg flash;
Advanced above pale envy's threateuiug reach.
As when the golden sun salutes the mom.
And, having gilt the ocean with his beams,
Gallops the zMiac in his glistering coach.
And overlooks the highest-peering hills ;'
So Tamora:
Ui)on her wit doth earthly honor wait, 19
And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown.
Then, Aaron, arm thy heart, and fit thy
thoughts.
To mount aloft with thy linirerlal mistress.
And mount her pitch, whom thou In triumph
long
Ha.st prisoner held, fetter'd In amorous chains
And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes
Thau Is Prometheus tied to Caucasus.
Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts!
I will be bright, and shhie in pearl and gold,
To wait upon this new-made empress. 20
To wait, said I? to wanton with this queen.
Tills goddess, this Semimmis, this iwmph.
This siren, that will charm Rome's ^turnine.
And see his shipwreck and his commonweal's.
Holloa ! what storm is this?
Ettier Dbmetriits and Chiron, braving.
Bern. Chiron, thy years want wit, thy wit
wants edge,
And manners, to Intrude where I am graced;
And may, for ai^ht thou know'st, anected be.
Chi. Demetrius, thou dost over-ween in all;
And so in this, to bear me down with braves.%
'Tis not the difference of a year or two
Makes me less gracious or tliee more fortunate ;
I am as able and as lit as thou
To serve, and to deserve my ralsbess' grace;
And that my sword upon thee shall approve.
And plead my passions for L^viuia's love.
Aar, [AsIm] Clubs, clubs! these lovess
will not keep the peace.
Bern. Why, boy, aWiough our mother, un¬
advised, <
Gave you a dauclng-rapler by your side.
Are you so desperate grown, to threat your
friends 7 '40
Go to; have your lath glued within your sheath
Till you know better how to handle it.
Chi. Meanwhile, sir, with the little skill I
havey
Full well shalt thou perceive how mncli I dare
Bern. Ay, boy, grow ye so brave 7
[They draw.
Aar. [Coming forward] Why, how now,
lords ! I
So near the emperor's palace diire you draw.
And maintain such a quarrel openly 7
Full well I wot ttie ground of all this grudge;
I would not for a million of gold
Tlie cause were known to them it most con¬
cerns ; 50
Nor would your noble mother for much more
Be so dishouor'd in the court of Rome.
For shame, put up.
Bern. Not I, till I have slieathed
My rapier in his bosom and withal
Thrust these reproachful speeches down his
throat
That he hath breathed In my dishonor here.
Chi. For that I am prepared and full re¬
solved.
Foul-spoken coward, that thunder'st with thy
tongue.
And with tliy weapon nothing darest perform !
Aar. Away, I say ! 60
Now, by the gods that warlike Goths adore.
This petty brabble will undo us all.
Why, loids, and think yon not how dangerous
It is to jet uix>n a prince's right 7
What, is Lavinia then become so loose, '
Or Bassiauus so degenerate,
That for her Mve such quarrels may be broach'd
Without controlment, justice, or revenge 7
Youug lords, beware I and should the em¬
press know
This discord's ground, the music would not
please. 70
Chi. I care uot, I, knew slie and all the
world ;
I Ibve Lavinia more than all tli© world.
Bern. Younglhig, learn thou to make some
meaner choice ;
Lavinia Is thine elder brother's hope.
Aar. Why, are ye mad? or know ye uot,
In Rome
How furious and Impatient they be,
And cannot brook competitors in love 7
I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths
By this device.
Chi. Aaron, a thousand deaths
Would I propose to achieve her whom I love.80
Aar. To achieve her 1 how 7
Bern. Wliy makest thou it so strange 7
* She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd ;
^ghe Is a woman, therefore may be won ;
)6he Is Laviniaj therefore must be loved.
What, man! more water glideth by the mill
Than wots the miller of ; and easy it is
Of a cut loaf to steal a shlve, we know :
Though Bassianus be the emperor's brother,
8
Better than he have worn Vulcan's badge.
Aar, [Aside\ Ay, and as good as Satiimluus
may. 90
Dem. Then why should he desi)alr that
knows to court it
With words, fair looks and liberality ?
What, hast not thou full often struck a doe,
And borne her cleanly by the keeper's nose ?
Aar. Why, then, it seems, some certain
snatch or so
Would serve your turns.
Chi. Ay, so tiie turn were served.
Dem. Aaron, thou hast hit it.
Aar. Would you had hit it too !
Then should not we be tired with this ado.
Why, hark ye, hark ye 1 and are you such
fools
To square lor this ?' would it offend you,
then, 100
That both should speed ?
Chi. Faith, not me.
Dem. Nor me, so t were one.
Aar. For shame, be friends, and join for
that you jar:
'Tis policy and stratagem must do
That you affect; and so must you resolve.
That what you cannot as you would achieve.
You must perforce accomplish as you may.
Take this of me : Lucrece was not more chaste
Than this Lavinia, Bassianus' love.
A speedier course than lingering langnishmeiit
Must we pursue, and I have found the path.
My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand ;
There will the lovely Roman ladies troop :
The forest walks are wide and spacious ;
And many nnfrequented plots there are
Fitted by kind for rape and villauy :
Single you thither then this daibty doe.
And strike her home by force, if not by words :
This way, or not at all, stand you in nope.
Come, come, our empress, with her sacred wit
To villany and vengeance consecrate, 121
Will we acquaint with all that we intend;
And she shall file our engines with advice.
That will not suffer you to square yourselves.
But to your wishes' height advance you boA.
The emperor's court is like the house of
Fame,
The palace full of tongues, of eyes, and ears :
The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and
dull;
There speak, and strike, brave boys, and take
your turns;
There serve your liists, shadow'd from
heaven's eye, 130
And revel in Lavinia's treasury.
Chi. Thy counsel, lad, smells of no coward¬
ice,
Dem. Sit fas aut nefas, till I find the stream
To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits,
?er Styga, per manes vehor. [Exeunt^
%
ScBKE n. A forest near Borne. Horns and
cry of hounds heard.
Enter Titus Andbonicus, with Hunters, &c.,
Mabcus, Luavs, Quintus, and Mabtiub.
[Act ii.
Tit. The hunt is up, the mom is bright and
grey.
The fieids are fragrant and. the woods are
green:
Uncouple here and let us make a bay
And wake the emperor and his lovely bride
•And rouse tlie prince and ring a hunter's peal.
That all the court may echo with the noise.
Sons, let it be your chaige, as it is ours.
To attend the emperor's person carefully ;
I liave been troubled in my sleep this night,
Butdawuiugday new comfort hath iuspired.lO
A cry of hounds and horns, hinded in a peal.
Enter Satubninus, Tamoka, Bassianus,
Lavinia, Demetbius, Chibon, and Ac-
tendants.
Many good morrows to your majesty ;
Madam, to you as many and as good :
I promised your grace a hunter's mal.
iSat. And you have rung it lustily, my lord ;
Somewhat too early for new-married ladies.
Bos. Lavinia, how say you ?
Lav. I say, no ;
I have been broad awake two hours and more.
Sat. Come on, then; horse and chariots let
us have.
And to our sport. [To Tamora\ Madam, now
shall ye see
Our Roman hunting.
Marc, I have dogs, my lord, 20
Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase.
And climb the highest promontory top.
Tit. And I have horse will follow where
the game ,
Makes way, and run like swallows o'er the
plain.
Dem. Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse
nor hound.
But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground.
[Exeunt.
Scene III. A lonely part of the forest.
Enter Aabon, with a hag of gold.
Aar. He that had wit would think that I
had none.
To bury so much gold nnder a tree.
And never after to inherit it.
Let him that tliinks of me so abjectly
Know that this gold must coin a stratagem,
Which, cunningly effected, will beget
A very excellent piece of villany :
And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest
[Hides the gold.
That have their alms out of the empress' chest
Enter Tamoba.
Tam. My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st
thou sad, 10
When every thing doth make a gleeful boast ?
The birds (hant melody on every bush.
The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun.
The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind
And make a cheqner'd shadow on the ground :
Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit.
And, whilst the babbling echo mocks tiis
hounds,
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
Scene iii.|
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
9
Keplying shrilly to th« well-tuned horns,
As if a double hunt were lieard at once, 19
Let us sit down and mark their yelping noise ;
And, after conflict such as was supposed
The wandering prince and Dido once enjoy'd.
When with a happy storm they were surprised
And curtain'd with a counsel-keeping cave.
We may, each wreathed in the other's arms.
Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber;
Whiles hounds and horns and sweet melo¬
dious birds
lie unto us as is a nurse's song
Of lullaby to bring her babe asleep.
Aar. Madam, though Venus govern your
desires, 90
Saturn is dominator over mine :
What signifles my deadly-standing eye.
My silence and my cloudy melancholy.
My fleece of woolly liair that now uncurls
Even as an adder when she doth unroll
To do some fatal execution ?
No, madam, these are no venereal signs ;
Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand,
Blo<m and revenge are hammering in my head.
Hark, Tamora, tlie empress of my soul, ^
Which never hopes more heaven tlian rests in
* thee.
This is the day of doom for Bassianus ;
His Philomel must lose her tongue to-day.
Thy sons make pillage of her chastity
And wash their hands in Bassianus' blood.
Seestthou this letter? take it up, I pray thee.
And give the king this fatal-plotted scroll.
Now question me no more ; we are espied ;
Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty.
Which dreads not yet their lives' destruction.50
Tarn. Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me
than life!
Aar. No mure, great empress ; Bassianus
comes:
Be cross with him ; and I'll go letch thy sous
To back thy quarrels, whatsoe'er they be.
[Exit.
Enter Bassiakus and Lavinia.
Bos. Who have we here ? Rome's royal
empress,
Unfurnish'd of her well-beseeming troop ?
Or is it Dian, habited like her.
Who hath abandoned her holy ^oves
To see the general hunting in this forest ?
Tarn. Saucy controller of our private steps!
Had I the power that some say Dian had, 61
Thy temples should be planted presently '
With horns, as was Acfceon's; and the hounds
Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs.
Unmannerly intruder as thou art!
Laxi. Under your patience, gentle empress,
'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in honv-
ing;
And to be doubted that your Moor and you
Are singled forth to try expdKments :
Jove shield your husband from his hounds
to-day 1 70
"Tis pity they should take him for a stag.
Bos. Believe me, queen, your swarlh Cim¬
merian
Doth make your honor of his body's hue,
Simtted, detested, and abominable.
Why are you sequester'd from all your train,
Dismounted from your snow-white goodly
steed.
And wander'd hither to an obscure plot.
Accompanied but with a barbarous Moor,
U foul desire had not conducted you 7
Lax. And, being intercepted in your sport,
Great reason that my noble lord be rated 81
For sauciness. I pray you, let us hence.
And let her joy her i-aven-color'd love ^
This valley fits the purpose passing well.
Box. 'The king my brother shall have note
of this.
Lav. Ay, for these slips have made him
noted long:
Good king, to be so mightily abused !
Tom. Why have I patience to endure all
this ?
Enter Demetbius and Ohibon.
Bern. How now, dear sovereign, and our
gracious mother!
Why doth your highness look so pale and wan 7
Tarn. Have I not reason, tliink you, to look
pale 7 91
These two have 'ticed me hither to this place :
A barren detested vale, you see it is ;
The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and
lean,
O'ercome with mossand baleful mistletoe :
Here never shines the sun; here nothing
breeds.
Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven :
And when they snow'd me this abhorred pit.
They told me, here, at dead time of the night,'
A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes.
Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins.
Would make such fearful and confused cries
As any mortal body hearing it
Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly.
No sooner had they told this hellish tale.
But straight they told mc they would bind
me here
Unto the body of a dismal yew.
And leave me to this miserable death ;
And then they call'd me foul adulteress.
Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms
That ever ear did hear to such effect ; 111
And, had you not by wondrous fortune come.
Tins vengeance on me had they executed. )
Revenge it, as you love your mother's life.
Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children.
Bern. This is a witness thiit I am thy son.
[6'ta6s Bassianus.
Chi. And this for me, struck home to show
my strength.
[Also stabs Bassianus, who dies.
Lav. Ay, come, Semiramis, liay, barbarous
Tamora,
For no name fits thy nature but thy own !
Tarn. Give me thy poniard ; you shall
know, my boys, 120
Your mother's hand shall right your mother's
wrong.
10
TlTUa ANDRONICUS.
[Act II
Dem. Stiiy, madam; liece is uioro belongs
to iter;
First thrash tlie com, then alter burn the straw:
This miuion stood upon her cliastity,
Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty,
tAnd with that painted bope braves your
mightiness :
And shall she carry this unto her grave ?
C'/t(. An if she do, I would 1 were an eu¬
nuch.
Drag hence her husband to some secret hole,
And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust.
Tam. But when ye have the honey ye de¬
sire, 131
Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting.
Chi. I warrant you, madam, we will make
that sure.
Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy
That nice-preserved honesty of yours.
Lav. 0 Tamora ! thou bear'st a woman's
face,—
Tam. I will not hear her speak; away with
her 1
Lav. Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but
a word.
Dan. Listen, fair madam ; let it be your
glory
To see her tears; hut be your heart to them
As unrelenting fliut to drops of rain. 141
Lav. Wheii did the tiger'fj yomig ones teach
the dam ?
O, do not learn her wrath ; she taught it thee;
The milk thon suck'dst from her did turn to
marble ;
Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny.
Yet every motlier breeds not sons alike :
[ To Chiroiil Do thou entreat her show a woman
pity.
Chi. What, wouldst thou have me prove
myself a bastard ?
Lav. 'Tis true; the raven doth not hatch a
lark ;
Tet have I heard,—0, could 1 find it now !—
The lion moved with pity did endure 131
To have his princely paws pared all away :
Some say that ravens foster forlorn children.
The whilst their own birds famish in their
nests :
O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no,
Kothing so kind, but something pitiful !
Tam. I know not what it means ; away with
her!
Lav. O, let me teach thee ! for my father'^
sake,
Tluit gave thee life, when well he might have
slain thee.
Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears. 16C
Tam. Hadst thou in person ne'er offended
me.
Even for his sake am I pitiless.
Remember, boys, I pour'd forth tears m vain.
To save your brother from the .sacrifice ;
But fierce Androuicus would not relent;
Therefore, away with her, and use her as you
will.
The worse to her, the better loved of me.
Imv. O Tamora, be call'd a gentle queen.
And with thine own hands kill me in this
place!
For tis not life tliat I have begg'd so long; 170
Poor I was slain when Bassianus died.
Tam. What begg'st tJiou, tlien ? fond
woman, let me go.
Lav. 'Tis present death I beg; and one
tiling more
That womanhood denies ray tongue to tell:
O, keep me from their worse th..u killing lust.
And tumble me into some loatlisomc pit.
Where never man's eye may behold my body;
Do this, and be a charitable murderer.
Tam. So .;''0uld I rob my sweet sons of
their fee:
No, let them satisfy their lust on thee. 180
Dem. Away! for thou hast stay'd us here
too long.
Lav. No grace ? no womanliood ? Ah,
beastly creature!
The blot and enemy to our general name !
Confusion fall—
Chi. Nay, then I'll stop your mouth. Bring
thou her husband :
This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him.
\_Demetriu» throws the body of Bassianus
into the pit; then exeunt Demetrius an I
Chiron, dragginy ojf Lavinia.
Tam. Farewell, my sous : see that yon
make her sure.
Ne'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed.
Till all the Andronici be made away.
Now will 1 hence to seek my lovely Moor, 190
And let my spleenful sons this trull deflour.
iExit,,
Re-enter Aarox, with Quintus and Martius.
Aar. Come on, my lords, the better foot
before :
Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit
Where I espied the panther fast asleep.
Quin. My sight is very dull, whate'er it
bodes.
Mart. And mine, I promise you; were'tnot
for shame.
Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile.
[Ralls into the pit.
Quin. What, art thou fall'ii ? What subtle
hole is this.
Whose mouth is cover'd with rude-growing
briers.
Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed
blood 2(>0
As fresh as morning dew distill'd on flowers?
A very fatal place it seems to me.
Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the
faU?
Mart. O brother, with the dismall'st ob¬
ject hurt
That ever eye with sight made heart lament!
Aar. [Aside] Now will I fetch the king to
find them here.
That he thereby may give a likely guess
How these were they that made away his
brother. [Exit.
Scene iv.]
Mart. Why dost not comfort me, and help
me out 2(H)
From this auhallowedand blood-stained hole?
Qxin. 1 am surprised with an uncouth fear;
A chilling sweat o'er-runs my trembling joints:
My heart susi>ects more tliau mine eye can
see.
Mart. To prove thou hast a true-divhiing
heart,
Aaron and thou look down into this den.
And see a fearful sight of blood and death.
Quiiu Aaron is gone ; and my compas¬
sionate heart
Will not permit mine eyes once to behold
The thing whereat it trembles by surmise :
O. tell me how it is ; for ne'er till now 220
Was I a child to fear I know not what.
Mart, Lord Bassianus lies embrewed here.
All on a heap, like to a slaughter'd lamb.
In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit
Quin. If it be dark, how dost thou know
'tis he ?
Mart. Ui»n his bloody finger he doth wear
A precious ring, that lightens all the hole.
Which, like a. taper in some monument.
Doth shine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks.
And shows the ragged entrails of the pit: 230
So pale did shine the moon on Pyi-amus
When he by night lay bathed in maiden blood.
0 brother, help me with thy fainting hand—
If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath—
Out of this fell devouring receptacle.
As hateful as Cocytus' misty month.
Quin. Reach me thy hand, that I may help
« thee out;
' Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good,
1 majr be pluck'd into the swallowing womb
Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave. 240
I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink.
Mart. Nor I no strength to climb without
thy help.
Q^iin. Thy hand once more ; I will not
loose again.
Till thou art here aloft, or 1 below :
Thou canst not come tp me ; X come to thee.
\Falls in.
Enter Saturninus with Aaron.
Sat. Along wiA me : I'll see what hole is
here.
And what lie is that now is leap'd into it.
Say, who art thou that lately didst descend
Into this gaping hollow of the earth ?
MaH. The unhappy son of old Androiiicus :
Brought hither in a most unlucky hour, 251
To find thy brother Bassianus dead.
Sat. My brother dead! I know thou dost
but jest;
He and his lady both are at the lodge
Upon the north side of this pleasant chase ;
'Tis not an hour since I left wm there.
Mart. We know not where you left him all
alive ;
But, out, alas ! here have we found him dead.
He-enter Tamora, with Attendants ; Titus
Andronicus, and Lucius.
11
Tanti Where is my lord the king t
Sat. Here, Tamora, though grieved with
killing grief. 260
r<iOT. Where is thy brother Bassianus ?
Sat Now to the bottom dost thou search my
wound :
Poor Bassianus here lies murdered.
Tarn. Then all too late I bring this fatal wi-it.
The complot of this timeless tragedy ;
And wonder gi^tly that man's face can fold
III pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny.
IShe giveth Saturnine a letter
Sat. [Eeade] ' An if we miss to meet him
handsomely—
Sweet huntsman, Bassianus 'tis we mean—
Do thou so much as dig the grave for him: 270
Thou know'st our meaning. Look for thy
reward
Among the nettles at the elder-tree
Which overshades the mouth of that same pit
Where we decreed to bury Bassianus.
Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends'
0 Tamora ! was ever heard the like?
This is the iiit, and this the elder-tree.
Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out
That should have murdered Bassianus here.
Aav. My gracious lord, here is the bag of
gold. 280
Sat. [ J'o Titm] Two of thy whelps, fell curs
of bloody kind.
Have here bereft my brother of his life.
Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison
There let them bide until we have devised
Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them.
Tarn. Wliat, are they in this pit ? O won¬
drous thing!
How easily murder is discovered !
Tit. High emperor, upon my feeble knee
1 beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed.
That this fell fault of niy accursed sons, 290
Accursed, if tJie fault be proved in them,—
Sat. If it be proved! you see it is api:»reut.
Who found this letter ? Tamora, was it you ?
Tarn. Andronicus himself did take it up.
Tit. I did, my lord : yet let me be their
bail ;
For, by my fatlier's reverend tomb, I vow
They shall be ready at your highness' will
'I'o answer their suspicion with their lives.
Sat. Tliou shalt nut bail them : see thou
follow me.
Some bring tlie murder'd body,, some the
murderers : 3(X)
Let them not siieak a word ; the guilt is phaiii ;
For, by my soul, were there worse end tluiu
death.
That end upon them should be executed.
Tarn. Andronicus, I will entreat the king;
Fear not thy sons; they shall do well enough.
Tit. Come, Lucius, come ; stay not to talk
with them. iExeuut,
Scene IV. Another part of the forest.
Enter Demetrius and Chiron with La-
viNiA, ramehedi her hands cut off, and her
tongue cut out.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
TITVS ANDEONICUS.
[Act iii,
So. now go tell, an if thy tongue can
speak,
If bo 'twas that cut thy tongue and ravish'd
thee.
Chi. Write down thy mind, bewray thy
meaning so.
An if thy stamps will let thee play the scribe.
Dem. See, how with signs aiid tokens she
can scrowl.
Chi. Go home, call for sweet water, wash
thy hands.
Dem. She hath no tongne to call, nor hands
to wash ;
And so let's leave her to her silent walks.
Chi. An 'twere my case, I should go hang
myself.
Dem. If thon hadst hands to help thee knit
the cord. 10
{."Exeunt Demetrius and Chiron.
Enter Mabcus-
Mar. Who is this ? my niece, that flies away
so fast!
Cousin, a word ; where is your husband ?
If I do dream, would all my wealth would
wake me!
If I do wake, some planet strike me down.
That I may slumber in etenial sleep I
Speak, gentle niece, what stem migentle hands
Have lopp'd and hew'd and made thy body bare
Of her two branches, those sweet ornaments,
Whose circling shadows kings have sought to
sleep in.
And might not gain so great a happiness 20
As have thy love ? Why dost not speak to me?
Alas, a crimson river of warm blood,
hike to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind.
Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips.
Coming and going with thy honey breath.
But, sure, some "Tereus hath deflowered thee.
And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy
tongne.
Ah, now thou tum'st away thy face for shame!
And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood.
As from a conduit with three issuing spouts.
Yet do thy cheelcs look red as Titan's face 31
Blushing to be encountered with a cloud.
Shall I speak for thee ? shall I say 'tis so ?
O, tliat I knew thy heart; and knew the beast,
Vhat I might rail at him, to ease my mind!
Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd.
Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.
Fair Philomela, she but lost her tongue.
And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind:
But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee;
A craftier'Tereus, cousin, hast thou met, 41
And he hath cut those pretty fingers off,
Tliat could have better sew'd than Philomel.
0, had the monster seen those lily hands
Tromble, like aspen-leaves, upon a lute.
And make the silken strings delight to kiss
them.
He would not then have touch'd them for his
life !
Or, had he heard the heavenly harmony
Which that sweet tongue hath made.
He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell
asleep 50
As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet.
Come, let us go, and make thy father blind;
For such a sight will blind a father's eye :
One hour's storm wiU drown the flagrant
meads ;
What will whole months of tears thy father's
eyes ?
Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee:
O, could our mourning ease thy misery !
[Exeunt.
ACT in.
Scene L Borne. A street.
Enter Judges, Senators and Tribunes, with
Marttus and QtiiNTtrs, bound, passing on
to the place of execution; Tittts going be¬
fore, pleading.
Tit. Hear me, grave fathers ! noble trib¬
unes, stay !
For pity of mine age, whose youtli was spent
In dangerous wars, whilst you securely slept;
For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed ;
For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd ;
And for these bitter tears, which now you see
Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks ;
Be pitiful to my condemned sons.
Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought
For two and twenty sous I never wept, 10
Because they died m honor's lofty bed.
ILiethdouin; the Judges, &c.,pass bp
him, and ExeiM.
For these, these, tribunes, in the dust I write
My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad
tears :
Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite ;
My sons' sweet blood will make it shame
and blush.
O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain.
That shall distil from these two ancient luns,
Than yonthful April shall with all his showers:
In summer's drought I'll drop upon thee still;
In winter with warm tears I'll melt the snow,20
And keep eternal spring-time on thy face.
So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood.
Enter Lucius, with his sioord dramt.
O reverend tribunes ! O gentle, aged men !
Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death;
And let me say, that never wept before.
My tears are now prevailing orators.
Luc. O noble father, you lament in vain :
The tribunes hear you not: no man is by ;
And yon recomit your sorrows to a stone.
Tit. Ah, Lucius, for thy brotliers' let me
plead. 30
Grave tribunes, once more I entror.t of you,—
, Due. My gracious lord, no liibune hears
you speak.
Tit. Why, 'tis no matter, man; if they did
liear.
They would not mark, me, of if' they did
mark.
sckme i.]
They would notydty me, yet plead I must;
t And bootless unto tliem
Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones ;
Who, though tiiey cannot answer my distress,
Yet in some sort they are better than tlie
tribunes.
For that they will not intercept my tale : 40
When I do weep, they humbly at my feet
Receive ray tears and seem to weep with me ;
And, were they but attired in grave weeds,
Rome could afford no tribune Uke to these.
A stone is soft as wax,—^tribunes more hard
than stones ;
A stone is silent, and offendeth not.
And tribunes with their tongues doom men
to death. [Rises.
But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weaix)n
drawn ?
Luc. To rescue my two brothers from their
death :
For which attempt the judges have pro¬
nounced 50
My everlasting doom of banishment
Tit. O happy man! they have befriended
thee. *
Why, foolish Lucius, dost thoii not perceive
That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers ?
Tigers must prey, and Rome affords no prey
But me and mine: how happy art thou, then.
From these devourers to be banished I
But who comes with our brother Marcus here?
Enter Marcus and Layinia.
Marc. Titus, prepare thy aged eyes to
weep;
Or, if not so, thy noble heart to break ; 60
I bring consuming sorrow to thine age. •
Tit. Will it consume me ? let me see it,
then.
Marc. This was thy daughter.
Tit, Why, Marcus, so she is.
Luc. Ay me, this object kills me !
Tit. Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon
her.
Speak, Laviuia, what accursed hand
Hath made thee haudless in thy father's
.sight ?
What fool hath added water to the sea;
Or brought a faggot to bright-burning "Troy?
My grief was at the height before thou earnest,
And now, like Nilus, it disdaineth bounds. 71
Give me a sword, I'll chop off my hands too ;
For they have fought for Rome, and all in
vain ;
And they have nursed this woe, in feeding
life;
In bootless prayer have they been held up.
And they have served me to effectless use:
Now all the service I require of them
Is that the one will help to cut the other.
'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou Ikist no hands;
For hands, to do Rome service, are but vain.
Luc. Speak, gentle sister, who hath mar¬
tyr d thee ? 81
Marc. O, that delightful engine of her
thoughts,'
li
That blabb'd them with such pleasing elo¬
quence,
Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage.
Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung
Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear!
Iaw. O, say thon for her, who hath done this
deed ?
, Marc. O, thus I found her, strayhig in the
park.
Seeking to hide herself, as doth the deer
That hath received some unrecuring wound.!»0
Tit. It was my deer; and he that wounded
♦ her
Hath hurt me more than had he killed me dead:
For now I stand as one upon a rock
Knvironed with a wilderness of sea.
Who marks the waxing tide grow wave h
wave,
E.xpectlng ever wlien some envious surge
Will in his brinish bowels swallow him.
This way to death my wretched sons ar
gone ;
Here stands my other son, a banished man.
And here my brother, weeping at my woes;
But that which gives my soul the greates
spurn, 101
Is dear lAtvinia, dearer than my soul.
Had I but seen thy picture in this plight.
It would have maaded me ; what shall I do
Now I behold thy lively body so ?
Thou hast no hands, to wipe away thy tears ;
Nor tongue, to tell me who hath martyr'd
thee :
Thy husband he is dead : and for his death
Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by
this. 1(W
Look, Marcus ! ah, son Lucius, look on her!
When I did name her brothers, then fresh
tears
Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey-dew
Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd.
Marc. Perchance she weeps becailse they
kill'd her husband ;
Perchance because she knows them innocent.
Tit. If they did kill thy husband, then be
joyful.
Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them.
No, no, they would not do so foul a deed ;
Witness the sorrow that their sister makes.
Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss Ihy lips. 120
Or make some sign how I may do thee ease :
Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius,
And thou, and I, sit round about some
fountain.
Looking all downwards, to behold our cheeks
How they are stain'd, as meadows, yet not dry,
AVith miry slime left on them by a flood ?
And in the fountain shall we gaze so long
Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness.
And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears?
Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine?
Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb
shows 131
Pass the remainder of our hateful days ?
What shall we do ? let us, that have oui
tongues.
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
M
Plot some device of further misery,
To make us wouder'd at in time to come.
Luc. Sweet father, cease yonr tears; for,
at your grief.
See how my wretched sister sobs and we^.
Marc. Patience, dear niece. Good littis,
dry thine eyes.
Tit. Ah, Marcus, Marcns ! brother, weli I
wot •
1'hy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, 140
For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with
tliine own.
..Mc. Ah, my Laviuia, I wili wipe |hy
cheeks.
Tit. Mark, Marcus, mark .< I understand
her signs :
Had she a tongue to sp^k, now woiUd she say
That to her brother which I said to tliee :
His napkin, with his true tears aii bewet,
Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks.
O, what a sympathy of woe is this.
As far from heip as Limbo is from biiss !
Enter Aaron.
Aar. Titus Andronicus, my lord the em¬
peror 150
Sends thee this word,—^that, if thou love thy
sons.
Let Marcns, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus,
Or any one of you, chop off your iiaud.
And send it to the king : he for the same
Will send thee liither both thy sons alive ;
And that shall be the ransom for their fault.
Tit. O gracious emperor ! O gentle Aaron !
Did ever raven sing so like a lark,
That gives sweet-tidings of the sun's uprise?
With aii my heart. Til send the emperor 160
My hand:
Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off ?
Luc. Stay, lather I for that noble hand
of thine.
That hath thrown down so many enemies.
Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the
turn :
My youth can better spare my blood tiian
you ;
And therefore mine shall save my brothers'
lives.
Marc. Which of yonr hands hath not de¬
fended Rome,
And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe.
Writing destruction on the enemy's castie?170
O, none of both but are of high desert:
My hand hath been but idle ; let it serve
To ransom my two nephews from their death ;
"Then have I kept it to a worthy end.
Aar. Nay, come, agree whose hand shall
go along.
For fear they die before their pardon come.
Marc. My hand shall go.
Luc. By heaven, it shall not go !
Tit. Sirs, strive no more: such wither'd
lierbs as these
Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine.
Luc. Sweet fatlier, if 1 shall be thought
thy sci, 180
[Act 111
Let me redeem my brotliers botli frum death.
Marc. And, for onr father's sake and
mother's care.
Now let me show a brother's love to thee.
TU. Agree between you; I will siiare my
hand.
Luc. Then Pil go fetch an axe.
Marc. But I wili use the axe.
[Exeunt Lucius and Marcus.
Tit. Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them
both:
Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine.
Aar. [Aside] If that be call d deceit, I will
be hone^.
And never, whilst I live, deceive men so : I'JO
But I'll deceive you in another sort.
And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass.
[Cuts off Titus's hand.
Re-enter Lrcius and Marcus.
Tit. Now stay your strife: what shall be
is dispatch'd.
Good Aaron, give his majesty my liand :
Tell him it was a liand that warded liim
From thousand dangers : bid him bury it;
More hath it merited ; that let it have.
As for my sons, say I account of them
As jewels purchased at an easy jirice ;
And yet dear too, because 1 bought mine
own. 200
Aar. I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand
Look by and by to have thy sons with thee.
[Aside] Their heads, I mean. O, how this
viilany
Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it!
Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace,
Aaron will have his soul black like his face.
[Exit.
Tit. O, here I lift this one hand up to
heaven.
And bow this feeble ruin to the earth :
If anv power pities wretched tears.
To that I call! [To Lax.] What, wilt Uion
kneel with me ? 210
Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear
our prayers;
Or with our sighs we'll breathe tlie welkin
dim.
And stain the sun with fog, as sometime
clouds
When they do hug him in their melting
bosoms.
Marc. O brother, speak with possibilities,
And do not break into these deep extremes.
Tit. Is not my sorrow deep, having no
bottom ?
Tlien be my passions bottomless with them.
Marc. But yet let reason govern thy la¬
ment.
Tit. If there were reason for these miseries,
Then into limits could I bind my woes : 221
When heaven doth weep, doth not the eartb
o'erflow ?
If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad,
Threatening the welkin with his big-swoin
face?
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
Scene ii.]
TITUS ANDRONICUS,
16
And wilt thou have a reason for this coil 1
I am the sea ; hark, bw her sighs do blow !
She is the weeping welkin, 1 the earth :
Then must my sea be moved with her s^hs ■;
Then must my earth with her continual tears
Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd ;
For why my bowels cannot hide her woes, 231
But like a drunkard must I vomit them.
Then give me leave, for losers will have.leave
To ease their stomachs with tlieir bitter
tongues.
Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a
hand.
Mess. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou re¬
paid
For that good hand thou sent'st the emi>eror.
Here are the heads of thy two noble sons;
And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent teck ;
.Tliy griefs theirsports, thy resolution mock'd ;
That woe is me to think upon thy woes 240
More than remembrance of my father's death.
[Exit.
Marc. Now let hot .lEtna cool in Sicily,
And be my heart an ever-burning hell 1
These miseries are more than may be borne.
To weep with tliem that weep dotli ease some
deal;
But sorrow flouted at is double death.
Luc. Ah, that this sight should make so
deep a wound, '
And yet detested life not shrink thereat!
That ever death should let life bear his name,
Where life hath no more interest but to
breathe! [Lavinia kisses Titus.
Marc. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is com¬
fortless 251
As frozen water to a starved snake.
Tit. When will this fearful slumber have
an end ?
Marc. Now, farewell, flattery : die, An¬
dronicus ;
Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sens' heads,
Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here:
Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight
Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I,
Even like a stony im.age, cold and numb.
Ah, now no more will I control thy griefs : 260
Kend off thy silver hair, thy other hand
finawingwith thy teeth; and be this dismal
■ sight
The closing up of our most wretched eyes ;
kNew is a time to storm; why art thou still ?
Tit. Ha, ha, ha 1
Marc. Why dost thou laugh ? it fits not
with this hour.
TU. Why, I have not another tear to shed :
Besides, this sorrow is an enemy.
And would usurp upon my watery eyes, 269
And make them Wind with trjbufcvry tears :
Then which way shall 1 find Revenge's cave ?
these two beads do seem to speak to me.
And threat me I shall never come to bliss
Till all these mischiefs be return'd again
Even in their throats that have committed
them.
Come, let me see what task I have to do.
You heavy people, circle me about.
That I may turn me to each one of you,
, And swear unto my soul to right your wron^.
The vow is made. Come, brother, take a h»id ;
And in this hand the other wili I bear. 281
Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd : these arms t
Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between
thy teeth.
As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight;
Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay;
Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there:
And, if you love me, as 1 think you do,
liOt's ki^ and part, for we have much todo.
[Exeunt Titus, Marcus, and Lavinia.
Luc. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble
father, 289
The wofuU'st man that ever lived in Rome :
Farewell, proud Rome ; till Lucius come again.
He leaves his pledges dearer than bis life :
Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister ;
O, would thou wert as thou tofore hast been!
But now nor Lucius nor Lavinia lives
But in oblivion and hateful griefs.
If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs ;
And make proud Saturnine and his empress
Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his queen.
Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power.
To be revenged on Rome and Saturnine. [Exit.
Scene II. A room in Titus's house. A
banquet set out.
Enter Titus, Makous, Lavinia, and young
Lucius, a Boy.
Tit. So, so ; now sit: and look you eat
more
Than will pre,serve just so much strengch in us
As will revenge these bitter woes of ours.
Marcus, unkiiit that sorrow-wreathen knot:
Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our
bands,
And cannot passionate our tenfold grief
Witli folded arms. 'Kiis poor right hand of
mine
Is left to tyrannize upon my breast;
Who, when my heart, all mad with misery,
Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh, 10
Then thus I thump it down.
[To Lavinia.'] Thou map of woe, that thus
dost talk in signs I
When thy poor heart beats with outrageous
beating,
«Thon canst not strike ft thus to make it still.
Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans ;
Or get some little knife between thy teeth.
And just against thy heart make thou a hole ;
That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall
May run into that sink, and soaking in
Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears. 20
Marc. Fie, brother, fie ! teach her not thus
to lay
Such violent hands upon her tender life.
Tit. How now! lias sorrow made thee dote
already ?
Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I.
What violent hands can she lay on Iter life?
16
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
(ACT IV.
Ah, wherefore doet thou urge the name of
liands;
To bid Apneas tell the tale twice o'er,
How Troy was burnt and he made miserable ?
O, handle not the theme, to talk of bands.
Lest we remember still that we have none. 30
Fie, fie, how franticly I square my talk.
As if we should forget we had no bauds,
If Marcus did not name the word of hands !
Come, let's fall to; and, gentle girl, eat this:
Here is no drink 1 Hark, Marcus, what she
says;
I can interpret all her martyr'd signs;
She says she drinks no other drink but tears,
Brew'd with her sorrow, mesh'd upon her
cheeks:
Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought;
In thy dnmb action will I be as perfect 40
As b^;mng hermits in their holy prayers:
Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to
heaven.
Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a
sign.
But I of these will wrest an alphabet
And by still practice learn to know thy mean-
. hig-
sioy. Good grandsire, leave these bitter
deep laments :
Makd my aunt merry with some pleasing tale.
Marc. Alas, the tender boy, in passion
moved,
Dcih weep to see his grandsire's heaviness.
Tit. Peace, tender sapling; thou art made
of tears, 50
AnS tears will quickly melt thy life away.
[Marcus strikes the dish with a knife.
Wnat dost thou strike at, Marcus, with my
knife t
Marc. At that that I have kill'd, my lord ;
a fly.
Tit. Out on thee, murderer! thou kill'st
my heart;
Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny:
A deed of death done on the innocent
Becomes not Titus' brother: get thee gone;
1 see thou art not for my company.
Marc. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly.
Tit. But how, if that fly had a lather and
mother 7 60
How would he hang his slender gilded wings,
And buzz lamenting doings in the air I
Poor harmless fly.
That, with his pretty buzzing melody.
Came here to make us merry! and thou hast
kill'd him.
Marc. Pardon me, sir; it was a black ill-
favor'd fly.
Like to the empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd
him.
TU. 0,0,0,
Then pardon me for reprehending thee.
For thou hast done a charitable deed. 70
Give me thy knife, I will insult on him ;
Flattering myself, as if it were the Moor
Come hither puiq^ely to poison me.—
There's for thyself, and that's for Taraora.
Ah, sirrah 1
Yet, I think, we are not brought so low.
But that between us we can kill a fly
-That comes iu likeness of a coal-black Moor.
Marc. Alas, poor man! grief has so
wrought on him.
He takes false shadows for true substances. 80
Tit. Come, take away. Lavinia, go with
me:
I'll to thy closet; and go read with thee
Sad stones chanced in the times of old.
Come, boy, and go with me: thy sight is
And t^iou siialt read when mine begin to
dazzlA [Exeunt.
ACT IV.
ScEKS L Some. Titus's garden.
Enter young LtJCius, and Lavtoia running
after him, and the boy flies from her^ith
books under his arm. Then enter "riTDs
' and Mabccts.
Young Luc. Help, grandsire, help! my
aunt Laviuia
Follows me every where, I know not why •:
Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes.
Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean.
Marc. Stand by me, Lucius ; do not fear
thine aunt.
Tit. She loves thee, boy, too well to do
thee harm.
Young Luc. Ay, when my father was in
Itome she did.
Marc. What means my niece Lavinia by
these signs 7
Tit. Fear her not, Lucius : somewhat doth
she mean :
See, Lucius, see how much she makes of
thee: 10
Somewhither Would she have thee go with her
Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care
Bead to her sons than she hath read to thee
Sweet poetry and Tully's Orator.
Marc. Canst thou not guess wherefore she
plies thee thus 7
Young Luc. My lord, I know not, I, nor
can I guess.
Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her :
, For 1 have beard my grandsire say full oft.
Extremity of griefs would make men mad;
And I have read that Hecuba of Troy 20
Ran mad through sorrow: that made me to fea
Although, my lord, I know my noble aunt
Loves me as dear as e'er my mother did.
And would not, but in fury, fright my youth:
Which made me down to throw my books,
and fly,—
Causeless, ^rhaps. But pardon me, sweet
aunt;
And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go,
I will most willingly attend your ladyship.
Marc. Lucius, I will.
Sc£ItB I.]
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
17
[Laninia turns over with her stumps the
books which LticUis has let fail.
Tit. How now, Lavinia! Marcos, wl^t
means this ? ^
Some book there is that she desires to see.
Which is it, girl, of these? Open them, boy.'
Bnt thou art deeper read, and better skill'd ;
Come, and take choice of ail my library.
And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens
Reveal the damn'd contriver of tliis deed.
Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus 7
Mare. 1 thinK she means that there was
more than one
Confederate in the fact: ay, more there was ;
Or else to heaven she heaves them for re¬
venge. 40
- Tit. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth
so ?
Young Luc. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Meta¬
morphoses ;
My mother gave it me.
Marc. For love of her that's gone.
Perhaps she cull'd it from among the rest.
Tit. Soft 1 see how busily wie turns the
leaves! [Helping her.
What would she find ? Lavinia, shall I read 7
This is the tragic tale of Philomel,
And treats of T'erens' treason and his rape ;
.\.nd rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy.
Marc. See, brother, see; note how she
quotes the leaves. 60
Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus surprised,
sweet girl,
Ravish'd and wrong'd, as Philomela was.
Forced in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy
woods 7
See, see 1
Ay, such a place there is, where we did hunt—
O, had we never, never hunted there !—
Pattern'd by that the poet here describes,
By nature made for murders and for rapes.
Mojrc. O, why should nature build so foul
a den,
'Unless the gods delight in tragedies 7 60
Tit. Give signs, sweet girl, for here are
none but friends.
What Roman lord it was durst do the deed :
Or slum; not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst.
That left the camp to sin in Lucrece' bed 7
Mai-c. Sit down, sweet niece; brother, sit
down by me.
Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury,
Inspire me, that I may this treason find I
My lord, look here : look here, Lavinia:
This sandy plot is plain; guide, if thou canst.
This after me, when I have writ my name 70
Without the help of any hand at all.
[He writes his name wth his staff, and
guides it with feet and mouth.
Cursed be that heart that forced us to this
shift! *
Writ6 thou, good niece ; and here display, at
last,
What God wiU have discover'd for revenge: . ■
Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows
plain,
That we may know the traitors and the truth!
[&'Ae takes the staff in her mouth, and
guides it with her stumps, and writes.
Tit, O, do ye read, my lord, what she
^ hath writ 7
Stimrum. Chiron, Demetrius.' '
Marc. What, what! the lustful sons of
Tamora
Performers of this heinous, bloody deed 7 80
Tit, Magni Dominator poll,
Tam lentns audis scelera 7 tam lentus vides 7
. Marc. 0, calm thee, gentle lord; although
I know
There is euoi^h written upon this earth
To stir a mutiny in tlie mildest thoughts
And arm the minds of infants to ex^aims.
My lord, kneel down with me; Lavinia, kneel;
And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector's
hope;
And swear with me, as, with the wofnl fere
And father of that chaste dishonoPd dame, 90
Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lncrece' rape,.
That we will prosecute by good advice
Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths,
And see their blood, or die with this reproach.
TVf. 'Tis sure enough, an you knew now.
But if you hunt these bear-whelps, then be¬
ware :
The dam will wake; and, if she wind you once,
She's with the lion deeply still in league,
And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back.
And when he sleeps will she do what she list
You are a yoimg huntsman, Marcus; let it
alone; 101
And, come, I will go get a leaf of brass.
And with a gad of steel will write these woixls.
And lay it by : the angry northern wind
Will blow these sands, like Sibyl's leaves,
abroad.
And Where's your lesson, then 7 Boy, what
say you 7
Young Luc. 1 say, my lord, that if 1 were
a man.
Their mothePs bed-chamber should not be s.afe
For these bad bondmen to the yoke of Rome.
Marc. Ay, that's my boy I thy father hath
full oft 110
For his ungrateful country done the like.
Young Luc. And, uncle, so will 1, an if 1
live.
Tit. Come, go with me into mine armory;
Lucius, I'll fit thee ; and withal, my boy,
Shalt carry from me to the empress' sons
Presents that 1 intend to send them both :
Come, come ; thou'lt do thy message, wilt
thou not 7
Young Luc. Ay, with my dagger in theii
bosoms, grandsire.
Tit. No, boy, not so; I'll teach thee an¬
other course.
Lavinia, come. Marcus, look to my house :
Lucius and I'll go brave it at the court : 121
Ay, marry, will we, sir; and we'll be waited on.
[Exeunt Titus, Lavinia, and Young Luc.
Marc. O heavens, can you hear a good man
groan
18
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
(Act iv
And not relent, or not compassion him ?
Marcus, attend him in bis ecstasy,
That hath more scars of sorrow m his heart
Tliau foemen's marks upon his batter'd
shield ;
But yet so just that he will not reveu^
Aevenge, ye heavens, for old Andronicus!
{Exit.
Scene II. The same. A room in the palaee.
Enter, from one side, Aabon, Dehetbivs,
and cuikon ; frotn the other side, young
Lucius, and an Attendant, with a bundle
of weapons, and verses writ upon them.
Chi. Demetrius, here's the son of Liteius;
lie hath some message to deliver us.
Aar. Ay, some mad message from his mad
giandifather. .
Young Luc. My lords, with all the hum¬
bleness I may,
I greet your honors from Andronicus.
[Aside] And pray the Roman gods confound
you bom t
Dem. Gramercy, lovely Lucius: what's the .
news?
Young Luc. [Aside] Tliat you are botli de-
cipher'd, that's the news.
For villains mark'd with rape.—May it please
you.
My grandsire, well advised, hath sent by me
The go^iieet weapons of his armory 11
To gratify your honorable youth,
The hope of Borne ; for so he bade me say ;
And so I do, and with his gifts present
Y.'Ur lordships, that; whenever you have need.
Yea may be armed and appointed well:
And so I leave you both: [Aside] like bloody
villains.
[Exeunt young Lucius, and Aitendant.
Dem. What's here? A scroll; and written
round about ?
Let's see:
[Reads] 'Integer vitie, scelerisque purus, 20
Non eget Mauri jaculis, nec arcu.'
*Jki, 0, 'tis a verse in Horace ; I kirnw it
well:
I read it in the grammar long ago.
Aai-. Ay, just; a verse iii Horace ; right,
you have it.
[Aside] Now, what a thing it is to be an ass !
Here's no sound jest! tlie old man hath
found their g;uilt; [with lines.
And sends them weapons wrapped about
That wound, be.yond their feeling, to the quick.
But were out witty empress well afoot, '
She would applaud Andronicus' conceit: 30
But let her rest in her unrest awhile.
•And now, young lords, was'tnotahappy star
l.ed us to Rome, strangers, and more than so,
Captives, to be advanced to this height ?
It did me good, before the palace gate
To brave the tribune in his brother's hearing.
Dem. But me more good, to see so great a
lord
Basely insinuate and send us gifts.
Aar. Had he not reason. Lord Demetrius ?
Did you not use his daughter very friendly ? 40
pern. I would we had a thousand Romai;
dames
At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust.
Chi. A cforitable wish and full of love.
Aar. Here lacks but your mother for to
say amen.
Chi. And that would she for twenty thou¬
sand more.
Dem. Come, let us go ; and pray to all the
gods
For our beloved mother in her pains.
Aar. [Aside] Pray to tlie devils; the gods
have given us over.
[lYumpets sound within.
Dem. Why do the emperor's trumpets
flourish tlius ?
Chi. Belike, for joy the emperor hath a son.
Dem. Soft 1 who comes here ? 51
Enter a Nurse, with a blackamoor Child in
her arms.
Nur. Good morrow, lords ;
O, tell me, did yon see Aaron the Moor ?
Aar. Well, more or less, or ne'er a whit at
aU,
Here Aaron is ; and what with Aaron now?
Nur. O gentle Aaron, we are all undone t
Now help, or woe betide thee evermore 1
Am'. Why, what a caterwauling dost thou
keep!
What dost thou wrap and fumble in thine
arras ?
Nur. O, that which I would hide from
heaven's eye.
Our empress' shame, and stately Rome's dis¬
grace ! 60
She is deliverid, lords ; she is deliver d.
Aar. To wlmm ?
Nur. I mean, she is brought a-bed.
Aar. Well, God give her good rest 1 What
hath he sent her ?
Nur. A devil.
Aar. Why, then slie is the devil's dam ; a
joyful issue.
Nur. 'a joyless, dismal, black, and sorrow¬
ful issue:
Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad
Amongst.the fairest breeders of our clime :
The empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal.
And bids thee christen it with thy dagger's
point. 71
Aar. 'Zounds, ye whore ! is black so base
a hue ?
Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom,
sure.
Dem. Villaim what hast thou done ?
Aar. That which thou canst not undo.
Chi. Thou hast undone our mother.
Aar. Villain, 1 have done thv mother.
Dem. And therein, hellish dog, thou hast
undone.
Woe to her chance, and damu'd her loathed
choice 1
Accursed the offspring of so foul a fiend 1
Scene ii.]
Chi. It shall not live.
Aar. It shall not die.
Nur. Aaron, it mustthe mother wills it
so.
Aiir. What, must it, nurse 7 then let no
man but I
Do execution on my flesh and blood.
Dem. I'll broach the tadpole on my rapier's
point:
Nurse, give it me ; my sword shall soon dis-'
patch it.
Aar. Sooner this sword shall plough thy
bowels up.
li'akes the Child frcrm the Nwse,
and draws.
Stay, murderous villains ! will you kill your
brother 7
Now, by the burning tapers of the sky.
That shone so brightly when this boy was got,
He dies upon my scimitar's sharp point 91
That touches tliis my first-boni son and heir I
1 tell you, younglings, not Enceladus,
With all his threatening band of 'Typhon's
brood,
Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war.
Shall seize this prey out of his father's hands.
What, what, ye sanguine, shallow-hearted
boys !
Ye white-limed walls I ye alehouse painted
signs !
Coal-black is better than another hue.
In that it scorns to bear another hue ; 100
For all the water in the ocean
Can never turn the swan's black legs to white.
Although she lave them hourly in the flood.
Tell the empress from me, 1 am of age
To keep mine own, excuse it how sl»e can.
Dem. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress
thus 7
Aar. My mistress is my mistress ; this my¬
self.
The vigor and the picture of my youth :
This bmore ••vll the world do I prefer ;
This maugre all the world will 1 keep safe, 110
Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome.
Dem. By this our mother is forever shamed.
Chi. Rome will despise her for this foul
escape.
Nitr. Tne empflror, in his rage, will dooih
her death.
Chi. 1 blush to think upon this ignomy.
Aar. Why, there's tlie priviiege your
beauty bears :
Fie, treacherous hue, that will betray with
blushing
The close enacts and counsels of the heart!
Here's a young lad framed of another leer :
Look, how the black slave smiles upon the
father, 120
As who should say ' Old lad, 1 am thine own.'
He is your brother, lords, seEsibly fed
Of that self-blood that first gave life to you.
And from that womb where you imprison'd
were
He is enfranchised and come to light ;
Nay, he is your brother by the surer "A*.
19
Although my seal l>e stamped in his face.
Niir. Aaron, what shml 1 say unto the
empress 7 »
Dem. Advise thee, Aaron, wnat is to be
done.
And we will all subscribe to thy advice : loO
Save thou the child, so we may all be safe.
Aar. Then sit we down, and let us all
consult.
My son and 1 will have the wind of you :
Keep there: now talk at pleasure of your
safety. {Thy sit.
Dem. How raanv women saw this child of
his 7 , .
Aar. Why, so, brave lords ! when we joit
in league,
1 am a lamb : but if you brave the Moor,
The chafed boar, the mountain lioness,
The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms.
But say, again, how many saw the child 7 140
Nur. Cornelia the midwife and myself ;
And no one else but the deliver'd empress.
Aar. The empress, the midwife, and your¬
self :
Two may keep counsel when the third's away :
Go to the empress, tell her this 1 said.
{He kills the narse.
Weke, weke I so cries a pig prepared to the
spit.
Dem.' What mean'st thou, Aaron 7 Vhere-
fore didst thou this 7
Aar. O Ixrrd, sir, 'tis a deed of jjolicy :
Shall she live to betray this guilt of ours,
A long-tongued babbling gossip 7 no, lords,
no: 150
And now be it known to ycut my full intent.
Not far, one Muli lives, my Countryman ;
His wife but yesternight was brought to bed ;
His child is like to her, fair as you ai-e:
Go pack with him, and give the mother gold.
And tell them both the circnmstiince of all;
And how by this their child shall be ad¬
vanced,
.4nd be received for the emperor's heir.
And substituted in the place of mine.
To calm this tempest whirling in the court; 160
And let the emperor dandle him for his own.
Hark ye, lords ; ye see I have given her
physic, {Pointiny to the nurse.
And you must needs bestow her funeral ;
The fields are near, and you are gallant
grooms :■
This done, see that you take no longer days.
But send the midwife presently to me;
The midwife and the nurse well made away,
"Then let the ladies tattle what they please.
Chi. Aaron, 1 see thou wilt not trust the air
With secrets.
Dem. For this care of Tamora, 170
Herself and hers are highly bound to thee.
{Exeunt Dem. and Chi. bearing off the
Ntirse's body.
Aar. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow
flies ;
There to dispo.se this treasure in mine arms.
And secretly to greet the empress' friends.
t:tus andronicus.
2i)
Come on, you thick-Upp'd slaye, I'll bear you
hence ;
For it is you that puts us to our shifts :
I'll make you feed on berries and on roots,
And tfeed on curds and whey, and suck the
goat,
And cabin in a cave, and bring you up.
To a warrior, and command a camp. 180
[Exit.
Scene IIL The same. A public place.
Enter Titus, bearing arrows with letters at
the ends of them; with him, Marcus, young
Lucius, PuBLius, Sempbonius, Caius, and
other Gentlemen, with bows.
Tit. Come, Marcus ; come, kinsmen ; this
is tlie way.
Sir boy, now let me see your archery ;
Look ye draw home enough, and 'tis there
straight.
Terras Astrsea reliqnit:
Be you remember'd, Marcus, she's gone, she's
fled.
Sirs, take you to your tools. You, cousins,
shall
Go sound the ocean, and cast your nets ;
Happily you may catch her in the sea ;
Yet there's as little justice as at land :
No; Pnblius and Sempronius, yon must do
it; 10
'Tis you must dig with mattock and with
spade.
And pierce the inmost centre of the earth :
Then, when you come to Pluto's region,
I pray you, deliver him this petition ;
Tell him, it is for justice and for aid.
And that it comes from old Andronicus,
Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful ^me.
Ah, Rome 1 Well, well; I made thee miserable
What time I threw the people's suffrages
On him that thus doth tyrannise o'er me. 20
Go, get you gone; and pray be careful all.
And leave you not a man-of-war unsearch'd :
This wicked emperor may have shipp'd her
hence ;
And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice.
Marc. O Publius, is not this a heavy case,.
To see thy noble uncle thus distiact ?
Pub. Therefore, my lord, it highly us con¬
cerns
By day and night to attend him carefully,
And feed his humor kindly as we may.
Till time beget some careful remedy. , 30
Marc. Khismeu, his sorrows are past
remedy.
Join with the Goths ; and with revengeful war
Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude,
And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine.
Tit. Publius, how now 1 how now, my
masters 1
What, have you met with her ?
Pub. No, my good lord ; but Pluto sends
you word.
If you will have Revenge from hell, you shall;
Marry, for Justice, she is so emplo/d.
[Act iv.
He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or some¬
where else, 40
So that perforce you must needs stay a time.
TU. He doth me wrong to feed me with
delays.
I'll dive into the burning lake below.
And pull her out of Acheron by tlie heels.
Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we.
No big-boned men framed of the Cyclops' size ;
But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back,
Yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs
a can bear :
And, sith there's no justice in earth nor hell.
We wiU solicit heaven and move the gods 50
To send down Justice for to wreak our wrong.s.
Come, to tills gear. Yon are a good archer,
Marcus ; [He yioes them the a)Tows.
'Ad Jovem,' that's for you; here, 'Ad Apol-
linem ;'
'Ad Martem,' that's for myself:
Here, boy, to Pallas : here, to Mercury ;
To Saturn, Caius, not to Saturnine ;
You were as good to shoot against the wind.,
To it, boy 1 Marcus, loose when I bid.
Of my word, I have written to effect;
There's not a god left unsolicited. 60
Marc. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into
the court: i
We will afflict the emperor in his pride..
Tit. Now, masters, draw. [They shoot.] O,
well said, Lucius 1
Good boy, in Virgo's lap; give it Pallas.
Marc. My lord, I aim a mile beyond the
moon ;
Your letter is with Jupiter by this.
Tit. Ha, ha 1
Publius, d'ublius, what hast thou done ? ,
See, see, thou hast shot off one of Tauras'
horns.
. ffarc. This was the sport, my lord : when
Publius si 70
The Bull, being a.iA'd, gave Aries such a knock
That down fell both the Ram's horns in the
court;
And who should find them but the empress'
villain ?
She laugh'd, and told the Moor he should
not choose
But give them to his master for a present.
Tit. Why, there it goes; God give his lord¬
ship joy 1
Enter a Clown, with a basket, and two pigeons
in it.
News, news from heaven 1 Marcus, tlie post
is come.
Sirrah.what tidings ? have you any letters ?•
Shall I liave justice ? what says Jupiter ? . 79
Clo. O, the gibbet-maker l' he says that he
hath taken them down again, for the man
must not be hanged till the next week,
nt. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee ?
Clo, Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter ; I never
drank with him in all my life.
Tit. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier ?
Clo- Ay, of my pigeons, sir ; notliing else.
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
SCEKE IT.]
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
21
TO. Why,didst thou not come from heaven ?
Clo. From heaven I alas, sir, I never came
there; God forbid I should be so bold to
press to heaven in my young days. Why, I
am going with my pigeons to the tribunal
plebs, to take uj) a matter of brawl betwixt my
uncle and one of tlie emiwrial's men.
Marc. Why, sir, that is as fit as can be to
serve for your oration ; and let him deliver the
pigeons to the emperor from you.
Tit. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to
the emperor with a grace ?
Clo. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say
grace in all my life. 101
TO. Sirrali, come hither : make no more
ado.
But give your pigeons to the emperor :
By me thou shalt have justice at his hands.
Hold, hold ; meanwhile here's money for thy
charges.
Give me pen and ink. Sirrah, can you with a
snace deliver a supplication ?
Clo. Ay, sir.
TO. Then here is a supplication for you.
dnd when you come to him, at .the first ap¬
proach you must kneel, then Itiss his foot,
then deliver up your pigeons, and then look
for your reward. I'll be at hand, sir ; see you
do it bravely.
Clo. I warrant you, sir, let me alone.
Tit. Sirrah, hast thou a knife ? come, let
me see it.
Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration ;
For thou hast made it like an humble sup¬
pliant.
And when thou hast given it the emperor.
Knock at my door, and tell me what he says.
Clo. God be with you, sir ; I will. 120
Tit. Come, Marcus, let us go. Publius, fol¬
low me. [Exeunt.
ScEKE IV. Tlie same. Before the palace.
Enter Satubninits, Tamora, Demetrius,
Chiroji, Lords, and others; S.atubninus
vAth the arrows in his hand that Titus shot.
Sat. Why, lords, what wrongs are these 1
was ever seen
An emjieror in Rome thus overborne,
Troubled, confronted thus ; and, for the ex¬
tent
Of egal justice, used in such contempt ?
My lords, you know, as know the mightful
gods,
However these disturbers of our peace
Buz in the people's ears, there nought hath
pass'd.
But even with law, against the wilful sons
Of old Andronicus. And what an if
His sorrows have so overwhelm'd his wits, 10
Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks.
His fits, his frenzy, and his bitlemess ?
And noiv he writes to heaven for his redress :
See, here's to Jove, and this to Mercury ;
This to Apollo ; this to the god of war ;
Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome !
What*s this but libeUing against the senate.
And blazoning our injustice every where ?
A goodly humor, is it not, my lords ?
As who would say, in Rome no justice were. 20
But if I live, his feigned ecstasies
Shall be no shelter to tliese outrages :
But he and his shall know that justice lives
In Satuniinus' health, whom, if she sleep.
He'll so awake as she in fury shall
Cut off the proud'st conspirator that lives.
Turn. My gracious lord, my lovely Satiu
nine.
Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts
Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age,
The effects of sorrow for his valiant sons, 30
Whose loss hath pierced him deep and scarr'd
his heart;
And rather comfort his distressed plight
Thau prosecute the meanest or the best
For these contempts. [Aside] Why, thus it
shall become
High-witted Tamora to gloze with all :
But, Titus, I have touched thee to the quick.
Thy life-blood out: if Aaron now be wise.
Then is all safe, the anchor's in the port.
Enter Clown.
How now, good fellow I wouldst thou speak
, with us ?
Clo. Yea, forsooth, an your mistership be
emiierial. 40
Tarn. Empress I am, but yonder sits the
emperor.
Clo. "lis he. God and Saint Stephen give
you good den: I have brought you a letter and
a couple of iiigeons here.
[SaturnfnUs reads the letter.
Sat. Go, take him away, and hang him
presently.
Clo. How much money must I have ?
Tarn. Come, sirrah, you must be hauged.
Clo. Hanged! by'r lady, then I have
brought up a neck to a fair end.
[Exit,guardeel.
Sat. Despiteful and intolerable wrongs ! 50
Shall I endure this monstrous villany ?
I know from whence this same device pra-
ceeds :
May this be borne ?—as if his traitorous sons.
That died by law for murder of our brother.
Have by my means been butcher'd wronp
fully!
Go, drag the villain hither by the hair ;
Nor age nor honor shall shape privilege :
For this proud mock I'll be thy slaugniei-
man;
Sly frantic wretch, that holp'st to make me
great.
In hope thyself should govern Rome and me.
Enter AImilius.
What news with thee, .lEmilius ? 61
Jimil. Arm, arm, my lord ;—Rome never
had more cause.
The Goths have gather'd head ; and with •
power
Of high-resolved men, bent to the spoil.
a
They hither inarch amain, nnder conduct
Of Lucius, son to old Androuicus ;
Who threats, in course of tliis revenge, to do
As much as ever Coriolanus did.
Sat. Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths ?
These tidings nip me, and J hang the head 70
As flowers with frost or grass beat down with
storms:
Ay, now begin our sorrows to approach ;
Tis he the common people love so much ,
Myself hath often ov^heard them say,
When I have walked mce a private man.
That Lucius' banishment was wrongfully,
And they have wish'd that Lucius were their
emperor.
Tarn. Why should you fear ? is not your
city strong ?
Sat. Ay, but the citizens favor Lucius,
And will revolt from me to succor him. 80
Tarn. King, be thy thoughts imperious, like
thy name.
Is the sun dimm'd, that gnats do fly in it ?
Tlie eagle suffers little birds to sing.
And is not careful what they mean thereby.
Knowing that with the shadow of his wings
He can at pleasure stint their melody :
Even so mayst thou the giddy men of Rome.
Then cheer thy spirit: for know, thou em¬
peror,
I will enchant the old Andronicus
With words more sweet, and yet more dan¬
gerous, 90
Than baits to fish, or honey-stalks to sheep.
When as the one is wounded with the bait,
The other rotted with delicious feed.
Sat. But he will not entreat his son for us.
Tam. If Tamora entreat him, then he will:
For I can smooth and fill his aged ear
With golden promises ; that, were his heart
Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf.
Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue.
\To ./f'milius\ Go thou before, be our ambassa¬
dor ; 100
Say that the emperor requests a parley
Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting
Even at his father's house, the old Audron-
icus.
Sat. ./Emilins, do this message honorably ;
And if he stand on hostage for his safety,
Bid him demand what pledge will please him
best.
./Emil. Your bidding shall I do effectually.
[Exit.
Tam. Now will I to that old Andronicus,
and temper him with all the art I have.
To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths.
And now, sweet emperor, be blithe again, 111
And bury all thy fear in my devices.
Sat. Then go successantly, and plead to him.
lExeunt.
ACT V.
ScsatE I. Plains near Rome.
Enter Locins with an army of Goths, wiin
drum and coior^
[Act r.
Luc. Approved warriors, and my faithful
friends,
I have received letters from great Rome,_
Which signify what hate they bear their em¬
peror
And how desirous of our sight they are.
Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles wit¬
ness.
Imperious .and impatient of your wrongs,
And wherein Rome hath done you any scatli.
Let him make treble satisfaction.
First Goth. Brave slip, sprung from th
great Andronicus,
Whose name was once our terror, now oui
comfort; ' IC
Whose high exploits and honorable deeds
Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contemn^
Be bold in us : we'll follow where thou lead'st,
Like stinging bees in hottest summer's day
Led by their master to the flowered fields.
And IjIb avenged on cursed Tamora.
All the Goths. And as he saith, so say we
all with him.
Luc. I humbly thank him, and I thank you
all. .
But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth ?
Enter a Goth, leading Aabon taith his Child in
his arms.
Sec. Goth. Renowned Lucius, from oni
troops I stray'd 30
To gaze upon a ruinous monastery;
And^, as I earnestly did fix mine eye
Upon the wasted building, suddenly
I heard a child cry underneath a wall.
I made unto the noise; when soon I beard
The crying babe controll'd with this discourse ;
' Peace, tawny slave, half me and half thy dam I
Did not thy hue bewray whose brat thou art,
Had natui-e lent thee but thy mother's look,
Yillain, thou mightst have been an emperor:
But where the bull and cow are both milk-
white, 31
They never do beget a coal-black caU.
Peace, villain, peace 1 '—even thus he rates thfc
babe,—
' For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth;
Who, when he knows thou art the empress'
babe,
Will hold thee dearly for thy mother's sake.'
With this, my weapon drawn, I rush'd upon
him.
Surprised him suddenly, and brought him
hither.
To use as you think needful of the man.
Luc. O worthy Goth, this is the incarnate
devil ^
That lobb'd Andronicus of his good hand ;
This is the pearl that pleased your empress'
eye.
And here's the base fruit of his burning lust.
Say, wall-eyed slave, whither wouldst thou
convey
This growing image of thy fiend-like face ?
Why dost not spe^ ? what, deaf ? not a word?
A halter, soldiers t hang him on this tr^
rmrs andronicus.
Scene i.]
TITUS ANDBOmCUS.
23
Aud by his side his fruit of bastardy.
Aar. Touch not the boy: he is of roval
blood. 49
Luc. Too like the sire for ever being good.
First hang the child, that he may see it sprawl;
A sight to vex the father's soul withrd.
Get me a ladder.
{A ladder brought, which Aaron is
made to ascend.
Aar. Lucius, save the child,
And bear it from me to the empress.
If thou do this, I'll show thee wondrous things.
That highiy may advantage thee to hear:
If thou wiit not, befall what may befall,
I'll speak no more but' Vengeance rot you all!'
Luc. Say on: an if it please me which thou
speak'st.
Thy clmd shall live, and I will see it nour-
isb'd. 60
Aar. An if it please thee t why, assure thee,
Lucius,
Twill vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak ;
for I must talk of murders, rapes and mas¬
sacres.
Acts of black night, abominable deeds,
Compiots of mischief, treason, viiianies
Ruthful to hear, yet piteousiy perform'd :
And this shall all be buried by mj' death.
Unless thou swear to me my child .shall live.
Luc. Tell on thy mind; I say thy child
shall live.
Aar. Swear that he shall, and then I will
begin. 70
Luc. Who should I swear by ? thou be-
lievest no god:
That granted, how canst thou believe an oath ?
Aar. What if 1 do not 7 as, indeed, 1 do
not;
Yet, for 1 know thou art religious
And hast a thing witliin thee called conscience.
With twenty popish tricks and ceremonies.
Which I have seen thee careful to observe.
Therefore I urge thy oath ; for that I know
An idiot holds his bauble for a god
And keeps the oath which by that god he
swears, 80
To that I'll urge him : therefore thou shait vow
By that same god, what god soe'er it be.
That thou adorest and hast in reverence.
To save my boy, to nourish .and bring him up ,
Or else I will discover nought to thee.
Luc. Even by my god I swear to thee I
will.
Aar. First know thou, I begot him on the
empress.
Zt(c. O most insatiate and luxurious wo¬
man !
Aar. Tut, Lucius, this was but a deed of
charity
To that which thou shait hear of me anon. 90
'Twas her two sons that miirdeidd Bassianus;
They cut thy sister's tongue and ravish'd her
And cut her hands and trimm'd her as thou
"saw'sfc
Luc. 0 detestable villain I call'st thou that
trimming 7
Aar. Why, she was wash'd and cut and
trimm d, and 'twas
Trim sport for them that had the doing of it.
Luc. O barbarous, beastly villains, like
thyself !
Aar. Indeed, I was their tutor to instruct
them:
That codding spirit had they from their mother,
As sure a card as ever won the set; 100
That bloody mind, I tiiink, tiiey learn'd of nm.
As true a dog as ever fought at head.
Weil, let my deeds be witness of my worth.
I train'd thy brethren to that guileful hole
Where tlie dead corpse of Bassianus lay :
I wrote the letter that thy father found
And hid the gold within the letter mention'd.
Confederate with the queen and her two sous .
And what not done, that tiiou bast cause to rue,
Wherein I had no stroke of mischief in it? 110
I play'd the cheater for thy father's hand.
And, when I had it, drew myself apart
And almost broke my heart with extreme
laughter:
I pry'd me through the crevice of a wall
When, for his hand, he had his two sons'
iieads;
Beheld his tears, and langh'd so heartily.
That both mine eyes were rainy like to his ;
And when I told the empress of this sport, .
She swooned almost at ray pleasing tale.
And for my tidings gave me twenty kisses.
Birst Goth. What, canst thou say all this
and never blush 7 12.
Aar. Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is
Luc. Art thou not sorry for these lieinou;
deeds 7
Aar. Ay, that I had not done a thousand
more.
Even now I curse the day—and yet, I think.
Few come within the compass of my curse-^
Wherein I did not some notorious ill,
.As kill a man, or else devise his death,
Kavish a maid, or plot the way to do it.
Accuse souie innocent and forswear myseif.
Set deadly enmity between two friends, 131
tMake poor men's cattle break their necks ;
Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night.
And bid the owners quench them with their
tears.
Oft have I digg'd up dead men from theii
graves.
And set them upright at their dear friends'
doors.
Even when their sorrows almost were forgot;
And on their skins, as on the bark of trees.
Have with my knife carved in Roman lettei s,
*' Let not your sorrow die, though I am deiid.'
Tut, 1 iiave done a thousand dreadful things
As willingly as one would kill a fly.
And nothing grieves me heartily indeed
But that 1 cannot do ten thousand more.
Luc. Bring down the devil; for he must
not die
So sweet a death as hanging presently.
Aar. If there be devils, would I were a devil,
To live and bum in everlasting fire,
24
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
[Act v.
&•> 1 might have your company in hell, >
3'it to torment you with my bitter tongue 1150
Lue. Sirs, stop his mouth, and let him speak
no more.
Entur a Goth.
Third Goth. My lord, there is a messenger
from Kome
Desires to be admitted to your presence.
Lvx;. Let him come near.
Enter AJmilius.
Welcome, Aimilius: what's the news from
Rome ?
Jimil. Lord Lucius, and you princes of the
Goths,
The Roman emperor greets you all by me;
And, for he understands you are in arms.
He craves a parley at your father's house.
Willing you to demand vour hostages, 160
And they sliall be immediately deliver'd.
First Goth. What says our general ?
Lnc. jEmiliiis, let the emperor give his
pledges
Unto my father and my uncle Marcus,
And we wiU come. March away. [Exeunt.
Scene II. Uome. Before Titus's house.
Etiter Tamoka, Demetrius, and Chiron,
disguised.
Tarn. Thus, in this strange and sad nabili-
ment,
I will encounter with Andronicus,
And say I am Revenge, sent from below
To join with him and right his heinous wrongs.
Knock at his study, where, they say, he keejis.
To ruminate strange plots of dire revenge ;
Tell him Revenge is come to join with him.
And work confusion on his enemies.
[They knock.
^ Enter Titus, above.
Tit. Who doth molest my conteraiilatiou ?
Is it your trick to make me ope the door, 10
That so ray sad decrees may fly away.
And all my study be to no effect ?
You are deceived : for what I mean to do
See here in bloody lines I have set down ;
And what is written shall be executed.
Tam. Titus, I am come to talk with thee.
Tit. No, not a word ; how can I grace my
talk.
Wanting a hand to give it action ?
Thou hast the odds of me; therefore no more.
Tam. If thou didst know me, thou wouldest
talk with me. 20
Tit. I am not mad; I know thee well
enough :
Witne.ss this wretched stump, witness these
crimson hnes;
Witness tliese trenches made by grief and
care ;
Witness the tiring day and heavy niglrt;
Witness all sorrow, that 1 know thee well
For our proud empress, mighty Tamora :
Is not thy coming for my other hand 7
Tam. Know, thou sad man, I am notTa
mora;
She is thy enemy, and I thy friend ;
I am Revenge : sent from the infernal king¬
dom, 30
To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind,
By working wreakful vengeance on thy foes.
Come down, and welcome me to this world's
light;
Confer with me of murder and of de.ath :
There's not a hollow cave or lurking-place.
No vast obscurity or misty vale.
Where bloody murder or detested rape
Can couch for fear, but I will find them out ;
And in their ears tell them my dreadf ul name,
Revenge, which makes tlie foul offender quake.
Tit. Art thou Revenge 7 and art thou sent
to me, 41
To be a torment to mine enemies 7
Tam. I am ; therefore come down, and
welcome me.
Tit. Do me some service, ere 1 come to thee.
Lo, by thy side where Rape and Murder
stands ;
Now give me some surance that thou art Re¬
venge,
Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot-wheels •
And then I'll come and be thy waggoner.
And whirl along with thee about tlie globe.
Provide thee two proper iiaUreys, black as jet.
To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away, 51
And find out murderers in their guilty caves:
And when th.y car is loaden with their heads,
I will dismount, and by the waggon-wheel
Trot, like a servile footman, all day long.
Even from Hyperion's rising in the east
Until his very downfall in the sea :
And day by day I'll do this heavy task.
So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there.
Tam. These are my ministers, and come
with me. ■ 60
Tit. Are these thy ministers 7' what are
they call'd 7
Tam. Rapine and Murder; therefore called
so.
Cause they take vengeance of such kind of
men.
Tit. Good Lord, how like the empress'
sons they are 1
And you, the empress ! but we worldly men
Have miserable, mad, mistaking eyes.
0 sweet Revenge, now do I come to thee ;
And, if one arm's embracement will content
thee,
1 will embrace thee in it by and by.
[Exit above.
Tam. This closing with him fits his lunacy:
Whate'er I forge to feed his brain-sick fits, 71
Do you uphold and maintain in your speeches.
For now he firmly takes me for Revenge ;
And, being credulous in this mad thought,
I'll make him send for I.ucius his son ;
And, vvhil.st 1 at a banquet hold him sure,
rii find some cunning practice out of hand,
To scatter and disperse the giddy Goths,
Or, at the least, make them his enemies.
See. here he comes, and I must ply my
"heme. 80
Scene ii.]
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
25
Enter Titus below.
Tit. Long have I been forloi-u, and allfcn-
thee :
Welcome, dread Fury, to my woful house :
Rapine and Murder, you are welcome too.
How like the em[>iess and her sons you arc !
WeU are you fitted, had you but a Moor :
Could not all hell afford you such a devil ?
For well I wot the empress never wags
Bui m her company there is a Moor ;
And would you represent our queen aright,
It were convenient you had such a devil : 90
But welcome, as you are. What shall wo do?
Tarn. What wonldst thou have us. do,
Andronicus ?
Veni. Show me a murderer, I'll deal'with
him.
Chi. Show me a villain that hath done a
raxje.
And I am sent to be revenged on him.
Tarn. Show me a thousand that have done
thee wrong,
And I will be revenged on them all.
Tit. Look round about the wicked streets
of Rome ;
And when thou find'sta man that's like thy¬
self.
Good Murder, stab him ; he's a murderer. 100
Go thou with him ; and when it is thy hap
To find another that is like to thee,
Good Rapine, stab him ; he's a rar isher.
Go thou with them ; and in the emperor's
court
There is a queen, attended by a Moor ;
Well may.st thou know her" by thy own pro¬
portion.
For up and down she doth resemble thee :
I pray thee, do on them some violent death ;
They have been violent to me and mine.
Tarn. Well hast thou lesson'd us ; this
shall we do. 110
But would it please thee, good Andronicus,
To send for Lucius, thy thrice-valiant sou,
Who leads towards Rome a band of warlike
Goths,
And bid him come and banquet at thy house ;
When he is here, even at thy solemn feast,
1 will bring in the empress and her sons.
The emperor himself and all thy foes ;
And at thy mercy shalt they stoop and kneel.
And on them shalt thou ease thy angry heart.
What says Andronicus to this device ? 120
Tit. Marcus, ray brother ! 'tis sad Titus
calls.
Enter Marcus.
Go, gentle Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius ;
Thou shalt inquire him out among the Gotlis ;
Bid him repair to me, and bring with him
Some of the chiefest princes of^e Goths ;
Bid him encamp his soldiers where they are :
Tell him the emperor and the empress too
Feast at my house, and he shall feast with
them.
This do thou for my love ; and ,so let him.
As he regards his aged father's life. 13C
Marc. This will 1 do, and soon return'
again. [Exit.
Tarn. Now will I hence about thy business.
And take my ministers along with me.
Tit. Nay, nay, let Rape and Murder stay
with me ;
Or else I'll call my brother back again.
And {leave to no revenge but Lucius.
Tarn. [Aside to her sons] What say you,
boys ? will you bide with him.
Whiles I go tell my lord the emperor
How I have govern'd our determined jest ?
Yield to his humor, smooth and .speak him
fair, 140
And tarry with him till I turn again.
Til. [Aside] I know them all, though they
suppose me mad.
And will o'erreach them in their own devices :
A pair of cursed hell-hounds and their dam !
Dem. Madam, depart at pleasure ; leave
us here.
Tarn. Farewell, Andronicus : Revenge now
goes
To lay a complot to betray thy foes.
Tit. I know thou dost ; and, sweet Re¬
venge, farewell. [Exit Tamora.
Chi. TeU us, old man, how shall we be
employ'd ? 149
Tit. Tut, I have work enough for you to do.
Publius, come hither. Gains, and Valentine !
Enter Publius and others.
Pub. What is your will ?
Tit. Know you these two ?
Pub. The empre.ss' sons, I take them,
Chiron and Demetrius.
Tit. Fie, Publius, fie I thou art too much
deceived ;
The one is Murder, Rape is the other's name ;
And therefore bind them, gentle Publius. -
Cains and Valentine, lay hands on them.
Oft have you heard me wish for such an
hour, 1(10
And now I find it; therefore bind them sure.
And stop their mouths, if they begin to cry.
[Exit.
[Publius, etc. lay hold on Chiron and
Demetrius.
Chi. Villains, forbear! we are the em¬
press' sons.
Pub. And therefore do we what we are
commanded.
Stop close their mouths, let them not speak
a word.
Is he sure bound ? look that you bind them
fa.st.
Re-enter Titus, teith Lavinia ; he bcarinrj a
knife, and she a basin.
Tit. Come, come, Lavinia ; look, thy foes
are bound.
Sirs, stop their mouths, let them not speak
to me ;
But let them hear what fearful words I utter.
O villains. Chiron and Demetrius ! ■ ITO
Here stands the spring whom you have stain'd
with mud.
26
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
[Act v.
This goodly summer with your winter mix'd.
You kill'd her husband, and for that vile fault
Two of her brewers were condeniu'd to death,
My haud cut oft aud made a merry jest ;
Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that
more dear
Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity.
Inhuman traitors, you constrain'd and forced.
What would you say, if I should lef you
speak ? 179
V illains, for shame you could not beg for grace.
Hark, wretches I how 1 mean to martyr you.
This one hand yet is left to cut your throats.
Whilst that Lavinia 'tween her stumps doth
hold
The basin that receives your guilty blood.
Y'ou know your mother means to feast with
me,
Aud calls herself Revenge, and thinks me
mad :
Hark, villains ! 1 will grind yonr bones to dust
Aud with yonr blood and it I'll make a paste.
And of the paste a cofBn I will rear
And make two pasties of yonr shameful
heads, 19C
And bid that strumpet, your unhallow'd dam,
Like to the earth swallow her own increase.
This is the feast that I have bid her to,
Aud this the banquet she shall surfeit on ;
For worse than Philomel you used my
daughter.
And worse than Progne I will be revenged :
And now prepare your throats. Lavinia,
come, [He cuts their throats.
Receive the blood ; and when that they are
dead.
Let me go grind their bones to powder small
And with this hateful liquor temper it ; 200
And in that paste let their vtle heads be
baked.
Come, come, be every one officious
To make this banquet; which I wish may
prove
More stern and bloody than the Centaurs'
feast.
So, now bring them in, for I'll play the cook.
And see them ready 'gainst their mother
comes.
[Exeunt, hearing the dead bodies.
Scene HI. Court of Tittis's house. A
banquet sef out.
Enter Lucius, Marcus, and Goths, with
Aaron prisoner.
Luc. Uncle Marcus, since it is my father's
mind
That I repair to Rome, I am content.
First Goth. And ours with thine, befall
what fortune will.
Luc. Good uncle, take you in this bar.
barons Moor,
This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil ;
Let him receive no sustenance, fetter him.
Till he be brought unto the empress' face.
For testimony of her foul proceedings :
And see the ambush of our friends be strong;
I fear the emperor means no good to us. 10
Aar. Some devil whisper curses in mine
ear, [forth
And prompt me, that my tongue may utter
The venomous malice of my swelling heart!
Luc. Away, inhuman dog! unhallow'd
slave !
Sirs, help our uncle to convey him in.
[Exeunt Goths, with Aaron. Flourish within.
The trumpets show the emperor is at hand.
Enter Saturninus and Tamora, with Mmir-
lus. Tribunes, Senators, and others.
Sat. What, hath the firmament more suns
- than one ?
Luc. What boots it thee to call thyself a
Sim ?
Marc. Rome's emperor, and nephew, break
the parle ;
These quarrels must be quietly debated. 20
The feast is ready, which the careful Titus
Hath ordain'd to an honorable end.
For peace, for love, for league, and good to
Rome :
Please you, therefore, draw nigh, and take
your places.
Sat. Marcus, we will.
[Hautboys sound. The Company sit doicn
at table.
Enter Titus dressed like a Cook, Lavinia
veiled, young Lucius, and others. Titus
places tile dishes on the table.
Tit. Welcome, my gracious lord ; welcome,
dread queen ;
Welcome, ye warlike Goths ; welcome,
Lucius ;
And welcome, all: although the cheer be
poor,
'Twill fill your stomachs ; please you eaf of it.
Sat. Why art thou thus attired, Andron-
icus ? 30
Tit. Because I would be sure to have ail
well,
To entertain your highness and your empress.
Tarn. We are beholding to you, good An-
drouicus.
Tit. An if yonr highness knew my heart,
you were.
My lord the emperor, resolve me this :
Was it'weU done of rash Virginius
To slay his daughter with his own right hand,
Because she was enforced, stain'd, and de¬
flower'd ?
Sat. It was, Andronicus.
Tit. Your reason, mighty lord ? 40
Sat. Because the girl should not survive
her shame.
And by her presence still renew his sorrows.
Tit. A reason mighty, strong, and effect¬
ual ;
A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant.
For me, most wretched, to perform the like.
Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee ;
[Kilts Lavinia.
And, with thy shame, thy father's sorrow die t
Scene hi.]
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
Sat. What hast thou done, unnatural and
unkind ?
Tit. KlU'd her, for whom my tears have
made me blind.
I am as woful as Yirginius was, 50
And have a thousand times more cause than
he
To do this outrage : and it now is done.
Sat. What, was she ravish'd ? tell who did
the deed.
Tit. Wiirt please you eat ? will't please
your highuess feed ?
Tarn. Why hast thou slain thine -only
daughter thus ?
JVf. Not I ; 'twas Chiroh and Demetrius :
fhey ravish'd her, and cut away her tongue ;
And they, 'twas they, that did her all this
wrong.
Sat. Go fetch them hither to us presently.
Tit. Why, there they are both, baked in
that pie.|-^ 60
Whereof their mother daintily hath fed.
Eating the flesh tliat she herself hath bred.
'Tis true, 'tis true ; witness my knife's sharp
point [Kills Tatnora.
. Sat. Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed
deed ! [KiUs Titus.
Luc. Can the son's eye behold his father
bleed ?
There's meed for meed, death for a deadly
deed!
[Kills Satuminus.\ A great tumult.
Lucius, Marcus, and others go
up into the balcony.
Marc. You sad-faced men, people and sous
of Rome,
, By uproar sever'd,like a flight of fowl
S^tter'd by winds and high tempestuous
O, let me teach you how to knit again 70
Tills scatter'd corn into one mutual sheaf.
These broken limbs again into one body ;
Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself.
And she whom mighty kingdoms court'sy to.
Like a forlorn and desperate castaway.
Do shameful execution on herself.
But if my frosty signs and chaps of age.
Grave witnesses of true experience.
Cannot induce you to attend my words,
[To Lucius] Speak, Rome's dear friend, as
erst our ancestor, 80
When with his solemn tongue he did discourse
To love-sick Dido's sad attending ear
The story of that baleful burning night
When subtle Greeks surprised King Priam's
Troy,
Tell us what Sinon hath bewitch'd our ears.
Or who hath brought the fatal engine in
That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil
wound. 0
My heart is not compact of flint nor steel;
Nor can I utter all our bitter grief.
But floods of tears will drown my oratory, 90
And break my utterance, even in the time
When it should move you to attend me most,
Lendii^ your kind commiseration.
Here is a captain, let him tell the tale ;
Your hearts wUl throb and weep to hear him
Luc. Then, noble auditory, be it known to
you.
That cursed Chiron and Demetrius
Were they that murdered our emperor's
brother ;
And they it were that ravished onr sister :
For their fell faults our brothei-s vere be¬
headed ; 100
Our father's tears despised, and basely cozeu'd
Of that true hand that fought Rome's quarrel
out.
And sent her enemies unto the grave.
Lastly, myself unkindly 'oanished.
The gates shut on me, jind tum'd weeping out.
To beg relief among Rome's enemies ;
Who drown'd their enmity in my true tears.
And oped their arms to embrace me as a
friend.
I am the turned forth, be it known to you.
That have preserved her welfare in my blood;
And from her bosom took the enemy's point.
Sheathing the steel in my adventurous body.
Alas, you know I am no vaunter, I;
My scars can witness, dumb although they are.
That my report is just and full of truth.
But, soft! methinks I do digress too much.
Citing my worthless praise : O, pardon me ;
For when no friends are by, men praise them¬
selves.
Marc. Now is my turn to speak. Behold
this child :
[Pointing to the Child in the arms of
an Attendant.
Of this was Tamora delivered ; 120
The issue of an irreligious Moor,
Chief architect and plotter of these woes :
'The villain is alive in Titus' house,
+And as he is, to witne.ss this is true.
Now judge what cause had Titus to revenge
These wrongs, unspeakable, past patience.
Or more than any living man could bear.
Now you have heard the truth, what say you,
Romans ?
Have we done aught amiss,—show us where¬
in.
And, from the place where yon behold us
now, 130
The poor remainder of Andronici
WUl, hand in hand, aU headlong cast us
down.
And on the ragged stones beat forth our
brains.
And make a mutual closure of our house.
Speak, Romans, speak ; and if you say we
shaU,
Lo, hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall.
JSmil. Come, come, thou reverend man of
Rome,
And bring our emperor gently in thy hand,
Lucius our emperor ; for well I know
The common voice do cry it shall be so. 140
All. Lucius, all hail, Rome's royal empe¬
ror I
■28
TITUS ANDROmCUS.
[Act v.
Marc. Go, go into old Titus' sorrowful
house, [To Attendants.
And hither hale that misbelieviug Moor,
To be adjudged some direful slaughtering
death,
As punishment for his most wicked life.
[Exeunt Attendants.
Lucius, Makcus, and the others descend.
All. Lucius, all haU, Rome's gracious gover¬
nor !
Luc. Thanks, gentle Romans : may I
govern so,
To heal Rome's harms, and wipe away her
woe!
But, gentle people, give me aim awhile.
For nature puts me to a heavy task : 150
Stand all aloof : but, uncle, draw you near.
To slied obsequious tears upon this trunk.
O, take tlris warm kiss on thy pale cold lips,
[ir/ss/n.^ Titus.
These sorrowful drops upon thy blood-staiu'd
face.
The last true duties of thy noble son !
Marc. Tear for tear, and loving kiss for
kiss.
Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips ;
O, were the sum of these that I should pay
Countless and infiuite, yet would I pay them !
Luc. Come hither, boy ; come, come, and
learn of us 1(10
To melt in showers : thy grandsire loved thee
well :
Many a time he danced thee on his knee.
Sung thee asleep, his loviug breast thy pillow :
Many a matter hath he told to thee,
Meet and agreeing with thine infancy ;
In that lespect, then, like a loving child.
Shed yet some small drops from thy tender
spring,
Because kind nature doth require it so .
Friends should associate friends in grief and
woe: 169
Bid him farewell; commit him to the grave ;
Do him that kindness, and take leave of him.
Young Luc. O grandsire, grandsire ! even
with all my heart
Would I were dead, so you did live again !
0 Lord, I cannot speak to iiiui for weejiing ;
My tears will choke me, if I ope my mouth.
Re-enter Attendants with Aaron.
AEm. Vou sad Andronici, have done with
woes :
Give sentence on this execrable wretch,
Tliat hath been breeder of these dire event.---.
Luc. Set him breast-deep in earth, and
famish him ;
There let him stand, and rave, and cry for
food ; 180
If any one relieves or pities him.
For tlie offence he dies. This is our doom :
Some stay to see him fasten'd in the eartli.
Aar. 0, wliy sliould wrath be mute, and
fury dumb ?
1 am no baby, I, that with base prat-ers
I should repeui, the evils 1 have done :
Ten thousand worse than ever yet i did
Would 1 perform, if 1 might have my wiU ;
If one good deed in all my life 1 did,
I do repent it from my very soul. 190
Luc. Some loiiug friends convey the em¬
peror hence.
And give him burial in his father's grave :
My father and Lavinia shall forthwith
Be closed in our household's monument.
As for that heinous tiger, Tamoia,
No funeral rite, nor man in mouvning weeds,
No mournful bell shall ring her bnriiU ;
But throw her forth to beasts and birds of
prey :
Her life was beast-like, and devoid of pity ;
And, being so, shall have like want of pity.
See justice done on Aaron, that damn'd Moor,
By whom our heavy haps had their beginning .
Then, afterwards, to order well the state,
Thatlikeeventsmayne'eritiuiuate. [ExeunL
KING HENET VI. PAET I.
(WKITTEN ABOUT 1590-91.
lETRODUCTIOK.
Tliis is almost certainly an old play, by one or more authors, which, as we find it in the First
Folio, had received touches from the hand of Shakespeare. lu Henslowe's diary a Jlcurtj VI. is said
to have been acted March 3,1591-9li. It was extremely popular. Nash, in hi.s I'icrce Painiltsse (1592),
alludes to the triumph on the sta^^e of "brave Talbot" over the Fi*enoh. But we have no reason
for assuming that the play which we possess was that inentioncd by Ilenslowe, or alluded toby
Nash. Greene had, perhaps, a chief hand in the play, and he may have been assisted by Peele and
Marlowe. There is a general agreement among critics in attributing to Shakespeare the scene
(Act U. Sc. IV.) in which the white and red roses are iducked as e'Tiblems of the rival parties in
the state ; perhaps the scene of the wooing of Margaret by Suffolk (Act V., sc. III., T.». 45. and on-
wards\ if not written by Shakesjieare was touched by him. The general spirit of the drama be¬
longs to an older school than the Shakespearean, " and it is a happiness," says Prof. Dowden, "not
to have to ascribe to our greatest poet the crude and hateful handling of the character of Joan of
Arc, excused though to some extent it may be by the concurrence of view in our old English
chronicles."
DRAMATIS PERSONiE.
King Henry the Sixth.
Dgne of Gloucester, uncle to the King, and
Protector.
Duke of Bedford, uncle to the Kuig, and
Regent of France.
Thomas Beaufort, Duke of Exeter, great-
uncle to the King.
Henry Beaufort, great-uncle to the King,
Bishop of Winchester, and afterwards
Cardin.al.
rohn Beaufort, Earl, afterwards Duke, of
Somerset.
Richard puantagen^it, son of Richard late
Earl of Cambridge, afterwards Duke
of York.
Earl of Warwick.
Earl of Salisbury.
Earl of Suffolk.
Lord Talbot, afterwards Earl of Shrews-
hury.
John Talbot, his son.
Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March,
Sir John F-istolfb.
Sir William Lucy. #
Sir William Glansdalb.
Sir Thomas Gargravb.
Mayor of Loudon.
WooBYiLE, Lieutenant of the Tower.
Vernon, of the White-Rose or Y'ork faction.
Basset, of tlie Red-Rose or Lancaster faction.
A Lawyer. Mortimer's Iveepers.
Charles, Dauphin, and afterwards King, of
France.
Reignieh, Dulie of Anjou, and titular King
of Naples.
Duke of Burgundy.
Duke of Alenijon.
Bastard of Orleans,
Governor of Paris.
Master-Gunner of Orleans, and his Sou.
General of tlie French forces in Bourdeaux.
A French Sergeant. A Porter.
An old Sheplierd, father to Joan la Puoelle.
Margaret, daughter to Reignier, afterwards
married to Iving Henry.
Countess of Auvergne.
J0.4.N LA PucELLE, coiumonly called Joau of
Arc.
Lords, Warders of the Tower, Heralds, Offi¬
cers, Soldiers, Messengers, and Attend¬
ants. .
Fiends appearing to La Puoelle.
Scene : Partly in England, and partly in
France.
80
KING HENRY VI. PART I.
|ACT I
ACT I.
Scene I. Westminster Abbey.
Dead March. Enter the Funeral of King
Henry the Fifth, attended on by the Duke
of Bedford, Regent of France; the Duke
of Gloucester, Protector; the Duke of
Exeter, the Earl of Warwick, the Bish¬
op of Winchester, Heralds, &c.
Bed. Hung be the heavens with black,
yield day to night !
Comets, importing change of times and states,
Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky,
And with them scourge the bad revolting stars
That have consented unto Henry's death !
King Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long !
England ne'er lost a king of so much worth.
Olou. England ne'er had a king until his
time.
Virtue he had, deserving to command :
His brandish'd sword did blijid men with his
beams : 10
His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings ;
His sparking eyes, replete with wrathful fire.
More dazzled and drove back his enemies
Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their
faces.
What should I say ? his deeds exceed all
speech :
He ne'er lift up his hand but conquered.
Exe. We mourn in black: why mourn we
not in blood 1
Henry is dead and never shaU revive :
Upon a wooden coffin we attend.
And death's dishonorable victory 20
We with our stately presence glorify,
Like captives bound to a triumphant car.
What! shall we curse the planets of mishap
That plotted thus our glory's overthrow ?
Or shall we think the subtle-witted French
Conjurers and sorcerers, that afraid of him
By magic verses have contrived his end ?
Win. He was a king bless'd of the King
of kings.
Unto the French the dreadful judgemenbday
So dreadful will not be as was his sight. 30
The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought :
The church's prayers made him so prosperous.
Glou. The church ! where is it? Had not
churchmen pray'd.
His thread of life had not so soon decay'd :
None do you like but an effeminate prince.
Whom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe.
Win. Gloucester, whate'er we like, thou
art protector
And lookest to command the prince and
realm.
Thy wife is proud ; she holdeth thee in awe.
More than God or religious churchmen may.40
Glou. Name not religion, for thou lovest
the flesh.
And ne'er throughout the year to church thou
go'st
Except it be to pray against thy foes.
Bed. Cease, cease these jars and rest your
minds in peace:
Let's to the altar : heralds, wait on us :
Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms :
Since arms avail not now that Heniy's dead.
Posterity, awa:t for wretched yeai-s.
When at their mothers' moist eyes babes shall
suck,
Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears, 50
And none but women left to wail the dead.
Henry the Fifth, thy ghost I invocate :
Prosper this realm, keep it from civd broils.
Combat with adverse planets in the heavens !
A far more glorious star thy soul will make
Than Julius Caesar or bright
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. My honorable lords, health to you
aU!
Sad tidings bring I to you out of France,
Of loss, of slaughter and discomfiture :
Guienne, Champagne, Rheims, Orleans, 60
Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost.
Bed. What say'st thou, man, before dead
Henry's corse ?
Speak softly, or the loss of those great towns
Will make' him burst his lead and rise from
death.
Glou. Is Paris lost ? is Rouen yielded up ?
If Henry were recall'd to life again.
These news would cause him once more yield
theghost
Exe. How were they lost ? what treachery
was used ?
Mess. No treachery ; but want of men and
money.
Amongst the soldiers this is muttered, 70
That here you maintain several factions.
And whilst a field should be dispatch'd and
fought.
You are disputing of your generals :
One would have lingering wars with little cost;
Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings ;
A third thinks, without expense at all.
By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd
Awake, awake, English nobility !
Let not sloth dim your honors new-begot:
Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms ;
Of England's coat one half is cut away. 81
Exe. Were our tears wanting to this funeral.
These tidings would call forth their flowing
tides.
Bed. Me they concern ; Regent I am of
France.
Give me my steeled coat. I'll fight for France.
Away with these disgraceful wailing robes !
Wounds will I lend the French instead of
eyes.
To weep their intermissive miseries.
Enter to them another Messenger.
Mess. Lords, view these letters full of bad
mischance.
France is revolted from the English quite, 04
Except some petty towns of no import:
The Dauphin Charles is crowned king of
Rheims;
The Bastard of Orleans with him i» '<om'd ;
KING HENRY VI. PART I.
31
Scene ii.]
Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part;
The Duke of Aleu(;oii flieth to his side.
Exc. The Dauphin crowned king! ail fly
to him!
0, whither shall we fly from this reproach ?
Glou. We will not fly, but to our enemies'
throats.
Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out
Bed. Gloucester, why doubt'st thou of my
forwardness ? 1(X)
An army have I muster'd in my thoughts.
Wherewith already France is overrun.
Enter another Messenger
Mess. My gracious lords, to add to your
laments.
Wherewith you now bedew King Henry's
hearse,
I must inform you of a dismal fight
Betwixt the stout Lord Talbot and the French.
Win.- What ! wherein Talbot overcame ?
is't so ?
Mess. O, no; wherein Lord Talbot was
o'erthrown r
The circumstance I'll tell you more at large.
The tenth of August host this dreadful lord.
Retiring from the siege of Orleans, 111
Having full scarce six tliousand in liis troop.
By three and twenty thousand of the French
Was round encompassed and set upon.
Ko leisure had he to enrank his men ;
He wanted pikes to set before his archers ;
Instead whereof sharp stakes pluck'd out of
hedges
They pitched in the ground confusedly.
To keep the horsemen off from breaking in.
More than three hours the fight continued ;
Where valiant Talbot above human thought
Enacted wonders with his sword and lance :
Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst
stand him ;
Here, there, and every where, enraged he flew :
The French exclaim'd, tiie devil was in .arms ;
Ail the whole army stood agazed on him ;
His soldiers spying his undaunted spirit
A Talbot ! a Talbot! cried out amain
And rush'd into the bowels of the battle.
Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up.
If Sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the cow¬
ard : 131
He, being in the vaward, placed behind
With purpose to relieve and follow them.
Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke.
Hence grew the general wreck and massacre ;
Enclosed were they with their enemies :
A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace.
Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back.
Whom all France with their' chief assembled
strength
Durst not presume to look once in the face.
Bed. Is Talbot slain ? thyi I will slay my¬
self, 141
For living idly here in pomp and ease.
Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid.
Unto his dastard foemen is betray'd.
Mess. O no, he lives ; but is took prisoner.
And Lord Scales with him and Lord Hunger-
ford :
Most of the rest slaughter'd or took likewise.
Bed. His ransom there is none but 1 shall
pay :
I'll hale the Dauphin headlong from bis
throne: 149
His crown shall be the ransom of my friend ;
Four of their lords I'll change for one of ours.
Farewell, my masters ; to my task will I;
Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make.
To keep our great Saint George's feast withal:
Ten thousand soldiers with me I wiU take.
Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe
quake.
Mess., So you had need ; for Orleans is be¬
sieged
The Engiish army is grown weak and faint;
The Earl of Salisbury craveth supply.
And hardly keeps his men from mutiny, 160
Since they, so few, watch such a multitude.
Exe.' Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry
sworn.
Either to quell the Dauphin utterly.
Or bring him in obedience to your yoke.
Bed. I do remember it; and here take my
leave.
To go about my preparation. [Exit.
Glou. I'll to the Tower with all the haste I
can.
To view the artillery and munition ;
And then I will proclaim young Henry kirm.
[Exit.
Exe. To Eltham will I, where the young
king is, 170
Being ordain'd his special governor,
And for his safety there I'll best devise. [Exit.
Win. Each hath his place and function to
attend :
I am left out; for me nothing remains.
But long I will not be Jack out of oflice :
The king from Eltham I intend to steal
And sit at chiefest stern of public weal.
[Exj:unt.
Scene 11. France. Before Orleans.
Sound a flourish. Enter Charles, Albnijon,
and Reignier, marching with drum and
Soldiers.
Clmr. Mars his true moving, even as in the
heavens
So in the earth, to this day is not known :
Late did he shine upon tiie English side ;
Now we are victors ; upon us he smiles.
What towns of any moment but we have ?
At iileasure here we lie near Orleans ;
Otherwhiles the faraish'd English, like pale
ghosts.
Faintly besiege us one hour in a month.
Alen. 'They want their porridge and their
fat bull-beeves :
Either they must be dieted lilce mules 10
And have their provender tied to their mouths
Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice.
Beig. Let's raise the siege: whyliveweidly
here ?
33
KING HENRY VI. PART I.
[Ac9 1>
Talbot is taken, wbom we wont to fear :
Remainetb none but mad-brain'd Salisbury;
And jae may well in (retting spend his gall,
Nor men nor money hath.be to make war.
Char. Sound, sound alarum ! we will rush
on them.
Now for the honor of the forlorn French !
Him I forgive my death that killeth me 20
When he sees me go back one foot or fly.
lEreunt.
Here 'alarum; they are beaten bach by the
Enylish with great loss. Re-enta' Charles,
Al'enqor, md Reignier.
Char. Who ever saw the like ? what men
have I!
Dogs ! cowards ! dastards ! I wotild ne'er
have fled,
But that they left me 'midst my enemies.
Rcig. Salisbury is a desperate homicide ;
Ho fighteth as one weary of his life.
The other lords, like lions wanting food.
Do rush upon us as their hungry prey.
Alen. Froissart, a countryman of ours, re¬
cords,
England all Olivers and Rowlands bred, 30
During the time Edward the Third did reign.
More truly now may this be verified ;
For none but Samsons and Goliases
It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten !
Lean, raw-boned rascals ! who t\ould e'er
suppose
They had sucli courage and audacity ?
Cluir. Let's leave this town ; for they are
hare-brain'd slaves.
And hunger will enforce them to be more
eager:
Of old I know them ; rather with their teeth
.lire walls they'll te;ir down than forsake the
siege. 40
Reig. I tliink, by some odd gimmors or
device
Their arms are set like clocks, still to strike on ;
Else ne'er could they hold out so as they do.
By my consent, we'il oven let them alone.
Alen. Be it so.
Enter the Bastard of Orleans.
East, Where's the Prince Dauxihin ? J
have news for him.
Char. Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome
to us.
Bast. Methinks your looks are sad, your
cheer appall'd :
Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence?
Be not dismay'd, for succor is at hand : 50
A holy maid hither with me I bring,
Which by a vision sent to her from heaven
Ordained is to raise this tedious siege
And drive the English forth the bounds of
France.
The spirit of deep prrophecy she hath.
Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome ;
What's past and what's to come she can ■
descry.
Speak, shall I call her in ? Believe my words, !
For they are certain and unfallible.
Char. Go, call her in. [Exit Baslard.1 But
finst, to try her skill, 60
Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin In my place :
Question herproudly ; lettliy looks be stem :
By this means shali we sound what skiU she
hath.
Re-enter the B.^stard of Orleans, with Joan
La Pctcelle.
Reig. Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these
wondrous feats 1
Puc. Reignier, is't thou that tliiukest t<
beguile me ?
Where is tlie Dauphin ? Come, come koti,
behind ;
I know thee well, though never seen before.
Be not amazed, there's nothing hid from me :
In i>rivate will I talk with thee ajiart.
Stand back, you lords, and give us leave
at^hile. 70
Reig. She takes upon her bravely at first
dash.
Puc. Daupihin, I am by birth a shepherd's
daughter.
My wit untraiu'd in any kind of ai t.
Heaven and our Lady gracious hath it pleased
To shine on my contemxitible e.state :
Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs,
And to suu's parcliihg heat display'd my
cheeks,
God's mother deigned to appear to me
And in a vision full of majesty
Will'd me to leave my base vocation 8fl
And free my country from calamity :
Her aid she piromiscd and assured success :
In complete glory she reveal'd herself ;
And, whereas I was black and swart before.
With those clear rays which she infused on me
That beauty am I bless'd with which you see.
Ask me what question thou canst possible.
And I will answer unpremeditated ;
My courage try by combat, if thou darest.
And thou sbalt find that I exceed my se.x. 00
Resolve on this, thou shalt be fortiuiate.
If thou receive me for thy warlike mate.
Char. Thou hast astonish'd me with thy
high terms ;
Only this proof I'll of thy valor make.
In single combat thou shalt buckle with me.
And if thou vanquishest, thy words are true ;
Otherwise I renounce all confidence.
Puc. I am prepared : here is my keen-edget
sword,
Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side ,
The which at Touraine, in Saint Katharine's
churchyard, 100
Out of a great deal of old iron I chose forth.
Char. Then come, o' God's name ; I fearnc!
woman.
Puc. And while I live, Fll ne'er fly from a
jn;.n.
[^Ilere theyjight, and Joan La Pvcelle
overcomes.
Cha^ Stay, stay thy hands ! thou art ht
Amazon
Scene iiij
KING HENRY VI. PART L
And fightest with the sword oi Deborah.
Puc. Christ's mother helps me, else I were
too weak.
Char. Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that
must help me ;
Impatiently I burn with thy desire ;
My heart and hands thou hast at once sub¬
dued.
Excellent Pucelle, i£ thy name be so, 110
l.et me thy servant and not sovereign be :
r s >16 French Eauphin sueth to thee thus.
"10. I must not yield to any rites of love,
E'o. my profession's sacred from above :
'o'hen I have chased all thy foes from hence,
'I'hen will X think upon a recompense.
Char. Meantime look gracious on thy pros¬
trate thrall. '
Reig. My lord, methinks, is very long in
talk.
Alen. Doubtless he shrives this woman to
her smock ;
Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech.
Reig. Shall we disturb him, since he keeps
no mean-? ■ 1:11
Alen. He may mean more than we poor
men do know :
These women are shrewd tempters with their
tongues. [yinor?
Reig. My lord, where are you ? what devise
Shall we give over Orleans, or no ?
Puc. Why, no, I say, di.stri'.stful recreants !
Fight till the last gasp ; I will be your guard.
Char. What she says I'll confirm : we'll
fight it out.
Puc. Assign'd am I to be the English
scourge.
This night tlie siege assuredly I'll raise : 130
Expect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days.
Since I have entered into these wars.
Glory is Hire a circle in the water.
Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself
Till by broad spreading it dis| erse to nought.
With Henry's death tlie English circle ends ;
Dispersed are the glories it included.
Now am I like that proud insulting ship
Which Oae.sar and his fortune bare at once.
Char. Was Mahomet inspired with a dove ?
Thou with an eagle art inspired then. 141
Helen, the mother of great Constantine,
Nor yet Saint Philip's daughters, were like
thee.
Bright atar of Venus, fall'n down on the earth.
How may I reverently Avorsh.p thee enough ?
Alen. Leave off delays, and let us raise the
siege.
Peig. WOman, do whaj; thou canst to save
our honors ;
Brive them from Orleans and beimmortjilized.
Char. Presently we'll try ■ come, let's away
about it:
Ho x>rophet wiU I trust, if shejjrove false. 150
{Exeunt.
Scene HI London. Before the Tower.
Enter the Duke op Gloucestkk, with his
Serving-men i/t hlue coats.
Glou. I am come to survey the Tower this
day :
Since Henry's death, I fear, there is convey¬
ance.
Where be these warders, that they wait not
here ?
Ojien the gates ; 'tis Gloucester that calls.
First Warder. [WiJiin'] Who's there that
knocks so imperionsly ?
First Serv. It is the noble Duke of Glou¬
cester.
Second Warder. [Within] Whoe'er he bt
you may not be let in.
First Serv. Villains, answer you so the Ion.
protector ?
First Warder. [ Withiri] The Lord protect
him I so we answer him :
We do no otherwise than we are will'd. 10
Glou. Who willed you ? or whose wiU
stands but mine ?
There's none protector of the realm but I.
Break up the gates, I'll be your warrantize :
Shall I be flouted thus by aunghill grooms ?
[Gloucester's men rush at the Tower Gates, and
WoodFle the Lieutenant speaks tvithin.
Woodv. What noise is this ? what traitors
have we here ?
Glou. Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I
hear ?
Open the gates ; here's Gloucester that would
enter.
Woodv. Have patience, noble duke ; I may
not open ;
The Cardinal of Winchester forbids :
From him I have exi)ress commandment 20
That thou nor none of thine shall be let in.
Glou. ITaint-hearted Woodvile, prizest him
'fore me ?
Arrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate.
Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could
brook ?
Thou art no friend to God or to the king :
Open the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly.
Serving-men. Open the gates unto the lord
protector.
Or we'll burst them open, if that you come no'
quickly.
Enter to the Protector at the Tower GatesW'''sc
chester and his men in tawny coa
Win. How now, ambitious Humidiry!
what means this ?
Glou. Peel'd priest, do.stthou command .u"..!
to be shut out ? dt,
I do, thou most usurping prodit,.-
And not protector, of the king or realm.
Glou. Stand back, tliou manifest conspir¬
ator.
Thou that contrivedst to murder our dead
lord ;
Thou that givest whores indulgences to sin :
I'll canvass thee in thy broad cardinal's hiit.
If thou proceed in this thy insolence.
Win. Nay, stand thou back ; I will not
budge a foot :
This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain,
a
34
KING HENRY VI. PART I.
[Act i
To slay thy brother Abel, it thou wilt. 40
Glou. 1 will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee
back :
Thy scarlet robes as a child's bearing-cloth
I'll use to carry thee out of this place.
Win. Do what thou darest; I beard thee to,
thy face.
Glou. What! am I dared and bearded to my
face ?
Draw, men, for all this privileged place ;
Blue coats to tawny coats. Priest, beware your
beard ;
I mean to tug it and to cuff you soundly :
Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat :
In spite of pope or dignities of church, 50
Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down.
Win. Gloucester, thou wilt answer this be¬
fore the pope.
Glou. Winchester goose, I cry, a rope ! a
rope !
Now beat them hence ; why do you let them
stay ?
Thee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's
array.
Out, tawny coats ! out, scarlet hypocrite!
Here Gloucester's men beat out Vie Cardinal's
men, and enter in the hurly-burly the Mayor
of London and his Officers.
May. Fie, lords ! that you, being supreme
magistrates.
Thus contumeliously should break the peace !
Glou. Peace, mayor ! thou know'st little of
my wrongs :
Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor
king, 60
Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use.
Win. Here's Gloucester, a foe to citizens,
One that still motions war and never peace,
O'ercharging your free purses with large fines.
That seeks to overthrow religion,
Because he is protector of the realm.
And would have armor here out of the Tower,
To crown himself kmg and suppress the prince.
Glou. I will not answer thee with words,
but blows. \Here they skirmish ayain.
May. Naught rests for me in this tumult¬
ous strife 70
But to make open proclamation :
Gome, officer ; as loud as e'er thou canst,
Cry.
Of. All manner of men assembled here
in arms this day against God's peace and the
king's, we charge and command you, in his
highness' name, to repair to your several
dwelling-places ; and not to wear, handle, or
use any sword, weapon, or dagger, hence¬
forward, upon pain of. death.
Glou. Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law :
But we shall meet, and break our minds at
large.
Win. GloucestM*, we will meet; to thy cost,
be sure :
Thy heart-blood I will have for this day's
work.
May. I'll call for clubs,, if you will not away
This cardinal's more haughty than the devil.
Glou. Mayor, farewell: thou dost but what
thou mayst.
Win. Abominable Gloucester, guard thy
head ;
For I intend to have it ere long.
[Exeunt, severally, Gloucester and Win¬
chester with their Serviny-men.
May. See the coast clear'd, and then we
will depart.
Good God, these nobles should such stomachs
bear! 0
I myself fight not once in forty year.
[Exeunt.
Scene IV. Orleans.
Enter, on the walls, a Master Gunner and
his Boy.
M. Gun. Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans
is besieged.
And how the English have the suburbs won.
Boy. Father, I know ; and oft have shot at
them,
Howe'er unfortunate I miss'd my aim.
M. Gun. But now thou shalt not. Be thou
ruled by me :
Chief master.gunner am I of this town ;
Something I must do to procure me grace.
The prince's espials have informed me ■
How the English, in the suburbs close in-
trench'd,
■\Vont, through a secret grate of iron bars 10
In yonder tower, to overpeer the city,
And thence discover how with most advantage
They may vex us with shot, or with assault.
To intercept this inconvenience,
A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have placed ;
And even these three days have I watch'd.
If I could see them.
Now do thou watch, fprlcan stay no longer.
If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word ;
And thou shalt find me at the governor's.
[Exit.
Boy. Father, I warrant you ; take you no
care ;
m never trouble you, if I may spy them.
[Exit.
Enter, on the turrets, the Lords Sausburv
and Talbot, Sib William Glansdalb,
Sir Thomas Gargrave, and others.
Sal. Talbot, my life, my joy, again re¬
turn'd !
How wert thou handled being prisoner ?
Or by what means got'st thou to be released 1
Discourse, I prithee, on this turret's top.
Tal. The Diike of Bedford had a prisoner
Call'd the brave Lord Ponton de Santrailles ;
For him was I exchanged and ransomed.
But with a baser man of arms by far 30
Once in contempt they would have barter'd me;
Which I, disdaining,scorn'd; and craved death.
Rather than I would be so vile esteem'd_.
In fine, redeera'd I was as I desired, [heart,
But, O ! the treacherous Fa.stolfe wounds my
Whom with my bare fists I would execute.
Scene v.]
KING HENRY
VT. PARTI.
31-
If I now had him brought into my power.
Sal. Yet toll'st thou not how thou wert en¬
tertain'd.
Tal. With scoffs and scorns and contume¬
lious taunts.
Tn open market-place produced tliey me, 40
To V)e a public sv^tacle to all;
Here, said they, is the terror of the French,
The scarecrow tlmt affrights our children so.
Then broke I from the offlcers that led me.
And with my nails digg'd stones out of the
ground,
Tq hurl at the beholders of my shame :
My grisly coimtenance made others fly ;
None durst come near for fear of sudden death.
In iron walls they deem'dme nut secure ;
So great fear of my name 'mongst them was
spread, 50
That they supposed I could rend bars of steel.
And spurn in pieces posts of adamant:
Wherefore a guard of chosen shot 1 had,
That walked about me every minute-while ;
And if I did but stir out of my bed.
Ready they were to shoot me to the heart.
Enter the Boy ivith a linstock.
Sal. I grieve to hear what torments you
endured.
But we will be revenged suflftciently.
Now it is supper-time in Orleans :
Here, through this grate, I count each one 60
And view the Frenchmen how tliey fortify :
Let us look in ; the sight will much delight
thee.
Sir Thomas Gargrave, and Sir William Glaus-
dale,
Let me have your express opinions
Where is best place to make our battery next.
Gar. I think, at the north gate : for there
stand lords.
Glan. And I, here, at the bulwark of the
bridge.
Tal. For aught I see, this city must be fara-
ish'd.
Or with light skirmishes enfeebled.
[Here they shoot. Salisbury and Gargrave
fall.
Sal. O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched
sinners! 70
Gar. O Lord, nave mercy on me, woful
man !
Tal. What chance is this that suddenly
hath cross'd us ?
Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst
speak :
How farest thou, mirror of all martial men ?
One of thy eyes and thy cheek's side struck off !
Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand
That hath contrived this woful tragedy!
In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame ;
Henry the Fifth he first train'd to the wars ;
Whilst any trump did souu9, or drum struck
up, 80
His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field.
Yet livest thou, Salisbury ? (hough thy speech
doth fail,
One eye thou hast, to look to heaven for
grace:
The sun with one eye vieweth all the world.
Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive.
If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands !
Bear hence his body ; I will help to bury it.
Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life ?
Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him.
Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with tliis comfort;
Thou shalt not die whiles— 91
He beckons with his hand and smiles on me,
As who should say 'When I am dead and
gone,
Remember to avenge me on the French.'
Plantageuet, I will; and like thee, Nero,
Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn ;
Wretched shall France be only in my name.
[Here an alarum, and it thunders and lightens
What stir is this ? what tumult's in the
heavens ?
Whence coraeth this alarum and the noise ?
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. My lord, ray lord, the French have
gathered head : 100
The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd,
A holy prophetess new risen up.
Is come with a great power to raise the siege.
[Here Salisbury lifteth himself up and groans.
Tal. Hear, heat how dying Salisbury
doth groan !
It irks his heart he cannot be revenged.
Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you :
Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish.
Your hearts I'U stamp out with my horse's
heels.
And make a quagmire of your mingled brains.
Convey me Salisbury into his tent, 110
And then we'll try what these dastard Frenohj
men dare. [Alarum, Exeunt.
Scene V. The same.
Here an alarum again: and Talbot pnrsu-
eth the Dauphin, and drioeth him: then
enter Joan La Pucelle, driving English¬
men before her, and exit after them; then re¬
enter Talbot.
Tal. Where is my strength, my valor, and
my force ?
Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them ;
A woman clad in armor chaseth them.
Re-enter La Pucelle.
Here, here she comes. I'U have a bout with
thee ;
Devil or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee :
Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch.
And straightway give thy soul to him thou
servest.
Fuc. Come, come, 'tis only I that must dis¬
grace thee. [Here they fight.
Tal. Heavens, can you suffer hell so to pre¬
vail ?
My breast I'U burst with straming of my cour¬
age It*
And from my shoulders crack my arms asun
der.
36
KING HENRY
VI. PART I.
[Act II.
But 1 will chastise this high-minded strumpet
[They Jiyht ai/ain.
Puc. Taibot, farewell ; thy hour is not j'et
come :
1 must go victual Orleans forthwith.
[A short alanim; then enter the town with
soldiers.
O'ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn tliy
strength.
Go, go, cheer up thy hungry-starved men ;
Help Salisbury to make his testament:
This day is ours, as many more shall be.
[Exit.
Tal. My thoughts are whirled like a potter's
wheel ;
I know not where I am, nor what I do ; 20
A witch, by fear, not force, like Hannibal,
Drives back our troops and conquers as she
lists :
So bees with smoke and doves with noisome
stench
Are from their hives and houses driven away.
They call'd us for our fierceness English dogs ;
Now, like to whelps, we crying run away.
short alarum.
Hark, countrymen ! either renew the fight,
Or tear the lions out of England's coat;
Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead :
Sheep run not half so treacherous from tiie
wolf, 30
Or horse or oxen from the leopard.
As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves.
[Alarum. Here another skirmish.
It will not be : retire into your trenches :
You all consented unto Salisbury's death.
For none would strike a stroke in his revenge.
Piioelle is enter'd into Orleans,
In spite of us or aught that we could do.
O, would I were to die with Salisbury !
'The shame hereof will make me hide my head.
[Exit Talbot. Alarum; retreat; flourish.
Scene VI. The same.
Enter, on the walls, La Pucelee, Chables,
Reignieb, Aeenijon, and Soldiers.
Puc. Advance our waving colors on the
walls ;
Rescued is Orleans from the English:
Thus Joan laPueelle hath perform'd her word.
Char. Divinest creature, Astrasa's daughter.
How shaU I honor thee for this success ?
Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens
That one day bloom'd and fruitful were the
next.
France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess !
Recover'<J is the town of Orleans:
More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state. 10
Reig. Why ring not out the bells aloud
throughout the town ?
Dauphin, command the citizens make bon¬
fires
And feast and banquet in the open streets.
To celebrate the joy that God hath given us.
Alen. All France will be replete with mirth
and joy.
When they shall hear iiow we have play'd
tlie men.
Char. 'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day
is won ;
For which I will divide my crown with her.
And ail the priests and friars in my realm
Shall in procession sing her endless praise. 20
A statelier pyramis to ner I'ii rear
Than Rliodoiie's or Memphis' ever was:
In memory of her when she is dead.
Her ashes, in an urn more precious
Thau the ricb-jewel'd coffer of Darius,
Transported shaU be at high festivals
Before the kings and queens of France.
No longer on Saint Denis will we cry.
But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's samt.
Come in, and let ns banquet royally, 30
After this golden day of victory.
[Flourish. Exeunt.
ACT n.
Scene I. Before Orleans.
Enter a Sergeant of a hand with two Sentinels.
Serg. Sirs, take your places and be vigilant;
If any noise or soldier you perceive
Near to the walls, by some apparent sign
Let US have knowledge at the court of guard.
First Sent. Sergeant, you shaU. [Exit
Sergeant.] Thus are poor servitors.
When others sleep upon their quiet beds.
Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain and
cold.
Enter Talbot, Bedford, Bdbgdndy, and
forces, with scaling-ladders, their drums beat-
ing a dead march.
Tal. Lord Regent, and redoubted Bur¬
gundy,
By whose approach the regions of Artois,
WaUon and Picardy are friends to us, 10
This happy night the Frenchmen are secure.
Having aii day caroused and banqueted :
Embrace we then this opportunity
As fitting best to quittance their deceit
Contrived by art and baleful sorcery.
Bed. Coward of France ! how much he
wrongs his fame.
Despairing of his own arm's fortitude.
To join with witches and the help of hell !
Bur. Traitors have never other company.
But what's that Pucelle whom they term so
pure ? 20
Ted. A maid, they say.
Bed. A maid ! and be so martial!
Bur. Pray God she prove not masculine
ere long.
If underneath the standard of the French
She carry armor as she hath begun.
Tal. Well, let them practise and converse
with spirits :
God is our fortress, in whose conquering
name
Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.
Scene li.]
KING HENRY \J. PART I.
87
Bed. Ascend, brave Talbot ; we will fol¬
low thee.
Tal. Not all together : better far, I guess,
Tliat we do make our entrance several ways; 30
Tliat, if it chance the one of us do fail.
The other yet may rise against their force.
Bed. Agreed ; I'll to yoml corner.
. Bur. And I to this.
Tal. And here will Talbot mount, or make
his grave.
Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right
Of English Henry, shall this night aimear
How much in duty I am bound to both.
Sent. Arm ! arm ! the enemy doth make
assault!
[Cry: 'St. George,' 'A Talbot.'
The French leap over the walls in their shirts.
Enter, severahrays, Bastard of Orleans,
ALEN(,ON,andRBiGNiEB, half ready, andhalf
■unready.
Aleii. How now, my lords ! what, all un¬
ready so ?
Bast. Unready! ay, and glad we 'scaped
so well. ' 40
Reig. 'Twas time, I trow, to wake and
leave our beds.
Hearing alarums at our chamber-doors.
Alen. Of all exijloits since first I follow'd
arms,
Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprise
More venturous or desperate than this.
Bast. I think this Talbot be a' fiend of hell.
\Reig. If not of hell, tlie heavens, sure,
favor him.
Alen. Here cometh Charles : I marvel how
he sped.
Bast. Tut, holy Joan was his defensive
guard.
Enter Charles and La Pucellb.
Char. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful
dame ? 50
Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal.
Make us partakers of a little gain.
That now our loss might be ten times so much ?
Puc. Wherefore is Charles impatient with
his friend I
At all times will you have my power alike ?
Sleepmg or waking must I still prevail.
Or will you blame and lay the fault on me?
Improvident soldiers ! had your watch been
good,
This sudden mischief never could have fall'n.
Char. Duke of Alenijon, this was your de¬
fault, 00
That, being captain of the watch tomight,
Did look no better to tbat weighty charge.
Alen. Had all your quarters been as safely
kept
As that whereof I had the government.
We had not been thus shamefuBy surprised.
Bast. Mine was secure.
Reig. And so was mine, my lord.
1 ClMr. And, for myself, most part of all this
night.
Within her quarter and mine own precinct
I was employ'd in passing to and fro,
About relieving of the sentinels: 70
Then how or whicli way should they first
break in ? [case,
. Puc. Question, my lords, no further of the
How or which way : 'tis sure they found
some place [made.
But weakly guarded, where the breach was
And now there rests no other shift but this ;
To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dis¬
persed.
And lay new platforms to endamage them.
Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying 'A
Talbot ! a Talbot!' They fly, leaving their
clothes behind.
Sold. I'll be so bold to take what they
have left.
The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword ;
For I have loaden me with many spoils, 80
Using no other weapon but his name. [Exit.
Scene II. Orleans. Within the town.
Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, a
Captain, and oth&'s.
Bed. The day begins to break, and night
is fled.
Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth.
Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit.
[Retreat sounded.
Tal. Briug forth the body of old Salisbury,
And here advance it in the raar'ket-place.
The middle centre of this cursed towri.
Now have I paid my vow unto his soul;
For every drop of blood was drawn from liiin.
There hath at least five Frenchmen died to¬
night. . '
And that hereafter a^es may behold 10
What ruin happen'd m revenge of him.
Within their chiefest temple I'll erect
A tomb,wherein his corpse shall be interr'd ;
Upon the which, that every one may read.
Shall be engraved the sack of Orleans,
'fhe treacherous manner of his mournful death
And what a terror he had been to France.
But, lords, in all our bloody massacre,
I muse we met not with the Dauphin's grace,
His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc,
Nor any of his false confederates. 21
Bed. 'Tis thought. Lord Talbot, when the
fight began.
Roused on the sudden from their drowsy beds.
They did amongst the troops of armed men
Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field.
Bur. Myself, as far as I could well discern
For smoke and dusky vapors of the night,
Am sure I scared the Dauphin and his trull,
When arm in arm they both came swiftly
running.
Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves 30
Tliat could not live asunder day or night.
After that things are set in order here.
We'll follow them with all the power we have
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. All hail, my lords! Which of thi»
princely train
88 KING HENRY
Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts
So much applauded through the realm of
France 1
Tal. Here is the Talbot: who would speak
with him ?
Mess. The virtuous lady, Countess of
Auvergne,
With modesty admiring thy renown.
By me entreats, great lord, thou wouldst
vouchsafe 40
To visit her poor castle where she lies.
That she may boast she hath beheld the man
Whose glorjr fills the world with loud report.
Bur. Is it even so ? Nay, then, I see our
wars
Will turn unto a peaceful comic sport,
When ladies crave to be encounter'd with.
You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit.
TaJ. Ne'er trust me then ; for when a
world of men
Could not prevail with all their oratory.
Yet hath a woman's kindness over-ruled : 50
And therefore tell her I return great thanks.
And in submission will attend on her.
WUl not your honors bear me company ?
Bed. No, truly; it is more than manners
will:
And I have heard it said, unbidden guests
Are often welcomest when they are gone.
Ted. Well then, alone, since there's no
remedy,
I mean to prove this lady's courtesy.
Come hither, captain, t Whispers.] You per¬
ceive my mind ?
Capt. I do, my lord, and mean accord¬
ingly. ^ lExeunt. 60
Scene III. Auvergne. The Countess's
castle.
Enter the Countess and her Porter.
Count. Porter, remember what I gave in
charge ;
And when you have done so, bring the keys
to me.
Port. Madam, I will. [Exit.
Count. The plot is laid : if all things fall
out right,
I shall as famous be by this exploit
As Scj^hian Tomyris by Cyrus' death.
Great is the rumor of this dreadful knight,
And his achievements of no less account:
Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine
ears.
To give their censure of these rare reports. 10
Enter Messenger and Talbot.
Mess. Madam,
According as your ladyship desired,
By message craved, so is Lord Talbot come.
Count. And he is welcome. What! is this
the man ?
Mess. Madam, it is.
Count. Is this the scourge of France ?
Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad
That with his name the mothers still their
babes 1
n. PART I [ACT 1..
I see report is fabulous and false ■.
I thought I should have seen some Hercules,
A second Hector, for bis grim aspect, 2C
And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs.
Alas, this is f child, a silly dwaiT !
It cannot be this weak and writhled shrimp
Should strike such terror to his enemies.
Tal. Madam, I have been bold to troubla.
you;
But since your ladyship is not at leisure,
I'll sort some other time to vfeit you.
Count. What means he now ? Go ask bin?
whither he goes.
Mess. Stay, my Lord Talbot; for my lady
craves
To know the cause of your abrupt departure.
Ted. Marry, for that she's in a wrong be-
Uef, 31
I go to certify her Talbot's here.
Re-enter Porter with keys.
Count. If thou be he, then art thou pris¬
oner.
Ted. Prisoner ! to whom ?
Count. To me, blood-thirsty lord ;
And for that cause I trained thee to my house.
Long time thy shadow hath been thrali to me.
For m my gallery thy picture hangs :
But now the substance shall endure the like.
And I wiU chain these legs and arms of thine,
That hast by tyranny these many years 40
Wasted our country, slain our citizens
And sent our sons and husbands captivate.
Tal. Ha, ha, ha !
Count. Laughest thou, wretch ? thy mirth
shall turn, to moan.
Tal. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond
To think that you have aught but Talbot's
shadow
Whereon to practise your severity.
Count. Why, art not thou the man ?
Tal. I am indeed.
Count. Then have I substance too.
Tal. No, no, I am but shadow of myself ; 50
You are deceived, my substance is not here ;
For what you see is but the smallest part
And least proportion of humanity :
I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here.
It is of such a spacious lofty pitch.
Your roof were not sufflcieiit to contain't.
Count. This is a riddling merchant for the
nonce ;
He will be here, and yet he is not here :
How can these contrarieties agree ?
Tal. That wiU I show you presently. 60
[Winds his horn. Drums strike up: a
peed of ordnance. Enter soldieis.
How say you, madam ? are you now persuaded
That Talbot is but shadow of himself ?
These are his substance, sinews, arms and
strength,
With which he yoketh your rebellious necks.
Razeth your cities and subverts your towns
And in a moment makes them desolate.
Count. Victorious Talbot 1 pardon mg
abuse :
Scene KING HENRY
VL PART I.
t.
39
I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited
And more than may be gather'd by thy shape.
Let ray presumption not piovoke thy wrath ; 70
Tor I am sorry that with reverence
I did not entertaiu thee^ thou art
Ted. Be not dismay'd, fair lady ; nor mis¬
construe
The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake
The outward composition of his body.
What you have done hath not offended me ;
Nor other satisfaction do I crave, "
But only, with your patience, tliat we may
Taste of your wine and see what cates you
have ;
For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well.
Cowni. With all my heart, and think me
honored 81
To feast so great a warrior in my house.
\ExeuiU.
Scene TV. London. The Temple-garden.
Enter the Earls of Somerset, Suffolk, and
Warwick ; Richard Plantagenet, Ver¬
non, and another Lawyer.
Plan. Great lords and gentlemen, what
means this silence ?
Dare no man answer in a case of truth ?
Suf. Within the Temple-hall we were too
loud ;
The garden here is more convenient
. Plan. Then say at once if 1 maintain'd the
truth;
Or else was wrangling Somerset in the error ?
Suf. Faith, I have been a truant in the law.
And never yet could frame my will to it;
And therefore frame the law unto my will.
Som. Judge you, my Lord of Warwick,
then, between us. 10
War. Between two hawks, which flies the
higher pitch ;
Between two dogs, which hath the deeper
mouth ;
Between two blades, which bears the better
temper:
Between two horses, which doth bear him
best;
Between two girls, which hath the merriest
eye ;
£ have perhaps some fallow spirit of judge¬
ment ;
But in these nice sharp quillets of the law.
Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw.
Plan. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbear¬
ance :
The truth appears so naked on my side 20
That any purblind eye may find it out.
Som. And on my side it is so well appar-
ell'd.
So clear, so shining and so evident
That it will glimmer tlirough a blind man's eye.
Plan. Since you are tongueitied and so
loath to speak.
In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts :
Let him that is a true-born gentleman
And stands upon the honor of his birth.
If he suppose that I have pleaded truth,
From off this brier pluck a white rose with me.
Som. Let him that is no coward nor no
flatterer, 3]
But dare maintain the party of the truth.
Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me.
War. I love no colors, and without all
color
Of base insinuating flattery
I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet.
Suf. I pluck this red rose with young Som¬
erset
And say withal I think he held the right.
Ver. Stay, lords and gentlemen, and pluck
no more.
Till you conclude that he upon whose side 40
The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree '
Shall yield the oUier in the right opinion.
Sorn. Good Master Vernon, it is well ob¬
jected :
If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence.
Plan. And I. •
Ver. Then for the truth and plainness of
the ease,
I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here,
Giving my verdict on the white rose side.
Som. Prick not your finger as you pluck it
off.
Lest bleeding you do paint the white rose red
And fall on my side so, against your wilL 51
Ver. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed,
Opinion shall be suigeon to my hurt
And keep me on the side where still I am.
Som. Well, well, come on : who else ?
Law. Unless my study and my books be
false.
The argument yon held was wrong in you :
[To Somerset^
In sign whereof I pluck a white rose too.
Plan. Now, Somerset, where is your ar¬
gument ?
Som. Here in my scabbard, meditating that
Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red. 61
Plan. Meantime your cheeks do counter¬
feit our roses ;
For pale they look with fear, as witnessing
The truth on our side.
Som. No, Plantagenet,
'Tis not for tear but anger that thy cheeks
Blush for pure shame to counterfeit our roses.
And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error.
Plan. Hath not thy rose a canker, Som¬
erset ? [genet I
Som. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Planta-
Plan. Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain
his truth ; 70
Whiles thy consuming canker eats his false¬
hood.
Som. Well, I'll find friends to wear my
bleeding roses.
That shall maintain what I have said is true.
Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen.
Plan. Now, by this maiden blossom in my
hand,
I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy.
Si/f. Turn not thy scorns this way, Plan¬
tagenet.
KING HENRY
X
VL PART 1.
[Act u
Plan. Frond Pole, I will, and scorn both
him and tiiee.'
Suf. I'll turn my part thereof into tiiy
throat 7'J
Som. Away, away, good William de la Pole !
We grace the yeoman by conversing v.'ith him
War. Kow, by God s will, thou wrong'st
him, Somerset;
His grandfather was Lionel Duke of Clarence,
Third son to the tliird Edwai'd King of Eng¬
land :
Spring crestlpss yeomen from so deep a root ?
Plan. He bears him on the place's privilege.
Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus.
Horn. By him that made me, I'll mamtain
my words
On any plot of ground in Christendoir.
Was not thy father, Kichard Earl of Cam¬
bridge, 1)0
For treason executed in our late king's days ?
And, by his treason, stand'st not thou attiiinted.
Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry ?
His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood ;
And, till thou be restored, thou art a yeoman.
Plan. My father was attached, not atfciinted.
Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor ;
And that I'll prove on better men than Som¬
erset,
Were growing time once lipen'd to my will.
For your partaker Pole and you yourself, 100
I'll note yon in my book of memory.
To scourge you for this apprehension :
Look to it well and say you are well wam'd.
Rom. Ah, thou shalt fiiid us ready for thee
still;
.\nd know us by these colors for thy foes.
For the.se my friends m spite of thee shall wear.
Plan. And, by my soul, this pale and an¬
gry rose.
As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate,
Will I for ever and my faction wear.
Until it wither with nie to my grave 110
Or flourish to the height of my degree.
Suf. Go forward and be choked with thy
ambition 1
And so farewell until I meet thee next. [Exit.
Som. Have with thee, Pole. Farewell,
ambitious Richard. [Exit.
Plan. How I am braved and must per¬
force endure it!
War. .This blot that they object against
your house
Shall be wiped out in the next parliament
Calid for the truce of Winchester and Glou¬
cester ;
And if thou be not then created York,
I will not live to be accounted Warwick. T20
Meantime, in signal of my love to thee.
Against proud Somerset and William Pole,
Will I upon thy party wear this rose :
And here I prophesy ; this brawl to-day.
Grown to this faction in the Temple-garden,
Shall send between the red rose and the white
A thousand souls to death and deadly night.
Plan. Good Master Vernon, I am bound tc
you,
That you on my behalf would pluck a flower.
Ver. In your behalf still will I wear the
same. 13)2
Law. And so will I.
Plan. Thanks, gentle sir.
Come, let us four to dinner ■ I dare say
This quarrel will drink blood another day.
[Exeitni,.
Scene V. Tlie Tower of London.
Enter Moktimek, broiii/ht in a chair, and
Gaolers.
Mar. Kind keepers of my weak decayiuc
age.
Let dying Mortimer here rest himself.
Even like a man new haled from tue rack.
So fare my limbs with long imprisonment;
And chese grey locks, the pursuivants of death,
Nestor-like aged in an age of care.
Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer.
These eyes, like lamps whose wastuig oil is
spent.
Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent;
Weak shoulders, overborne with burtheiung
grief, 10
And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine
That droops his sairless branches to the ground;
Yet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is
numb.
Unable to support this lump of clay.
Swift-winged with desire to get a grave.
As Avitting I no other comfort have.
But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come ?
Ei0-st Gaol. Richard Plantagenet, my lord,
will come :
We sent unto the Temple, unto his chamber ;
And answer was return'd that he will come 20
Mor. Enough : mv soul shall then be satis¬
fied. ,
Poor gentleman ! his wrong doth equal mine.
Since Henry Monmouth first began to reigu,
Before whose glory I was great in arms, '
This loathsome sequestration have I had :
And even since then hath Richard been ob¬
scured,
Deprived of honor and iuherifcince.
But now the arbitrator of desjiairs.
Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries.
With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me
hence: 30
I would his troubles likewise were expired,
That so he might recover what was lost
Enter llicaARD PlantAjEnet
First Gaol. Jly lord, yo'-r loving nephew
now is come.
Mcr. Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he
come ?
Plan. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly used.
Your nephew, late despised Richard, come.s.
Mor. Direct mine arms I may embrace his
neck.
And in his bosom spend my latter gasp :
G, tell me when my lips do touch his cheeks,
T'uatmay kindly give one faintuig kiss. 40
And now declare, sweet stem from York's great
stocli^
Scene i.J
KING HENRY VI. PART I.
41
Why didst thou say, of late thou wert despised ?
Plan, first, leau thiue aged back against
mine arm;
And, in that ease, I'll tell thee my disease.
'Diis day, in argument upon a case,
Some words tliere grew 'twixt Somerset and
me;
Among which terms he used his lavish tongue
And did upbraid me with my father's death :
Which obloquy set bars before my tongue,
Else with the like I had requited him. 50
Therefore, good uncle, for my father's sake,
In honor of a true Plantageuet
And for alliance sake, declare the cause
My father, Earl of Cambridge, lost his head,
Mor. That cause, fair nephew, that im-
prison'd me
And hath detain'd me all my flowering youth
Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine.
Was cursed instrument of his decease.
Plan. Discover more at large what cause
that was.
For I am ignorant and cannot guess. 60
Mor. I will, if that my fading breath permit
And death approach not ere my tale be done.
Henry tlie Fourth, grandfather to this king,
Deposed.his nephew Richard, Edward's son.
The first-begotten and the lawful heir
Of Edward king, the third of that descent
During whose reign the Percies of the north,
Finding his usurjiation most unjust,
Endeavor'd my advancement to the throne :
The reason moved these warlike lords to
this 70
Was, for that—young King Richard thus re¬
moved,
Leaving no heir begotten of his body—
I was the next by birth and parentage ;
For by my mother I derived am
From Lionel Duke of Clarence, the third son
To King Edward the Third ; whereas he
From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree.
Being but fourth of that heroic line.
But mark : as in this haughty great attempt
They labored to plant the rightful heir, 80
I lost my liberty and they their lives.
Loug after this, when Henry the Fifth,
Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, did reign.
Thy father. Earl of Cambridge, then derived
From famous Edmund Laugley, Duke of York,
Marrying my sister that thy mother was,
Agaiii ill pity of my hard distress
Levied an army, weening to redeem
And have inistall'd me in the diadem :
But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl 90
And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers,
In whom the title rested, were siqiprese'd.
Plan. Oi which, my lord, your honor is
the last.
Mor. True ; and thou seest that I no issue
have •
.\ud that my fainting words do warrant death ;
Thou art my heir ; the rest I wish thee gather :
But yet be wary in thy studious care.
Plan. Thy grave admonishments prevail
with me :
But yet, methinks, my father's execution
Was nothing less than bloody tyranny. 100
Mor. With silence, nephew, be thou politic :
Strong-fixed is the house of Lancaster,
And like a mountain, not to be remoi ed.
But now thy uncle is removing hence :
As princes do their courts, when they are cloy'd
With long continuance in a settled place.
Plan. O, uncle, would some part of my
young years
Might but redeem the passage of your age !
Mor. Thou dost then wrong me, as tha.
slaughterer doth ICS
Which giveth many wounds when one will kil-
Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good ;
Only give order lor my funeral :
And so farewell, and fair be all thy hopes
And iirosperous be thy life in peace and war ;
[Dies.
Plan. And peace, no war, befall thy part
ing soul!
In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage
And like a hermit overpa.«s'd thy days.
Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast ;
And what I do imagine let that rest.
Keepers, convey him hence, and I myself 120
Will see his burial better than his life.
{Exeunt Gaolers, hearing out the body
of Mortimer.
Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer,
Choked with ambition of the meaner sort:
And for those wrongs, those bitter injuries,
Which Somerset hath offer'd to my house,
I doubt not but with honor to redress ;
And therefore haste I to the parliament.
Either to be restored to my blood.
Or make my ill the advantage of my good.
[Exit.
ACT in.
Scene I. London. The Parliament-house.
Flourish. Enter King, 1 .'xkter, Glouobsteb,
Warwick, Somersei", and Suffolk ; the
Bishop of Winche.ster, Richard Plan-
tagbnet, and others. Gloucester ogerr
to put up a bill; Winchester snatches it,
and tears it.
Win. Comest thou with deep premeditated
lines.
With written pamphlets studiously devised,
Humphrey of Gloucester ? If thou canst ac¬
cuse.
Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge.
Do it without invention, suddenly ;
As I with sudden and extemporal speech
Purpose to answer what thou canst object.
Glou. Presumptuous priest! this place com¬
mands my patience.
Or theshouldst find thou hast dishonor'd me.
Think not, although in writing 7 preferr'd 10
The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes,
I That therefore I have forged, or am not able
42
KING HENRY VI. PART I.
[ACT III.
Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen :
No, prelate ; such Isthy audacious wickedness,
Thy lewd, pestiferous and disseutious pranks,
As very infants prattle of thy pride.
Thou art a most pernicious usurer.
Forward by nature, enemy to peace ;
Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems
A man of thy profession and degree; 20
And for thy treachery, what's more manifest ?
In that thou laid'st a trap to take im life.
As well at Loudon bridge as at tile "Tower.
Beside, 1 fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted.
The king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt
From envious malice of thy swelling heart.
Win. Gloucester, I do defy thee. Lords,
vouchsafe
To give me hearing what I shall reply.
If 1 were covetous, ambitious or perverse.
As he will have me, how am 1 so poor ? 30
Or how haps it I seek not to advance
Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling ?
And for dissension, who preferretii peace
More than 1 do ?—except 1 be provoked.
No, my good lords, it is not that offends ;
It is not that that hath incensed the duke :
It is, because no one .should sway but he ;
No one but he should be about the king ;
And that engenders thunder in his breast
And makes him roar these accusations forth.40
But he shall know 1 am as good—
Glou. As good !
Thou bastard of my grandfather !
Win. Ay, lordly sir; for what are you, I
pray,
But one imperious in another's throne ?
Gloic. Am I not protector, saucy priest ?
Win. And am not I a prelate of thechurch ?
Glou. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps
And useth it to irati-ouage his theft.
Win. Unreverent Gloster'
Glmi. Thou art reverent.
Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life.50
Win. Rome shall remedy this.
War. Roam thither, then.
Som. My lord, it were your duty to forbear.
War. Ay, see the bishop be not overborne.
Som,. Methinks my lord should be religious
And know the olTiee that beIong;s to such.
War. Methinks his lordship should be
humbler ;
!t fitteth not a prelate so to plead.
,S'om. Yes, when his holy state is touch'd
so near.
War. State holy or unhallow'd, what of
that ?
Is not his grace protector to the king ? GO
Plan. [Asid^ Plantagenet, I see, must hold
his tongue.
Lest it be said 'Speak, sirrah, when you
should ;
Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords?'
Else would I have a fling at Winchester.
King. Uncles of Gloucester and of Winches¬
ter,
The special watchmen of our English weal,
I would prevail, if prayers might prevail.
To join your hearts in love and amity.
O. what a scandal is it to our crown,
Tnat two such noble peers as ye should jar 170
Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell
Civil dissension is a viperous worm
That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth
[A noise within, 'Down with the tawny-
coats I'
What tumult's this ?
War. An uproar, I dare warrant-
Begun through malice of the bishop's men.
[A noise again, ' Stones ! stones
Enter Mayor.
Matj. O, my good lords, and virtuous Henry
Pity the city of London, pity us 1
The bishop and the Duke of Gloucester's men.
Forbidden late to carry any weapon.
Have fill'd their pockets full of pebble stones tf
And banding themselves in contrary parts
Do pelt so fast at one another's pate
That many have their giddy brains knock'd
out:
Our windows are broke down in every street
And we for fear compell'd to shut our shops.
Enter Serving-men, in skirmish, with hloody
pates.
King. We charge you, on allegiance to
ourself.
To hold your slaughtering hands and keep the
peace.
Pray, uncle Gloucester, mitigate this strife.
Eirst Serv. Nay, if we be forbidden stones.
We'll fall to it with our teeth. 90
See. Serf. Do what ye dare, we are as
resolute. [Skirmish again-
Glou. You of my household, leave this
peevish broU
And set this unaccustom'd fight aside.
Third Sem. My lord, we know your grace
to be a man
Just and upright; and, for your royal birth.
Inferior to none but to his majesty :
And ere that we will suffer such a prince.
So kind a father of the commonweal,
"To be disgraced by an inkhom mate, 99
We and our wives and children all will fight
And have our bodies slaughtered by thy foes.
First Sem. Ay, and the very parings of
our nails
Shall pitch a field when we are dead.
[Begin again.
Glou. Stay, stay, I say t
And if you love me, as you say you do.
Let me persuade you to forbear awhile.
King. O, how this discord doth afflict my
soul!
Can you, my Lord of Winchester, behold
My sighs and tears and will not once relent 7
Who should be jjitiful, if you be not ?
Or who should .study to prefer a peace, 110
If holy churchmen take deli,ght in broils ?
War. Yield, my lord protector ; yield, Win¬
chester ;
Except you mean with obstinate repulse
To slay your sovereign and destroy the realm.
Scene ii.]
KING HENRY VI. PART I.
43
You see what mischief and what murder too
Hath been enacted through your enmity ;
Then be at peace, except ye tliirst for blood.
Win. He shail submit, or I will never yield.
Qlmi. Compassion on the king commands
me stoop
Or I would see his heart out, ere the priest 120
Should ever get tiiat privilege of me.
War. Behold, my Lord of Winchester, the
duke
Hath banish'd moody discontented fury,
As by his smoothed brows it doth appear :
Why look you still so stem and tra^cal ?
Qlmi. Here, Winchester, I offer thee my
hand.
King. Fie, uncle Beaufort! I have heard
you preach
That malice was a great and grievous sin ;
And will not you maintain the thing you t^ch,
Bat prove a chief offender in the same ? 130
War. Sweet king ! the bishop hath a kindly
gird.
For shame, my lord of Winchester, relent!
What, shail a child instruct you what to do ?
Win. Weil, Duke of Gloucester, I wiU yield
to thee ;
Love for thy love and hand for hand I give.
Glou. [Aside] Ay, but, I fear me, with a
hollow heart.—
See here, my friends and loving countrymen,
This token servetli for a flag of truce
Betwixt ourselves and all our followers :
So lielp me God, as I dissemble not! 140
Win. [Aside] So help me God, as I intend it
not!
King. O loving uncle, kind Duke of Glou¬
cester,
How joyful am I made by this contract!
Away, my masters ! trouble ns no more ;
But join in friendship, as your lords have done.
First Sero. Content: I'll to the surgeon's.
Sec. Serv. And so will I.
Third Serv. And I will see what physic the
tavern affords.
[Exeunt Serving-men, Mayor, &c.
War. Accept this scroll, most gracious sov¬
ereign.
Which in the right of Richard Piantagenet 150
We do exhibit to your majesty.
Glou. Well urged, my Lord of Warwick:
for, sweet prince.
An if your grace mark every circumstance.
You have great reason to do Ricliard right;
Especially for those occasions
At Eltham Place I told your majesty.
King. And those occasions, uncle, were of
force :
Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is
That Richard be restored to his blood. 159
War. Let Richard be restored to his hlood;
So shall his father's wrongs bawecompensed.
Win. As will the rest, so willcth Winche.ster.
King. If Richard will be true, not that alone
But all the whole inheritance I give
That doth belong unto the house of York,
from whence you spring by lineal descent
Plan. Thy humble servant vows obedience
And humble service till the point of death.
King. Stoop then and set your knee against
my foot;
And, in reguerdon of that duty done, 170
I gird thee with the valiant sword of York :
Rise, Richard, like a true Piantagenet,
And rise created princely Duke of York.
Plan. And so thrive Richard as thy foes
may fall !
And as my duty springs, so perish they
That grudge one thought against your ma¬
jesty !
All. Welcome, high prince,the mighty Duke
of York 1
Som. [Aside] Perish, base prince, ignoble
Duke of York !
Glou. Now will it best avail your majesty
To cross the seas and to be crown'd in France ;
The presence of a king engenders love 181
Amongst his subjects and his loyal friends.
As it disanimates his enemies.
King. When Gloucester says the word. King
Henry goes ;
For friendly counsel cuts off many foes.
Glou. Your ships already are in readiness.
[Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all hut Exeter.
Exe. Ay, we may march in England or ir
France,
Not seeing what is likely to ensue.
This late dissension grown betwixt the peers
Burns under feigned ashes of forged love 190
And will at last break out into a flame :
As fester'd members rot but by degree.
Till bones and flesh and sinews fail away.
So will this base and envious discord breed.
And now I fear that fatal prophecy
Which in tlie.time of Henry named the Fifth
Was in tlie mouth of every sucking babe ;
That Henry born at Monmouth should win all
And Henry born at Windsor lose all :
Wliich is so plain that Exeter doth wish 200
His days may finish ere that hapless time.
[Exit.
Scene II. France. Before Rouen.
Enter La Puceeee disguised, with four Sol¬
diers with sacks upon their backs.
Puc. These are the city gates, the gates of
Rouen,
Through which our policy must make a
breach :
Take heed, be wary how you place your words ;
Talk like the vulgar sort of market men
That come to gather money for tlieir corn.
If we have eiitiauee, as I hope we shall,
And tliat we mid the slothful watch but weak,
I'll by a sign give notice to our friends.
That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them.
First Sol. Our sacks shall be a mean to
sack the city, 10
And we be lords and rulers over Rouen ;
Therefore we'll knock. [Knocks.
Watch. [ Within] Qui est li ?
Puc. Paysans, pauvres gens de France ;
Poor market folks that come to sell their com.
4
KrNG HENRY VI. PART 1.
[Act III.
Watrh. Enter, go in ; the market bell is
rung.
Ptte. Now, Rouen, I'll shake thy bulwarks
to the ground. \_Exemit.
i£nter Chakles, tJie Bastard of Orleans,
Alex^on, Reignieu, and forces.
3ha:-. Saint Denis bless this happy strat-
!
•die Oil 'ft again we'll sleep secure in Rouen.
j.las.. '-lere enter'd Pucelle and her prac-
tisants ; 20
ftew she is there, how will she specify
Where is the best and safest passage in ?
Reign By thrusting out a torch from
' yonder tower;
fV^hieh, once discern'd, shows that her mean¬
ing is,
No way to that, for weakness, which she
enter'd.
Enter La PacEixE on the top, thrasting out
a torch burning.
Fuc. Behold, this is the happy wedding
torch
That joiueth Rouen unto her countrymen.
But burnuig fatal to the Talbotites ! \_Exit.
Bast. See, noble Charles, the beacon of our
friend ;
The burning torch in yonder turret stands. 30
■ Char. Now shine it like a comet of revenge,
A prophet to the fall of all our foes !
Reign. Defer no time, delays have dan¬
gerous ends ;
Enter, and cry ' The Dauphin !' presently,
And then do execution on the watch.
\_Alarum. Exeunt.
An alarum. Enter Talbot in an excursion.
Tal. France, thou shalt rue this treason
with thy tears,
If Talbot but survive thy treachery.
Pucelle, that witch, that damned sorceress.
Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares.
That hardly we escaped the pride of France.
[Exit.
<n alarum • excursions. Bedford, brought
in sick in a chair. Enter Talbot and
dURGUNDT without: within La Pucelle,
Dharles, Bastard, Alenijon, and Reig-
SIER, on the walls.
Fuc. Good morrow, gallants ! want ye corn
for bread ?
^ think the Duke of Burgundy wUl fast
Before he'll buy again at such a rate ;
'Twas full of iarnel; do you like the taste ?
Bur. Scofl Ml, vile fiend and shameless
courtezan 1
I trust ere long to choke thee with thine own
And make thee curse the harvest of that com.
Char. Your grace may starve perhaps be¬
fore that time.
Bed. 0, let no words, but deeds, revenge
this treason 1
Fuc. What will you do, good grey-beard?
break a lance, 50
And ran a tilt at death within a chair ?
Tal. Foul fiend of France, and hag of alj
desjiite,
Eucompass'd with tliy lustful paramours !
Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age
And twit with cowardice a man half dead f
Damsel, I'll have a bout with you again,
Or else let Talbot perish with this shame.
Fuc. Are ye so hot, sir ? yet, Pucelle, hold
thy peace ;
If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow.
[The English whisper together in council.
God speed the parliament 1 who shall be the
speaker ? 0(1
Tal. Dare ye come forth and meet us in
the field ?
Fuc. Belike your lordshixr takes us then
for fools,
To try if that our own be ours or no.
Tat. I speak not to that railing Hecate,
But unto thee, Alen(,'on, and the rest ;
Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out ?
Alen. Siguier, no.
Tal. Signior, hang I base muleters of
France I
Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls
And dare not take up arms like gentlemen. 70
Fuc. Away, captains 1 let's get us from
the wabs ;
For Talbot means no goodness by his looks.
God be wi' you, my lord 1 we ca'me but to tell
you
That we are here. [Exeunt from the xcalls.
Tal. And tliere will we be too, ere it be
long,
Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame I
■Vow, Burgundy, by honor of thy house,
Prick'd on by public wrongs sustain'd in
France,
Either to get the town again or die :
And I, as sure as English Henry lives 80
And as his father here was conqueror,
As sure as in this late-betrayed town
Great Cmur-de-lion's heart was buried,
So sure I swear to get the town or die.
Bur. My vows are equal partner's with thy
VO'WS.
Tal. But, ere we go, regard this dying
prince,
The valiant Duke of Bedford. Come, my lord,
We will bestow you in some better place,
Fitter for sickness and for crazy age.
Bed. Lord Talbot, do not so dishonor me :
Here will I sit before the walls of Rouen 91
And win be partner of your weal or woe.
Bur. Courageous Bedford, let us now per¬
suade you. '
Bed. Not to be gone from hence ; for once
I read
That stout Pendragon m his litter sick
Came to the field and vanquished his foes :
Methinks I should revive the soldiers' hearts.
Because I ever found them as myself.
Tal. Undaunted spirit in a dying breast I
Then be it so : heavens keep old Bedford safe I
And now no more ado, brave Burgundy, 101
But gather we our forces out of hand
Scene in.]
KING HENRY VI. PART I.
45
And set upon our boastius enemy.
\_Exevnt all but Bedford and Attendants.
An alarum: excursions. Enter Sir Joira
Fastolee and a Caiitain.
Cap. Whither away, Sir John Fastoife, in
such haste ?
Fast. Whither away ! to save myself by
fligiit:
We are like to have the overtiirow again.
Cap. What ! will you fly, and leave Lord
Talbot ?
Fast. Ay,
Ail tiie Talbots in the world, to save mj'life.
[ Exit.
Cup. Cowardly knight! ill fortune follow
thee! [E.nt.
Retreat: excursions. La Pucelle, Alen-
(JON, and CHAREEs/y.
Bed. Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven
please, 110
For I have seen our enemies' overthrow.
What is the trust or strength of foolish man ?
They that of late were daring with their scoffs
Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves.
[Bedford dies, and is cai-ried in b>f tvio
in his chair.
An alarum. Re-enter Taebot, Burgundy,
and the rest.
Tal. Lost, and recover'd in a day again !
This is a double honor. Burgundy :
Yet heavens have glory for this victory !
Bur. W.arlike and martial Talbot, Bur¬
gundy
Knshrines thee in his heart and there erects
Thy noble deeds as vhlor's monuments. 120
Ted. Thanks, gentle duke. But where is
Pucelle now ?
I think her old familiar is asleep :
Now Where's the Bastard's braves,' and
Charles his gleeks ?
What, all amort ? Rouen hangs her head for
grief
That such a valiant company are fled.
Now will we take some order in the town.
Placing therein some expert officers.
And then depart to Paris to the king,
.Fur there young Henry with his nobles Ke.
Bur. What wills Lord Talbot pleaseth Bur¬
gundy. 130
Till. But yet, before we go, let's not forget
The noble Duke of Bedford late deceased.
But see his exequies fulfill'd in Rouen :
A braver soldier never couched lance,
A gentler heart did never sway in court;
But kings and mightie.st potentites must die.
For that's the end of human misery. [Exeunt.
Scene III. The plains near Rouen.
Enter Chabee.s, the Bastai!* of Orleans,
Alen(;on, La Pucelle, and forces.
Puc. Dismay not, princes, at this accident.
Nor grieve that Rouen is so recovered :
Care is no cure, but rather corrosive,
For things that are not to be remedied.
Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while
And like a peacock sweep along his tail;
We'll pull his plumes and take away his train.
If Dauphin and the rest will be but ruled,
Char. We have been guided by thee hithoit ).
And of thy cunning had no diffidence ; 10
One sudden foil shall never breed distrust.
Bast. Search out thy wit for secret poli¬
cies,
And we will make thee famous through the
world.
Alen. We'll set thy statue in some bolj'
place,
And have thee reverenced like a blessed saint
Employ thee then, sweet virgin, for our good.
Puc. Then thus it must be ; this doth
Joan devise :
By fair persuasions mix'd with sugar'd words
We will entice the Duke of Burgundy
To leave the Talbot and to follow us. 20
Char. Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do
that,
France were no place for Henry's warriors ;
Nor should that nation boast it so with us.
But be extirped from our provinces.
Alen. For ever should they be expulse(3'
from France
And not have title of an earldom here.
Puc. Your honors shall perceive how I will
work
To bring this matter to the wished end.
[Drum sounds afar off.
Hark ! by the sound of drum you may per¬
ceive
Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward. 30
Here sound an English march. Enter, and
pass over at a distance, Talbot arid his forces.
There goes the Talbot, with his colors spread,
And all the troops of English after him.
•French march. Enter the Duke of Bur¬
gundy and forces.
Now in the rearward comes the duke and his :
Fortune in favor makes him lag behind.
Summon a parley ; we will talk with him.
[Trumpets sound a parlep.
ClMr. A irarley with the Duke of Bur¬
gundy !
Bur. Who craves a parley w'th the Bur-
gmidy ?
Puc. The princely Charles of France, thy
countryman.
Sitr. What say'st thou, Charles ? for I am
marching lience.
Char. Speak, Pucelle, and enchant him with
thy words. 40
Puc. Brave Burgmidy, undoubted hojie of
France !
Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee.
jiur. Speak on ; but be not over-tedious.
Puc. Look on thy country, look on fertile
France,
And see the cities and the towns defaced
liy wasting ruin of the cruel foe.
As looks the mother on her lowly babe
When death doth close his tender dying eyes.
46
KING HENRY VI. PART I.
[Act III.
See, see the pining malady of France ;
Behold the wounds, the most unnatural
wounds, 50
Which thou thyself hast given her woful
breast.
O, turn thy edged sword another way ;
Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that
help.
One drop of blood drawn from thy country's
bosom
Should giieve thee more than streams of foreign
gore :
Return thee therefore with a flood of tears.
And wash away thy country's stained-spots.
Bur. Either she hath bewitch'd me with
her words.
Or nature makes me suddenly relent.
Puc. Besides, all French and France ex¬
claims on thee, 60
Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny.
Who jomt'st thou with but with a lordly
nation
That will not trust thee but for profit's sake ?
When Talbot hath set footing once in France
And fashion'd thee that instrument of ill.
Who then but English Henry wili be lord
And thou be thrust out like a fugitive ?
CaU we to mind, and mark but this for proof.
Was not the Duke of Orleans thy foe ?
And was he not hi England prisoner ? 70
But when they heard he was thine enemy.
They set him free without his ransom paid.
In spite of Burgundy and all his friends.
See, then, thou fight'st against thy comitry-
men
And joint'st with them will be thy slaughter¬
men.
Come, come, return ; return, thou wandering
lord:
Cliarles and the rest will take thee in their,
arms.
Bur. I am vanquished ; these haughty
words of hei-s
Have batter'd me like roaring cannon-shot.
And made me almost yield upon my knees. 80
Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen.
And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace :
My forces and my power of men are .yours :
So farewell, Talbot ; I'll no longer trust thee.
Puc. [Asi'cle] Done like a Frenchman ; turn,
and turn again !
Char. Welcome, brave duke ! thy friendship
makes us fresh.
Bast. And doth beget new courage in our-
breasts.
Alen. Pucelle hath bravely play'd her part
in this,
4nd doth deserve a coronet of gold.
Char. Now let us on, my lords, and join
our powers, 90
And seek how we may prejudice the foe.
[Exeunt-
ScbnbIV. Paris. The palace.
Enter the King, Gloucester, Bishop of
Winchester, York, Suffolk, SoMb-rsex,
Warwick, Exeter : Vernon, Basset,
and others. To them loith his Soldiers,
Talbot.
Tal. My gracious srince, and honorable
peers.
Hearing of your arrival in this realm,
I have awhile given truce unto my wars,
To do my duty to my sovereign :
In sign whereof, this arm, that hath reclaim'd
To your obedience fifty fortresses,
Twdve cities and seven wall^ towns oi
strength.
Beside five hundred prisoners of esteem.
Lets fall his sword before your highness' feet.
And with submissive loyalty of heart 10
Ascribes the glory of his conquest got
First to my God and next unto your grace.
[Kneels.
King. Is this the Lord Talbot, uncle Glou¬
cester,
Tliat hath so long been resident in France ?
Glou. Yes, if it please your, majesty, my
liege.
King. Welcome, brave captain and -victo¬
rious lord !
When I was young, as yet I am not old,
I do remember how my father said
A stouter champion never handled sword.
Long since we were resolved of your truth, 20
Your faithful service and your toil in war ;
Yet never have you tasted our reward.
Or been reguerdon'd with so much as thanks.
Because tuT now we never saw your face :
Therefore, stand up ; and, for these good
deserts.
We here create you Earl of Shrewsbury ;
And in our coronation take your place.
[Sennet. El,ourish. Exeunt all hut Vei-non
and Basset.
Ver. Now, sir, to you, that were so hot at
sea.
Disgracing of these colors that I wear
In honor of my noble Lord of York : 30
Darest thou maintain the former words thou
spakest ?
Bas. Yes, sir ; as well as you dare patron¬
age
The envious barking of your saucy tongue
Against my lord the Duke of Somerset
Ver. Sirrah, thy lord I honor as he is.
Bas. Why, what is he ? as good a man as
York.
Ver. Hark ye ; not so : in witness, take ye
that, [Strikes him. -
Bas. Villain, thou know'st the law of arms
is such
That whoso draws a sword, 'tis pre.sent death.
Or else this blow should broach thy dearest
blood. 40
But I'll unto his majesty, and crave
I may have liberty to venge this wrong ;
When thou shalt see I'll meet thee to thy cost,
Fcr. Well, miscreant, I'll be there as soon
as you;
And, after, meet you sooner than you would.
[Exeunt
SOENB I.]
KING HENRY VI. PART 1.
47
ACT IV.
Scene I. Paris. A hall of state.
Enter the King, Gloucester, Bishop op
Winchester, York, Suffolk, Soiher-
set, Warwick, Talbot, Exeter, the
Governor of Paris, atui others.
Glou. Lord bisliop, set the crown upon his
head.
Win. God save King Henry, of that name
the sixth !
Olou. Now, governor of Paris, take your
oath.
That you elect no other king but him ;
Esteem none friends but such as are his
friends.
And none your foes but such as shall pretend
Malicious practices against his state :
This shall ye do, so help you righteous God !
Enter Sir John Fastolpe.
Fast. My gracious sovereign, as I rode from
Calais,
To haste unto your coronation, 10
A letter was deliver'd to my hands.
Writ to your grace from the Duke of Bur¬
gundy.
Tal. Shame to the Duke of Burgundy and
thee I
I vow'd, base knight, when I did meet thee
next.
To tear the garter from thy craven's leg,
\Plucking it off.
Which I have done, because unworthily
Thou wast installed in that high degree.
Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest:
This dastard, at the battle of Patay,
When but in all I was six thousaud strong 20
.4nd that the French were almost ten to one.
Before we met or that a stroke was given,
Like to a trusty squire did run away :
In which assault we lost twelve hundred men ;
Myself and divers gentlemen beside
Were there surprised and taken prisoners.
Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss ;
Or whether that such cowards ought to wear
This ornament of knighthood, yea or no.
Glou. To say the truth, this fact was in¬
famous 30
And ill beseeming any common man.
Much more a knight, a captain and a leader.
Tal. When first this order was ordain'd,
my lords.
Knights of the garter were of noble birth.
Valiant and virtuous, full of haughty cour¬
age, •
Such as were grown to credit by the wars ;
Not fearing death, nor shrinking lor distress.
But always resolute in most e.<tremes.
He then that is not furnish'd in this sort
Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight, 40
Profaning this most honorable order.
And should, if I were worthy to be judge.
Be quite degraded, like a hedge-boru swain
That doth presume to boast of gentle blood
Sing. Stain to tliy countrymen, thou hear'st
thy doom !
Be packing, therefore, thou that wast a
knight:
Henceforth we banish thee, on pain of death.
lExit Fastolfe.
And now, my lord protector, view the letter
Sent from our uncle Duke of Burgundy.
Glou. What means his grace, that he hath
changed his style ? 50
No more but, plain and bluntly, ' To the king !'
Hath he forgot he is his sovereign ?
Or doth this churlish superscription
Pretend some alteration in good will ?
What's here ? [i?eads] 'I have, upon especial
cause.
Moved with compassion of my country's wreck,
Together with the pitiful complaints
Of such as your oppression feeds upon.
Forsaken your pernicious faction
And joiu'il with Charles, the rightful King of
France.' 60
0 monstrous treachery ! can this be so.
That in alliance, amity and oaths.
There should be found such false dissembling
guile ?
King. What! doth my uncle Burgundy re¬
volt ?
Glou. He doth, my lord, and is become
your foe.
King. Is that the worst this letter doth con¬
tain ?
Glou. It is the worst, and all, my lord, he
writes.
King. Why, then. Lord Talbot there shall
talk with him
And give him chastisement for this abuse.
How say you, my lord ? are you not content ?
Tal. Content, my liege ! yes, but that I am
prevented, 71
1 should have begg'd I might have been em-
ploy'd.
King. Then gather strength and march
unto him straight:
Let him perceive how ill we brook his trea¬
son
And what offence it is to flout his friends.
Tal. I go, my lord, in heart desiring still
You may behold confusion of your foes.
{Exit
Enter Vernon and Basset.
Ver. Grant me the combat, gracious sov
ereign.
Bas. And me, my lord, grant me the com¬
bat too.
York. This is my servant: hear him, noble
prince. 80
Som. And this is mine; sweet Henry, favor
him.
K. Hen. Be patient, lords ; and give them
leave to speak.
Say, gentlemen, what makes you thus ex¬
claim ?
And wherefore crave you combat ? or with
whom ?
48
KING BENRY VI. PART I.
[Act iv.
Ver. With him, my lord ; for he hath done
me wrong.
Bas. And I with him ; for he hath done
me wrong.
K. Hen. What is that wrong whereof you
both complain ?
'''irst let me know, and then I'll answer jou.'
Bas. Crossing tlxe sea from England mio
France,
fhis fellow here, with envious cariiing tongue,
Jpbraided me about the rose I wear ; 91
laying, the sanguine color of the leaves
Did repre.sent my master's blushing cheeks,
Vhen stubbornly he did repugn the truth
About a certain question in the law
Argued betwixt the Duke of York and him ;
With other vile and ignominious terms ;
In confutation of which rude reproach
And in defence of my lord's worthiness,
I crave the benefit of hiw of arms. 100
Ver. And that is my petition, noble lord :
For though he seem with forged quaint con¬
ceit
To set a gloss upon his bold intent.
Yet know, my lord, I was provoked by him;
And he first took exceptions at this badge.
Pronouncing that the paleness of this flower
Bewray'd the faintness of my master's heart.
York. Will not this malice, Somerset, be
left?
Som. Your private grudge, my Lord of
York, will out.
Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it. 110
K. H-n. Good Lord, what madness rules
in brain.sick men.
When for so slight and frivolous a cause
Such factious emulations .shall arise !
Good cousins both, of York and Somerset,
Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace.
York. Let this dissension first be trieu by
light,
And tr.sn your highness shall command a
peace.
Bom. The quarrel toucheth none but us
aloue ;
Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then.
Yoi-k. There is my pledge ; accept it, Som¬
erset. 120
Ver. Nay, let it rest where it began at first.
Bas. Confirm it so, mine honorable lord.
Glou. Confirm it so ! Confounded be your
strife !
And perish ye, with your audacious prate !
Presumptuous vassals, are you not ashamed
With this immodest clamorous outrage
To trouble and disturb the king and us ?
And you, my lords, methinks you do not well
To bear with their perverse objections ;
Much less to take occasion from their mouths
To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves : 131
Let me persuade you take a better course.
Exe. It grieves his highness ; good my
lords, be friends.
K. Hen. Come hither, you that would be
combatants ;
Henceforth I charge you, as you love our favoi. '
Quite to forget this quarrel and the cause.
And you, my lords, remember where we are ;
In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation :
If they perceive dissension in our looks
And that within ourselves we disagree, 140
How will their grudging stomachs be pro¬
voked
To wilful disobedience, and rebel i
Beside, what infamy will there arise,
When foreign princes shall be certified
That for a toy, a thing of no regard,
King Henry's peers and chief nobility
Destroy'd themselves, and lost the'realm of
France !
O, think upon the conquest of my father.
My tender years, aird let us not forego
That for a trifle that was bought with blood '
Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife. 151
I see no reason, if I wear this rose,
[Pntting on a red rose.
That any one should therefore be su.spicious
I more incline to Somerset than York :
Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both ;
As well they may upbraid me with my crown,
Because, forsooth, the king of Scots is crown'd
But your discretions better can persuade
Than I am able to instruct or teach :
And therefore, as we hither came in peace.
So let us still continue peace and love. 101
Cousin of York, we institute your grace
To be our regent in tbese parts of France :
And, good my Lord of Somerset, unite
Your troops of horsemen with his bands of
foot;
And, like true subjects, sons of your progen¬
itors,
Go cheerfully together and digest
Your angry choler on your enemies.
Ourself, my lord protector and the rest
Aftersome respite will return toCalais'; 170
From thence to England ; where I hope ere long
To be presented, by your victories,
With Charles, Alemjon and that traitorous
rout.
[Flourish. Exeunt aU but York, Warwi'k,
Exeter and Venioii.
War. My Lord of York, I promise you,
the king
Prettily, methought, did play the orator.
York. And so he did ; but yet I like it not,
In that he wears the badge of Somerset.
War. Tush, that was but his fancy, blame
him not;
I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no
harm.
York. An if I wist he did,—but let it re.st;
Other affairs must now be managed. 131
[Exeunt all but Exeter.
Exe. Well didst thon, Richard, to suppress
thy voice ;
For, had the itassions of thy heart burst out,
I fear we should have seen decipher'd there
More rancorous spite, more furious raging
broils.
Than yet can be imagined or supposed.
But howsoe'er, no simple man that sees
Scene ni,r
KINff HENRY VI. HART I.
47
This jarrins discord of nobility,
This shouldering of each other in the court,
This factious bandying of their favorites. 190
But that it doth presage some ill event.
Tis much when sceptres are in children'?
hands ;
But more when envy breeds unkind division ;
There comes the ruin, there begins confu¬
sion. [Exit.
Scene II. Before Bourdeay.x. • ,
Enter Talbot, with trump and drum,
lal. Go to the gates of Bourdeaux trum¬
peter :
Summon their general unto the wall.
Trumpet sounds. Enter General and others,
aloft.
English John Talbot, captains, dalls you forth,
Servant in arms tc Harry King of England ;
And thus he would : Open your city gates ;
Be humble to us ; call my sovereign yours.
And do him homage as obedient subjects ;
And I'll withdraw me and my bloody power :,
But, if you frown upon this proffer'd peace,
You tempt ;he fury of my three attendants, 10
Lean famfaie, quartering steel, and climbing
fire ;
Who ill a moment even with the earth
Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers,
If you forsake the offer of their love.
Oen. Thou omindus and fearful owl of
death,
Our nation's terror and their bloody scourge !
The period of thy tyranny approacheth.
On us thou canst not enter but by death ;
For, I protest, we are well fortified
And strong enough to is.sue out and fight: 20
If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed.
Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee :
On either hand thee there are squadrons
pitch'd.
To wall thee from the liberty of flight;
And no way canst thou turn thee for redress.
But death doth front thee with apparent spoil
And pale destruction meets thee in the face.
Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacra¬
ment
To rive their dangerous artillery
Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot. 30
fjo, there thou stand'st, a bieathmg valiant
' man.
Of an invincible unconquer'd spirit!
This is the latest glory of thy praise
That I, thy enemy, due thee withal ;
For ere the glass, th.at now begins to run.
Finish the process of his sandy hour.
These eyes, that see thee now well colored,
Shall see thee wither'd, bloody, pale and dead.
\Vrum afar off.
Hark ! hark! the Dahphin's arum, a warn¬
ing bell.
Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul ; 40
And mine shall ring thy dire departure out.
[Exeunt General, <ftc.
Tal. He fables not; I hear the enemy :
Out, some light horsemen, and pernse thei
wings.
O, negligent and heedless discipline !
How are we park'd and bounds in a pale,
A little herd of England's timorous deer.
Mazed with a yelping kennel of French curs !
If we be English deer, be then in blood ;
Not rascal-like, to fall down with a pinch.
But rather, moody-mad and desperate stags, 50
Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of
steel
And make the Cowards stand aloof at bay ;
Sell every man his life as dear as mine.
And they shall find dear deer of us, my
friends.
God and Saint George, Talbot and England's
right.
Prosper our colors in this dangerous fight!
[Exeunt.
Scene IH. Plains in Gascony.
Enter a Messenger that meets York. Enter
York with trumpet and many Soldiers.
York. Are not the speedy scouts return'd
again,
That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin ?
Mess. They are retnm'd, my lord, and give
it out
That he is' march'd to Bourdeaux -with his
power.
To fight with Talbot: as he march'd along.
By your e.spials were discovered
Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin
led,
■Which join'd with him and made their march
for Bourdeaux.
York. A plague upon that villain Somerset,
That thus delays my promised supply 10
Of horsemen, that were levied for this siege !
Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid,
And I am lowted by a traitor villain
And cannot help the noble clievalier ;
God comfort him in this necessity !
If he miscarry, farewell wars in France.
Enter Sir Walter Lucy.
Lucrj. Thou princely leader of our English
strength,
Never so needful on the earth of France,
Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot,
■Who now is girdled with a waist of iron 20
And hemm'd about with gripi destruction :
To Bourdeaux, warlike duke ! to Bourdeaux,
York !
Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's
honor. [heart
York. O God, that Somerset, who in proud
Doth stop my cornets, were in 'Talbot's place !
So should we save a valiant gentleman
By forfeiting a traitor and a coward.
Mad ire and wrathful fury makes me weep.
That thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep.
Lucy. O, send some succor to the distress'd
lord ! 30
York. He dies, we lose ; I break my war¬
like word ;
GO
We mourn, Fiance smiles ; we lose, they daily
get;
All 'long of this vile traitor Somerset.
Lucy. Then Grod take mercy on brave Tal¬
bot's soul;
And on his son yoimg John, who two hours
since
/ met in travel toward his warlike father !
This seven years did not Talbot see his son ;
And now they meet where both their lives are
done.
York. Alas, what joy shall noble Talbot
have
To bid his young son welcome to his grave 7
Away ! vexation almost stops my breath, 41
That suuder'd friends greet in the hour of
death.
Lucy, farewell; no more my fortune can.
But curse the cause I cannot aid the man.
Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won
away,
Long all of Somerset and his delay.
\Exit, with his soldiers.
Lucy. Thus, while the vulture of sedition
Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders.
Sleeping neglectiou doth betray to loss
The conquest of our scarce cold conqueror, 50
That ever living man of memory,
Henry the Fifth : whiles they each 'other cross.
Lives, honors, lands and all hurry to loss.
Exit.
Scene IV. Other plains in Gascony.
Enter Somebset, with his army; a Captain of
Talbot's with him.
Som. It is too late; I cannot send them
now :
This expedition was by York and Talbot
'Too rashly plotted : all our general force
Might with a sally of the very town
Be buckled with : the over-daring Talbot
Hath sullied all his gloss of former honor
By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure;
York set him on to fight and die in shame, -
That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the
name.
Cap. Here is Sir William Lucy, who with
me 10
Set from our o'ermatch'd forces forth for aid.
Enter Sir William Lucr.
Som. How now. Sir William ! whither were
you sent 7
Lucy, Whither, my lord 7 from bought
and sold Lord Talbot;
Wlio, ring'd about with bold adversity.
Cries out for noble York and Somerset,
'To beat assailing death from his weak legions:
And whiles the honorable captain there
Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied
limbs.
And, in advantage lingering, looks for rescue.
You, his false hopes, the trust of England's
honor, 20
Keep off aloof with worthless emulation.
Let not your private discord keep away
[Act i*
The levied succors that should lend him aid.
While he, renowned noble gentleman.
Yields up his life unto a world of odds :
Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy,
AlenQon, Reignier, compass him about.
And Talbot perisbeth by your default.
Som. York set bim on ; York should have
sent him aid.
Lucy. And York as fast upon your grace
exclaims ; 30
Swearibg that you withhold his levied host.
Collected for tliis expedition.
Som. York lies ; ne might have sent and
had the horse;
I owe him little duty, and less love ;
And take foul scorn to lawn on him by send ■
ing.
Lucy. The fraud of England, not the force
of France,
Hath now eutrapp'd the noble-minded Talbot:
Never to Englana shall he bear his life ;
But dies, betray'd to fortune by your strife.
Som. Come, go ; I will dispatch the horse*
men straiglit 40
Within six hours they will be at his aid.
Lucy. Too late comes rescue : he is ta'en
or slain ;
For fiy he could not, if he would have fled ;
And fly would Talbot never, though he might.
Som. If he be dead, brave Talbot, then
adieu!
Lucy. His' fame lives in the world, his
shame in you. [Exeunt.
Scene V. The English camp near Bourdeaux.
Enter Talbot and John his son.
Tal. 0 young John Talbot! I did send for
thee
To tutor thee in stratagems of war.
That Talbot's name might be in thee revived
When sapless age and weak unable limbs
Should bring thy father to his drooping chair.
But, 0 malignant and ill-boding stars !
Now thou art come unto a feast of death,
A terrible and unavoided danger :
Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest
horse ;
And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape 10
By sudden flight: come, dally not, be gone.
John. Is my name Talbot 7 and am I your
son 7
And shall I fly 7 O, if you love my mother.
Dishonor not her honorable name.
To make a bastard and a slave of me !
The world will say, he is not Talbot's blood.
That basely fled when noble Talbot stood.
Tal. .Fly, to revenge my death, if I be
slain.
John. He .hat flies so will ne'er return
again.
Tal. If we both stay, we both ai-e sure to
die. 20
John. Then let me stay ; and, father, do
you fly :
Your loss is great, so your regard should be ;
My worth unknown, no loss is known in me.
KING HENRY VI. PART 1.
Scene vii.]
RING HENRY VI. PART 1.
51
Uixm my death the French can little boast;
In yours they ■will, in you all hopes are lost.
Flight cannot stain the honor you have won ;
Itut mine it will, that no exploit have done :
You fled for vantage, every one will swear;
Hut, if I how, they'll say it was for fear.
There is no hope that ever I will stay, 30
If the first hour I shrink and run away,'
Here on my knee I beg mortality,
Kather than life preserved with infamy.
Tal. Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one
tomb ?
John. Ay, rather than I'll shame my
mother's womb.
TcU. Upon my blessing, I command thee go.
John. "To fight I will, but not to fly the foe.
Tal. Part of thy father may be saved in
thee.
John. No part of him but will be shame in
me.
Tal. Thou never hadst renown, nor canst
not lose it. 40
John. Yes, your renowned name: shall
flight abuse it ?
Tal. 'Thy father's charge shall clear thee
from that stain.
John. You cannot witness for me, being
slain.
If death be so apparent, then both fly.
Tal. And leave my followers here to fight
and die ?
My age was never tauited with such shame.
John. And shall my youth be guilty of such
blame ?
No more can I be sever'd from your side.
Than can yourself yourself in twain divide :
Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I; 50
For live I will not, if my father die.
Tal. Then here I take my leave of thee, fair
son.
Bom to eclipse thy life this afternoon.
Come, side by side together live and die ;
And soul with soul from France to heaven fly.
[ExeurU.
Scene VI. A field of battle.
Alarum : excursions, wherein Talbot's Son is
hemmed about, and Talbot rescues him.
Tal. Saint George and victory 1 fight, sol¬
diers, fight:
The regent hath with Talbot broke his word
And left us to the rage of France his sword.
Where is John Talbot ? Pause, and take thy
breath ;
I gave thee life and rescued thee from death.
John. O, twice my father, twice am I thy
son !
The life thou gavest me first was lost and done.
Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate.
To my determined time thou gavest new date.
Tal. When from the Dauplhin's crest thy
sword struck fire, 10
It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire
Of bold-'/aced victory. Then leaden age,
Quicken'd with youthful spleen and warlike
lage,
Beat down Alencon, Orleans, Burgundy,
And from the pride of Gallia rescued thee.
The ireful bastard Orleans, that drew blood
From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood
Of thy first fight, I soon encountered.
And interchanging blows I quickly shed
Some of his bastard blood ; and in disgrace 2C
Bespoke him thus ; ' Contaminated, b^e
ijjid misbegotten blood I .spill of thine.
Mean and right poor, for'that pure blood o,
mine
Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave
boy
Here, purposing the Bastard to destroy.
Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's
care.
Art thou not weary, John ? how dost thou fare 7
Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly.
Now thou art seal'd the son'of chivalry 7
Fly, to revenge my death when I am dead : 30
The help of one stands me in little stead.
O, too much folly is it, well I wot.
To hazard all our lives in one small boat!
If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage.
To-morrow I shall die with mickle age :
By me they nothing gain an if I stay ;
"Tis but the shortening of my life one day :
In thee thy mother dies, our household's name.
My death 8 revenge, thy youth, and Ksgland's
fame :
All these and more we hazard by thy stay ; 40
All these are saved if thou wilt fly away.
John. The sword of Orleans hath not made
me smart;
These words of yours draw life-blood from my
heart:
On that advantage, bought with such a shame.
To save a paltry life and slay bright fame.
Before young 'Talbot from old Talbot fly.
The coward horse that bears me fall and die !
And like me to the peasant boys of France,
To be shame's scorn and subject of mischance!
Surely, by all the glory you have won, 50
An if I fly, I am not Talbot's son :
Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot;
If son to Talbot, die at'Talbot's foot.
Tal. Then follow thou thy desperate sire of
Crete,
Tliou Icarus ; thy life to me is sweet:
If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side ;
And, commendable proved, let's die in pride.
[Exeunt.
Scene VII. Another part of the field.
Alarum: excursions. Enter old Tavbot
led by a Servant
Tal. Where is my other life 7 mine own is
gone ;
O, Where's young Talbot 7 where is valiant
John 7
Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity,
Young Talbot's valor makes me smile at thee;
When he perceived me shrink and on my knee-
His bloody sword he brandlsh'd over me.
And, like a hungry lion, did commence
Boiqrh deeds of rage and stern impatience r
a:ing henry vl part i.
[^act v.
Bat wheu my angry guardaiit stood alone,
Tendering my ruin aud assail'd of none, 10
Dizzy-eyed fury and great rage of heart
Suddenly made him from my side to start
Into the clustering battle of the h'rench ;
And in that sea of blood my boy did drench
His over-mounting spirit, and there died.
My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride.
Serv. O my dear lord, lo, where your son
is borue !
Enter Soldiers, with the body ofyouny Tai,bot.
Tal. Thou antic death, which laugh'st us
here to scorn.
Anon, from thy insultuig tyranny.
Coupled in bonds of perpetuity, 20
"Two Talbots, winged through tlie lither sky.
In thy despite shall 'scape mortality.
O thou, whose wounds become hard-favor'd
death.
Speak to thy father ere thou yield thy breath !
Brave death by speaking, whether he will or
no ;
Imagme him a Frenchman and tli^ foe.
Poor boy ! he smiles, methinks, as who should
say.
Had death been French, then death had died
to-day.
Come, come and lay him in his f.ather's arms :
My spirit can no longer bear these harms. 30
Soldiers, adieu ! I have what I would have.
Now my old arms are young John Talbot's
grave. \Dies.
Enter Charles, Alenqon, Burgundy, Bas¬
tard, La Pucelle, and forces.
Char. Had York and Somerset brought res¬
cue in.
We should have found a bloody day of this.
Bast. How the young whelp of Talbot's,
raging-wood, * [blood 1
Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's
Puc. Once I encounter'd him, and thus I
said :
"Thou maiden youth, be vanquish'd by a
maid :'
But, with a proud majestical high scorn.
He answer'd thus : 'Young "Talbot was not
born 40
To be the pillage of a giglot wench :'
So, rushing in the bowels of the French,
He left me proudly, as unworthy fight.
Bur. Doubtless he would have made a no¬
ble knight;
See, where he lies inhearsed in the arms
Of the most bloody nurser of his harms !
■ Ba.st. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones
asunder [der.
Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's won-
Char. O, no, forbear ! for that which we
have fled
During the life, let us not wrong it dead. 50
Enter Sir William Lucy, attended; Herald
of the French preceding.
iMcy. Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin's
tent.
To know who hath obtained the glory of the
day. [sent'!
Char. On what submissive message art thou
Ltm/. Submission, Dauphin I 'tis a mere
French word ;
We English warriors wot not what it means.
I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta'en
Aud to survey the bodies of the dead.
Char. For prisoners ask'st thou ? hell our
prison is.
But tell me whom thou seek'st.
Lucy. But Where's the great Alcides of the
field, C'l
Valiant Lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury,
Created, for his rare success in arms.
Great liarl of Wash ford, Waterford and Val¬
ence ;
Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield,
Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord. Verdun of
Alton,
Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, Lord Furnival of
Sheffield,
The thrice-victorious Lord of Falconbridge ;
Knight of the noble order of Saint George,
Worthy Saint Michael and the Golden Hriece ;
Great marshal to Henry the Sixth 70
Of all his wars within the realm of France ?
Puc. Here is a silly stately style indeed !
The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath.
Writes not so tedious a style as this.
Him that thou magnifiest with all these titles
Stinking aud fly-blow n lies here at our feet.
Lucy. Is Talbot slain, the Frepchmeu's only
scourge.
Your kingdom's terfor and black Nemesis ?
O, were mine eyeballs into bullets turn'd.
That I in rage might shoot them at your faces!
O, that I could but call these dead to life ! 81
It were enough to fright the reahn of France
Were but his picture left amongst you here.
It would amaze the proudest of you aU.
Give me their bodies, that I may bear tlieni
hence . .
And give them burial as beseems their wortli.
Puc. I think this upstart is old Talbot's
ghost, [spirit.
He speaks with such a proud commanding
For God's sake let him have 'em ; to keep
them here,
They would but stink, and putrefy the air. 90
Char. Go, take their bodies hence.
Lucy. I'll bear them hence ; but from their
ashes shall be rear'd
A phoenix that shall make all France afearu.
Char. So we be rid of them, do witi^ 'em
what thou wilt.
And ndw to Paris, in this conquering vein :
All wUl be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain.
[Exeunt,
ACT
Scene I.' London. Thepaiaeo.
Sennet. Enter Kino, Glouobbtbb, and £z-
bteb.
iscene ixi.]
Kinn- Have yon perused tlie letters from
the pope, , , I
Die emperor and the Earl of Armagnac 7
Glou. 1 have, my lord: and tlieir intent is
this: . , I I • . r I
Tliey humbly sue unto your exeeUence. i , ;»
To have a godly peace ooucluded of ,
Between the realms of Euglaud and of France.
King.. How doUi your grace affect their mo¬
tion ? I [means
GIohv Well, my good lord ; and as the only
To stop effusion of our Christian blood
And'stablish quietness on every side. . -TO
Ktitg. Ay, marry, uncle; for, I always
I, thought
it was both impious aud unnatural
That such iiumanlty and bloody strife
Should reign among proleasors of one faithi
Glou. Beside, my lord, the sooner to effect
And surer bind this knot of amity, ,
The Earltof Armagnac, iiKir knit to Charles,
A man of great authority in France,
Proffers his only daughter to your grace
In marriage,, with a large, and sumptuous
• dowry. 20
King. Marriage, uncle ! alas, my years are
young t
And fitter is my study and my books
Than wanton dalliance with a paramour.
Yet call the ambassador ; and, as you please,
So let them have their answers every one :
I shall be well content with any choice
Tends to God's glory and my country's weal.
.Enfet* Winchester tn CardmaTs habit, a
Legate and two Ambassador.
Kte. Wliat 1 is my Lord of Windiester iu-
stall'd, I
And call'd unto a cardinal's degree 7
Then I Mrceive that will be verified 30
Henry the Fifth did sometime prophesy,
' U once he come to be a cardinal,
He'll make his cap co-equal with the crown.*
King. My, lords antbassadors, your several
suits
Hiwe been consider'd and debated on.
Your purpo.se is both good and reasonable ;
And therefore are we certainly resolved
To draw conditions of a friendly peace ;
Which by m.V Lord of Winchester we mean
Shall be transported presently to France. 40
Glou. And for tlie proffer of my lord your
,master, ,
I have inform'd his highness so at lar^ |
As liking of the lady's virtuous gifts, ,
Her beauty and the value of her dower.
He doth Intend she shall be England's queen.
King, in argument ajid prop! of which con¬
tract ■
Bear her this jewel, pledge of my affection.
And so, my Iprd protector, see tlmm guarded
And safely brought to Dover ; where insliipp'd
Commit them to the fortune of the sea. 50
{KveuiU all but IViimhestev and Legate.
Win. Stay, my lord legate ; you shall first
receiv,"
88
Tlie sum of money which I promised ,
Should be deliver d to his Imliness ,,
For clothing me in these grave ornaments.
Leg. I' will attend upon your lordship's
leisure. , . , ,
TFin. [Aside] Now Winchester will not sub¬
mit 1 trow^ , . ,, ,
Or be inferior to the, proudest peer.
Humphrey of Gloucester, thou shalt well iier*
, ceive , .
That, ueitlier lu birth or for authority,
The bishop will be overborne by thee: GO
I'll either make thee stoop aud beud thy knecy
Or sack this country with a mutiny. [Kxeunl.
Scene II. France. ■ Plains in Anjou.
Enter CrarLes, Burgundy, AlEnqon, Bas¬
tard, Reionier, La Pucelle, and forces.
Char. These news, my loiiJ, may cheer our
diDoping spirits^;
'Tis said tlie stout Fansians do revolt
And turn again unto the i^.rlike French.
Alen. Then march to Paris, royal Chailes
of France,
And keep not back your powers in dalliance.
Puc. Peace be amongst them, if they turn
to us;
Else, riiiu combat with their palaces! '
Enter Scout
Scout. Success mito our valiant general.
And happiness to his accomplices 1
Char. What tidings send our scouts ? I
•prithee, siieak. • 10
Scout. The English army, tliat divided was.
Into two parties, is now conjoined in one,,
And means to give you battle presently.,
Cfmr. Somewliat too sudden, sirs, the warn¬
ing is ;
But we will presently provide for them.
Bur. 1 trust ,tfae ghost of Talbot is not
there;
Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear-
Puc. Of all base passions, fear is mpst ac¬
cursed. , I
Command the conquest, Charles, )t shall be
, thine, ,
Let Henry fret and all the vtorld repine. 2C
Char. Then on, my lords ; and France be
fortunate! lExeunt.
Scene III. Bgfore Angiers.
Alarum. Excursions. Enter La Pucellb.
Puct The regent conquers, and the French-
' men fly.
Now help, ye charming spelts and periapts ;
And ye choice spirits that admonish me
And give me signs of future accidents.
[Thunder.
You speedy helpers, that are substitutes
Under the "lordly monarch of the north,
Appear and aid me in this enterprise.
Enter Fiends.
This speedy and quick appearance argues proof
Of your accustom'd diligence to me.
Now. ye familiar spirits, tliat are cuU'd 1#
KING HENRY VJ. PART I.
54
KING aBNRY VI. PART I.
[Act V
Out of the powerful regions under earth,
Help me this olice, that France may get the
■ fieid. [They walk', and speak not.
O, hold me not'with silence oveMoug !
Where I was wont to feed you with my blood,
I'll lop a member off and give it you
In earnest of a further benefit,' '
So you do condescend to help me rtow.
[They hang their hmds.
No hope to have redress ?, My body shall
Pay recompense, if yon will grant my suit.
[They shake their heads.
Cannot niy Body nor blood-sacrifice ' 20
Entreat you to your wonted furtherance ?
Then take my soul, my body, soul and all.
Before that England give the French tiie foil.
[They dqpart.
See, they forsake n^e !' Now the time is come
That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest
And let her head fall into England's lap.
My ancient incantations are too weak.
And hell too strong for me to buckle with •.
Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust.
_ ' [Exit,
Excursions. Re-enter La Pucellb fighting
hand to hand with Yokk : La Pccixlb is
taken. Tiig French fly.
York. Damsel of France, I think I have you
fast: .30
Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms
And try if they can gain your liberty.
A goodly prize, fit for the devil's grace ! ^
See, how the ugly wench doth bend her brows,
'As if With Circe slie would change my shape !
Pue. Changed to a worser shape thou canst
not be.
York. O, Charles the Dauphin is a proper
man; ^
No shape but his can please your dainty eye.
Puc. A plaguing mischief light on Cliaries
and thee !
And may ye both be suddenly surprised 40
By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds 1
York, Fell banning hag, enchantress, hold
thy tongue !
Puc. I prithee, give me leave to cnrse
awhile. '.
York. Curse, miscreant, when thou comest
to the stake. [Exeunt.
Alwum. Enter Suffolk, with Maegaket
in his hand.
Suf. Be what thou wilt, thou art my pris¬
oner. [Gazes on her.
0 fairest beauty, do not fear nor fly !
For I will touch thee but with reverent hands;
1 kiss these fingers for eternal peace.
And lay them gently on thy tender side.
Wlio art thou ? siiy, that I may honor thee.
Mar., Margaret my name, and daughter to
a king, i 51
The King of Naples, whosoe'er thou art.
Suf. An earl I am, and Suffolk am 1 ca" 'd.
Be not offended, nature's miracle.
Thou art, allotted to be ta'eu by me ;
8o doth the swan her downy cygnets save.
Keeping them prisoner uuderreath her wiiifs.
Yet, if tliis servile usage once oUend,-
Go, and be free again, as Suffolk's friend.
I ■ ■ I [iS'Ac is gmng.
O, stay ! I have no power to let her jkiss ; Si
My hand would free her, but my heart says ca
As plays the sun ux)on the glassy streams.
Twinkling another counterfeited beam.
So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine ey
Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not si>emc
I'll call for pen and inkj and write my min
Fie, de la Pole! disable not thyself ;
Hast not a tongue ? is she not here ?
Wilt thou be daunted at a woman's sight ?
Ay, beauty's princely majesty is such, 7(1
Confounds the tongue and makes the sense*
rough. ' 1
Mar. Say, Earl of Suffolk—If thy name be
SO—
What ransom must I pay before I pass ?
For I perceive I am thy prisoner. i
Suf. How canst thou tell she will deny thy
. suit.
Before thou make a trial of her love ? ■ ' '
Mar. Why speak'st thou not f what ransom
must f pay?
Suf. She's beautiful, and therefore to be
woo'd ;
She is a woman, therefore to be won.
Mar. Wilt thou accept of ransom T yea,
or no.
Suf. Fond man, remember tliat thou hast
a wife; 86
Then how can Margaret he thy paramour ?
Mar. X were best to leave iiim, for he whl
• not hear.
Suf. There all is marr'd ; there lies a cool¬
ing card.
Mar. He talks at random ; sure, the man
is mad. ■ ■ '
Suf. And yet a dispensation may be had.
Mar. And yet I would that you would an¬
swer me.
Suf. I'll win this lady Margaret. For
whom ?
Why, for my king: tush, that's ft woodeg
thing!
3/ar. He talks of wood : it is some carpen¬
ter. go
Suf. Yet so 'my fancy may be satisfied,
And peace established betwmi these reMms.
But there remains a scruple in that too ; '
For though her f.ather be tlie King of Naples,
Duke of Anjou and Maine, yet is he poor.
And our nobility will scorn the match.
Mar. Hear ye, captain, are you not at lei¬
sure ? [much:
Suf. It shall be so, disdain they ne'er so
Henry is youthful and will quickly yield.
Madam, 1 have a secret to reveal. 100
Mar. IVhat though J be enthraU'd ? he
seems a knight,
And will not any way dishonor me. ' '
Suf. Lady, voucli.safe to listen what I say.
Mar. Perhaps I shall be rescued by the
French ;
scenb it.]
And th«j I need not crave his courtesy.
Suf. Sweet madam, give, me a h^rii^ in
a cause—"
Mar, Tush, women have been captivate ere
how. ,
Suf. Lady, wherefore talk you so 1 .
Mar. I cry you mercy, 'tis but Quid for
Quo. ,
Suf. Say, gentle princess, would you not
suppose 110
Your bondage happy, to be made a queen ?
Mar. To be a queen in bondage is more vile
Than is a slave in base servility ;
For princes should be free. .
Suf. And so shall you.
If happy England's royal king be free.
Mar, Why, what concerns his freedom unto
me ?
Suf. I'll undertake to make tiiee Henry's
queen.
To put a golden sceptre in thy hand
And set a precious crown, upon thy head.
If thou wilt condescend to be my—
Mar. What? 120
Suf. His love.
Mar. 1 am unworthy to be Henry's wife.
Suf. No, gentle madam ; I unworthy am
To woo so fair a dame to be his wife,
And have no portion in the choice myself.
How say you, madam, are ye so content ?
Mar. An if my father plea.se, I am content.
Suf., Then call our captains and oar col¬
ors forth.
And, madam, at your father's castle walls
We'll crave a parley, to confer with him. 1,30
A parley sounded. Enter Reignier on the
.. I.. r , walls.
See, Reignier, see, thy daughter prisoner I
' Reif/. To whom ?
Suf To me.
Jteig. Suffolk, what remedy ?
I am a soldier, and nnapt to weep, ' ' .
Or to exclaim on fortune's fickleness.
Suf. Yes. tiiere is remedy enough, my lord :
Consent, and for thy honor give consent.
Thy daughter shall bo wedded to'my king ;
Whom I with pain have woo'd and won
thereto; ^
And this her easy-held imprisonment
Hath gained thy daughter princely liberty. 140'
Reig. Speaks Suffolk as he thinks ?
' Suf. Fair Margaret knows
Tliat Suffolk doth not flatter, face, or feign.
Reig. Upon thy princely warrant, I descend
To give thee answer of thy just demand.
[Eritfrom the walls.
Suf. And here I will expect tliy coming.
Trumpets sound. Enter Reigkier, below.
Reig. Welcome, brave earl, into our terri¬
tories : 0
Command in Anjon what your honor pleas Js.
Suf Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet
a child,'
Fit to be made companion with a king ;
What answer makes vqn- grace ufite rey yuit ?
55
Reig. Since thou dost deign to woo her little
worth 151
To be the princely bride of such a lord ;
Upon condition 1 may quietly
Enjoy mine Own, the country Maine and An-
jou.
Free from oppression or the stroke of war,
My daughter shall be Henry's, if he please.
Suf. That is her ransom ; 1 deliver her;
And those two counties I will undertake
Your grace shall well and quietly enjoy.
Reig. And I again, in Henry s royal name,'
As deputy unto that gracious king, 161
Cive thee her hand, for sign of plighted faith.
Suf. Reignier of France, I give thee kingly
thanksj '.
Because this is in trafllc of a king. ' ,
[Aside] And yet, methinks, I could be well
content
To be mine own attorney in this case.
I'll over then to England with this news,
And make this marriage to bo solemnized.
So farqfvell, Reignier: set this diamond safe
In golden palaces, as it becomes. 170
Reig. I do embrace thee, as I would em¬
brace [here.
The Christian prince. King Henry,, were he
Mar. Farewell, my lord: good' wishes,
praise and prayers
Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret. [Going.
Suf. P.arewell, sweet madam: but hark
you, Margaret
No princely commendations to my king ?
Mar. Such commendations as becomes a,
maid,
A virgin and his servant, say to him.
Suf. Words sweetly placed and modestly
directed.
But, madam, I must trouble you again ; 18C
No loving token to his majesty ?
Mar. Yes, my good lord, a pure unspotted
heart.
Never yet fciint with love, I send the king.
Stif. And this withal. [TTisses her.
Mar. That for thyself: I ■will not' so pre
snme
To send such peevish tokens to a king.
[Exeunt Reignier and Margaret
Suf. O, wert thou for myslelf! But, Suf¬
folk, .stay;
Thou mayst not wander in that labyrinth ; ^
There MiPotaurs and ugly treasons lurk.
Solicit Henry with her wondrous praise': 100
Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount.
And natural graces that extinguish art;
Repeat their semblance often on the seas,
That, when thou coraest to kneel at Henry's
feet.
Thou mayst bereave him of his wits with won¬
der. [Exit,
Scene JY, Camp of tJui Duke op York
in Anjou.
Enter York, War'wick, and others.
Yoi-k. Bring forth that sorceress condemn'^!
to burn
KING HENRY VI. JPART I.
66
KmG HENRY VL PAttr I.
[Aoi V
Et'tcr La Pucelle, ijuwded, tmd a Shepherd.
(S'/i<5>. All, Joan, this kills thy father's heart
outright! ' ^
Have I sought every country far and near, |
And, now it is my chance to find thee out, '
Must I behold thy timeless cruel death ?
Ah, Joan, sweet daughter' Joan, I'll die with'
, thee! ^ ^
Pm. Decrepit miser 1 base ignoble wretch !
I am descended of a gentler blood:
Thou art no father nor no friend of mine.
tikep. Out, out 1 My ibfds, an please yon,
•'tis not so i 10
I did beget her, all the parlsli knows :
Her mother llveth yet, can testify
She was the first fruit of my bachelorship.
War. Graceless ! wilt thou deny thy par¬
entage ?
Tbrfe This argues what her kind of life
hath been.
Wicked and vile and so her death concludes.
RN^p. Fie, Joan, that thou wilt be so ob¬
stacle !
God knows thou art a coUop of my fle.sh ;
And for thy sake have I shed many a tear :
Deny me not, I prithee, gentle Joan. 20
Puc. Peasant, avaunt! Yon have subom'd
this man.
Of purpose to obscure my noble birth.
Shep. "Rs true, I gave a noble to the priest
The morn that I was wedded to her mother.
Kneel down and take my blessing, good my
giri-
Wilt thou not stoop ? Now cursed be the
time
Of thy nativity ! I would the milk
Thy mother gave thee when thou suck'dst her
breast.
Had been a little ratsbane for thy salie!
Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs a-
field, SO
I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee !
Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab ?
O, burn her, bum her! hanging Is too good.
York. Take her away ; for she hath lived
too long,
To fill the world with vicious qualities.
Puc. First, let me tell you whom you have
eoudemn'd: ,
Not roe begotten of a shepherd swain,
But Issued from the progeny of kings ; ,
Virtuous and holy ; chosen from almve,
By inspiration of celestial grace.
To work exceeding miracles on earth,
I never had to do with' wicked spirits ;
But you, that are polluted with your lusts,
8talu'd with the guiltless blood of Innocents,
Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices.
Because you want the grace tnat others have.
You judge It straight a tblng impossible
To compass wonders hut by help of devils.
No, misconceived ! Joan of Arc hath been
A virgin from her tender Infancy, 50
Chaste and immaculate in very thought;
Whose maiden blood, thus ri^rously effused,
Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven.
Yorjfc. Ay, ay : away with her to execution 1
War. And hark ye, sirs ; becatise she Is a
maid, '
Spare for no faggots, let there be enow r
Place barrels oFpltch upon the fatal stake.
That so her torture may be shortened.
Puc. Will nothing turn your unrelenting
hearts ?
Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity, 00
That warranteth by law to lie thy pviiilege.
I am with child, ye bloody homicides :
Murder not then the fruit Within my Wonih,
Although ye hale me to a violent death.
Yorjfc. Now heaven forfend ! the holy maid
with child!
• War. The gi-eatest miracle that e'er ye
wrought:
Is all your strict pieciseness come to th.s ?
York. She and the Dauphm have been jug¬
gling : ' '
: I did Iraaglue what would be her refuge.
War. Well, go to ; we'll have no bastards
live; 70
Especially since Charles must father ^t.
Puc. Yon are deceived ; my child Is none
of his:
It was Alemjon that enjoy'd my.love.' '
York. Alencon ! that notorious Machlavel i
It dies, an If it had a thousand lives. '
Pwc. O, give me le.ave, I have deluded you:
'Twas neither Charles nbr yet the duke I
named, ' ,
But Reignler, king of Naples, that prevafl'd.
War. A married man ! that's mu.st hitoldr-
able. ' '
York. Why, here's a girl ! I think she
knows not well, • . 80
There were so many, whom she may accusft
War. It's sign she hath been liberal and
free. '
YorJk. And yet, forsooth, slie is a virgin
pure. . < '
Strumiiet, thy words condemn tJiy brat and
thee :
Use no entreaty, for it is in vain.-
Puc. Then lead me hence; with Whom I
leave my curse : ■
May never glorious sun reflex his- beams
Upon the country where you malce abode ;
But darkness and tlie gloomy shade of death
Environ you, till mischief aiid despair I'd
Drive you to break your necks or hang your¬
selves ! [Exit, guarded.
York. Break thou in pieces and consume to
ashes.
Thou foul accursed minister of hell!
Enter Cardinal BEaufOrt, Bishop of
Winchester, attended.
Car, Lord regent, I do greet yOnr exeellencs
With lettei-s of commission from the king.
For know, my lords, the states of Christendom,
Moved with remorse of these, ontrageous
broils,
Have earnestly implored a general peace
SCEilB v.]
KINa HENRY VI. PART 1,
il
Betwixt <>nlr nation and the aspiring French ;
And here at baud the Dauphin and his tmin
Amroacheth, to confer about some matter. 101
York. Is all oar travail tnm'd totliiseffect?
After the slaughter of so many peers,
So many caiitaius, gentlemen and soldiers,
That in this (juarrel have been overthrown
And sold their bodies for their oountrv's bene*
Shall we at last conclude effeminate peace 7
Have we not lost most part of all the towns,
By tre.a8on, falsehood and by treachery,
Our great progenitors had conquered 7 110
O, Warwick, Warwick ! I fore.see with grief
The utter loss of all the realm of France.
TTar. Be patient, York : if we conclude a
peace,
It sliall be with such strict and severe cove¬
nants
As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby.
A'nl0* Charles, ALENgojf, Bastard, Reig-
rv'" and others.
f,Char. Since, lords of England, it is thus
• ' agreed
That Maceful truce shall be proclaim'd in
France,
We come to be informed by yours^ves
What the conditions of that league must lie.
York. Speak, Winchester; for boiling choler
chokes 120
The hollow i>assage of my poison'd voice,
By sight of these our baleful enemies.
Car. Charles, and the rest, it is enacted
thus:
That, in regard King Henry gives consent.
Of mere comirassion and of lenity.
To ease your country of distressful war.
And suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace.
You shall become true liegemen to his crown ;
And, Cliarles, upon condition thou wilt sweat
To ]}ay him tribute, and submit thyself, 130
Tliou slialt be placed as viceroy under him.
And still enjoy thy regal dignity.
Alen. Must he be then as sliadow of him¬
self 7
Adorn hiii temples with a coronet,
And yet, in substance and authority.
Retain but privilege of a private man 7
This proffer is absurd and reasonless.
Char. 'Tis known already that I am pos-
se.ss'd
With more than half the Gallian territories.
And therein reverenced for their lawful king :
Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvaitquish'd, 141
Detract so much from that prerogative.
As to be call'd but viceioy of tlxe whole 7
No, lord ambassador, I'll rather keep
That which I have than, coveting for more.
Be cast from possibility of all.
York. Insulting Charles ! kast thou by
secret means
Used intercession to obtain a league.
And, now the matter grows to compromise.
Stand'st thou aloof upon comparison 7 150
Either accc A the tirie thou usurp'st.
Of benefit proceeding from our king
And not of any challenge of desert, ,
Or we will plague thee with incessant wars,
Seig. My lord, you do not well in obstinacy
To cavil in the course of this contract:
If once it be neglected, ten to one
We shall not find like opportunity. ,
Alen. To say the truth, it is your jpplicy
To save your subjects from such massacre itiC
And ruthless slaughters as are daily seen
By our proceeding in hostility ;
And therefore take this com|>act of a truce^
Although you break it when your pleasure
serves. i ,
War. How say'st thou, Charles 7 shall our
condition stand 7
Char. It shall;
Only reserved, you claim no interest
In any of our towns of garrison. i
. York. Then swear .allegiance tb his majesty,
As tliou art knight, never to disobey ' ltd
Nor be rebellious to the crown of England, ,
Thou, nor thy nobles, to the crown of Engla'.ui;
So, now dismiss your army when ye please ;
Hang up your ensign, let your drums ^(e fStili,
For here we entertain a solemn peace.
, , [^xennt.
Scene T. London., Thepaktee^ ^
Enter Suffolk in conference with the Ki^g,
Gloucester and Exeter. , , ,
King. Your wcmdrous rare description,
noble earl, . , ,
Of beauteous Margaret hath astonish'd. me :
Her virtues graced with external gifts [
Do breed love's settled passions in my heai t :
And like as rigor of tempestuous gnsts ,
Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide.
So am I driven by breath of her renowq,
Either to suffer shipwreck or arrive ■ ,
Where I may have fruition of her love. i
Svf. Tush, my good lord, this superficiaj
tale ir¬
is but a preface of her worthy praise , ■
The chief perfections of that lovely dame
Had I sufficient skill to utter them, '
Would make a volume of enticing lines.
Able to ravish any dull conceit:
And, which is more, she is not so divine.
So full-replete with choice of all delights,
But with as humble lowliness of mind
She is content to be at your command ;
Command, I mean, of virtuous chaste intents.
To love and honor Henry as her lord. 21
King. And otherwise will Henry ne'er pre¬
sume.
Therefore, my lord protector, give consent
That Margaret may be England's royal queen.
Ghu. So should I giye consent to flatter
sin.
You know, my lord, your highness is betroth'd
Unto another lady of e.steem :
How shall we then dispense with that contract,
And not deface your honor with reproach 7
Snf. As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths ;
Or one that, at a triumph having vow'd 31
KING HENRY VI. PART- L
[Act v.
To try his strength, forsaketh yet the lists
By reason of his adversary's odds :
A poor earl's daughter is unequal odds,
And therefore may be broke without offence.
Glou. Why, what, I pray, is Margaret more
than that ?
Her father is no better tiian an earl.
Although in glorious titles he excel.
Siif. ' Yes, my lord, her father is a king.
The Khig of Naples and Jerusalem ; 40
And of such great authority in France
As his aJianCe will confirm our peace
And keep the Frenchmen in allegiance.
Glou. And so the Earl of Armagnac may
■ do.
Because he is near kinsman unto Charles.
Exe. Beside, his wealth doth warrant' a
liberal dower, ''
Where Keignier sooner will receire tlian ghe.
Suf. A dower, my lords ! disgrace not so
your king.
That he should be so abject, base and ]X)or,
To choose for wealth and not for perfect love.
Henry is* able to enrich his queen
And not to seek a queen to make him rich :
So worthless peasants bargain for their wives,
As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse.
Marriage is a matter of more wortlr
Than to be dealt in by attorneyship ;
Not whom we will, but whom his grace affects,
Must be companion of his nuptial bed :
And therefore, lords, anee he affects her most.
It most of all these rea.sons bindeth us, 60
In our djHnions she should be pieferr'd.
For what is wedlock forced bnt^a hell.
An age of discord and continual strife ?
Whereas the contrary bringeth bliss.
And is a pattern of celestial peace.
Whom should we match with Henry, being a
king. •
But Margaret, that is daughter to a kilig ?
Her peerless feature, joined with her birth.
Approves her fit for none but for a king :
Her valiant courage and undaunted spirit, 70
More than in women commonly is seen.
Will answer our hope in issue of a king :
For Henry, son unto a conqueror.
Is likely to beget more conquerors,
If with a lady of so high resolve
As is fair Margaret he be link'd in love. .
Then yield, my lords ; and here conclude with
me
That Margaret shall be queen, and none but
she.
Kiny. Whether it be through force of your
report.
My noble Lord of Suffolk, or for that 60
M.v tender youth w.ts never yet attaint
With any passion of infiamuig love,
I caunot tell ; but this 1 am assured,
I feel such sharp dissension in my breast.
Such fierce alarums both of hope and fear.
As 1 am sick with working of my thoughts. .
Take, therefore, shipping ; post, my lord, to
France ;
Agree to any covenants, and procure
Tliat Lady Margaret do vouchsafe to come
To cross the seas to England and be crown'd 90
King Henry's faithful and anointed queeq,
For your expenses and sufficient charge, ,
Among tlie people gather up a tenth. " *■
Be gone, 1 say : for, till you do return,
I rest perplexed with a thousand cares.
And you, good uncle, banish all offence ;
If you do censure me by what you were.
Not what you are, I know it will excuse
This sudden execution of my wiU.
And so, conduct me where, from comiiany, 100
I may revolve and ruminate my grief. [Exit.
Giou. Ay, grief, I fear me, lioth at first and
last. [Exeunt Glouce.ftur and Exeter.
Suf. Thus Suffolk hath prevail'd ; and thus
he goes.
As did the youthful Paris once to Greece,
With hope to find the like event in love.
But prosper better than the Trojan did.
Margaret shall now be queen, and rule the
king ;
But 1 will rule both her. the kiug uud realm.
LOVE'S LABOUE'S LOSIV
n • • 'H
(written about 1590.)
INTRODUCTION. '•
This play la snpposed to be wholly of Shakespeare's own Invention, no source of the plot liav>
teg been discovered. It is precisely such a one as a cleveryonns man might imagine, who had come
.ately from tlie oouutry—with its " daisies pied and violets blue,''^its'' merry larks," its maidens who
'■ bleach their summer smocks," Its pompous parish sclioolmaster, and its dull constable (a great
■public officml in his own eyes)—to the town, where he was surronnded by more brilliant nnrealities,
and affectation of dress, of maimer, of language, and of ideas. Aoue's Aobouv'e/ost is a dramatic
plea oil behalf of nature and common sense against all that is unreal and affected. It maintains,
in a gay and witty fashion, the superiority of life, as a means of education, over booksj the superi¬
ority ol the large world into which we are born over any little world we can construct for ourselves,
and into which we may hedge ourselves by rule; and, while maintaining this, it also asserts that we
must not educate ourselves only by what is inii tliful and pleasant In the world, but muSt recognize
its sorrow, and thatwe cannot be rightly glad without being grave and earnest. Thus, with Its ap-
jiarent lightness, there is a serious spirit underlying the play ; but the surface Is all jeslt and stir,
and sparkle.' It is a comedy of dialogue rather tliaai of incident, and in the persons of Hon Adriano
de Armado, a fantastical Spaniaid, ot Sir Nathaniel the curate, and of Holofernes the schoolmaster,
are caricatured various Elizabetlian absurdities of speech, pseudo-relinement, and pseudo-learning.
Tim braggart soldier and the pedant are characters well l^own in Italian comedy^ and perhaps it
was fioin that quarter that the hint came to Shakespeare, which stirred his imagination lo create
, these ridiculous ligures. Holofernes, some persons have supposed to he a satirical sketch of John
Florio, atithor of an Italian dictionary ; but Shakespeare did not in any ascertained instances satirize
individual persons, and there is little evidence in this case'to warrant the supposition. The play con¬
tains liotbing which serves ■ to indicate its precise date, but it certainly belongs to SbakespefU'e's
earliest dramatic period. The first quarto edition was published in 1598, "as it was presented be¬
fore her Highness [Queen Elizabeth] this last Christmas [probably the Christmas of 15981, Newly cor¬
rected and augmented." Two traces of the alterations from the original play may still be observed.
In Act V. sc. 11.. the lines 827—8.32 ought not to appear, being almost certainly the fragment of the
play in its first form which was afterwards marked out inthehnes833—879. Similarly, in Birorfs
great Speech, .4i t IV. sc. III., the lines 296—317 contain passages which are^ repeated or altered in
the lines wliich follow (318—351), and obviously some of the lines in the original veision have beM
been. loiaiued through a mistake. ■ ,
DRAMATIS PERSON.®.
Ferdinand, king of Navarye,
Bibon, . 1 ,
Longavillb, > lords attending on the King.
Domain, r
Boyet, ) lords attending on the Prince.ss
Meucade, ( of France. , [Siianiard.
Don Adriano de Armadq, a fantastical
SfR Nathanied, a curate.
Hoixifernes, a schooltnaster.
Duld, a constable.
Costard, a ciown. ,
Moth, page to Armado. , ^
A Forester. . ■ , , i ' ■
The Princess of France.' ', •
Bosaline, ) . ,
Maria, > laidies attending on Ijhe Princess.
Katharine )
Jaqdenetta, a country wench.
Lords, Attendants, &c.
Scene: Navam,
■ ACT t *
■ SctSNB I. ■ The king of Ncwarre's park.
K/tfer Ferdinand, knqo/Navarre, Biron,
Longaville aOid Domain.
King. Let fame, that all hnnt after In theli
lives.
Live register'd upon oar brazen tombs
And then grace ns in the disgrace of dbatffl J
When, spite of cormorant devouring Tima
(59)
60
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
[Act i.
The endeavor of this present breath may buy
That honor which shall bate his scythe's keen
edge i" , . ■ ' i
And make u9 heirs or all eternity. 'I ' '
Therefore, brave conquerors,—for so you are.
That war against your own affections
And the huge army of the world's desires,—10
Our late edict shall strongly stand m force :''
Navarre shall be the wonder of the world ;
Our court shall be a little Academe,
Still and contemplative in living art.
You tliree, Biron, Dumain, and Longaville,
Have sworn for three years' term to Jive with
me
My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes
That are recorded in this schedule here :
Toui' oaths are pass'd ; and now subscribe
your,names.
That his own hand may strike his honor down
That violates the smallest branch herein : 21
If you are arm'd to do as sworn to do.
Subscribe to yout deep oaths, and keep it too.
Lmig. 1 am resolved; 'tis but a three
/ , years' fast:
The brind shall banquet, though the body
pine I
Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits
Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite the wite.
Dvm. My loving lord, Dumain is mortified;
The grosser manner of these world's delights
He throws upon the gross world's baser
slaves: , 30
To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die ;
With aU these living hi philosophy.
Biron. I can but say their protestation'
over;
So much, dear liege, 1 have already sworn,
Tliat is, to live and study here three years.
But there are other strict observances ;
As, not to see a woman in that term.
Which I hope well is not eniulled there ;
And one day in a week to touch no food
And but one meal on every day beside, 40
The which I hope is not enrolled there ; •
And then, to sleep but three hours in the
night,
And not be seen to wink of all the day—
When I was wont to think no harm all night
And make a dark night too of half the day—
Which I hope well isndt enrolled there ;
O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep.
Not to see ladies, study, fa.st, not sleep !
fLing, Your oath is pass'd to pass a\Vay
from these.
Biron. Let mq say no, my liege, an if you
please : , '50
I only swore to study with your grace
And stay here m your court for three years'
V space.
Long. You swore to that, Biron, and to
1 ,, therest
" Biron. By yea and nay, sir, then I swore
in lest. ,
What is Mie end of study ? let me know.
King. Why, that to know, which else we
should not know.
Biron. Things hid and barr'd, you mean,
from common sense 1
King. Ay, that is .study's god-like recom-
• pense. , '
Biron. Come on, then; I will swear to
study so.
To know the thuig I am forbid to know : 60
As thus,—'to study where I well may dine.
When I to feast expressly am forbid ;
Or study where to meet some mistress fine.
When mistresses from common sense are
hid ;
Or, havmg sworn too hard a keeping oath.
Study to break it and not break my troth.
If study's gain be thus and this be so,
Study knows that which yet it doth not know
Swear me to this^ and I will ne'er say no.
King. These be the stops that hinder study
quite 70
And train our intellecfs to vain delight.
Biron. Why, all delights are vain ; but
that mo.st vain.
Which with pain purchased doth inherit pain:
As, painfully to pore upon a book
'fo seek the light of truth ; while truth th«
while
Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look ;
Light seeking light doth light of .light be¬
guile :
So, ere you find where light in darkness lies.
Tour light grows dark by losing of your eyes.
Study me how to please the eye indeed 80
By fixing it uiwn a fairer eye.
Who daszling so, that eye shall be his heed
And give huh light that it was blinded by.
Study is like the heaven's glorious sun
That will not be deep-search'd with saucy
looks :
Small have continual plodders ever won
Save base authority from others' books.
These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights
That give a name to every fixed star
Have no more profit of their shining nights 90
Than those that walk and wot not what
they are. [fame ;
Too much to know is to know nought bqt
And every godfather can give a name.
King. How well he's read, to reason
against reading !
Bum. Proceeded well, to stop all good pro¬
ceeding !
Long. He weeds the com and still lets
grow the weeding.
Biron. The spring is near when green
geese are a-breeding.
Bum. How follows that ?
Biron. Fit in his place and time.
Bum. In reason nothing. '' '
Biron. Something then in rhyme.
King Biron is like an envious sneaping frost
That bites the first-bom infants of
the spring. 101
Biron. Well, say I am ; why Miould proud
summer boast
Before the birds have any cause
to sing ?
fCENB 1.]
LOVE'S! LABOUIi'S LOST.
61
Why should I joy iu any abortive birth ?
At Christmas 1 no more desire a rose
Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled
mirtli ;
But like of each thing that in season grows.
So you, to study now it is too late,
Climb o'er the house to unlock tire little gate.
Kind. Well, sit you out : go home, Biron :
adieu. ' 110
Biron. No, my good lord'; I have sworn to
stay with you :
And though I have for barbarism spoke more
Than for that angel knowledge you can say.
Yet confident I'll keep what I have swore
And bide the penance of each three years'
day.
Give me the i>aper ; let me read the same ;
And to the strict'st decrees I'll write my name.
Kind- How well this yielding rescues thee
from shame !
Biron [reads]. ' Item, That no woman shall
come witliin a mile of my Court:' Hath this
been proclaimed ? , 121
7»ii</. Four days ago.
Biron. Let's see the penalty, [ifcads] ' On
pain of losing her tongue.' Who devised this
ironalty ?
Lond. Marry, that did I.
Biron. Sweet lord, and why ?
Land. To fright them hence With that
dread penalty.
Biron. A dangerous law against gentility !
\Beads\ ' Item, If any man be seen to talk
with a woman within the term Of three years,
he shall endure sueh public shame as tlie rest
of the court can ivossibly devise.'
This article, my liege, yourself must break ;
For w?ll you know here comes in embassy
The French king's daughter with yourself to
speak—
A maid of grace and complete majesty—
About surrender up of Aquitaine
To her decrepit, sick and bedrid father :
Therefore this article is made in vain, 140
Or vainly comes the admired princess hither.
Kind. What .say you, lords ? why, this was
quite forgot.
Biron. So study evermore is overshot:
While it doth study to have what it would
It doth forget to do the thing it should.
And when it hath the thing it huiiteth most,
'Tis won as towns with fire, so won, so lost.
Kind. We must of force dispense with this
decree ;
She must lie here on mere necessity.
Biron. Necessity will make us all forswoni
"Three thousand times within this three
years' space ; 151
For every man with his affects is born.
Not by might ihaster'd but to special grace:
If 1 break faith, this word shall speak for me ;
I am forsworn on ' mere necessity.'
So to the laws at large I write my name:
[Stihucrihes.
And he that breaks them in the least degree
Stands in attainder of eternal shame:
Suggestions are to bther as to me ;
But I believe, although I seem so loath," 160
I am the last that will last keep his oath.
But is there no quick recreation granted ?
Kind- Ay, that there is. Our court, you
know, is haunted
With a refined traveller of Spain ;
A man in all the world's new fashion planted.
That hath a mint of phrases in his brain ;
One whom the music of his own vain tongue
Doth ravish like enchanting harmony ;
A man of complements, whom right and wroitg
Have chose as umpire of their mntiby: 170
This child of fancy, that Armado hight.
For interim to our studies shall relate
In high-born words the worth of many a
knight ' '
From tawny Spain lost in the world's de-
• bate. '" . . I .
How you delighk my lords, I know not, I ;
But, I protest, I love to hear him lie' ' ' '
And I will use him for my minstrelsy.'
Biron. Armado is a most illustrious wight,
A man of fire-new words, fashion's own,
knight. '
Lond. Costard 'the Swain and he shall be
our sport; ' ' , ' ■ 166
And so to study, three years 14 but short. •
Enter Ddll with a letterand Costakd.
BnU. Wliich is' the duke's own person ?
Biron. Tiiis, fellow : what wonldst ?
Bull. I myself reprehend his own person,
for I am his grace's tliarborough : bnt l-wonla'
see his own person m flesh and blood,
Biron. This is he. i . '
Bull. Signior Arme—Arme-^commends'
yon. There'si villajiy abroad : this letter wiil
tell you more. i 1(X)
Cost. Sir, the contempts thereof are as
tonching me. ■
Kind. A letter from the magnificent Ar¬
mado.
Biron. How low soever the matter, I hope
in God for high words.
Lond. A high hope for a low heaven : God
grant us patience ! '■
Biron. To hear 1 or forbear laughing ?
Lond. To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh
moderately ; or to forbear both. 200
Biron. Well, sir, be it as the style shall
give us cause to climb in the merriness.
C'o.<!t. The matter is to me, sir, aS' concern¬
ing Jaqnenetta. The manner of it is, I was
taken with the manner.
Biron. In what manner ?
Cost. In manner and form following, sir ;
all those three: I was seen with her in the
manor-house, sitting with her upon the form,
and taken following her into the park ; which,
put together, is in manner and form following.
Now, sir, for the manner,^it is the manner of
a man to speak to a woman : for the form,—
in some form.
Biron. For the following, sir ?
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST
[Act i.
CW. As it shall follow in my correction ;
and God defend the ri^ht!
Kiny., WjU you heai; tliis letter with atten¬
tion ?
Jiii'un. • As we would hear an oracle.
Cost. Such is the simplicity of man to
hearken after the tlesh. , 2li0
Kiay {reads], ' Great deputy, the welkin's
vicegerent and sole dominutor of Navarre, my
soul's earth's god, and body's fostering patron'.'
Cost. Not a word of Costard yet
Kiiiy [reads], ' So it is,'-r-- , .
Cost, It may be so : but if Jie say it is so,
he is, initellingtrue, but so.
JCiiiff, ■ Peace !
. Cost, Be to me and every man that dares-
not fight! 230
JCiny. No words ! . ,
Cost, Of other.men's secrets, I beseech
you. ' I., ■
Xiny [reads]. ' So it is, besieged with ssible-
colored melancholy, I did commend the black-
oppressing humor to. the most wholesome
physic of thy health-giving air ; and, as I am
a gentleman, betook myself to walk. The
time when. About the si.xth hour; when
beasts most graze, birds best peck, and men sit
down to tliat nourishment iwhich is called
supper : so much for the time when. Now for
the -ground which ; which^ I mean, I walked
upon : it is ycleped thy xjark. Then for the
place where ; where, I mean, I did encounter
that obscene and preposterous event, that
draweth from my snow-white pen tdie ebon-
oolored ink, which here thou viewest, behold-
est, surveyest, i or seest; but to the place
where ; it standeth north-north-east and by
east from the west comer of thy curious-
knotted ^rden : there did I see that low-spir¬
ited swain, that base minnow of thy mirth,'—
Cost, Me ?
Xiny [reads], ' that unlettered small-know¬
ing soiil,'—:.
CostT Me ?
Xiny [reads], ' that shallow vassal,'—
Cost. Still me ? t
Xiny [rewls], ' which, as I remember,
bight Costard,—
(Jost, O, me ! . , . 2C0
Xiny [roads], ' sorted and- consorted, con¬
trary to thy established prdcJaimed edict and
continent canon, which with,—O, with—but
with this I passion to say wheiewith,;—
.C'osfi With a wench.
- Xiny [reads], 'with a child of our grand¬
mother Eve, a female ; or, for thy more sweet
understanding, a woman. Him Z, as my ever-
esteemed duty pricks me on, have sent to thee,
to receive the meed of iwnishment, by thy
sweet grace's officer, ■Anthon.y Dull; a man of
good repute, carriage, bearing, and estima.-
tion.' . i • . I
Dttll, Moy au't shall please you ; I am, An¬
thony Dull.
Xiny [reads], ' For Jaquenetta,—so is tlie
weaker vessel called which k apprehended
with the aforesaid swain,—I keep her as a
vessel of the law's fury ; and shall, at the
least of thy sweet notice, bring her to trial,
Thine, in all compliments of devoted and heart¬
burning heat of duty.
Don Adkiano dk Apmado.'
Biron, This is not so well as I looked for,
but the best that ever 1 heard. y
Xiny, Ay, the best for the worst. But,
sirrah, what say ,vou to this ?
C'osf. Sir, I confess the wench.'
Xiny, Did you hear the proclamation ?
Cost, I do "confess much of tlie hearing it,
but little of the markutg of it.
Xiny, It was prochiimed a year's imprison¬
ment, to be taken with a wench. , 290
Cost, I was taken with none, sar : 1 was
taken with a damsel. ' i
Xiny, Well, it w.as proclaimed 'damsel.'
Cost, This was no damsel, neither, sir ; she
was a virgin.
Xiny. ft is so varied, too ; for it was tiro-
claimed ' virgin.'
Cost, If it were, I deny her virginjty : I was
taken with a maid. | [sir.
Xiny. This maid will not serve your turn.
Cost. This maid will serve my turn, sir^
Xiny. Sir, I will pronounce .your seirterce :
you .shall fast a week w ithiyan and wa',er.
Cost, I had rather irray a month with
mutton and porridge.
Xiny, And Don Armado sliaB be your
. keeper.
My Lord Biron, see him deliver'd o'er ;
And go we, lords, to put in practice that
Which each to other hath so strongly g worn.
[Exeunt Xiny, LonyarUle, and Dunau,.
Biron, I'll lay my head tp any good man's
hat.
These oaths and laws will prove tin idle
scorn.
Sirrah, come on. ^ ,
Cost, I suffer for,tlie truth, sir ; for true ii
is, I was taken with Jaquenetta, and Jaque^
netta is a true girl; and therefore welcome the
sour cup of pi-osjierity ! Affliction may one
day smile again ; and till then, sit die- down,
sorrow! [Exeunt,
Scene 11. ' The same. '
Enter Armado and Motk.
Arm, Boy, what sign is it \vhen a man of
gre.at siiirit grows melancholy 7
Moth, A great sign, sir, th.at lie will look
sad.
Arm, Why, sadness is one and the self¬
same thing, dear imp. ^
Moth, No, no ; O Lord, sir, no.
Arm. ,Haw canst thou part saduass and
melancholy, my tender juvenal 7
Moth, By a familiar demonstratiop. of the
working, my tough senior. . 10
Ai~m, Why tough senior 7 why tf rph sen¬
ior 7 .
Moth, W'liy tender juvenal 7 A /; tender
ju venal 7 '
Scene ii.j
Aim. I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a con¬
gruent epithetou appertaining to thy young
days, which we may nominate tender.
Moth. And i, touch senior, as an apperti-
nent title to ■ your old time, which we may
name tough
Ann.' Pretty and apt.
Moth. How mean yoU, sir ? I pretty, and
my saying apt ? or I apt, and my saying
pretty ?
Aim. Thon pretty, because little.
Moth. Little pretty, because little. Where¬
fore apt ?
Aim. And therefore apt, because guick.
Ifoth. Speak you this in my x>raise, ma!»-
ter ? ' ■
Aim. In thy condign praise.
Moth. I will praise an eel with the same
praise.
Arm. What, that an'Oel is ingenious ?
• Moth. That an eel is quick. 30
Arm.' I do say thou ait quick in answers :
thou heatest my'blood. .
Moth. I am answered, sir.
Arm. I love not to be crossed.
Moth. (Aside] He speaks the mere con¬
trary ; Crosses love not him.
Arm. I have promised to study three years
with the duke '
Moth. You may do it in an hour, sir.
Arm. Impossible. 40
Moth. How many is one thrice told ?
Armi I am ill at reckoning ; it dtteth the
spirit of a tapster.
Moth. You are a gentleman and a gamester,
sir.
Arm, I confess both : they are both the
vamisli of a complete man.
Moth. Then, I am sure, you know how
much the gross sum of deuce-ace ainomits to.
Arm. It doth amount to one more than two.
Moth. • Which the .base vulgar do call three;
Ann. True.
Moth. ' Why, sir, is this snch a piece of
study ? Now here is three studied, ere ye'll
thrice wink : and how easy it is to put' years'
to the word 'three,' and study three years in
two words, the damnug horse Will tell you.
Arm. A most fine figure !
Moth. To prove you a cipher. 59
Arm. I will hereupon confess I am in love :
and as it is base for a soldier to love, so am I
in love with a base wench. If drawing my
sword against the humor of affection would
deliver me from the' reprobate thought of it, I
would take Desire prisoner, and ransom him to
any French courtier for a new-devised courtesy.
1 think scorn to sigh'; methinks I should out-
swear Cupid. Comfort me, boy : what great
men have been in love ?
MotK Hercules, master. •
Aim. Most sweet Hercules ! More author¬
ity, dear boy, name more ; and, sweet my
child, let them be men of good repute and car¬
riage.
Moth. Samson, riaster: he was a man of
63
good carriage, great carriage, for he carried
the town-gates on his back like a porter: and
he was in love. . • ■ - '
Arm. O well-knit Samson ! strong-jointed
Samson ! I do excel thee in my rapier as much
as thou didst me in carrying gates. 1 am in
love too Who was Samson's love, my dear
Moth ? 8fl
Moth. A woman, master.
Aim. Of what complexion ?
Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the
two, or one of the four.
Aim. Tell me precisely of whatcomplexfon.
Moth. Of the sea-water green, sir.
Aim. Is that one of the four comtilexions ?
Moth. As I have read, sir ; and the best of
them too. ' , •
Arm. Green indeed is the color of lovers ;
but to have a love of that color,' methinks
Samson had small reason' for it. He surely
affected her for her wit '
Moth. It was so, sir for she had a green
wit.
Arm. My love is most immaculate white
and red.
Moth. Most maculate thoughts, master, are
masked under such colors.
Aim. Define, define, well-educated infant.
M(Ah. My father's wit and my mother's
tongue, assist me ! 101
Arm. Sweet invocation of a child j most
pretty and pathetical!
Moth. If she be made bt white and red,
Her faults will ne'er be known', ■
For blushing cheeks by faults are bred
And fears by pale white shown :
Then if she fear, or be to blame.
By this you shall not know.
For still her cheeks possess the same 110
Which native she doth owe.
A dangerous rhyme, master, against five rea¬
son of white and red.
Aim. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the
King and the Beggar ?
Moth. The world was very guilty of such a
ballad some three ages since : but I think now
'tis not to be found ; or, if it were, it would
neither serve for the writing nor the tune:'
Aim. I will have that subject newly writ
o'er, that I may example my digression by
some mighty precedent. Boy, I do love that
conntrv gfrl that I took in the park with the ra¬
tional hind Costard : she deserves well.
Moth. [Aside] To be whipped ; and yet a
better love than my master.
Arm. Sing, boy J my spirit grows heavy in
love. ' ' 'I
Moth. And that's great marvel, loving ar
light wench. '
Arm. I say, Sing.' 130
Moth. Forbear till this' company be past.
Unter Duli., Costakd, and Jaquhnetta. ,
Dull. Sir, the duke's pleasure is, that yOu'
keep Costard safe : and you must suffer him
to take no delight nor no penance ; but a* must
LOf'E'S LABOUR'S LOST.
64
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
{Act II.
fast three days a week. For this damsel, I
must keep l^er at the jiark : she is allowed for
the day-woman. Fare you. well-
Am. il do betmy myself with blushing.
Haidt
Jaq. Man ?
Arm. ' will visit thee at the lodge. 140
;: j. That's hereby.
Aim. 1 know wliere it is situate/
ja.,. Lord, how wise you are 1
Ann. I will tell thee woudeis.
Jaq. With tliat face ?
Arm. 1 love thee.
Jaq. ' So I heard you say.
Artn. And so^ farewell.
Jaq, ■ Fair weather after-you !
Dull. Come, J^uenetta, away ! 150
[ Exeunt Dull and Jaquenetta.
Arm. Villain, thou shalt fast for tliy
offences ere thou be pardoned.
Cost. Well, sir, I hope, when I do it, I shall
do it on a full stomach.
Arm. Thou shalt be heavily punished.
Cost. I am more bound to you than your
fellows, for they are but lightly rewarded.
Arm. Take away tliis villain ; shut him up.
Moth. Come, you transgressing . slave ;
away! i liiO
. Cost, Let me not be pent up, sir: I will fast,
being loose.
Moth.' No, sir ; that were fast and loose :
thou shalt to prison.
Cost,' Well, if e\er I do see the merry days
of desolation tliat I have seen, some shall see.
Moth. What shall some see ? I
Cost. Nay, nothing, Ma.ster Moth, bnt what
they look upon. It is not for irrisoners to be
too silent in their words ; and tlrerel'ore I will
say nothing : I Uiank God I have as little
patience as another man ; and therefore I can
be quiet 171
[Exeunt Moth and Costard.
Arm. I do affect the very ground, which is
base, where her shoe, which is baser, guided by
'iter foot, which is basest, doth tread. 1 shall
be forswcs'n, which ,is a great argument of
hlsehood, if l lovei And how can that be true
love which is falsely attempted ? Love is a
'.amiliar ; Love is a devil : there is no evil
angel but Love. .Yet was Samson so tempted,
and he bad an excellent strength ; yet was
Solomon so stdnced, and he had a very good
wit. Cupid's butt-shaft is too hard for Heicalas'
club ; and therefore too niuch odds for a
Spaniard's rapier. • The first and second
cause will not serve rrry turn; the passiido he re¬
spects not, the duello he regards not: his dis¬
grace is to Vie called boy ; but his giory is to
subdue men. Adieu, valor! rust, rapier! be
still, drum! for yoirr manager is m love ; yea,
he ioveth. Assist rne, some extemiroral god
of rhyme, for I am sure I shall turn sonrret.
Devise, wrt; write, pen 1 for I am for whole
volumes' in folio, [Exit.
«
ACT 11.
Scene I. The same.
Enter the Prurcess of France, Rosaline, Ma¬
ma, Kathamne, Bovet, Lords, and other
Attendants. ,
Boyet. Now, madam, summon up your
dearest spirits :
Consider who the king yonr father sends.
To whom he sends, and what's his emba.say ;
Yourself, held precious in the world's esteem.
To parley with tlie sole nilieritor
Of all perfections that a man may owe.
Matchless Navarre ; the plea of no less weight
Tlrau Aquitaine, a dowry for a queen.
Be now as prodigal of all dear grace
As Nature was in making graces dear 10
When she did starve the gerreral world beside
And prodigally gave therrr all to you.
Prin, Good Lord Boyet, my beauty, though
but mean.
Needs not the painted flourish of yonr praise :
Beauty is bought by judgement of tire eye.
Not utter'd by base s^e of chapmen's tongues:
I am less proiid to hear you tell my worth
Than you much williirg to be counted wise
Irr .spending your w it in the praise of mine.
But now to task tlie tasker ; good Boyet, 20
You are rrot ignorant, all-telling fame
Doth noise abroad, Navarre hath made a vow.
Till pairrful study shall outwear three years.
No woman may "approach his sileirt court:
Therefore to's seenieth it a needful course,
Before we enter his forbidderr gates.
To know his pleasure ; and in that belralf,
Bold of your worthiricss, we single you
As our hest-moving fair solicitor. 29
Tell him, the daughter of the King of France,
Oir serious business,^ craving quick dis|ratch,
Imxxirtunes personal conference with his
grace :
Haste, signify so much ; while we attend.
Like humble-visaged suitors, his high wiil.
Boyet. Proud of employment, willingly I go.
Prin. All pride is wiiling pride, and j'ours
is so. [Exit Boyd.
Who are the votaries, my loving lords,
That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke ?
First Lord. Lord Longaville is one.
Prin. Know you the man i
Mar. I know him, madam : at a marriage
feast, 41
Between Lord Perigort and the beauteo'js heii
Of Jaques Falcoubridge, solemnized
In Normandy, saw I tliis Longaville :
A man of sovereign i>arts he is esteem'd ;
Well fitted in arts, glorious in arms :
Nothing becomes him ill that he would well.
The c-ily soil of his fair virtue's gloss.
If virtue's gloss will stain with any soil.
Is a sharp wit match'd with too blunt a will ;
Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still
wilk 50
It should none spare that come within his
power. [iftso?
Priru Some merry mocking lord, belike.
Scene >.]
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
65
Mar. They say so most that most his bu^'
mors know,
Prin. Such short-lived wits do wither as
they grow.
• Who are the rest ?
Kath. The young Domain, a well-acxom-
plislied youth,
Of all that virtue love for virtue loved ;
Most power to do most harm,'least knowing
.ill > . I
-For he liath wit to make an ill shape good'.
And shai>e to win grace though he had no witl
I saw him at tlie Duke Aleu(;on's once.;, 61
And much too iittle of that good I saw
Is my report to his great wortliiuess. ,
, Bos. Auotlier of these students at that time
I Was there witli him, if 1 have heard a truth.
Biron they call him ; but a merrier man.
Within the limit of becoming mirth, ■ ■ :
I never spent an Lour's talk witlial : I
His eye begets occasion lor his wit ;
For every object that the one dotli catch 70
The other turns to a mirth-moving jesh
Which his fair tongue, conceit's expositor.
Delivers in each apt and gracious words
That aged ears play truant at his tales
And younger-barings are quite ravished ; ,
So sweet and voluble is his discourse.
Prin. God blesa my ladies ! are they all hi
. love, '
That every one her own hath garnished
With such bedecking ornaments of praise ?
First Lord. Here comes Boyefc
Be-entei; Botbt.
Prin. Now, what admittance, lord ? 80
^oyet. Navarre had notice of your fair ap¬
proach ; ' , 1
And he and his competitors in oath I
Were all address'd to meet you, gentle lady, i
Before I came. Marry, thus miicb I have
leamt:
He ratlier means to lodge you in the field.
Like one th.at comes hete to besiege his court,
Than seek a dispensation for his oath.
To let you enter his unpeopled house.
Here comes Navarre. ,
Enter KiN^a, LoNcavtLLE, DiratAiN, Biron,
and Attendants. I
Kintf. Fair princess, welcome to the court
of Navarre. 90
Pri]». ' Fait' £ give you back again ; and
' welcome' I have not yet: the roof of this
court is too high to be yours ; and welcome to
the wide fielos too base to be mine.
KUig. ■ You shall bo welcome, madam, to
my court. -
Prin. I will bo welcome, then : conduct me
thither.
Kinf/. Hear me, dear lady ; I have sworn
an oath. • [sworn.
Ptitu Our Lady help my lord! he'll be fori
King. Not for the world, fair madam, by
my will.
Priru Why, will -shall break it •, will and
nothing else. 100
King.- Your ladyship is ignorant what it is.
Prin. Were my lord so, bis ignorance w?re
If- wise, .
Wliere now his knowledge must prove igno¬
rance. , , ■ '
I hear your grace hath sworn out house-keep¬
ing : '
"lis deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord.
And sin to break it.-
But pardon me, I am too sudden-bold : ,
To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me.
Vouchsafe to lead the purpose ofuny coming,
And suddenly resolve me in my suit, 110
King. Madam, 1 wiU, if suddenly I may:
Prin. You will the sooner, that J were
away;
For you'll prove perjured if you make me stay.
mron. Did not 1 dance with you in Brabant
once ? - ,: 1 ,, . [onee ?
Ros. Did not I dance with yon- m, Brabant
Biron. I know you did.
Bos. How needless was it then to ask the
question 1 ,, - .
Biron. You must not be so quick.
Ros. 'Tis 'long of you that spur me with
s.-.ch questions. ' _
Biron. Ifour wit's too hot, it speeds too
fast, 'twill tire. , . , , '120
Bos. Not till it leave the rider in the nure.
Biron. What time o' day ?
Bos.. -The hour that fools should ask.
Biron. Now fair befall your mask 1
Bos. Fair fall the face jt covers!
Biron. And send you many lovers!
Bos. Amen, sp you be none.
Biron. Nay, then will I be gone.
King. Madam, your father here doth inti¬
mate I
The payment of a hundred thousand crowns ;
Being but the one half of an entire sum 131
Disbursed by my lather in his wars.
But say that he or we, as neither have, i
Received that sum,' yet there remains unpaid
ii. hundred thousand, more ; in surety of the
which, - ■ .
One part at Aquitaine is bound to ,us.
Although not.valued to the money's worth.
If then the king your father will re.store
But that one half which is unsatisfied,
We will give up our right in Aquitaine, 140
And hold fair friendship with his majesty.
But that, it seems, he little purposeth.
For here he doth demand to have repaid
A hundred thousand crowns; and not demands.
On payment of a hundred thousand crowns.
To have his title live in Aquitaine ; -
Which we,much rather had depart withal
And have the money by our father lent
Thau Aquitaine so gelded as it is. ^
Dear princess, were not his requests so far 150
From reason's yielding, your taut self should
make ■
A yielding 'gainst some reason in my breast
And go well satisfied to Fiance again. -
Prin. You do the king, my father too mucl:
WBOUg
6 : .
06
And wrong the reputation ot your name,
'n so unseeailug to confess receipt
01 that which hath so faithfully been paid.
King. 1 do protest I never beard of it;
And if you prove it, I'll repay it back
Or yield up Aquitaine.
Pnn. We arrest your word. 160
Boyet, you can produce acquittances
For such a sum from specim ofliceis '
Of Charles his father.
King. Satisfy me so.
Boyet. 6o pleaSe your grace, the packet is
not come.
Where that and other specialties are bound :
T®-morrow yon shall have a sight of them.
King. It shall suffice me : at which inter¬
view
All liberal reason I will yield onto.
Meantime receive such welcome at my band
As honor without breach of honor may 170
Make tender of to thy true worthiness ;
You may not come, fair princess, in my gates ; '
But here without you shall be so received
As you shall deem yourself lodged in my heart,
1'hough so denied fair harbor in my house.
Your own good thoughts excuse me, and fare¬
well :
ro-morrow shall we visit you again.
Prin. Sweet health and fair desires consort
your grace I '
King. T% own wish wish I thee in every
place! [Exit.
Biron. Lady, I will commend you to inine
own heart. 180
Bos. Pray you, do my commendations ; I
would be glad to see it.
Biron. I would you heard it groaa
Bos. Is the fool sick ?,
Biron. Sick at the heart.
Bos. Alack, let it blood.
Biron. Would that do it good ? '
Bos. My physic says ♦ ay.'
Biroru Will you prick't with yoiir eye ?'
Bos. No point, with my knife. 190
Biron. Now, God save thy life!
Bos. And yours from long living!
Biron. I cannot stay thanksgiving.
[Betiring.
Bum. Sir, I pray you, a word ; what lady
is that same ?
Boyet. The heir of A1en(;oti, Katharine her
, name.
Bum. A gallant lady. Monsieur, fare ybn
well. ~ [Exit.
Long. I beseech you a word t what is she
in the white ?
Boyet. A woman sometimes, an yon saw
her in the light.
Long. Perchance light in the lijjbt 1 de¬
sire her name.
Boyet. She hath but one for herself; to
desire that were a shame. 200
Long.: Pray you, sir, whose daughter ? '
Boyet. Her mother's, I have heard.
■Lmg. God's blessing on your beard 1
Good sir, be not cmeiyled.
She is an heir of Faieonbridge.
Long. Nay, my choler is ended.
She is a most sweet lady. '
Boyet. Not unlike, sir, tliat may be.
[ExULM^
Biron. What's her name in the cap 1'
Boyet. Rosaline, by good hap. 2H
Biron. Is she wedded or no ?
Boyet. To her will, sir,'or so. <
.JSiron. You are welcome, sir : adieu.
Boyet. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome
to you. [Exit Biron.
• Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad¬
cap lord:
Not a word with liim but a jest
Boyet. • And every jest but a word. ■
Prin. It was well done of you to take him
at bis word. '
Boyet. 1 was as willing to grapple as he
was to board.
Mar. Two hot slieeps, marry,
Boi/et. And wherefore not ships 7
No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your
' lips. 220
3Iw. Yon sheep, and I pasture : shall tliat
finish the jest ?
Boyet.- So you gmut pasture for me.
[Offering to kiss Mr
Mar. Not so, gentle beast;
My lips are no common, though several they
be.
Boyetj Belonging to whom ?
Mar, To my fortunes and me.
Pnn. Good wits will be jangling; but,
: gentles, agree: ' .
This civil war of wits were much better used
Ou Navarre and bis book-men ; for bere 'tis
abused.
Boyet. If my obseryation, which very sel¬
dom lies,
By the heart's still rhetoric disclbsed with
eyes, ,
Deceive me not now, Navarre is,infected. 230
Prin. With what ?
Boyet With that which we lovers entitle
affected.
Priiu Your reason ?
Boyet.' Why, all his' behdviors did make
their retire
To the court of his eye, peeping tboruugh de¬
sire :
His heart) like an agate, with your print im-
pre.s8'd.
Proud with his form, in his eye pride ex-
press'd :
His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see.
Did stumble with baste in his eyesight to bo ;
All senses to that sense did make tlieii repair
To feel only looking on fairest of fair : 247
Methought all his senses were lock'd In his
eye,
As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy;
'Who, tendering their own worth from where
they were glass'd.
Did point you to buy tbem, aloug aa .yon
pass'd s
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
V
Lf)VBlS,LABOUR'S LOST.
67
HU face's own margent did quote such amazes
Tliat all eye's saw his eyes enchanted witli
gazes.
I'll give you Aquitaine and all that is his.
An you give him for my sake but one loving
kiss. ^ ' L
Pirin. Come to qiir pavilion ; Boyef is dis¬
posed.
• Boyet. But to speak that in'words which
his eye hath uLsclosed. . ' 250
I only have made a mouth of his eye,
By adding a tongue which I know will not lie.
Ros. "liiou ait an old love-monger and
speakest skilfully.
Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather qnd learns
• hews of him. '
Jfo«. Then w.as Venus like her piother, for
her father is but grim.
Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches ?
Mar. ' ' No.
Boyet What then, do you see ?
Bos. Ay, out Wily to be gone.
Boyet. You are too hard for me.
[Exeunt.
ACT ITT.
■ ScEVJS I, , 37ie same.. .
Enter Armado and Moth.
Arm. Warble, child ; make phssionate my
sense of hearing.
Moth. Concolinel. [Sint/iny.
Arm. Sweet air! Go, tenderness of years;
take tills key, give enlargement to the swaih,'
bring him festinately hither : I must employ
him in a letter to my love. ■
Moth. Master, will you win your love with
a French brawl ? •
Arm. How mealiest. thou ? brawling' in
French? ' ' i.i ■
Moth. No, my complete master : but to jig'
off a tune, at tlie tongue's end, canary to it
with your feet, humot'it with turning up yoilr
eyelids; sigh a note and sing a note, sometime
thiough the throat, as if you swallowed Ibve
ivith ^nging love, sometime through tiie nose, •
as if you snuffed up love by smelling love ;
with your hat iienthonse-like o'er the shop of
your eyes ; with your arms crossed on your
thin-belly doublet like a rabbit oil a spit; oi'
your hands in your 'pocket like a man after
tlie old iiainting ; and keefp not too long in one'
tune, but a snip and away. These are com-
plements, these are humors ; these betray
nice wenches, that would be betrayed without
these ; and make tliem men of nbte^o you
note me ?—that most are affected to these.
Arm. How hast thou purchased this ex¬
perience ? . # '
Moth. By my penny of observation. ■
Arm. B"tO,—but'O,—
jl/of A ' The hobby-horse is forgot.' 30
• Arm. Calle.st thou my love' hobby-horse' ?
Moth. No, master ; the hobby-horse is but
a colt, and your love jierhaps a hackney. But
have you forgot your love ?
Arm. Almost I Imd.
Moth. Negligent student! ■ learn her by
heart
Ann. ■ By he.irt and in heart, boy.
Moth. And out of heart, master ; all those
three I will prove. '
Arm. What wilt thou prove 7 40
Moth. A man, if I live ; and this, by, in,
and witliout, upon the instant: by heart you
love her, because your heart cannot come by
her; in heart you love her, because your
heart is in love'witlr her; 4ind out of Heart
you love her, being out of heart that you can¬
not enjoy her.
Arm. I am all these three.'
Moth. And three times as much more, and
yet uothi^ at all. 50
Arm. Fetch hither the swaih :' he must
caiij me a letter.
Moth. A message well sympathized; a
horse to be ambassador for an ass.
' Arm. Ha, ha t what sayest thon ?
Moth. Marry, sir, you must send the ass
upon the horse, for he is very slow-gaited.
But I ga 'i
Aim The way is but short i. away I •
Moth. As swil't as lead, sir.
Arm. The meaning, pretty ingenious ?
Is not lead a metal heavy, dull; and slow ? (10
Moth. Minime, honest master; or ratlier,
master, no. i
Ann. 1 say lead is dowl
Moth. You are too swift, sir, to say so :
Is that lead slow which is fli-ed from a gun ?
. Arm, Sweet smoke of rhetoric 1 '
He reputes me a cannon ; and ■ the bullet,
that's he :
I shoot tliee at the swain. !
Moth. Thump then and I flee. [Exit
Arm. A most acute juvenal; voluble and
free of grace t [face :
By thy favor, sweet welkin, I must sigh in tliy
Most rude melancholy, valor gives thee place.
My herald is returu'd. 70
Re-enter Moth with Costaxd.
Moth. A wonder, master I here's a costard
broken in a sliiu. .
Arm. Some enigma, some riddle : come,
thy I'envoy ; begin..
Cost. No egma, no riddle, no .I'envoy ; no.
salve tin the mail, sir: O, sir, plantain, a
plain plantain ! no I'envoy, no I'envoy ; no
salve, sir, but a plantain 1 .
Am. By virtue, thou enforcest laughter ;
thy silly tliought my spleen ; tlie heaving of
my lungs provokes me to ridiculous smil¬
ing. O, ))ardon me, my stars ! Doth the. in-
' considerate take salve for I'envoy, and the
I word I'envoy for a salve ? 80
Moth. Do the wise tliink them other ? is
not I'envoy a salve ?
Am. No, page : it is an epilogue or dis¬
course, to make plain
68
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
[Act ni.
Some obscure precedence that hath tofoie been
sain. ,
I will example it:
The lox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
Were still at odds, being but three.
There's the moral. Now the I'envoy.
Moth. I will add the I'euvoy, Say the
moral again.
Arm. The fox, tlie ape, the humble-bee, 90
Were still at odds, being but three.
Moth, Until the goose came out of door.
And stay'd the odds by adding four.
Now Will 1 begin your moral, and do you fol¬
low with my I'envoy. ,
The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee.
Were still at odds, being but three.
Arm. Until the goose came out of door.
Staying the odds by adding four. 100
Moth. A good r wivoy, ending in the goose:
would you desire more ?
Cost, The boy hath sold him a bargain, a
goose, that's flat.
Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose
be fat.
To sell a bargain weU is as cunning as fast and
loose:
Let me see; a fat I'envoy ; ay, that's a fat
goose.
Arm. Come hither, come hither. How did
this argument begin ?
Moth. By saying that a costard was broken
in a shin.
Tlien call'd you for the I'envoy.
Cost. True, and 1 for a plantain: thus
came your argument in ;
Then the boy's fat I'envoy, the goose that yon
bought; 110
And he ended the market.
Ann. But tell me; how was there a cos¬
tard broken m a shin 7
Moth. 1 will tpll you sensibly.
Cost. Thou hast no feeling of it. Moth : I
will speak that I'envoy :
I Costard, rmmiug' out, that was safely
within.
Fell over the thre.shold and broke my shin.
Arm. We will talk no more of this matter.
Cost. Till there be more matter in the shin. -
Arm. Sirrah Costard, 1 will eufranchise
thee. 1
Cost. O, marry me to one Frances : I smell
some I'envoy, some goose, in this. *
Arm. By my sweet soul, I mean setting
thee at liberty, enfreedoming thy person; thou
wert immured, restrained, captivated, bound.
■ Cost. True, true ; and now you will be my
purgatiOB and let me loose.
Arm. I'give thee thy liberty, set thee from
durance ; and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee
nothing but this : bear this significant [^vinff
a letter] to the country maid Jaquenetta; there
is remuneration ; for the b^ ward of mine
honor is rewarding my dependents. Moth,
ollow. II
Moth. Like the sequel, I. Signior Costard,
adieu.
, Cost. My sweet ounce of man's flesh t my
incony Jew ! [Exit Moth,
Now will I look to his rem ineration. Remu¬
neration t O, that's the Latin word for three
farthings : three farthings—remuneration.—
' What's the price of this inkle ?'—' One pen¬
ny.'—' No, 111 give you a remuneration :'
why, it carries it. Remuneration ! why, it is a
fairer name than French crown. I wili never'
buy and sell out of this word.
Enter Biron. .
Siron. O, my good knave Costard! exceed¬
ingly well met , •
Cost. Pray you, sir, how' much carnation
ribbon may a. man buy for a remuneration 7
' Biron. What is a rem uneration 7
Cost. Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing.
I Biron. Why, then, three-farthing worth of
silk. 150
Cost. 1 thank j-our ^yorship : God be wi'
you !
Biron. Stay, slave ; I must employ thee :
As thou wilt win my favor, good my knave.
Do one thing for me that 1 shall entreat
Cost. When would you have it done, sir 7
Biron. This afternoon.
Cost. Well, I will do it, sir : fare you well.
Biron. Thou knowe.st not what it is.
Cost, I shall know, sir, when 1 have done it.
Biron. Why, villain, thop must know first
Cost. I will come to your worship tp-mor-
row morning. 161
Biron. It must be done this afternoon.
Hark, slave, it is but tliis :
The princess comes to hunt here in the park,
And in her train there is a gentle lady ;
'When tongues speak sweetly, then tliey hams
her name,
I And Rosaline they call her : ask for her ;
And to her white hand see thou do commend
I This seM'd-up counsel. There's Uiy guerdon ,
go. '.70 [Giving him a shillinfi.
Cost. Garden, Ohweet gardon ! better than
remuneration, a'leven-pence farthing better :
most sweet gardon ! 1 will do it sir, iu print.
Gardon 1 Remuneration ! [Exit.
Biron. And I, forsooth, in love ! 1, Aat
have been love's whip ;
A very beadle to a humorous sigh ;
' A critic, nay, a night-watch constable ;
A domineering pedant o'er tlie boy ;
Than whom no mortal so magnificent! It'O
This wliimpled, whining, purblind, wayward
boy ;
This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid ;
Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms.
The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans
Liege of all loiterers and malcontents.
Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces,
, Sole imperator and great general
Of trotting 'paritors lO my little heart!—»
And 1 to be a corporal of his field.
And wear his colors like a tumbler's hoop! 190
What, 1! 1 love ! I sue ! I seek a wife !
A woiirau, that is like a German clock,
tAbdtks tdsif.
Still a-repairi^, ever out of frame, "
And never golna aright, being a watch, ,,
Bni; being watch'd that it may still go right!
Nay, to be perjured, whith is Worst of sSl:
And, among three, to love the worst of all;
A wlghtly wanton with a velvet brow,
with two t)iteh'balls stuck in her face foreyeS:
Ay, and, by heaven, one that wiU do thC deed
Though Argus wereher eunuch and her guard :
And I to sigh for het! to Watch for her I
To pray for her! Go to j it is a plague
Tliat Cupid tvill impose for ray neglect
Of his almighty dreadful little might' '
Well, .! will love, write, sigh, pray, sue andi
groan ; ' v .r
Some men must love my lady and some Joan.
I , I [Exit.
' ■ . Mill 11 ■' n ■ /
r ACT^V,
Scene I. ^ The some,
Enter the Princess, and her train, a Forester,
Botet, RosAtiNE,M.AiRt and Kathabine.
Prim, Wae that the kiiig, that ipun%d his
horse so hard ' .'
Against the steep uprising of the hill 7'
Boyet. 1 know not; but 1 think it was not he.
Prin. • Whoe'er a' was, a' show'd a mount-
'• lug mind. , '
Well, loMs, .to-day we shall haye our dispatch;
On Saturday we will return to France.
Tlien, forester, my friend, where is, the hush
That we miist stand and play the murderer in?
t'ojv ^ Hereby, upon tlm edge of yonder cop-
,, p>ce;
A stand where you may make the fairest shoot
Prin. ,1 thanh my beauty, I am fair tliat
shoot, , , «
And thereupoh thou speak'st tlie fairest shoot
For. Pardon me, madam, fori meant not so;
Prin'. What, what? first praise me and
u , again say np ? , , ,
0 snort-lived pride ! Not faij; ?, i^lack for woe!
For. Yes, madam, fair.
'"rin. ^ , Nay, never paint me now :
'^here fair is not,praise cannot mend the broW.
Here, good my glaas, take this for telling true:
Fair i>ayment for foul words is more than due.
for.' Nothing but fair is that which Jon in¬
herit. I '. 20
Prii}. See,' see, my beauty wUl be saved by
merit!
O heresy in fair, fit for these days!
A giving hand, ttiough foul, shall, have fair
praise.
But come, the bow : now mercy goes to,kill,
And shooting well is then accounted ill.
Thus will I save my credit in tha^shoot: .
Not wounding, pity would not let me do't;
If womiding, then it was to show my skill.
That more for praise than purpose, meant to
' kill. , '
And out of question so it is sometimes, SO
Ulory grows guilty of detested crimes.
When,'for fame's sake, for praise, an outward
part, ' j'
We bend to that tSiC working of the heart;
As I fot praise alone now Seek to siiill
The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no
• " lit ' '
Boyet.' Do not curst wives hpld that self-
' sovereignty ' '
Dfily for praise sake, when they'striye to-he'
Lords o'er their lords ? '
Prin. Only for praise : and praise we niay
afford- ' ; ' ' '
iTo any lady that subdues A lord. 40
Boyet.' Here corries a, member of the com¬
monwealth.
. ' \Entei CosTAan. - i .
C*osf. Odd dig-yow-den all I Piky you, which
is the head iady f ' '
Prin. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by tit
rest that have no heads. '
Cost. Which is the greatest lady, the hig'.i
.est ?
" Prhi. The thickest and the tallest.
post. The thickest and the tallest I it is so
trrith is truth. " '
An your waist, mistress, were as slender as m*
-iVit, " '
One o' these maids' girdles for your wal.«<i
' . ■ should be fit
Are not you the chief woman 7 j-Oil ilre th-i
thickest here. ' ' ' '
Prin. Wliat's your wiU, 'sir ? What's vout
will ?
Cost.' I haVe'a letter from Monsieur Biron
to one I.^idy Ro,saline. ' '
PrinI O, thy letter, thy letter I he's a good
' fi-iCnd Of mine ! '
Stand aside, good' bearer. Boyet, yon ci.n
'carve J i' '' '
Break up this capoh; ' " ' ' ' '
Boyet. I am bound to setVe.
This letter is mistook, it iniporteth none here';
It is writ to Jaquenetta.
Prin. We -will read it, I swear.
Break the neck of the war, and ei-ery one give
ear. ' 59
Boyet [reads']. * By 'heaven, that thou art
fair, is inost infallibletrue, that thou art
beauteous ; trutli itself, that thou art lovely.
More fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous,
truer than truth itself, hav6 commiseration on
thy heroical Vassal! The magnanimous and
most illustrate king Cophetua set eye upon the
pemicions and indiibitate beggar Zenelophon ;
and he it was that might rightly say, Veui,
vidi; vici; which to aimothanize in the Vulgar,
—O base and obscure vulgar !—videlicet, He
came, saw, and overcame : he came, one ; saw
two ; overcame, three. Who came ? the king;
why did he come ? to see : why did he see ?
to overcome ; to whom came he ? to the beg¬
gar : what saw he ? the beggar : who over¬
came he ? the beggar. The conclusion is vic¬
tory : on whose side ? the king's. The cap¬
tive is enriched : on whose side ? tlie beggar's.
TO
LOVE'S LABOUR'S. LOST.
. (Act iv.
The catastrophe is a uu[>tial : on whose side ?
the king's : no, on both in one, ae one in both.
: am the king ; for so stands the comparison.:
thou the beggar ; for so wituesseth thy lowli-
,Vess. Shaii 1 command thy love ? I may: shall
. enforce tliy iove ? I could : sliall I "entreat
thy iove ? 1 will. VVliat shalt thou exchange
for rags ? robes ; for tittles ? jtities ; for thy¬
self ? me. Thus, expecting thy reply, I pro¬
fane my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy pic-
.nre, and my heart on thy every part. 'Thuie,
hi the dearest design of industry,
Don Aokiano db Armado.'
Thus dost thou hear the Nemeau lion roar 90
'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his
prey.
Submissive fall his princely feet before.
And he from forage will incline t* play ;
But if thou strive, poor soul, what, art foou
then ?
Food for his rage, repasture for his den.
JPrin. What plume of feathers is he that
indited this letter ?
What vane? what weathercock,?' did you
ever hear better ?
Boyet. I am much deceived but l remember
the style. ,
Prin. EJse your memory Is oad, going o'er
it erewhile. ,
Boyet. This Armado is a Spaniard, that
keeps here in court; 100
A phantasime, a Mouarcho, and one that
makes sport
To the prince and his beokmates.
. Prin. Thou fellow^ a word :
Who gave thee this letter ?
Cost. I told you ; my lord.
Pnn. To whom shouldst thou give it ?
Cost. . From my lord to my lady..
Prin. From which lord to which lady ?
Cost. From my lord Biron, a good master
of mine.
To a lady of France that'he call'd Rosaline.
Prin. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come,
lords, away.-
Here, sweet, put up this ; 'twill be
thme another day.
\;ExeurU, Princess and train,
"Soyet. Who is the suitor ? . who is the
suitor? >
, flos. Shall I teach you to know T 110
Boyet. Ay, my continent of beauty.
Bos. Wiy, she that bears the boW.
Finely put off ! . '
Boyet. My lady goes to kill horns ; but, if
thou marry,
Hang me by the neck, if horns that year n\is-'
carry.
Finely put on ! .
Bos. Well, then, I am the shooter.
Boyet. And who is your deer ?
Bos. If we choose by the horns, yourself
come not near.
Finely put on, indeed !
Mar. You still wrangle with her, Boyet,
and she strikes at the brow,
Boyet. But she herself is hit lower ; have
I hit her now ? 120
Bo", Shall I come upon thee with kn old
saying, that was a man when King Pepin of
France w.as a little boy, as touching the nit it?
Boyet. SO' I may answer thee with one as
old, that was a woman when (^ucen Guinover
of Britain w^ a little wench, as touching tlie
hit it.
Bos. Thou canst not hit it, liit it, hit it, '
Thou canst not hit it, my good jnan.
Boyet. Aa. I cannot, cannot, cannot, ,
An I cannot, another can. . 13Q
■ [Exeunt Bos. and Kath.
Cost. By my troth, most pleasant: how
both did fit it!
Mar. A mark marvellous well shot, for they
both did hit it
Boyet. A mark ! D, mark but that mark !
A mark, says my lady !
Let the mark have a prick in't, to mete at, if
it may be ,
Mar. Wide o' the bow hand ! i' faith, your
hand is out.
Cost. Indeed,-a' must shoot nearer, or he'll
ne'er hit the clout.
Boyet, An if m^ hand be out, then belike
your hand is in.
Co«f. Then will she get the npshoot by
cleaving the pin.'
Mar. Come, come, you talk greasily ; your
lips grow foul. , " ,
' Cost. She's .too hard for you at piicks;' sir ;
challenge her to bowL 140
, Boyet. I fear too much rubibing: Good
night, my good owl.
[Mxeunt Boyet arid Maria.
Cost. By my soul, a swain 1 a mo.st simple
clown ! [down !
Lord, Lord, how the ladies and I hare put him
0' my troth, most sweet jests.! most incouy
vulgar wit 1 "
When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely,
as it were, so fit. '
Armado o' th' one side,—O, a most dainty man!
To see him walk before a lady and to liear her
fan! ' • ;
To see him kiss his hand !, and how most
sweetly a' will swear! ' ''
And his page 6't' other side, tligt handful Of
wit! ^
Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit! 150
Sola, sola ! iEhout within.
[Exit Costard, runnihy.
Scene IL The saine, ,
Erder Holofernes, Sir { Xathaniel, and
Dull. !
Math. Very reverend spop, truly; and done
in the testimony of a good Conscience. '
Hoi. The deer was, as you know, sanguis,
in blood ; ripe as the pomewater, who now
hangeth like a jewel in the ear of inelo, the
sky, the welkin, the heaven ; and anon falleth
like a crab on the face of terra, the soil, the
land, the earth.
Scene ii.]
Nath. truly, Master Holofernes, the epi¬
thets are sweetly varied, like a scholar at the
leastbut, sir, 1 assure ye, it was a buck of
the first head. 10
JEfof. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.
Drill." 'Twas not a haud credo ; 'twas a
pricket.
Ilol. Most barbarous intimation ! yet a kind
of insinuation, as it wei-e, in via, in way, of
explication ; facere, as it were, replication, or
rather, osteutare, to show, as it were, his in¬
clination, after his undressed. Unpolished, un¬
educated, unpruned, untrained, or rather,
unlettered, or ratherest, unconfirmed fashion,
to insert again my hand credo for a deer. 20
DuU. 1 said the deer was not a hand credo;
'twas a ^cket.
Hoi. Twice-sod simplicity, Ws coctus !
O thou monster Ignorance, how deformed dost
thou look !
Nath. Sir, he hath never led of the dainties
that are bred in a book ; he hath not eat paper,
as it were ; he hath not drunk ink : his intel¬
lect is not rei>leui3hed ; be is only an animal,
only sensible in the duller parts :
And such barren plants are set before us, that
we thaukfui iUroiLA be, >
Which we of taste and feeling are, for those
' parts that do fructify in us more tliau
he. 30
For as it would ill become me to be vain, in¬
discreet, or a fool.
So were there a patch set on learning, to see
* ' him in a school: . , .
But omne bene, say I; being of an old father's
mind.
Many can brook the weather that love not the
H wind.
DuU. You two are book-men : can you tell
me by your wit i
What was a month old at Gain's birth, that's
not five weeks old as yet ?
Hoi. Dictynna, goodman Dull ; Dictynna,
goodman Dull.
DuU. What is Dictynna ?
Nath, , A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the
mwn.
Hoi. The moon was a month old when
Adam was'no more, ■ 40
Aud raught not to five weeks when he came to
five-score.
The allusion holds in the exchange.
Dull. 'Tis true indeed ; the collusion holds
in the exchange.
Hoi. God comfort thy capacity ! I say, the
allusion holds in the Exchange.
Dull. And 1 say, the jiollusion holds in the
exchange ; for the moon is never but a month
old: and 1 say beside that, 'twas a pricket
that the princess killed. 4
Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extem-
poral epitaph on the death of the deer ? And,
to humor the ignorant, call 1 the deer the prin¬
cess killed a pricket.
Nath. Perge,goodMasterHolofemeS;perge;
so it shall please you to abrogate scurrility.
T.
Hoi. 1 will something affect the letter, for
it argues facility.
The preyfnl priucess pierced and prick'd a
pretty pleasing pricket ;
Some say a sore j but not a sore, till now
made sore with shooting.
The dogs did yell : put l to sore, then sorel
jumps from thicket; UO
Or pricket sore, or else sorel ; the people
faU a-liootiug.
If sore be sore, then e to sore makes fifty sores
one sorel.
Of one sore 1 an hundred make by adding but
one more l.
Nath. A rare talent!
Dull. [Aside] If a talent be a claw, look
how he claws him with a talent
Hoi. This is a gift that 1 have, simple,
simple ; a foolish extravagant spirit, full of
forms, figures, shapes, objects, ideas, appre¬
hensions, motions, revolutions ; these are begot
in the ventricle of memory, nourished in the
womb of pia mater, and delivered upon the
mellowing of occasion. But the gift is good in
those in whom it is acute, and 1 am thaukfui
for it
Nath. Sir, I praise the Lord for you ; and
so may my parishionem ; for tlieir sons are
well tutors by you, aud their daughters profit
very greatly under you : you are a good mem¬
ber of the commonwealth.
Hoi. Mehercle, if their sons be ingenuous,
they shall want no instruction ; if their daugh¬
ters be capable, 1 will put it to them : but vir
sapit qui pauca loquitur ; a soul feminine sa-
luteth us. '
Enter Jaquenetta and Costakd.
Jaq. God give you good morrow, master
Parson.
HOl. Master Parson, quasi pers-on. An if
one should be pierced, which is the one ?
Cost. Marry, master schoolmaster, he tiiat
is likest to a hogshead.
Hoi. Piercing a hogshead ! a good lustre of
conceit in a tuft of earth ; fire enough for a
flint, pearl enough for a swine : 'tis pretty ; it
is welL
Jaq. Good master Parson, be so good as
read me this letter : it was given me by Cos¬
tard, and sent me from Don Armado: 1 beseech
you, read it
' Hoi. Fauste, precor geiida quando pecus
Omne sub umbra Kuminat,—aud so forth. Ah,
good old Mantiutn ! 1 may speak of tliee as the
traveller doth of Venice ;
Venetia, Venetia,
' Chi non ti vede non ti pretia. 109
Old Mantuan, old Mantuan ! who understand-
-eth thee not, loves thee not. Ut, re, sol, la, mi..
fa. Under ^rdon, sir, what are the contents^
or rather, as Horace says in his—What, my
soul, verses ?
Nath. Ay, sir, and very learned.
Hoi. '^Let me hear a staff, a stanze, a verse ;
lege, domine.
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
72
LOVE'li. i^ABOdR'S hO$l\
JAct iv.
Nath. [reads]
U love make me foiswom, how $hali I swear
to love? , I
Ah, never faith could bold, if not to beauty
' TOw'd 1 . f 110
Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'U faith¬
ful prove: .
' Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like
osiers how'd. , ' ,
Study his bias leaves and makes his bodk thine
eyes.
Where all those pleasures live that art would
I'comprehend! • , , ,
If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall
suffice; /
Well learned is that tongue that well can. thee
commend.
All ignorant that soul tliat sees thee without
wonder; ■ i ,
Which is to me some praise that f thy. paits
admire t ,
Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice"his '
dreadf-ul thunder, - , - '
Which^ not to auger bent,, is nfusic and
sweet fire. i , 1:^
Celestial as thou art, 0, pardon, lovej this
wrong, i I
That sings heaven's praise with such an earthly
tongue. . . ;
Hoi. You find not the apostrapbas, and so
miss the accent: let me supervise the; canzo¬
net. Here are only numbers ratifiedbut, for
the elegancy, facility, and golden cadence of
poesy, caret. Ovidius Naso was the man ;
and why, indeed, Naso, but for, smelling out
the odoriferous flowers of fancy, the jerte of
invention ? Imitari is nothing : so doth the
hound his master, the ape his keeper, the tired
horse his rider. Hut, damosella virgin, was
this directed to you ? -1
Jaq. Ay, sir, from one Monsieur 3irou,.Dne
of the strange queen's lords. . . ,, i
Hoi. 1 will overglance the superscript: • To
the snow-white hand of the most beauteous
l.ady Rosaline.' 1 will look again on the intel¬
lect of the letter, fon the nomination of tlie
pjirty writing to the {tersou written unto:
'Your ladyship's in all desired employment,
Biron.' Sir Natliauiel, this Bixou is one of
the votaries with the king ; aud here he hath
framed a letter to a sequent of'/the, stranger
queen's, which accidentally, or by the way of
progression, hath mlscarri^. Trip aud go,
my sweet; deliver this paper into' the royal
hand cl the king : it may coucem much. Stay
not thy compliment; I forgive thy duty: adieu.
Jaq. Good Costand, go.with me. Sir, God |
save your life I i . ' 150
Cost. Have with thee, my girl, it, u |,, i i
■II ■ [Exeunt Cost, and ^
'Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear i
of I i^id, very ' religiously; and, as ct certain
father saith,— . [
Hoi. Sir, tell bot me of the father; .f do
fear colorable oolmrs.. But to return to the
"erses: did tiiey please you, Sir JSathaniel 1.\
NcUh- Marvellous well for the pen.
Hoi. I do dine t»-day at the father's of a
certain pupil of miue; tvhere, if, before repast,
it shall please you to Ratify the table with a
grace, I will, on my privilege ^ have with the
parents of the foresaid phild or pupil, under¬
take your beu veuuto; where I will prove
those verses to be. very .unlearned, neither
savoring of poetry, wit, nor invention : I be¬
seech your society.
.NaUi. And thank you too ; for society, saitb
t)ie text, is the happiness of life.
Hoi. Aud, certes, the text most Infalliblv
coucludes it, [To JhiU] Sir, t do invite yoc
too ; you sliaU not say me nay ; pauca verba.
Away! the geutles are at their game, and we
will to our recreatiou. ' [Exeunt
I '• Scene ill. Tl^ scans.
Enter Bibos, with a paper. ,,,
• Biron. TTie kiug he is htUitiiig the deer ; I
am coursing myself c they have pitched a toil;
I am toiliug in a pitch,—pitch tliat defiles:
defile ! a foul wwd. Well, set thee down,
sorrow ! for so they say the fool Said: aud so
say I, and I the fool: well proved, wit! By
the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax it kills
sheep; it kills me, I a sheep i well proved
agaiu o' my side ! I will not love <: ifl do, hang
me ; i' faith, I will not. O, but her eye,—by
this'light, but for her eye, I n-ould not love
her ; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing
In the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By
heaven, I do love : and it hath taught me to
rhyme aud to be melancholy ; and here is part
of my rhyme, aud here my melancholy. AVell,
she bath one o' my sonnets alreody : tiie down
bore it, the fool sent it, and the lady hath it:
sweet clowu, sweeter fool, sweetest lady S By
the world, I would not oare a pin, if the other
three wei-e in. <' Here comes one with a paper:
God give him gmce to groan! [tHandaaside. 20
Enter the King, with a papeiK ■ '
King. Ay me 1 , . ' ,
Biron. [Aside] Shot, by heaven ! Proceed,
sweet Cupid ; thou hast thumped him with thy
bird-bolt under tfie left pap, fn faitp, secrets 1
King [reads]. ^ ,
,So sweet a kiss the goldeu sun gives not
To those fresh morning drops upon the rose,
As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have
' smote I ,,,, , J
The niglit of dew that on my cheefts down
I flows: 29
Nor shuies the silver moon one half so bright
Through the tiauspareiit bosom of the deep.
As doth thy face tltrough t^ars of mibb givu
J light; , . ,
Thou shinest in every tear that I do weep \
_No drop but as a coach doth carry thee *. ,
, So ridest thon triumphing in my woe.
Po but behold the tears that swell in me,
Audrey thy glory through my grlM wfll
But (io,pot Iqye^^ys^, j^'tlieii thou 'wilt keep
scbnb iii.]
My tears for glasses, and still make me weep.
O queen of queens ! liow far dost thou excel,
No thought can titink, .uor tongue of mor^
teU.
How sliall she know my griefs ? I'll drop &e
mper j , ,
Sweet leavesj sitade folly. Who is he cx>mes
here ? [.Sicps aside.
What, Longaville ! and reading ! listen, ear.
liimn. Now, iu thy likeness, one more
fool appear'
tinter Longaville, wifit a paper.
Lmtj. Ay me, I am forsworn !
Jiiroii. Why, he comes iu like a perjure,
wearing papers. i
. Kuijh Iu love, I hope : srgeet fellowship in
shame !
Biron. Oue drmdcard loves another of the
name. 50
Lonjf. Am I the first that have been pex'-
jured so ?
Biron. I could put tltee in contort. Not
by two tliat I know ;
Thou makest the triumviry, the conier-cap of
society, [simplicity.
Tlie shape of Love's Tyburn that hangs up
Lon(f. I fear these stubborn lines lack
power to move;
O sweet Maria, empress of my love !
These numbers will I tear, and write in prose.
Biron. O, rhymes are guards on wenton
Cupid's hose : .
Disfigure not his slop.
Lotm. This same shall go.' [Reads.
Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, 60
'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argu-
m^t, ' . ,
Persuade my heart to this false perjury ?
■Vows for thee broke deserve not punish¬
ment.
A woman I forswore ; but I will prove, ..
Thou being a goddess, 1 forswore not thee :
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love ;
Thy grace being gain'd cures all disgrace in
me. , . ,1
Vows are but breath, aud breath a vapor is :
Then tliou, fair sunf.whichbou my eai-th dost
shine,
Exhalest this vapor-vow ; iu thee it is :, 70
If broken then, it is no fault of mine :
If by me broke, what fool is not so wise i •,
To lose an oath to win a paradise ?
Biron. This is the liver-vein, which makes
flesh a deity,
A green goose a goddess : pure, pure idolatry.
God (amend us, God amend ! we are much
out o' the way.
Long. By whom, shall I send tliis ?—Com-
, pany! stay. > i - [fiteps aside.
Biron. All hid, all hid ; ah old iufautplay.
Like a demigod here sit I iu the sky.
And wretched fools' secrets' heedfully o'er-
eye. ,, .
More sadis to the pull 1 0 heavens, I have
my wish 1
7a
Elder Dumain, wUh a paper.
Dumain transform'd 1 four woodcocks in a
dish !
Bum. O most divine Kate I
Biron. O most prohuie coxcomb !
Diim. By heaven, the wonder iu a mortal
eye!
Binm. By earth, she is not, corporal, there
you lie.
■ Bum, Her amber hair for foul hath amber
quoted. i [noted.
Biron. An araber-color'd raven was well
Bum. As upright as the cedar.
Biron, Stoop, I say ;
Her shoulder is with child.
Bum. .' As fair as day. 90
Biron. Ay, as some days •, but then no sun
must shine. ,
Bum. O that I had my wish !
Ijong. And I had mine!
. Kiiig. And I mine too, good Lord 1
Biron. Amen, so I had mine : is not that a
■ good word ?
Bum. I would forget her ; but a fever she
Reigns in my blood and will remember','' be.
Biron. A fever in your blood . why, then
incision
Would let her' out in saucers : sweet leis-
prisicn! - ,
Bum. , Once more I'll read the ode th,*! t
have writ.
Biron. Once more I'll mark how love can
vary wit. • 100
Bum. [reads]
On a day—alack the day !—
Love, whose mouth is ever May,
Spied a blossom passing fair
Playing in ;Jie wanton air :
' Through the velvet leaves the wind,
, Ail unseen, can passage find ;
* That the lover, sick to death.
Wish himself the heaven's bre,ath. ,
Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow ;
Air, would I might triumph so 1 110
But, alack, my haud is sworn
Ne'er lo pluck 'ohee from thy thorn ;
Vow alack, for youth unmeet,
Yenti. so apt tc pluck a sw-oet i
Do not call it "in iu me.
That I am forsworn for thee ;
, Thou for whom Jove would swear
Juno but an Ethiope were ;
And deny himself for Jove, ,
. Turning mortal for thy k»ye. 120
Tliis will I send, aud something else more plain.
That shall express my true love's fasting paiu,
O, would the king, Biron, and Longaville,
Were lovers too I, 111, to examiHe ill,
Woifld from my forehead wipe a perjured
iiote ;
For none offend where all alike do dote. i
Long, [advancing.] Dumain, thy love is
far from charity,
That in love's grief deslrest society ;
You may look pale, bpt I shonld blush, 1
know,
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOSTi
n
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
Act 1»
To be o'erheard and taken napping so. 130
King [advancing']. Come, sir, you blush ;
as hLs your case is sucii;
Tbu chide at him, olTending twice as much ;
You do not love Maria ; Lougavillc
Did never sonnet for her sake coinpiie,
Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart
His loving bosom to keep down his heart.
I have been closely shrouded in this bush
And mark'd you both and for you both did
blush :
I heard your guilty rhymes, observed your
fashion.
Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your
passion : 140
Ay me ! says one ; O Jove ! tlie other cries ;
One, her hairs were gold, crystal the other's
eyes:
[To Long.] You would for paradise break
faith and troth ;
[To Bum.] And Jove, for yolir love, would
infringe an oath.
What will Biron say when that he shall hear
Faith so infringed, which such zeal did swear ?
How will' he scorn I how will he spend his
wit!
How will he triumph, leap and laugh at it!
For all the wealth that ever 1 did see, 149
I would not have liim know so much by me.
Biron. Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy.
[Advancing.
Ah, good ray liege, I pray thee, pardon me !
Good heart, what grace hast thou, thus to re¬
prove
These worms for loving, that art most in love ?
Your eyes do make no coaches ; in your tears
There is no certain princess that appears ;
You'll not be perjured, 'tis a hateful thing ;
Tush, none but minstrels like of sonneting !
But are you not ashamed ? nay, are you not.
All three of you, to be thus much o'ershot ?
You found his mote ; the king your mote did
see ; 161
But I a beam do find in each of three. '
0, what a scene of foolery have I seen,
Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow and of teen !
0 me, with what strict patience have I sat.
To see a king transformed to a gnat!
"To see great Hercules whipping a gig.
And profound Soiomon to tune a jig.
And Ne.stor play at push-pin with the boys.
And critic Timon laugh at idle toys ! 170
Where lies thy grief, O, tell me, good Dumain?
And, gentle Longaviile, where lies thy pain ?
And where my liege's ? all about the breast:
A caudle, ho f
King. Too bittet is thy jest.
Are we betray'd thus to thy over-vieW ?
Biron. Not you to me, but 1 betray'd by
you :
1, that am honest; I, that hold it sin
To break the vow I am engaged in ;
1 am betray'd, by keeping company
tWith men like men of inconstancy. 180
When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme?
Or groan for love ? or spend a minute's time
In pruning me ? When shall you hear that I
Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye, '
A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist,
A leg, a limb ? , ■ '
Amp. Soft I whither away so fast ?
A true man or a thief that gallops so ? ,
Biron. I post from love : good lover, let me
go-
, Ente)' Jaquenetta and Costarii.
Jaq. God bless the king ! , ' •
King. What present hgsttliou there ?
Cod. Some certain treason.
King. ' What makes treason here ? IGO
Cod. Nay, it makes nothing, sir.
King. If it mar mkliing neither,
The treason and you go in peace away to¬
gether.
Jaq. I beseech your grace, let this letter
be read : ■ •
Our parson misdoubts it ; 'twas treason, he
said. '
King. Biron, read it over.
[Giving him the paper.
Where hadst thou it ? ''
Jag. Of Costard. j • ■
King. Where hadst thou it? ' ' '
Cost.' Of Dim Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.
[Biron tears the letter.
King. How now ! what is in you ? why
dost thou tear it ? '
Biron. A toy, my liege, a toy ; your grace
needs not fear it.
Long. It did move him to passion, and
therefore let's hear it.
Dum. It is Biron's writing, and here is hid
X name. [Gathering vp the pieces.
Biron. [To Costard] Ah, you whoresos
loggerhead I you were bom to do me
' shame. <
Guilty, liiy lord, guilty ! I confess, I Confess.
King. What ? ■
Biron. That you three fools lack'd me fool
to make up the mess :
He, be, and you, and you, my liege, and I,
Are pick-purses in love, ,and we deserve to
die.
0, dismiss this audience, mid I shall tell you
more.
Dam. Now the number'is even.'
Biron. True, true ; we are four.
Will these turtles be gone ?
King. Hence, sirs ; away!
Cost. Walk aside the true folk, and let
the traitors stay.
[Exevnt Costard and Jaqttenettd.
Biron. 'Sweet lords, sweet lovers; O, let us
embrace! ' ' '
As true we are as flesh and blood' can be:
The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his
face i I '
Young blood doth not obcy an old decree i,
We cannot cross the cause why we 'Were bom';
Tlierefore of all hands must we be forsworn.
King. What, did these rent lines show some
love of thine ? 220
Scene iii.(
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
Bimn. Did tl'sy, q^iioth you ? Who sees the
heavenly Kosaluiu,
That, like a rude and savage man of Inde, ,
At the first opening of the gorgeous east,
Bows not his vassal head and stritcken blind
Kisses tlie base ground witl» obpdient
breiist ? ,
What peremptory eagl^sighted eye
Dares look upon the heaven of her brow.
That is not blinded by her majesty ? :
Kinr/. What zeal, what fury hath inspired
thee now ?
My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon; 23()
She an attending sbir, scarce seen a light.
Jiiron. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I
Biron :
0, but for ray love, day would turn to night!
Of all complexions the cull'd sovereignty
Do meet, as at a fair, iu her fair cheek.
Where several worthies make one dignity.
Where nothing wants that want itself" doth
' seek. '
Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues,—
Fie, painted rhetoric! O, she needs it not:
To tilings Of sale a seller's praise belongs, 240
Slie passes praise; then praise too sliort
doth blot . ■
A wither'd hermit, five-score winters worn,
Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye :
Beauty dotli varnish age, as if new-born,
And mves the crutch the cradle's infancy ;
O, 'tis the sun tliat raaketh all things shine.,.
Kituf. By .heaven, thy love is black as
ebony. , . •
Biron.1 Is ebony like her ? 0 wood divine !
A wife of such wood were felicity. 240
O, whO' can give an oath ? where is a book 7
That I may swear beauty doth beauty lack.
If that she learn' not of her eye to look :
N^face is fair that is not full so black.
Kintft 1.0 paradox 1 Black is the.badge of
hell.
The hue of dungeons and the suit of night;
And beauty's crest becomes tlie heavens well.,
Biron. Devils sooiK.jt tempt, resembling,
1 spirits of light. ,
O, if in black my lady's brows be deck'd, .
It mourns that paiiltnig and usurping hair
Should ravish doters with a false as|)ect: 200
And therefore is she bom to make black fair.
Her favor turns the fashion of the days.
For native blood is counted painting now;
And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise.
Paints itself black, to imitate her brow.
Dum, To look like her are chimney-sweep¬
ers black.
Lowj. And since her time are colliers
counted bright
Kinft. And Ethiopes of their sweet com¬
plexion crack. ; ^ '
Dunu Dark needs no candles now, for dark
.is light [rain,
Biron. Your mistresses dare never come in
For fear their colors should be wash'daway.
. Kinff. ' 1 were good, yours did ; for, sir, to
tell you plain,
ni find a fairer face not, wash'd to-day.
Biron. I'll prove her fair, or talk till dooms¬
day here.
Kin'j. No devil will fright thee then so
much as She. ^
Bum. I never knew man bold vile stuff so
dear.
Lonn. Look, here's tl^y love : my foot .and
. her face see.
Biron. O, if the streets werq paved with
thine eyes,
Iler feet were much too dainty for such
tread !
Bumi O vile 1 then, as she goes, what up¬
ward lies , 286
The street should see as she walk'd over¬
head.
Kinif. But what of tins ? are we not all in
love 7
Biron. Notliing sQ sure ; and thereby all
forsworn.
King. Then leave this chat; and, good Bi¬
ron, now prove
. Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn.
Bum. Ay, marry, there ; some flattery for
this evil.
Lorig. O, some authority how to proceed ;
Some triclcs, some quifiets, hpw to cheat the
devil. ,
Bum. Some salve for perjury.
Biron. I 'Tis more than need.
Have at you, then, affection's men at amis. 2!iO
Consider what you first did swear unto,
'Fo fast, to study, and to see no woman
Flat treason 'gainst the kuigly state of youth.
Say, can you fiist 7 your stoimwhs are too
young ;
.And abstinence engenders maladies.
And where that you have vow'd to study,
. lords.
In tliat each of you have forsworn his book.
Can you still dream and pore and thereon look 7
For when would you, my lord, or you, or you.
Have found the ground of study's excellence
Without the beauty of a woman's face 7
[From women's eyes this doctrine I derive ;
They are the ground, the books, the academes
From vyhence doth spring the true Promethean
fire.]
Why, universal plodding poisons up
The nimble spirits in the arteries.
As motion and Ipng-during action,tires
The sinewy vigor of the traveller.
Now. for not looking on a woman's face.
You h.ave in that forsworn the use of eyes 310
.And study too, the causer of your vow ;
For where is a^iy author in the world
Teacbes such beauty as a woman's eye 7
Learning is but an adjunct to ourself
And where we are our learning likewise is :
Then when ourselves we see in ladies' eyes.
Do we not likewise see our learning there 7
O, we have made a vow to study, lords.
And in that vow we have forsworn our books.
For when would you, my liege or you, or yon.
In leaden contemplation have found ens 321
;e
LOVE'S LABOURS LOST.
Act v.
Such fiery numbers as the promWinjr eyes
Of beauty's tutors have enrich'd you with ?
Other slow arts entirely keep the brain ;
And therefore, finding barren practisers,
Scarce show a liarvest of theirheavy toil :
But love, first learned in a lady's eyfes,
hives not alone ininiured in the brain ;
But, With the motion of all elements,
Courses as swift as thouglit in every power,
And gives to every power a double power,
Above their funttions and their offices.
It adds a precious seeing to the eye ; '
A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind ;
A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound.
When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd :
Love's feeling is more soft and sensible
Tlian are tlie tender bonis of cockled snails ;
Love's tohgue proves dainty Bacchus gross in
taste :
For valor, is not Love a Hereliles, 340
Still climbing trees in the Hesjierides ?
Subtle as Sphiii.v ; as sweet and musical'
As bright Apollo's lute, strong with his hair :
And when Love speaks, the voice of all the
gods
hlakes heaven drowsy with the harmony.
Never durst poet touch a pen to write ■ •
Until his ink weretemper'd with Love's sighs ;
O, then his lines would ravish savage ears
And plant in tyrants mild humility.
From women's eyes this doctrine 1 derive350
Tliey sparkle still the right Promethean fire
They are the books, the aits, the academes,
That show, contain and nourish all the world
Else none at all in ought proves excellent.
"Then fools you were these women to forswear.
Or keeping what is sworn, you will prove
fools.
For wisdom's sake, a Wotfi that all men love,
Or for love's sake, a word that loves all men,
Ci for men's sake, the authors of these worain.
Or women's sake, by whom we men are men,
Let us once lose our oaths'to find oui-selves.
Or tSSe we lose oui-selves to keep our oaths.
It is religion to be thus forsworn.
For charity itself fulfils the law,
And who can sever love from charity ?
King! Saint Cupid, then ! and, soldiers, to
the field !
Biron. Advance your standards, and upon
them, lords ;
^'ifl-mell, dowh with them ! but be first lid-
vised,
Li conflict that you get the sun of them.
Long.' Now "to plain-dealing; lay these
glozes by :
Shall we resolve to woo these gitls of France f
King. And win them too : therefore let us
devise
Some entertainment for them in their tents.
Biron. First, from the park let i^s conduct
them thither;
Then homeward every man attach the hand
Of his fair mistress : in the afternoon
Wa wiU with some strange pastime solace
tliem, "
Such as the shortness of the time can shape ;
For revels, dances, masks and merry hours
Forerun fair Love, streWing her way with
flowers. 'I '' '
King. Away, away ! no time shall be
omitted' ''
That will betime, and m<ay by us lie fitted.
Biron. Allous ! allons 1 Sow'd cockle reap'd
no corn ;
And justice always whirls in ef|ual measure t
Light wenches may prove plagues to men for¬
sworn ;
If so, our coprier buys no better treasure; '
' [KxewU.
ACT V.
ScEirs L The same.
Enter HoLOEEBifES, Si^ Jf-tmiAifjEL, aitd
Dull.
Hoi. Satis i^uod snfflcit, '
Kath. I praise God for yon, sir : your rea¬
sons at dinner have been sharp-and senteu*
tions ; pleasant without scurrility, witty witli-
out affection, audacious without inipiidency,
learned without opinion, 'and sti-ange without
heresy. I did converse thisquondamdaywith
a companion of the king's, who is intituled,
nominated, orcalled, Don Adrianode Armado.
Hoi. Novi homiiiem taiiqiiain te i his hu¬
mor is lofty, his discourse peremptory, his
tongue filed", his eye ambitious, his f^t niapes-
tical, and his general behavior vain, ridicu-
loris, and thrasonical. He is too picked, too
spruce, too affected,- too odd, as it were, too
peregrinate, as I may call it
Kat/i. A most singular and choice epithet.
[l))-aws mit his table.itook.
Hoi. He diaweth out the thread of his ver ¬
bosity finer than the staple of bis argument. I
abhor such fanatical phantasimes, Such insocia-
ble and ixiint-devise companions ; such rack-
ers of orthography, as to speak dout, fine,
when he should say doubt; det, when he
should prououiice debt,—d, e, b, t, not d, e, t:
he clepeth a calf, cauf; half, hauf ; neighbor
vocatur iiebor ; neigh abbreviated nei This
is abhominable,—which he would call abfcom
inable : it insimiateth t me of insaiiie : aniie
intelligis, domlne ? to make frantic, lunatic;
Kath Laus Deo, bene intelligo. 3f
Hoi. Bon, boil, fort boii, Pri.s"cian ! a little
, scratch'd, 'twill serve.
Nath. Videsne quis venit ?
Hd. Video, et gaudeo. '
. Enter Armado, Moxti, com? Costard.
Arm. Chirrah 1 [To Moth.
Hoi. Quare chirrah, -not sirrah ?
Arm. Men of peace, well encountered.
Hoi. Most military sir, salutation.
Moth. [Aside to Costard'] They have been
at a great feast of languages, and stolen tlie
scraps.
ScENjj II.]
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
77
Cost. O, they have lived lolig on the alms-
basket of words. I marvel thy master hath |
not eaten thee for a word j for thou art not so i
long by thd head as hoiiorificabilitadinitati-!
bus : thou art easier swallowed tliau a flap-i
dragon. ' |
Moth. Peace! tlie peal begiusi I
Aim. [To. i/oi.} Monsieur, are you not
lettered ? , ■ .
Moth. Yes, yes ; he tejiches boys the lioni-1
l)ook. What is a, hj siielt backward, with the !
honi ou his head 7 51
//ol. Ba, pueritia, with a horn added. ,
Moth. Ba,' most silly slidep with a horn. I
You hear his learning. |
//ol. Quis, quis, tliou consonant ?
Moth. The third of the five vowels, if you
repeat them ; or the fifth, if 1.
Hot. I will repeat them,—a, e, i,—
Moth. The sheep : the other two uooicludes
it,—0, u. ' ' '60
Arm. Now, by the salt wave of the Medi-
terranenm, a sweet touch, a quick venue of ■
wit! snip, sno]), quick and home ! it rejcdceth'
my intellect; true wit 1
Moth.' Oifeied by a child to an old man ;'
Which is wit-old. [ure 7
Hot. AVhat is the figure ? what is the fig-
Moth. Horns.
Hoi. Thou disputest like an infant i go,
whip thy ng. '70
Moth. Lend ine your horn to make one,
and I will whip about your infamy circuin
circa,—a gig of a cuckold s horn. ■ - ' ' '
Cost. An I had but one penny in the world,
thou shoutdst have it to buy gingerbread :
hold, there is the very remuneration 1 had of
thy master, ttou halfpenny purse of wit, thou
pigeon-egg of discretion. O, an the heavens
were so pleased tliattliou wertbut my bastard,,
what a joyful father wouldst thou make me !
Go to ; thou hast it ad dimghill. at the fingers'
ends, as they say.
Hoi. O, 1 smell false Latin J dimghill for!
nnguem. . . ;
Arm. Arts-man, preambulate, we will be
siuguled from the barbarous. Do you not
educate youth at the cbarge-house on the top
of the mountain? " . •
Hoi. Or raoiis, tlie hill.
Arm. -H your sweet pleasure, for the
mountain. '
Hoi. I do, sans question.' ' 91
Arm. Sir, it is tlie king's most sweet pleas¬
ure and affection to congratulate the princess
at her pavilion in the posteriors of this day,
which the rude multitude call the afternoon.
Hoi. 'The posterior of the day, most generous
sir, is liable, congruent and measurable for
the afternoon: the word is well culled, chose,
sweet and apt, I do assure you, sifi 1 do assure.
Arm. Sir, the king is a noble gentleman,
and my familiar, I do a.ssure ye', very good
friend : for what is inward between us, let it
pass. I do beseech thee, remember thy cour¬
tesy ; I beseech thee, apparel thy head : and
among othet important and most serious de.
sigus, and of great import indeed, too, but let
tiiat pa.ss : fori must tell thee, it will please
his grace, the world, souietinie to lean upon
my poor sluMilder, and with his royal finger,
tbns, dally with my excrement, with my niiis-
tacliio ; but. sweet heart, let that pass. By
the world, I I'eoount no fable : some cei'taiii
special honors it pleaseth his greatness to im-
pait to Armado, a soldier, a man of travel,
that hath seen the world ; but let that p/tss.
The very all of all is,—biit.'sweet heart, I dv
implore secrecy,—that tlie king would have im
present the princess, sweet chuck, with some
deliglitful ostentation, or show, or pageant, or
antique, or lirewcwk. Now, uuderstaiidiiigtliat
the curate and your sweet self are good at siicli
eruptions and sudden breaking out of mbtli,
as it were, 1 have acquainted you withal, to the
end to crave your assistance.
l/ol. Sir, you sliall present before dier tlie
Nine Worthies. Sir, as ooiiceniing some enter¬
tainment of time, some sliow in the postenor
of this day, to be rendered by our' assistants,
at tlie king's command, and tliis most gallant,
illustrate, and learned gentleman,'beforei tlie
princess ; I say none so fit as to present the
Nine Worthies. 1'30
Nath. Where will you find men worthy
enough to present them ?
Hal. tJosliiia, yourself; myself and this
gallant gentleman, Judas Maccabaeus ; this
swain, because of his great limb or joint, sliull
pass Pompey tlie Great; the page, Hereiiles,—
Amt: Pardon, sir ; error ; he is not quantity
enough for that Worthy's tliumb ; lie is not so
big as the end of his cliib. '
Hoi. Shall I have audience ? he shall pre¬
sent Hercules in minority ; liis enter and exit
sliall be strangling a snake ; and 1 will have
an apology for that pui-pose.
Moth. An excellent device ! so, if any of
the audience hiss, you may cry'Well done,
Hercules! now thou crushe.st the snake !' tliat
is the way to make an offence gracious, though
few have the grace to do it. >
Arm. For the rest of the Worthies ?— ■
Hal. I will play three myself. '' 150
Moth.' Thrice-worthy gentleman !
Arm. Shall I tell you a thing ?
Hoi. We attend.
Arm. We will have, if this fadge not, an
antique. I beseech you, follow.
Hoi. Via. goodman Dull ! thou hast spoken
no word all this While.
Dull. Nor understood none neither, sir.
Hoi. Aliens ! we will emjAoy thee.
J)ull. I'll make one in a dance, or so ; or I
will play ' 160
Ou the tabor to the Worthies, and let them
dance the hay. i
Hoi. Mo.st dull, honest Dull I To bur sport,
away ! ' ' ■ [Exeunt.
SoBNi! II. The same.
Enter the Princess, Katharine, Rosaline
and Maria.
t8
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
[Acr T
Prin. Sweet hearts, weshall be rich ere we
' depart,
H fairing come thus plentifully in :
A lady wail'd about with diamonds !
Look you what I have from the loving king.
Sos. Madame, came nothing else along with
that 1
Prin. Nothing but this! yes, as much love
in rhyme
As would be craram'd up in a sheet of paper,
Writ o' both sides the leaf, mar^entand all, i
That he was fain to seal ou Cupid's name.
Bos. That was the way to make his god¬
head wax, 10
For he hath been five thousand years a boy.
Kaih. Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows
too.
Bos. You'll ne'er be friends with him ^ a'
kiU'd your sister. '
Kath. He made her melancholy, sad, and
heavy;
And so she died : had she been light, like you.
Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit.
She might ha' been a grandam ere she died :
And so may you ; fur a light heart lives- long.
Bos. What's your dark meaning, mouse, of
this light word ?.
Kath. A light condition in a beauty dark. 20
Bos. We need more light to find your mean¬
ing out. [snulf;
Kath. You'll mar the light by taking it in
Ther^ore I'll darkly end the argument.
Bos. Look, what you do, you do it still i'
the dark.
Kath. So do not you, for you are a light
wench.
Bos. Indeed I weigh not yon, and therefore
light. '
Kath. You weigh mo not ? O, that's you
care not for me.
Bos. Great reason ; lor ' past cure is still
past care.'
Prin. Well bandied both; a set of wit well
play'd.
But, Kos^ine, you have a favor too ; 30'
Who sent it ? and what is it ?
Bos. I would you knew :
An if my face were but as fair as yours.
My favor were as great; be witness this.
Nay, I have verses too, 1 thank Biron :
The numbers true; and, were the numbering
, too,
I were the fairest goddess.on the ground : .
1 am compared to twenty thousand fairs.
O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter I
Prin. Any thing like ?
Bos. Much in the letters ; nothing in the
praise. 40
Prin. Beauteous as ink ; a good conclusion.
Kath. Fair as a text B in a copy-book.
Bos. 'Ware pencils, ho 1 let me not die your-
debtor.
My red dominical, my golden letter: ■
G that your face were not so full of O's i
Kilh. A pox of that jest I and 1 beshrew all
sbiows.
Prin. But, KaUiarine, what was kent to yoa
from fair Dumaiu ? ' ' '
Kath.' Madam, this glove.''
Prin. Did he not send yon twain f
Kath. Yes, madam, and moreover <
Some thousand verses of a faithful lover, 60
A huge translation of hypocrisy^
Vilely compiled, profound simplicity. '
Mar. This and these pearls to me sentLon-
' gaville: ...
The letter is too long by half a mile. '
Prin. I think no less. Dost thou not wish
in heart -
The chain were longer and the letter short ?
Mar. Ay, or 1 would these hands might
never j>art.
Prin. W6 are wise girls to mock our lovers
so.
Bos. They are worse fools to ' purchase
mocking so.
That same Biron I'll torture ere I go : GO
0 that I knew he were but in by the week I
How 1 would make him fawn and beg and seek
And wait the season and observe the times
And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes
And shape his service wboliy to my hests
And make him proud to make me proud that
. . jests I I
tSo perttaunt-like would I o'ersw^ his state
That he should be my fool and I his fate.
1 , Prin. NonearesosurelycaughtjWbenthey
are catch'd, ., 69
As wit turu'd fool: folly, in wisdom hatch.'d.
Hath wisdom's warrant and the help of school
And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool.
Bosi The blood of youth bums not with
snch excess ,
As gravity's revolt to wantonness., ,
Mar. Folly in fouls bears-not so strong a
note 1
As foolery in the wise, when wit doth dote;
Since all the power thereof it doth apply
To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity.
Prin. Here comes Boypt, pud mirth is in
his face.
. ' Enter Boyet.
Boyet. 0, I am stabb'd with laugliter!
Where's her grace ? 80
Prin. Thy news, Boyet? . .
Boyet. Prepare, madam, prepare 1
Arm, wenches, arm ! encounters mounted are
Against your pea^p ; Love doth approach dis¬
guised,., . , , , , , , '
Armed in arguments ; you'l^be surprised.,
Muster your wits ; stand ip your own defence;
Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly
hence.
. Prin. Saint Denis to Saint Cupid i Wljat
are they '
That charge their breath against,us? say,
• scout, say,
. Boyet. Under the cool shade of a sycaiDore
I thoughtto dosemine eyes some half an hour;
When, lo ! to interrupt my purposed rest, 91
Toward that sliade I might behold addresj;
Scene ir.]
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
79
The king and his companions : warily
I stole into a neighbor thicket by,
And overheard what you shall overhear ;
That, by and by, disguised they will be here.
Their herald is a pretty knavish page.
That well by heart hath conu'd his embassage:
Action and accent did they teach hirh there ;
' Thus must thou speak,' and ' thus thy body
bear :' •100
And ever and anon they made a doubt
Presence majestlcal would put him out;
' For,' quotli the king,' an angel shalt thou see j
Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously.'
The boy replied, 'An angel is hot evil;
1 should have fear'd her had she been a devil.'
With that, all laugh'd and clapp'd him on the
shoulder.
Making the bold wag by their praises bolder :
One rubb'd Ins elbpw thus, and lleer'd and
swore
A better speed) was pever spoke before ; 110
Another, with his finger and his thumb.
Cried, ' Via! we will do't, come what will
■come ;'
The third he capePd, and cried, 'All goes well;'
The fourth turn'd on the toe, and down he fell.
With that, they all did tumble on the ground.
With such a zealous laughter, so profound.
That in this spleen ridiculous appears.
To check their folly, passion's solemn tears. i
Prin. But what, but what, come they to
' ' visit us ?
Boyet. They do, they do; and are apparell'd
thus, _ ' 120
Like Muscovites or Russians, as I guess.
Their purpose is to parle, . to court and dahce :
And every one his love-feat will advance
Unto his several mistress, which they'll know
By favors several which they did bestow.
Prin. And will they so ? the gallants shall
betask'd;
For, ladies, we will every one be mask'd ;
And not i, man of them shall have the grace.
Despite of suit, to see a lady's face.
Hold, Rosaline, this favor thou shalt wear, 130
And then the king wiU court thee for his dear;
Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me
thine, „
So shall Biron take me for Roi^line.
And change your favors too ; so shall your
, loves
Woo contrary, deceived by these removes.
Bos. Come on, then; wear the favors most
in sight '
Kiith. But in this changing what is your
intent ?
Prin. The effect of my intent is to cross
theirs :
They do'it but in mbcking merriment;
And mock for mock is oply my iptent. 140
Their seversil counsels they unbosmn shall
To loves misijook, and so be mock'd withal
Upon the ne.vt occasion that we meet,
With visages display'd, to talk and greet;
Ros. But shall we dance, if they desire us
to't?
Prin. No. to the death, we will not move a
foot; »
Nor to their penn'd speech rendet we no grace.
But while 'tis simke each turn away her face.
Boyet. Why, that contempt will kill the
speaker's heart.
And quite divorce his memory from his part.
Prin. Therefore I do it; and I make no
doubt 151
The rest will ne'er come in, if he be but.
There's no such spoK as, sport by sport o'er-
thrown.
To make theirs ours and ours none bitt our
own :
So shall we stay, mocking intended game,
And they, well mock'd, depart away w'th
shame. [Trumpets sound within.
Boyet. The trumpet sounds : be mask'd ;
the maskers come. [The Ladies mask.
Enter Blackamoors with music; Moxh ; the
King, Bikon, Lonoaville, arid Domain, in
Russian habits, and masked.
Moth. All hail, the richest beauties on the
earth !—
Boyet. Beauties no richer than rich taffeta.
Moth. A holy parcel of the fairest dames.
[The Ladies turn their backs to him.
That ever tum'd their — backs — to moital
views !
Biron. [Aside to Moth'] Their eyes, villain,
their eyes.
Moth. That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal
views !—
Out—
Boftit. True ; Out indeed.
Moth. Out of your favors, heavenly spirits,
vouchsafe
Not to behold—
Biron. [Aside to Moth] Once to behold,
rogue.
Moth. Once to behold with your sun-beam-
• ed eyes,
with your sun-beamed eyes—
Boyet. They will not answer to that'epithet;
You were best call it 'daughter-beamed eyes.'
Moth. They do not mark me, and that brings
me Out.
Biron. Is this your perfectness ? be gone,
you rogue ! [Exit Moth.
Ros. What would thesb strangers ? know
their minds, Boyet:
If they do speak our language, 'tis Our will
That some plain man recount their puiqioses :
Know what they would.
Boyet. What would yon with the princess?
Biron. Notliiug but peace and gentle visi¬
tation.
Ros. What would they, say they 7 180
Boyet. Nothiiig but peace and gentle visi¬
tation.
Ros. Why, that they have ; and bid them so
be gone.
Boyet. She say;^, you have it, and you may
be gone. [miles
if'Vv •'4'"' *0 her, we have measured many
80
LOVE'S LABOfTR'S LOST.
{Act v.
'I'o tread a measure witli her on this grass.
Boijet. Xhey say, tliat they have measured
many a mile
To tread a measure with you on this grass.
Itos. It is not so. Ask them bow many
inches
Is in one raUe : if they have measured many.
Tire measure tlien of one is easily told. 190
Boyet. If to come hither you have measured
miles,
And many miles, the princess bids you tell
How many inches doth fill up one mile.
Biron. Tell her, we measure them by weary
steps.
Boyet. She hears herself.
Ros. How many weary steps.
Of many weary miles you have o'ergone,
Are number'd in the travel of one mile ?
Biron. We number nothing that we spend
for you :
Our duly is so rich, so infinite,
That we may do it still without accompt. 200
Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face.
That we, like savages, may worship it.
Ros. My face is but a moon, and clouded
too.
King. Blessed are clouds, to do as such
clouds do !
Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy .stars,
to shine.
Those clouds removed, upon our watery eyne.
Ros. 0 vain petitioner ! lieg a greater mat¬
ter ;
riiou now request'st but moonshine in the
water.
King. Then, in our measure do but vouch¬
safe one change.
Thou bid'st me beg : this begging is not strange.
Ros. Play, music, then ! Nay, you miust do
it soon. \^Mitsic plays. 211
Not yet I no dance ? Thus change I like the
moon. , I
King. Will you not dance ? How come you
thus estranged ?
Ros. You took the moon at full, but now
she's clianged. [man.
King. Y'et still she is the moon, and I the
The music plays ; vouchsafe some motion to it.
Ros. Our ears vouch.safe it.
King. But your legs should do it.
Ros. Since you are strangers and come here
by chance.
We'll not be nice : take hands. We will not
dance.
King. Why take we hands, then ?
Ros. Only to nart friends : 220
Curtsy, sweet hearts ; and so the measure ends.
King. More measure of this measure ; be
not nice.
Ros. We can afford no more at such a price.
King. Prize you yourselves : what buys
your company ? ,
Ros. Tour absence only.
King. That can never be.
Ros. Then cannot we be bought: and so,
adieu j
Twice to your visor, and half once to you..
King. If you deny to dance, let's hold m<>ie
chat. ' ,
Ros. In private, then.
King. I am best pleased with that.
[Tliey converse apurl.
Biron. . White-handed mistress, one swei t
word with thee. 2- i;
Prin. Honey, and milk, and sugar ; theie
is three.
Biron. Nay then, two treys, and if yoc.
grow so nice,
Metheglin, wort, and malmsey : well run, dice!
There's half-a-dozen sweets.
Prin. J Seventh sweet, adieu :
Since you can cog, I'll play no more with you,
Biron. One word in secret.
Prin. , Let it not be sweet.
Biron. Thou grievest my gall.
Prin. Gall ! bitter.
Biron. Therefore meer.
[Theft converse apart.
Bum. Will you vouchsafe with me to change
a word ?
Mar. Name it.
Bum. _ Fair lady,—
Mar. S.ay you so ? Fair lord,—
Take that for your fair lady.
Brtm. Please it J ou, 240
As much in private, and I'll bid adieu.
I [Tht^ converse apart.
Kath. What, was your vizard made witli-
out a tongue ?
Long. I know the reason, lady, why you
ask. • [long.
Kath. O for your reason ! quickly, sir ; I
//onijf. Tou have a double tongue within
your mask.
And would afford mv .speechless vizar/d half.
Kath. Veal, quoth the Dutchman. Is not
' veal' a calf ?
Jjong. A calf, fair lady !
Kath. No, a fair lord calf.
Ijong. Let's part the word.
Kath. No, I'll not be your half :
Take all, and wean it; it may prove an ox. 2!30
Long. Look, how you butt yourself in these
sharp mocks !
Will you give horns, chaste lady ? do not so.
Kath. Then die a calf, before your horns do
grow. ,
Long. One word in private with you, ere I
die.,
Kath. Bleat softly' then ; the butcher hears
you cry. [They converse apart.
Boyet. The tongues of mocking wenches
are as keen
As is the razor's edge invisible,
Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen,
Above the sense of sense ; so sensible
Seemeth their conference ; their conceits have
wings 260
Fleeter than arrows, bullets, 'kind, thought,
swifter things.
Ros. Not one word more, my maids ; break
off, break off.
Scene ii.]
L6VF^S LABOlfRS LbST.
81
Bh'on. heaven, ^11 drifr-beat^ pulre
Kitiff. Farewell, hiad WencheE i ^oti have
eunplewits. ■ i.i j 1 >
Prln. Twenty adieus, ray froietl Miiscovits.
[Exeunt Kintf, Lords, and Blackamoors.
Are these the breed of Wits so wondei'd at
■ Bw/ct. Tai>ers they are, with your sweet
breaths puffd out. ' '
Bos. WelUibing wits thejf havd'j gross',
gross; fat, fat. ' ' M '' ' '
P7-in..'< O poverty in wit, kittgly-potfr flout!
Will tliev Hot, think you, hang themselves to¬
night? ' ' 270
Or ever, but in vizards, show their faces ?
Tliis ijert Biron was out of countenance quite. '
Bos. 0, they were all in larnentable'cases !
The king was weeping-ripe for a good Word.
Prin. Biron did swear himsell' out bf all
' ' suit. "11 ' ' '
Mar. Diminin was at. ray service;'and his
" swoi-d : . ii ■ ' I
Ko point' qUoth I'rtiy servant straight was
" rante. ■ ■ ' . -i. 1 , .1
Kat/i. Lord Longaville said. I carne o'fer his
heart ; " i i , i ' I
And trow you what he called ra(j ? i
Prill. • Qualra, perirapii.
Kath. Yes, in good faith. ' ' ■, '
Prin. • Go, sickness as thori art! ?80
Bos. Well, better wits haire worn plain stat-
iute-cap.s. ' '
But wili you hear? the king is my lovfe swotii"
Prill. And quick Biron hath plighted faith
to me.- ' I . I I • : I
Kath. And Longaville was for my sdrvice
bom. / M I I
Mar. Dumain is mine, as sure as baric on '
tree.
Boyet. ' Madaim, and pretty mistresSes, give
ear: i i ■ ' i
Immediately they will again be here' '
In their own shapes ; for it can never be ^
They will digest this harsh indignity.
Prin. Will they retiim ? " '
Bcnjet. They will, they will, God knows.
And leap for joy/ though rthey are lame with '
' blows: " " > 291
Therefore change favors ; and, when they re¬
pair, ■ I I '■"! ■■
Blow like sweet ro.ses in this summer air.
Prin. How blow ? how blow ? speak to be
imderstood. i ■, r .rr ' i i
Boyet. Fair ladies mask'd are roses in their
bud ; • •
Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture
' shown,. •' 1 ' V ' i ' ''
t Are angels vailing clondst or roses blown. ■
Prfn. - Avaunt, perplexity 1 What shall we
do, ■ -I 1 .
If they return in their own Shape#to woo ? >
Bos, ■ Gk>od madam, if by me you'll be adi- "
" ' Vised', II I
Let's mock them still, as well known as dis-
' / guised :■
Let US complain to them what fools were here
Disguised like Muscovites, in shapeless gear ;
And wonder what they were and to What end
Their shallow shows and prologue Vilely
penn'd ' i > ,
And their rough carriage so ridiculous.
Should be presented at our tent to u^.
Boyet. 'LadieS, withdraw : tlie gallants are
at liand. i / . i
Prin. ■ 'Whip to OuV tents, fiS' foeS rnh o'er
land; i
[Exeunt Princess, Bosaline, Katharine, and
". I I ■ n I i 11^ Marl{i.
Be-enter tlie IKing,. Biron, LoNGAvipuE, and
Dumain, in ifielr proper tiabils.
King. Fair sir, God save you !i Where's
the princess? ,310
Boyet. Gone, to.,her tent, JPlease it your
majesty
Command me any service to her thither ?
King. That sl>e vouclisafe me audience for
one woi-d.
Bqyet. I will; ppd so will she, I know, my
lord. ,, I , [Exit,
■ Biron. Th^s fellow peeks up wit as jiigeons
pease.
And utters it a^iu when God doth please ;
He is wit's pedfer, and retails his wares
At wakes and wassails, meetings, markets,
fairs : I
And we that sell by gross, the Lord dotli know.
Have not the grace to grace it witli such show.
This gallant puis, tlio wenches ou liis sleeve ;
Had he been Adam, he ha4 tempted Eve ;
A' can carve too, and lisp : wliy, this is he
That kiss'd his hand, away in courtesy ;
This is the ape of foi-m, monsieur the nice,
That,, when lie plays at tables, cliides the dice
In honorable terms : nay, he can sing
A mean most meanly ; and in usheruig
Mend him wlm can: the ladies call him sweet;
The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet:
This is the fiower that smiles on ever.v one,
To show his' teeth as white as whale's hone ;
And conscienoes, that wili not die in debt.
Pay liiin the due of lioiiey-tongued Boyet.
King. A blister ou ills sweet tongue, with
my heart, ,
That put Armado's page out of liis part!
Biron. See where jt cpmes! Beliavior,
what wert thou
Till this madman show'd tliee ? a"d what art
thou now ?
Jl.-enter the Princess, ushered hy Boyet ;
Bosaune, Maria, and .Katharine.
King. All hail, sweet madam, and fair time
of day !
Pnn. ' F.air' in ' all hail' is foul, as I con-
ceive. - ■ r • ,
King. Construe my speeches better, if yon
may.
Prin. Then wish me better ; I will''give yoK
leave.
King. i We came to visit you, and purpose
now '
To lead you to our court; vouchsafe it then.
82
Prin. This field shall hold me ; and so hold
your vow :
Nor God, nor I, delights in perjured men.
Kmg. Kebuke me not lor tliat which you
provoke :
The virtue of your eye must break my oath.
Prin. You nickname virtue; vice you
should have spoke ;
For virtue's office never breaks men's trotli.
Now by my maiden honor, yet as pure 351
As the unsullied lily, 1 protest,
A world ol torments though 1 should endure,
I would not yield to be your house's guest;
So much I hate a breaking cause to be
Ol heavenly oaths, vow'd with integrity.
King. O, yon have lived in desolation here,
Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame.
Prin. Not so, my lord ; it is not so, I swear ;
We have had pastimes here and pleasant
game: 360
A mess ol Russians lelt us but ol late.
King. How, madam ! Russians !
Prin. Ay, in truth, my lord ;
Trim gallants, lull ol courtship and ol state.
Sos. Madam, speak true. It is not so, my
lord :
My lady, to the manner ol the da^s.
In courtesy gives undeserving praise.
We lour indeed conlronted were with four
In Russian habit: here they stay'd an hour.
And talk'd apace ; and in that hour, my lord,
They did not bless us with one happy word.
I dare not call them lools ; but this I think, 371
When they are thirsty, foois would lain have
drink.
Biron. This jest is dry to me. Fair gentle
sweet.
Tour wit makes wise things foolish : when we
greet.
With eyes best seeing, heaven's fiery eye.
By light we lose light; j'our capacity
Is ol that nature that to your huge store
Wise things seem loolish and rich tilings but
poor.
Kos. This proves you wise and rich, lor in
my eye,—
Bb-on. I am a lool, and lull of poverty.
Ros. But that you take what doth to you
belong, 381
It were a fault to snatch words from my
tongue. sess!
Biron. O, I am yours, and all that I pos-
Ros. All the lool mine ?
, Biron. I cannot give you less.
Ros. Which of the vizards was it that you
wore ?
Biron. Where ? when ? what vizard ? why
demand you this 1
Ros. There, then, that vizard ; that super¬
fluous case
That hid the worse and show'd the better lace.
King. We are descried ; they'll mock us
now downright
Bum. Let us confess and turn it to a jest.
Prin. Amazed, my lord 1 why looks your
Uighness sad ? 391
|Act,' .
Ros. Help, hold his brows ! he'll swoon 1
Why look you pale ?
Sea-sick, I think, coming from Musoovy..
Biron. Thus pour the stars down plagues
lor perjury.
Can any lace ol brass hold longer out 7;
Here stand I; l.dy, dart thy skill at me ;
Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a
flout; [ranee ;
Thrust thy diarp wit quite through my igno-
Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit;
And I will wish thee never more to dance, 400
Nor never more in Russian habit wait.
O, never will I trust to speeches penn'd.
Nor to the motion ol a schoolboy's tongue,
Nor never come in vizard to my Inend, ,
Nor woo iu rhyme, like a blind • harper's
song!
Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise,
Three-piled hyperboles, spruce affectation,
Figui-es pedantical; these summer-flies
Have blown me lull'ol maggot ostentation :
I do forswear them ; and I here protest, 410
By this white glove,—how white the hand,
God knows !—
Henceforth my wooing mind shall be ex-
press'd
In russet yeas and honest kensey noes :
And, to begin, wench,—so God heip me, la !—
My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.
Ros. Sans sans, I pray you.
Biron. Yet I have a trick
01 the old rage : bear with me, I am sick ;
I'll leave it by degrees. Soft, let ns see :
Write, 'Lord have mercy on us' oa those
three.; '
They are infected ; in their hearts it lies ; 420
They have the pl^ue, and caught it ol your
eyes ;
These lords are visited ; yon are not free,
For the Lord's tokens on you do I see.
Prin. No, they are free' tliat gave Giese
tokens to us.
Biron. Our states are forfeit: seek not to
undo us.
Ros. It is not so ; lor how can this be true.
That you stand forfeit, being those that sue ?
Biron. Peace 1 lor I wUl not have to do
witli you.
Ros. Nor shall not, if I do as I intend.
Biron. Speak for yourselves ; my wit is at
an end. 430
King. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude
transgression
Some lair excuse.
Prin. The fairest is .confession.
Were not you here but even now disguised ?
King. Madam, I was.
Prin. And were you well advised ?
King. I was, lair madam.
Prin. When you then were here.
What did you whisper in your lady's ear ? ,
King. 'That more than all the world I did
respect her.
Prin. When she shall challenge this, you
will, reiect her. •
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.y
Scene ii J
LOVE'S* LABOUR'S LOST.
King. Upon mine honor, no.
Prin. ' Peace, peace ! forbear:
lour oath once broke, you force not to for¬
swear, 440
^ing, Despise me, when I break this oath
, of mine. ' '
Prin. 1 will; and therefore keep it R >s:i-
line,.
What did tlie Russian whisper in your ear ?
Ros. Madam, he swore that he did hold me
dear
hs precious eyesight, and did value me
Above this world ; adding thereto moreover
Tliat he would wed me, or else die my lover.'
Prin. God give thee joy of him'! the uoble.
lord
Most honorably doth uphold his word'.
King. What mean you, madam ? by my
life, my troth, 450
I never swore tliis lady such an oath.
Ros. By heaven, you did ; and to confirm
it plaui.
You gave me this : but take it, sir, again.
King.. My faith and this the princess I did
give :
I knew her by this jewel on her sleev'e.
Prin. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she
wear ;
And Lord Biron, I thank him, is my dear.
Wliat, will you have me, or your pearl again ?
Biron. Neither of either; I remit botli
twaiu.
I see tlie trick on't ; here was a consent, 460
Knowing aforehand of our merriment.
To dash it like a Christmas comedy :
Some carry-tale, some please-man, some yight
zany.
Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight,
some Dick,
That striles his cheek in years and knows the
trick
To make my lady laugh 'Wheu she'S disposed.
Told our intents before ; which once disposed,
Tlie ladies diu change favcrs : and then we,
Following the signs, .,o'd but the sign of she.
Now, to our perjury to add more terror, , 470
We arc again forsworn, in will and error.
Much upon this it is ; and might not you
{toBoyet.
Forestall our sijort, to make us thus untrue ?
Do not you know my lady's foot by tlie squier.
And .augh uixjr. the apple of her eye 7
And stand between her back, sir, and the fire.
Holding a trencher, jesting merrily ?
You put our page out : go, you are aiiow'd ;
Die when you will, a smock shall be your
, shroud.
You leer upon me, do you ? there's an eye
Wounds like a leaden sword. 481
Boyet. Full merrily
Hath this brave manage, this cateer, been run.
Biron. Lo, he is tilting straight! Peace !
I have done.
Enter Costard.
Welcome, pure wit! thou partest a fair fray.
Cost. O Lord, sir, they would know
Whether tlie three Worthies shall eome in or
no. ■ '
' Biron What, are there but three ? i
Cost. No, sir; but it is vara flue.
For every one purseuts three. '
Biron. And three times thrice is nine.
Cost. Not so, sir ( under correction, sir ; '
hope it is not so.
You cannot beg us, sir,' I can assure yon. sir ;
we know what we know : 490
I hope, sir, three times thrice,sir,—
Biron., Is not nine.
Cost.' Under correction, sir, we know where-
uutii it doth amount.
Biron. By Jove, I always took three threes
for nine.
Cost. O Lord, sir, it were pity you should
get your living by reckoning, sir.
Biron. How much is it ?
Cost. O Lord, sir, the jiarties themselves,
tlie actors, sir, will show whereuntii it doth
amount: for mine own i>art. I am, as they say,
but to parfect one man in one pour man, Poni-
pion the Great, sir.
Biron. Art thou one of the Worthies ?
Cost. It pleased them to think me worthy
of Pompion the Great: for mine own part, 1
know not the degree of the Worthy, but I am
to stand for him.
Biron. Go, bid them prepare. 510
Cost. We will turn it finely off, sir ; we will
take some care. , , [Ej:it.
King. Biron, they will shame us : let them
not approach.
Biron. We are shame-proof, my lord : and
'tis some policy
To have one show worse than the king's and
his company.
King. I say they shall not come.
Prin. Nay, my good lord, let me o'errule
you now :
That sport best pleases that doth least know
how :
,t Where zeal strives to content, and the con¬
tents
Dies hi the zeal of that which it presents :
Their form confounded makes most form in
mirth.
When great things laboring perish in their
birth.
Biron. A right description of our sport, my
lord.
Enter Abmado.
Arm. Anointed, I implore so muca expense
of thy royal sweet breath as will utter a brace
of words.
[Conuei-ses apart with the King, ami
delivers him a paper.
Prin. Doth this man serve God ?
Biron. Why ask you ?
Prin. He speaks not like a man of God's
making.
■ Arm.' Tliat is all one, my fair, sweet, honey
monarch ; for, I protest, the schoolmaster ia
LOVE'S LABQl/R'S LQST.
[Act v.
exceeding fantastical; too too vain,-too' too
vain : but we will put it, as tliiey gay,, to fqi>-
tuna de la guerra. I wish you the peace of
mind, most loyaL cobplemeiit | / {Exit.
Kiiiff. Here is like to be a good presence of
Worthies. He presents Hector .of Troy ;.tlue
swain, Pomirey tite Hreat; the parish curate,
Alexander ; Arinado's page, Jleroules ; the
pedant, Judas Maccabseus : , , 540
And if these four Wqrtliies in their nrgt ^ow
thrive, ,, , ' ■
These four will change habits, and present
the other five. , , •
Jtii-on. There is five in the first show.
Kiiuj. You are deceived .;'tis not go. , ,
Eiron. The pedant, the braggart, tlie hedge-
priest, the fool and the boy :—
tAbate tlirow at novum, and the whole world
again. ,, , ■ . i
Cannot pick out five such, hike each one in
• Ins vein,> . . |
Kin(/. The ship is under sail, and here she
conies amain. .
Eittei' Costard, for Pompey.'
Cost. I Pompey am,— ■
lioyct. Ton lie, you are hot he. .550
Cost. I Pompey'am,-*- '
Boyet. , With libbard's head on knee.
Biron. Well said, old mocker : I tOust needs
be friends with thee. ' '' ■
Cost. I Pompey am, Pompey sumamed'the
, Big,—
Bum. The Great.
Cost. It is,' Great,' sir
Pompey surnamed the Great;
That oft in field, with targe and shield, did
make my foe to sweat:
And travelling along this coast, I here am
come by chance.
And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet
lass of France,
If your ladyship would say,' Thanks, Pompey,'
I had done. ■ '
Prill. Great thanks, CTeat PomiiBy. 560
Cost. 'Tis not so much worth ; but I hope I
was perfect : I made a little fault in ' Great.' '
Biron. My hat to ^ halfpenny, Pompey
proves the best Worthy. '
■ Eater Sir Nathariel, for Alexander.^ ,
Nath. When in the world I livedi I was the
world's commander ; . '
By east, west, north, and south, I spread my
conquering might:
My scutcheon plain declares that I am Alis-
ander,— .
Boyet. Your nose says, no, you .are not; 1
for it stands too right. . ., , , i
Biron. Your nose smells ' no' in this, most
• tender-smelling knight.
Prin. The conqueror is dismay'd. Proceed,
good Alexander. , 570
Nath. When in the world I lived, I wapithe
world's commander,— i
Boyet. Most true, 'tis right; yoo were so,
Alisander. i
Biron. Pompey the Great,—
Cost. Your servient, and Costard.
, Tak^ a.way ,the cppque)rcir,'.|take
away Alisander. '
, Cost, [To A'h'iVath.] Q, sir, you hare over¬
thrown Alisander the conqueror ! Yon will
be ^praped out of the painted cloth for this :
your lion, that holds his poll-axe sitting on a
close-stool, will be given to Ajax : hp will he
the ninth Worthy. A, conqueror, and afeard
to speak ! run away for shame, Alisander.
[Nath. retires.] There, an't shall please you;
a foolish mild map ; an honest mah, look you,
and soon dashpd. He is a marvellous good
neighbor, faith, and a very good bowler ; nut,
for Alisander,—alas, you see how'las,—a little
o'erparted. , But there are \yortliies a-coming
will speak their mind in some other sort. 5%
Prin. Stand aside, good Ppmpey. ■
Enter Houopernes,/or Judas; and Moth,
' ' for Bercules. ■' .
Hol.^ Great Hercules is presented , py this
■' 1 DOPi ,1 J " ,
Whose club kili'd Cerberus, that three-
headed canis; i
And when he.wfis a babe, a child, a shrimp.
Thus did he Strangle serpents hi liis
. manus.
Quoniam he seemeth in minority,
Ergo I come with this apology.
Keep some state in thy exit, ana Vanish.
, . , ,, , [iloth retires.
Judas I .am,—
Bum. A J udas ! . ^ 600
IIoU .Hot Iscariot, sir.
Judas I am, ycliped Maccabmils.
Bum. JudRs Maccabseus dipt is plain
Judas. ,
Biron. A kissmg traitoi;. Hoiy art thou
proved Judas ? ' -
■ Hoi. Jndas I am,— ■ , ,
Bum. The more shame for iou, Judas. ,
//of. What mean you, sir ?
Boyet. . To make Judas hang himself.
,, Hoi. Begin, sir ; you are my elder. '
Biron. Well followed ; Jpdas was hanged
on an elder. , , filO
Hfd. I will not be put out of countenance.
Bu'on. Because tlioq h<,st no face-
HoL What is this ? ,
Boyet. A oittem-head. '
Hum. Tlie head of a bodkin.
Biron. A Peath,'s face in a rum. '
Long. The face of mi old Roman coin,
, ..scarce seen.
Boyet. Tire jximmel of Cresar's falchion.
BunUf, The carved-bone face on a flask.
Jiiron. Saintr George's hqlf-cbeek in' a
• I brooch.. 620
um. Ay, and in a brooch of lead. ,
iivn. 'Ay,and worn in the cap of a tooth-
drawer.
And now forward ; for we have put thee hi
ccuntenanee.
Hoi. .you have imt me out of countenance.
LOVE'S LABOURS LOST. »,
scsne ii. j
Biron. False ; we have given thee faces.
Hoi. But yon have out-faced them all.
Biron. An thou wert a lion, we would do so.
Boyet. Therefore, as he is an ass, let him
gc.
And so adieu, sweet Jude ! nay, why dost thou
stay ?
Dum. For the latter end of his name. 630
Biron. For the ass to the Jude ; give it
him Jud-as, away !
Hoi. This is not generous, not gentle, not
humble.
Botjet. A light for Monsieur Judas ! it
• grows dark, he may stumble.
[Hoi. retires.
Prin. Alas, poor Maccabseus, how hath he
been bait^!
Enter Akmado, for Hector.
Biron. Hide thy head, Achillea : here
comes Hector in arms.
Dum. Though my mocks come home by
me, I will now be merry.
King. Hector was but a Tro,yan in respect
of this. 640
Boyet. But is this Hector ?
King. I think Hector was not so clean-tim¬
bered.
Long. His leg is too big for Hector's.
Dum. More calf, certain.
Boyet. Ho ; he is best indued in the small.
Biron. This cannot be Hector.
Dum. He's a god or a painter ; for he makes
faces.
Arm. The armipoteiit Mars, of lances the
almiglity, 650
Gave Hector a gift,—
Dum. A gilt nutmeg.
Biron. A lemon.
Long. Stuck with cloves.
Dum. No, cloven.
Arm. Peace !—
The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty.
Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion ;
A man so breathed, that certain he would
fight; yea
From mom till night, out of his pavilion.
I am that flower,— 661
Dum. That mint.
Long. That columbine.
Arm. Sweet Lord Longaville, reiu thy
tougue.
Ijong. I must rather give it the rein, for it
runs against Hector.
Dum. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound.
Ai-m. The sweet war-man is desid and
rotten ; sweet chucks, beat not the bones of
the buried : when he breathed, he was a man.
But I will forward with my device. [To the
Princess] Sweet royalty, bestow on me the
sense of hearing. « 670
Prin. Speak, brave Hector : we are much
delighted.
Arm. 1 do adore thy sweet grace's slipper.
Boyet. [Aside to Dum.] Loves her by the
foot.
Dum. [Aside to Boyet] He may not by th«
yard.
Arm. This Hector far surmounted Han¬
nibal,—
Cost. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she
is gone ; she is two months on her way.
Arm. What meanest thou ? 680
Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest
Troyan, the poor wench is cast away ; she's
quick ; the child brags in her belly already :
'tLs yours.
Arm. Dost thou iufamonize me among
potentates ? thou shalt die.
Cost. Then shall Hector be whipped for Ja-
quenetta that is quick by him and hanged for
Pompey that is dead by him.
Dum. Most rai-e Pompey !
Boyet. Renowned Pompey ! 690
Biron. Greater than great, great, great,
great Pompey! Pompey the Huge !
Dum. Hector trembles.
Biron. Pompey is moved. More Ates,
more Ates ! stir them on ! stir them on !
Dum. Hector will challenge him.
Biron. Ay, if a' have no more man's blood
in's belly than will sup a flea.
Arm. By the north pole, I do challenge
thee.
Cost. I will not fight with a pole, like a
northern man: I'll slash ; I'll do it by the
sword. I bepray you, let me borrow my arms
again.
Dum. Room for the incensed Worthies !
Cost. I'll do it in my shirt
Dum. Most resolute Pompey !
Moth. Master, let me take you a button¬
hole lower. Do you not see Pompey is uncas¬
ing for the combat ? What mean you ? You
will lose your reputation.
Arm. .Gentlemen and soldiers, pardon me ;
I wiU not combat in my shirt. 710
Dum. You may not deny it: Pompey hath
made the challenge.
Aim. Sweet bloods, I both may and will.
Biron. What reason have you for't ?
Am. The naked truth of it is, I have no
shirt; I go woolward for penance.
Boyet. True, and it was enjoined him in
Rome for want of linen : since when, I'll be
sworn, he wore none but a dishclout of Jaque-
netta's, and that a' wears next his heart for a
favor.
Enter Mebcade.
Mer. God save you, madam !
Prin. Welcome, Mercade;
But that thou interrupt'st our merriment
Mer. I am sorry, madam ; for the news I
bring
Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father—
Prin. Dead, for my life !
Mer. Even so ; my tale is told. 730
Biron. Worthies, away ! the scene begins
to cloud.
Arm. For mine own iKirt, I breathe fret
breath. I have seen the day of wrxiug through
«6
the little hole of discretion, and I will right
myself like a soldier. [Exeunt Worthies.
Kiiig. How fares your majesty ?
Prin. Boyet, prepare; 1 will away to¬
night.
King. Madam, not so ; I do beseech you,
stay.
Prin. Prepare, I say. I thank you, gra¬
cious lords.
For all your fair endeavors ; and entreat, 740
Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe
In your rich wisdom to excuse or hide
The liberal opposition of our spirits,
If over-boldly we have borne ourselves
In the converse of breath : your gentleness
Was guilty of it. Farewell, worthy lord !
A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue :
Excuse me so, coming too short of thanks
For my great suit .so easily obtain'd.
King. fThe extreme parts of time extremely
forms 750
All causes to the purpose of his speed.
And often at his very loose decides
That which long process could not arbitrate :
And though the mourning brow of progeny
Forbid the smiling courtesy of love
The holy suit which fain it would convince.
Yet, since love's argument was first on foot.
Let not the cloud of sorrow justie it
From what it purposed ; since, to wail friends
lost
Is not by much so wholesome-profitable 760
As to rejoice at friends but newly found.
Prin. I undei-stand you not: my griefs
are double.
Biron. Honest plain words best pierce the
ear of grief;
And by these badges understand the king.
For your fair sakes have we neglected time,
Play'd foul play with our oaths : yqur beauty,
ladies.
Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our hu¬
mors
Even to the opposed end of our intents :
And what in us liath seera'd ridiculous,—
As love is full of unbefitting strains, 770
All wanton as a child, skipping and vain,
Form'd by the eye and therefore, like the eye.
Full of strange shapes, of habits and of forms.
Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll
To every varied object in his glance :
Which parti-coated presence of loose love
Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes.
Have misbecomed our oaths and gravities.
Those heavenly eyes, that look into th ese faults.
Suggested us to niake. Therefore, ladies, 780
Our love being yours, the error that love makes
Is likewise yours : we to ourselves prove false.
By being once false for ever to be true
To those that make us both,—fair ladies, you :
And even that falsehood, in itself a sin.
Thus purifies itself and turns to grace.
Prin. We have received your letters full of
love ;
Your favors, the ambassadors of love ;
And, in our maiden comicil, rated them
[Act t.
At courtship, pleasant jest and courtesy, 7»
As bombast and as lining to the time :
But more devout than this in our respects
Have we not been; and therefore met youi
loves
In their own fashion, like a merriment.
Dum. Our letters, madam, show'd much
more than jest.
Long. So did our looks.
Ros. We did not quote them so.
King. Now, at the latest minute of the i
hour.
Grant us your loves.
Prin. A time, methiuks, too short
To make a world-without-end bargain in.
No, no, my lord, your grace is perjured much.
Full of dear guiltiness; and therefore this: 801
If for my love, as there is no such cause.
You will do aught, this shall yon do for me :
Your oath I will not trust; but go with speed
To some forlorn and naked hermitage.
Remote from all the pleasures of the world ;
There stay until the twelve celestial signs
Have brought about the annuai reckonmg.
If this austere insociable life
Change not your offer made in heat of blood ;
If frosts and fasts, hard lodging and thin weeds
Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love.
But that it bear this trial and last love ;
Then, at the expiration of the year.
Come challenge me, challenge me by these
deserts.
And, by this virgin palm now kissing thine,
I will be thine ; and till that instant shut
My woeful self up in a mourning bouse.
Raining the tears of lamentation
For tlie remembrance of my father's death. 820
If this tliou do deny, let our hands part,
Neither intitled in the other's heart.
King. If this, or more than this, I would
deny.
To flatter up these powers of mine with rest.
The sudden band of death close up mine eye !
Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast.
[Biron. And what to me, my love 1 and what
• to me ?
Ros. You must be purged too, your sins are
rack'd.
You are attaint with faults and perjury :
Therefore if you my favor mean to get, 830
A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest,
But seek the weary beds of people sick.]
Bum. But what to me, my love ? but what
to me ?
A wife ?
Kath. A beard, fair health, and honesty ;
With three-fold love I wish you all these three.
Bum. O, shall I say, I "tliank you, gentle
wife ?
Kath. Not so, my lord ; a twelvemonth and
a day [say;
FU mark no words that smooth-faced wooers
Come when the king doth to my lady come ;
Then, if I have much love, I'll give Vou some.
Bum. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till
then. 84!
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
87
Scene ii.J
Kath. Yet svrear not, lest ye be forsworn
again.
Long. What says Maria ?
Mar. At the twelvemonth's end
I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend.
Long. I'll stay with patience ; but the time
is loug.
Mm". The liker you; few taller are so young.
Biron. Studies my lady ? mistress, look on
me ;
Behold the window of my heart, mine eye.
What humble suit attends thy answer tltere :
Impose some service on me for thy love. 850
Bos. Oft have I heard of you, my Lord
Biron,
Before I saw you; and the world's large tongue
.Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks.
Full of comparisons and wounding flouts.
Which you on all estates will execute
That lie within the mercy of your wit.
To weed this wormwood from your fruitful
brain.
And therewithal to win me, if you please.
Without the which I am not to be won.
You shall this twelvemonth term from day to
day 860
Visit the speechless sick and still converse
With groaning wretches ; and your task shall
be.
With all the fierce endeavor of your wit
To enforce the pamed impotent to smile.
Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat
of death 1
It cannot be ; it is impossible :
Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.
Bos. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing
spirit.
Whose influence is begot of that loose grace
Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools:
A jest's prosperity lies in the ear 871
Of him that hears it, never in the tongUe
Of him that makes it: then, if sickly ears,
Deal'd with the clamors of their own dear
groans.
Will hear your idle scorns, continue then,
Aud I will have yon and that fault withal;
But if they will not, throw away that spirit.
And 1 shall find you empty of that fault.
Right joyful of your reformation.
Biron. A twelvemonth ! well; befall what
will befall, 880
I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital.
Prin. [To the King'] Ay, sweet my lord ;and
so I take my leave.
King. No, madam ; we will bring you on
your way. [old play ;
Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an
Jack hath not Jill: these ladies' courtesy
Might well have made our sport a comedy.
King. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth
and a day, «
And then 'twill end. *
Biron. That's too long for a play.
Re-enter Abmado.
Arm. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me,—
Prin. Was not that Hector ?
Bum. The worthy knight of Troy. 890
Arm. I will kiss Uiy toyai fiuger, and take
leave. I am a votary I have vowed to Jaqiie-
netta to hold the plough for her sweet love
three years. But, most esteemed greatness,
will you hear the dialogue that the two learned
men have compiled in praise of the owl and
the cuckoo ? it should have followed in the
end of our show.
King. Call them forth quickly ; we will do
so.
Arm. Holla ! approach. 900
Re-enter Holofernes, Nathaniel, Moth,
Costard, and others.
This side is Hiems,Winter, this Ter,the Spring,
the one maintained by the owl, the other by
the cuckoo. Ver, begin.
The Song.
Sfbing.
When daisies pied and violets blue
And lady-smocks all silver-whit^
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
■ Do paint the meadows with delight.
The cuckoo then, on every tree.
Mocks married men ; for thus sings he.
Cuckoo; 91C
Cuckoo, cnckoo ; O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear !
When shepherds pipe on oaten straws
And merry larks are viloughmen's clocks.
When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws.
And maidens bleach their summer gmocks.
The cuckoo then, on every tree.
Mocks married men ; for thus sings he.
Cuckoo ;
Cuckoo, cuckoo : O word of fear, 920
Unpleasing to a married ear !
Winter.
When icicles hang by the wall
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail ,
And Tom bears logs into the hall
And milk comes frozen home in pail.
When blood is nipp'd aud ways be foul.
Then nightly sings the staring owl.
Tu-whit;
Tu-who, a merry note.
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 93C.
When all aloud the wind doth blow
And coughing drowns the parson's saw
And birds sit brooding in the snow
And Marian's nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl.
Then nightly sings the staring owl.
Tu-whit;
Tu-who, a merry note.
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
Arm. The words of Mercury .ire harsh after
the songs of Apollo. You that way : we this
way. [£xeunt
THE COMEDY OF EERORS.
(written about 1591.
INTRODUCTION.
This is Shakespeare's one farcical play. Its sources of iaughter lie almost wholly in the situa.
ticrts and incidents, hardly at all in the characters. The spectator of the play is called upon to
a*~^pt much that is improbable and all but impossible; not, as in A Midaxvmmer itight's Dream,
for the sake of freer play of imagination, and because the world pictured by the poet is a fairy-world
of romantic beauty and grotesqueness, but for the sake of mere fun and laughter-stirring surprises.
So cleverly, however, are the incidents and persons entangled ai.J disentangled, so rapidly does
surprise follow surprise, that we are given no time to raise difficulties or otter objections. The
subject of the comedy is the same as tliat of the Memxechmi of Ptautus—mistakes of identity aiieing
from the likeness of twin-born children. How Shakespeare made acquaintance with Plautus has
not been ascertained; possibly through WiUiam Warner's translation of the Meuaeckmi, seen in
manuscript before its publication in 15a5; more probably through an earlier play, not now extant.
To the twins of the Menaechml, Shakespeare has added a second pair of brothers, the twins Dromio.
This does not make the improbability of the whole seem greater, but rather the reverse ; for the fun
is doubled, and where so much is incredible we are carried away and have no wish but to yield our¬
selves up to belief in the incredible for the time being, so as to enter thoroughly into the jest-
Shakespeare added other characters—the Duke Solinus (when he can he always introduces a duke),
.Sgeon, Balthazar, Angelo, the Abbess, and Luciana; and he alters the character of the married
brother, Antipholus, from the repulsive Menaechmus of Plautus, with whom we can have little sym¬
pathy, into a person who at least is not base and vicious. The scene he transfers from Epidamnum
to Ephesus, that city which had an evil repute for its roguery, licentiousness, and magical
practices.a city in which such errors might be supposed to be the result of sorcery and witclicrrft.
(See Act I., Sc. II., L. 97—102.) To Shakespeare belongs wholly the serious background, from which
the farcical incidents stand out in relief—the story of the Syracusan merchant who almost forfeits
his life in the search for his lost children, and finally recovers both the lost ones and his own liberty.
The date of the play cannot be exactly determined, but it is certainly one of the very earliest. " In
what part of her body stands .... France?" asks Antipholus of Syracuse, questioning Hrcgnio
about the kitchen-wench, who is so large and round that she has been compared to a globe; and
Dromio answers : " In her forehead, armed and revelled, making war against her heir." (Act
lit,, Sc. II., h. 125—127). France was in a state of civil war, lighting for and against her heir,
Henri IV., from August, 1589, until shortly before his coronation in February, 1594. In 1591, Henri
received the assistance of troops from England, eommanded by the Earl of Essex.
DRAMATIS
Solinus, duke of Ephesus.
.51GEON, a merchant of Syracuse.
Antipholus of Ephesus,) bribers, and
ANt:iPHOLUS of SyWusel (
Dromio of Ephesus, U^„}>f°'^hers, and at-
Balthazar, a merchant
Angelo, a goldsmith. [cuse.
First Merchant, friend to Antipholus of Syra-
PERSON^.
Second Merchant, to whom Angelo is a debtor.
Pinch, a schoolmaster.
AImilia, wife to jGgeou, an abbess at Ephesus.
Adriana, wife to Autiphohis of Ephesus.
Luciana, her sister.
Luce, servant to Adriana.
A Courtezan.
Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants.
Scene : Ephesi. .
ACT L
8oene I. A hall in the Duke's palace.
Enter Duke, AIgeon, Gaoler, Officers, and
other Attendants.
.^f/e. Proceed, Solinu.c, to procure my fall
And by the doom of death end woes and alL
Duke. Merchant of Syracuse, plead no
more;
I am not partial to infringe our laws :
m
Scene i.]
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
69
The enmity and discord which of late
Sprung from the rancorous outrage of 3'our
duke
To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen,
Who wanting Riders to redeem their lives
Have seal'd his rigorous statutes with their
bloods.
Excludes all pity from our threatening looks.
For, since the mortal and mtestine jars 11
'Twixt thy seditions countrymen and us,
It hath in solemn synods been decreed.
Both by the Syracusians and ourselves.
To admit no trafMc to our adverse towns
Nay, more.
If any born at Ephesus be seen
At any Syracusian marts and fairs ;
Again : if any Syracusian born
Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies, 20
His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose,
Unless a thousand marks be levied.
To quit the penalty and to ransom him.
Thy substance, valued at the highest rate, •
Cannot amount unto a hundred marks ;
Therefore by law thou art condemned to die.
.iEge. Yet this my comfort: when your
vtords are done.
My woes end likewise with the evening sun.
Duke. Well, Svracusian, say in brief the
cause 29
Why thou departed'st from thy native home
And for what cause thou earnest to Ephesus. ■
- /Ege. A heavier task could not have been
imposed
* Than I to speak my griefs unspealca.ble :
Yet, that the world may witness that my end
Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence,
I'll utter what my sorrows give me leave.
In Syracusa was I born, and wed
Unto a woman, happy but for me,
And by me, had not our hap been bad.
With her I lived in joy ; our wealth increased
By prosperous voyages I often made 41
To Epidamnum ; till my factor's death
And the great care of goods at random left
Drew me from kind embracements of my
si)ouse :
From whom my absence was not six months
old
Before herself, almost at fainting under
The pleasing punishment that women bear.
Had made provision for her following me.
And soon and safe arrived where I was.
There had she not been long, but she became ,
A joyful mother of two goodly sons ; 51
And," which was strange, the one so like the
other.
As could not be distinguish'd but by names.
That very hour, and in the self-same inn,
A meaner woman was delivered
Of such a burden, male twins, j|oth alike..
Those, — for their parents were exceeding
poor,—
I bought and brought up to attend my sons.
My wife, not meanly proud of two such boy.s.
Hade daily motions for our home return : 00
Unwilling I agreed. Alas 1 too soon,
We came aboard.
A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd.
Before the always wind-obeying deep
Gave any tragic instance of our harm :
But longer did we not retain much hope ;
For what obscured light the heavens did grant
Did but ponvey unto our fearful minds
A doubtful warrant of immediate death ;
Which though myself would gladly have em¬
braced, 70
Yet the incessant weepings of my wife.
Weeping before for what she saw must come.
And piteous plainings of the pretty babes.
That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to
fear.
Forced me to seek delays for them and me.
And this it was, for other means was none ;
The sailors sought for safety by our boat.
And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us "
My wife, more careful for the latter-born.
Had fasten'd him unto a small spare mast, 80
Such as seafaring men provide for storms ;
To him one of the other twins was bound.
Whilst 1 had been like heedful of the other :
The children thus di.sposed, my wife and 1,
Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd,
Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast;
And floating straight, obedient to the stream.
Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought.
At length the sun, gazing upon the earth,
Dispersed those vapors that offended us ; 90
And, by the benefit of his wished light,
iThe seas wax'd cairn, and we discovered
Two ships from far making amain.to us,
Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this :
But ere they came,—O, let me say no more !
Gather the sequel by that went before.
Duke. Nay, forward, old man; do not
break off so ;
For we may pity, though not pardon thee.
yEge. O, had tiie gods done so, 1 had not
now
Worthily term'd them merciless to us ! 100
For, ere the ships could meet by twice fi\ o
leagues.
We were encounter'd by a mighty rock ;
Which being violently borne upon.
Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst
/So that, in this unjust divorce of us.
Fortune had left to both of us alike
What to delight in, what to sorrow for.
Her part, poor soul ! seemiag as burdened
With les.ser weight but not with lesser woe,
Was carried with more speed before the wind;
And in our siglit they three were taken up 111
By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought.
At length, another ship had seized on us ;
And, Imowing whom it was their hap to save,
Gave healthful welcome to their shqiwreck'd
guests ;
And would have reft the fishers of their prey,
Had not their bark been very slow of sail ;
And therefore homeward did they bend their
course.
Thus have you heard me sever'd from my
bliss, '
«c
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
[Act i.
That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd,
To tell sad stories of my own mishaps. 121
Duke. And for the sake of them thou sor-
rowest for,
Do me the favor to dilate at full
What hath befall'ii of them and thee till now.
.iEge. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest
care,
At eighteen years became inquisitive
After his brother : and importuned me
That his attendant—so his case was like.
Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name—
Might bear him company in the quest of him :
Whom whilst I labor'd of a love to see, 131
I hazarded the loss of whom I loved.
Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece,
Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia,
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus ;
Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought
Or that or any place that harbors men.
But here must end the story of my life ;
And happy were I in my timely death.
Could all my travels warrant me they live. 140
Duke. Hapless Algeon, whom the fates
have mark'd
To bear tlie extremity of dire mishap !
Now, trust me, were it not against our laws.
Against my crown, my oath, my dignity.
Which princes, would they, may not disannul,
My soul should sue as advocate for thee.
But, though thou art adjudged to the death
And passed sentence may not be recall'd
But to our honor's great disparagement.
Yet I will favor thee in what I can. 150
Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day
To seek tliy life by beneficial help :
Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus ;
Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum.
And live ; if no, then thou art doom'd to die.
Gaoler, take him to thy custody.
Gaol. I will, my lord.
.iEge. Hopeless and helpless doth Aigeou
wend.
But to procrastinate his lifeless end. [Exeunt.
Scene II. The Mart.
Enter Antxpholus of Syracuse, Dbomio of
Syracuse, and First Merchant.
First Mer. Therefore give out you are of
Epidamnum,
Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate.
This very day a Syracusian merchant
Is apprehended for arrival here ;
And not being able to buy out his life
According to the statute of the town.
Dies ere the weary sun set in the west.
There is your money that I had to keep.
Ant. S. Go bear it to the Centaur, where
we host.
And stay there, Dromio, tiU I come to thee. 10
Within this hour it will be dinner-time :
Till that, I'll view the manners of the town.
Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings,
And then return and sleep within mine inn.
For with long travel I am stiff and weary.
Get thee away.
Dro. S. Many a man would take you at
your word,
And go indeed, having so good a mean. [Exit.
Ant. S. A trusty villain, sir, that very oft.
When I am dull with care and melancholy, 20
Lightens my humor with his merry jests.
What, will you walk with me about the town.
And then go to my inn and dine witii me 7
First Mer. I am invited, sir, to certain mer>
chants,
Of whom I hope to make much benefit;
I crave your pardon. Soon at five o'clock.
Please you, 111 meet with you upon the mart
And afterward consort you till bed-time :
My present business calls me from you now.
Ant. S. Farewell till then ; I will go lose
myself 30
And wander up and down to view the city.
First Mer. Sir, I commend you to your own
content. [Exit
Ant. S. He that commends me to mine own
• content
Commends me to the thing I cannot get.
I to the world am like a drop of water
That in the ocean seeks another drop.
Who, falling there to find his fellow forth,
Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself :
So I, to find a mother and a brother.
In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself. 40
Enter Dbomio of Ephesus.
Here comes the almanac of my true date.
What now ? how chance thou art return'd so
soon ?
Dro. E. Return'd so soon ! rather ap-
proach'd too late :
The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit.
The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell;
My mistress made it one upon my cheek :
She is so hot because the meat is cold ;
The meat is cold because you come not home
You come not home because you have no stom¬
ach ;
You have no stomach having broke your fast
But we thiit know what 'tis to fast and pray 5'
Are penitent for your default to-day.
Ant. S. Stop in your wind, sir: tell me this
I pray :
Where have you left the money that I gave you'
Dro. E. 0,—sixpence, that I had o' \Ved
nesday last
To pay the saddler for my mistre.ss' crupper ?
'The saddler had It, sir; i kept it not.
Ant. S. I am not in a spoi-tive humor now
Tell me, and dally not, where is the money ?
We being strangers here, how darest thou trust
So great a charge from thine own custody ? 61
Dro. E. I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at
dinner :
I from my mistress come to you in post;
If I return, I shall be post indeed.
For she will score your fault-upon my pate.
Methinks your ma w, like mine, should be your
clock.
And strike you home without a messenger
Scene i.]
■ THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
91
Ant. S. Come, Dromio, come, these jests
• are out of season ;
Reserve them till a merrier hour than this.
Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee? 70
Dro. E. To me, sir ? whj', you gave no gold
to me.
Ant. S. Come on, sir knave, have done your
foolishness.
And tell me how thou hast disposed thy charge.
Dro. E. My charge was Wt to fetch you
from the mart
Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to din¬
ner :
My mistress and her sister stays for you.
Ant. S. Now, as I am a Christian, answer me
In what safe place you have bestow'd my
money.
Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours
That stands on tricks when I am undisposed: 80
Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me ?
Di'o. E. I have some marks of yours upon
my pate,
<Some of my mistress' marks upon my should¬
ers,
Rut not a thousand marks between you both.
If I'should pay your worship those again.
Perchance you will not bear them patiently.
Ant. S. Thy mistress' marks ? what mis¬
tress, slave, hast thou ?
Dro. E. Your worship's wife, my mistress at
the Phoenix ;
She that doth fast till you come home to d inner.
And prays that you will hie you home to dinner.
Ant. S. What, wilt thou flout me thus unto
my face, 91
Being forbid ? There, take you that, sir knave.
Dro. E. What mean you, sir ? for God's
sake, hold your hands!
Nay, and you will not, sir, 1'U take my heels.
[Exit.
Ant. S. Upon my life, by some device or
other
The villain is o'er-raught of all my money.
They say this town is full of cozenage,
• As, nimble jugglers that deceive tlie eye,
Dark-working sorcerers that change the mind,
Soul-killing witches that deform the body, 100
Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks.
And many such-like liberties of sin :
If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner.
I'll to the Centaur, to go seek this slave ;
I greatly fear my money is not sate. [Exit.
ACT II.
Scene I. The house of Antipholus of
Ephesus.
Enter Adkiana and Luciana.
Adr. Neither my husband tor the slave
retum'd.
That in such haste I sent to seek his master !
Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock.
Due. Perhaps some merchant hath invited
him,
And from the mart he's somewhere gone to
dinner.
Good sister, let us dine and never fret:
A man is master of his liberty ;
Time is their master, and, when they see time.
They'll go or come : if so, be patient, sister.
Adr. Why should their liberty than ours be
more ? 10
Due. Because their business still lies out o'
door. fit ill.
Adr. Look, when I serve him so, he takes
• Luc. O, know he is the bridle of your will.
, Adr. There's none but asses will be bridled
so.
Due. Why, headstrong liberty is lash'd with
woe.
There's nothing situate under heaven's eye
But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky :
The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls,
Are their males' subjects and at their controls:
Men, more divine, the masters of all these, 20
Lords of the wide world and wild watery seas.
Indued with intellectual sense and souls.
Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls.
Are masters to their females, and their lords :
Then let your will attend on their accords.
Adr. This servitude makes you to keep
unwed.
Luc. Not this, but troubles of the marriage-
bed.
Adr. But, were you wedded, you would
bear some sway.
Luc. Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey.
Adr. How if your husband start some other
where ? 30
Luc. Till he come home again, I would
forbear.
Adr. Patience unmoved ! no marvel though
she pause ;
They can be meek that have no other cause.
A wretched soul, bruised with adversity.
We bid be quiet when we hear it cry ;
But were we burden'd with like weight of pain.
As much or more we should ourselves com¬
plain :
So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve
thee, ^
With urging helpless patience wouldst relieve
me ;
But, if thou live to see like right bereft, 40
This fool-begg'd patience in thee wUl be left.
Luc. Weil, I will marry one day, but to try.
Here comes your man; now is your husband
nigh.
Enter Dromio of Ephesus.
Adr. Say, is your tardy master now at hand ?
Dro. E. Nay, he's at two hands with me,
and that my two ears can witness.
Adr. Say, didst thou speak with him ?
know'stthou his mind ?
Dro. E. Ay, ay, he told his mind uijon mine
ear :
Beshrew his hand, T scarce could understand it.
Luc. S[):ike he so doubtfully, thou couldst
not feel his meaning ? 51
82
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
VAct II.
Dro. E. Nay, he struck so plainly, I could
too well feel his blows ; and withal so doubt¬
fully that I could scarce understand them.
Adr. But say, I prithee, is he coming home?
It seems he hath great care to please his wife.
Dro. E. Why, mistress, sure my master is
horn-mad.
Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain !
Dro. E. I mean not cuckold-mad ;
But, sure, he is stark mad.
When I desired him to come home to dinner, 60
He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold ; •
' 'Tis dinner-time,' quoth I ; ' My gold !' quotji
he :
' Tour meat doth burn,' quoth I ; ' My gold !'
quoth he :
' Will you come home ?' quoth I; ' My gold !'
quoth he.
'Where is the thousand marks I gave thee,
villain ?'
'The pig,' quoth I, 'is burn'd;"My gold!'
quoth he :
' My mistress, sir,' quoth I; ' Hang up thy
mistress !
I know not thy mistress; out on thy mistress !'
Luc. Quoth who ?
Dro. E. Quoth my master : 70
' I know,' quoth he, ' no house, no wife, no
mistress.'
So that my errand, due unto my tongue,
I thank him, I bare home upon ray shoulders ;
For, in conclusion, he did beat me there.
Adr. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch
him home.
Dro. E. Go back again, and be new beaten
home ?
For God's sake, send some other messenger.
Adr. Back, slave, or I will break thy pate
across.
Dro. E. And he will bless that cross with
other beating :
Between you I shall have a holy head. 80
Adr. Hence, prating peasant! fetch thy
master home.
Dro. E. Am I so round with you as you
with me.
That like a football you do spurn me thus ?
You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me
hither :
If I last m this service, you must case me in
leather. \Exit.
Luc. Fie, how impatience loureth in your
face !
Adr. His company must do his minions
grace.
Whilst I at home starve for a merry look.
Hath homely age the alluring beauty took
From my poor cheek ? then he hath wasted it;
Are my discourses dull ? barren my wit ? 91
If voluble and sharp discourse be marr'd,
Unkindness blunts it more than marble hard :
Do their gay vestments his affections bail ?
That's not my fault: he's master of my .state:
What ruins are in me that can be found,
By him not ruin'd ? then is he the ^ound
Of my defeatures. My decayed f^ir
A sunny look of his would soon repair :
But, tooiiuruly deer, he breaks the pale ^100
And leeds from home ; poor I am but his stale
Luc Self-harming jealousy ! fie, beat if
hence !
Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs
dispense.
I know his eye doth homage otherwhere ;
Or else what lets it but he would be here ?
Sister, you know he promised me a chain ;
Would that alone, alone he would detain,
So he would keep fair quarter with his bed !
1 see the jewel best enamelled
Will lose his beauty ; yet the gold bides still,
That others touch, and often touching will 111
tWear gold : and no man that hath a name.
By falsehood and corruption dotli it shame.
Since that my beauty cannot please his eye,
I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die.
Luc. How many fond fools serve mad jeal¬
ousy ! [Exeunt.
Scene H. A public place.
Enter ANTiPHOnrs of Syracuse.
Ant. S. The gold I gave to Dromio is laid up
Safe at the Centaur ; and the heedful slave
Is wander'd forth, in care to seek me out
By computation and mine host's report.
I could not speak with Dromio since at first
I sent him from the mart. See, here he comes.
Enter Dkomio of Syracuse,
How now, sir I is your merry humor alter'd?
As you love strokes, so jest with me again.
You know no Centaur ? you received no gold ?
Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner?
My house was at the Phoenix ? Wast thou
mad, 11
That thus so madly thou didst answer me ?
Dro. D. What answer, sir ? when spake I
such a word ?
Ant. S. Even now, even here, not half an
hour since.
Dro. S. I did not see you since you sent me
hence, ,
Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave
me.
Ant. S. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's
receipt,
Audtold'st me of a mistress and a dinner ;
For which, I hope, tliou felt'st I was displeased.
Dro. S. I am glad to see you in this merry
vein : 20
What means this jest ? I pray you, master,
teU me.
Ant. S. Yea, dost thou jeer and flout me in
the teeth ?
Think'St thou I jest ? Hold, take thou that,
and that. [Beating him.
Dro. S, Hold, sir, for God's sake ! now your
jest is earnest:
Upon wh.at bargain do you give it me ?
Ant. S. Because that I familiarly sometimes
Do use you for my fool and chat with you.
Your sauciness' will jest upon my Jove
And make a common of my serious hours.
Scene ii.]
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
03
W hen the sun shines let foolish gnats make
sport, 30
But creep in crannies when he hides his beams.
If you will jest with me, know my aspect.
And fashion your demeanor to my looks.
Or I will beat this method in your sconce.
Dfo. S. Sconce call you it ? so you would
leave battering, I had rather have it a head :
an you use these blows long, I must get a
sconce for ray head and insconce it too ; or
else ' shall seek ray wit in my shoulders.
But, I pray, sir, why am I beaten ? 40
Ant. S. Dost thou not know ?
Dm. S. Nothing, sir, but that I am beaten.
Ant. S, Shall I tell you why ?
Dro. S. Ay, sir, and wherefore ; for they
say every why hath a wherefore.
Ant. S. Why, first,—for flouting me ; and
then, wherefore,—
For urging it the second time to me.
Dro. S. Was there ever any man thus
beaten out of season.
When in the why and the wherefore is neither
rhyme uor reason ?
Well, sir, I thank you. 60
Ant. S. Thank me, sir, for what ?
Dro. S. Marry, sir, for this something that
you gave me for nothing.
Ant. S. I'll make you amends next, to give
you nothing for something. But say, sir, is it
dinner-time ?
Dro. S. No, sir ; I think the meat wants
that I have.
Ant. S. In good time, sir ; what's that ?
Dro. S. Basting.
Ant. S. Well, sir, then 'twill be dry. 60
Dro. S. If it be, sir, I pray you, eat none
of it.
Ant. S. Your reason ?
Dro. S. Lest it make you choleric and pur¬
chase me another dry basting.
Ant. S. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time:
there's a time for all things.
Dro. S. I durst have denied that, before
you were so choleric.
Ant. S. By what rule, sir ?
Dro. S. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the
olain bald pate of father Time himself. 71
Am., f'. Let's hear it.
Dro. S. There's no time for a man to re¬
cover his hair that grows bald by nature.
Ant. S. May he not do it by fine and re¬
covery ?
Dro. S. Yes, to pay a fine for a periwig and
recover the lost hair of another man.
Ant. S. Why is Time such a niggard of
hair, being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement ?_
Dro. S. Because it is a blessing that he be¬
stows on beasts ; and what he hath scanted
men iu hair he hath given then^n wit. 80
Ant. S. Why, but there's many a man hath
more hair than wit.
Dro. S. Not a man of those but he bath the
wit to lose his hair.
Ant. S. Why, thou didst conclude hairy
men plain dealers without wit.
Dro. S. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost:
yet he losetli it in a kind of jollity. 90
Ant. S. For what reason ?
Dro. S. For two ; and sonnd ones too.
Ant. S. Nay, not sound, I jn-ay you.
Dro. S. Sure ones, then.
Ant. S. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing
Dro. S. Certain ones then.
Ant. S. Name them.
Dro. S. Tlie one, to save the money that
he spends in trimming ; the other, that at
dinner they shoidd not drop in his porridge.
Ant. S. You would all tliis time have
proved there is no time for all things. 101
Dro. S. Marry, and did, sir ; namely, no
time to recover hair lost by nature.
Ant. S. But your reason was not substan¬
tial, why there is no time to recover.
Dro. S. Thus I mend it : Time himself is
bald and therefore to the world's end will have
bald followers.
Ant. S. I knew 'twould be a bald conclu¬
sion : 110
But, soft ! who wafts us yonder ?
Enter Adriana and Luciana.
Adr. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and
frown :
Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects ;
I am not Adriana nor tliy wife.
The time was once when thou uuurged woiddst
vow
That never words were music to thine ear.
That never object pleasing in thine eye,
That never touch well welcome to thy hand.
That never meat sweet-savor'd in thy taste,
Unless I spake, or look'd, or touch'd, or carved
to thee. 120
How comes it now, my husband, O, how comes
it, I
That thou art thus estranged from thyself ?
Thyself I call it, being strange to me.
That, uudividable, incorporate.
Am better than tliy dear self's better part.
Ah, do not tear away thyself from me !
For know, my love, as easy may.st thoir fall
A drop of water in the breaking gulf
And take unraingled thence that drop again.
Without addition or diminishing, 130*
As take from me thyself and not me too.
How dearly would it touch thee to the quick,
Shouldst thou but hear I wore licentious
And that this body, consecrate to thee.
By ruffian lust should be contaminate !
Wouldst thou not spit at me and spurn at me
And hurl the name of husband in my face
And tear the stain'd skin off my harlot-brow
Andkfrom my false hand cut the wedding-ring
And break it with a deep-divorcing vow ? 140
I know thou canst; and therefere see thou do
it.
I am possess'd with an adulterate blot;
My blood is mingled with the crime of lust;
For if we too be one and thou play false,
I do digest the poison of thy flesh.
Being strumpeted by thy contagion.
94
THE COMEDY OF.ERRORS.
[Act iil
Keep then fair league and truce with thy true
bed ; ,
I live unstain'd, thou undishonored.
Ant. S. Plead you to me, fair dame ? I
know you not:
In Ephesus I am but two hours old, 150
As strange unto your town as to your talk ;
Who, every word by all my wit being scann'd.
Want wit in all one word to understand.
Luc. Fie, brother! how the world is changed
with you !
(Vhen were you wont to use my sister thus ?
She sent for you by Droraio home to dinner.
Ant S. By Dromio 1
Lro. 8. By me ?
Adr. By thee ; and this thou didst return
from him,
fhat he did buffet thee, and, in his blows, 160
Denied my house for his, me for his wife.
Ant. 8. Did yon converse, sir, with this
gentlewoman ?
What is the course and drift of your compact?
Dro. 8. I, sir ? I never saw her till this
time.
Ant. 8. Villain, thou liest; for even her
very words
Didst thou deliver to m<. on the mart.
Dro. 8. I never spake with her in all my
life.
Ant. 8. How can she thus then call us by
our names.
Unless it be by inspiration. 169
Adr. How ill agrees it with your gravity
To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave.
Abetting him to thwart me in my mood !
Be it my wrong you are from me exempt.
But wrong not that wrong with a more con¬
tempt.
Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine :
Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine.
Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state.
Makes me with thy strength to communicate :
If aught possess thee from me, it is dross.
Usurping ivy, brier, or idle moss ; 180
Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion
Wect thy sap and live on thy confusion.
Ant. 8. To me she speaks ; she moves me
for her theme :
What, was I married to her in my dream ?
Or sleep I now and think I hear all this ?
What error drives our eyes and ears amiss ?
Until I know this sure uncertainty,
3'-l entertain the offer'd fallacy.
Luc. Dromio, go bid the servants spread for
dinner.
Dro. 8. 0, for my beads ! I cross me for a
sinner. 190
This is the fairy land : O spite of spites
We talk with goblins, owls and sprites ;
If we obey them not, this will ensue,
TOey'U suck our breath, or pinch us black and
blue.
Luc. Why pratest thou to thyself and an- '
swer'. t not ?
Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou
sot 1
. Dro. 8. I am transformed, master, am I
not ?
Ant 8. I think thou art in mind, and so
am I.
Dro. 8. Nay, master, hoth in mind and in
my shape.
Ant. 8. Thou hast thine own form.
Dro. 8. No, I am an ape. 200
Luc. If thou ait changed to aught, 'tis to
an ass.
Dro. 8. 'Tis true ; she rides me and I long
for grass.
'Tis so, I am an ass ; else it could never be
But I should know her as well as she knows
mft >
Adr. Come, come, no longer will I be a fool,
To put the Inger in the eye and weep.
Whilst man and master laugh my woes to scorn.
Come, sir, to dinner. Dromio, keep the gate.
Husband, I'll dine above with you to-day
And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks. 210
Sirrah, if any ask you for your master.
Say he dines forth, and let no creature inter.
Come, sister. Dromio, play the porter well.
Ant. 8. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in
hell ?
Sleeping or waking ? mad or well-advised ?
"Known unto these, and to myself disguised '
I'll say as they say and persever so
And in this mist at all adventures go.
Dro. 8. Master, shall I be porter at the
gate ?
Adr. Ay; and let none enter, lest I break
your pate. 220
Luc. Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too
late. [Exeunt.
ACT HI.
Scene I. Before the house of Antipholtts of
Ephesus.
Enter Antipsolus of Ephesus, Dromio of
Ephesus, Anget.o, and Balthazar.
Ant. E. Good Signior Angelo, you must
excuse us all ;
My wife is shrewish when I keep not hours :
Say that I linger'd with you ;,t your shop
To see the making of her carcanet.
And that to-morrow you will bring it home.
But here's a villain that would face mo down
He met me on the mart, and that I beat him.
And charged him with a thousand marks in
gold.
And that I did deny my wife and house.
Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean
by this ? 10
Dro. E. Say what you wiU, sir, but I know
what I know ;
That you beat me at the mart, I have your
hand to show :
If the skin were parchment, and the blows yor^
gave were ink.
Your own handwriting would tell you what
think.
Ant. E. I think thou art an ase.
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
95
Scene i.]
Dro. E. Marry, so it doth appear
By the wrongs I suffer and the blows I bear.
I should kick, being kick'd ; and, being at that
pass.
You would keep from iny heels and beware of
an ass.
Ant. E. You^re sad, Signior Balthazar:
pray God our clieer
May answer my good will and your good wel¬
come here. 20
Bal. I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and
your welcome dear.
Ant. E. O, Signior Balthazar, either at
flesh or tisli, [dish.
A table full of welcome make scarce one dainty
Bal. Good meat, sir, is common ; that every
churl affords.
Ant. E. And welcome more common ; for
that's nothing but words.
Bal. Small cheer and great welcome makes
a merry feast.
Ant. E. Ay, to a niggardly host, and more
(Sparing guest;
But though my cates be mean, take them in
good part;
Better cheer may you have, but not with better
heart.
But, soft! my door is lock'd. Go bid them let
us in. ^
Dro. E. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicel,
Giilian, Ginn I
Dro. S. [ Within^ Morae, malt-horse, capon,
coxcomb, idiot, patch !
Either get thee from the door, or sit down at
the hatch.
Dost thou conj ure for wenches, that thou call'st
for such store,
When one is one too many ? Go, get thee from
the door.
Dro. E. What patch is made our porter ?
My master stays in the street.
Dro. S. [Within] Let him walk from
whence he came, lestJie cateh cold on's
feet.
Ant. E. Who talks within there ? ho, open
the door!
Dro. S. [ Within] Right, sir ; I'll tell you
when, an you 11 tell ine wherefore.
Ant. E. Wherefore ? for my dinner : I
have not dined to-day. ' 40
Dro. 8. [Within] Nor to-day here you must
not; come again when you may.
Ant. E. What ai-t thou that keepest me out
from the house I owe ?
Dro. 8. [ Within] The porter for this time,
sir, and my name is Dromio.
Dro. E. O viilain ! thou hast stolen both
mine office and my name.
■The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle
blame. ^
If thou hadst been Dromio to-day in my place.
Thou wouldst have changed thy face for a
name or tlw name for an ass.
Luce. [Within] What a coil is there, Dro¬
mio ? who are those at the gate ?
Dro. E. Let my master in. Luce.
iuce. [Within] Faith, no ; he comes too
late ;
And so tell your master.
Dro. E. 0 Lord, I must laugh !
Have at you with a proverb—Shall I set in my
staff ?
Luce. [ Within] Have at you with another ;
that's—When ? can you tell ?
Dro. 8. [Within] If thy namebecall'dLuce,
—Luce, thou hast answered him weU.
Ant. E. Do you hear, you minion 'I you'll
let us in, I hope ?
Luce. [Within] I thought to have asked
you.
Dro. 8. [TTifAin] And you said no.
Dro. E. So, come, help: well struck
there was blow for blow.
Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in.
Luce. [Within] Can you tell for whose
sake ?
Dr^E. Master, knock the door hard.
Luce. [ Within] Let him knock till it ache.
Ant. E. You'll cry for this, minion, if I
beat the door down.
Luce. [Within] What needs all that, and a
pair of stocks in the town 7 60
Adr. [ Within] Who is that at the door that
keeps ali this noise ?
Dro. 8. [Within] By my troth, your town
is troubled with unruly boys.
Ant. E. Are you there, wife ? you might
have come before.
Adr. [Within] Your wife, sir knave ! go
get you from the door.
Dro.E. If you went in pain, master, this
' knave' would go sore.
Ang. Here is neither cheer, sir, nor wel¬
come : we would fain have either.
Bal. In debating which was best, we shall
part with neither.
Dro. E. They stand at the door, master ;
bid them welcome hither.
Ant. E. There is something in the wind,
that we cannot get in.
Dro. E. Yof. would say so, master, if your
garments were thin. 70
Your cake there is warm within ; you stand
here in the cold :
It would make a man mad as a buck, to be so
bought and sold.
Ant. E. Go fetch me something : I'll break
ope the gate.
Dro. 8. [Within] Break any breaking here,
and I'll break your knave's pate.
Dro. E. A man may break a word with you,
sir, and words are but wind.
Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it
not behind.
Dro. 8. [Within] It .seems thou want'st
breaking : out upon thee, hiud !
Dro. E. Here's too much ' out upon thee !'
I pray thee, let me in.
Dro. 8. t Within] Ay, when fowls have no
feathers and fish have no fin.
Ant. E. Well, I'll break in ; go borrow me
a crow. 80
96
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
[ACT III.
Dro. E. A crow without feather ? Master,
mean you so ?
For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without
a feather;
If a crow help us in, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow
t^ether.
Ant. E. Go get' thee gone ', fetch me an
iron crow.
Bal. Have patience, sir ; O, let it not he
so!
Herein you war against your reputation
And draw within tlie compass of suspect
The uuviolated honor of your wife.
Once this,—your long experience of her wis¬
dom,
Her sober virtue, years and modesty, 90
Plead on her part some cause to you unknown ;
And doubt not, sir, but she vrill well excuse
Why at this time the doors are made against
you.
Be ruled by me : depart in patience, ^
And let us to the Tiger all to dinner.
And about evening come yourself alone
To know tlie reason of this strange restraint.
If by strong hand you offer to brealt in
Now in the stirring passage of tlie day,
A vulgar comment will be made of it, 100
And that supposed by the common rout
Against your yet ungalled estimation
Tliat may with foul intrusion enter in
And dwell upon your grave when you are
dead ;
For slander lives upon succession.
For ever housed where it gets possession.
Ant.E. You have prevail'd : I will depart
in quiet.
And, in despite of mirth, mean to be merry.
I know a wench of excellent discourse, 109
Pretty and witty ; wild, and yet, too, gentle :
There will we dine. This woman that I mean.
My wife—but, I protest, without desert—
Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal:
To her will we to dinner. [ To Ang.'\ Get
you home
And fetch the chain ; by this I know'tis made :
Bring it, I pray you, to the Porpentine ;
For there's the house : that chain will I be¬
stow—
Be it for nothing but to spite my wife—
Upon mine hostess there : good sir, make
haste.
Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me,
I'll knock elsewhere, to seC if they'll disdain
me. 121
Ang. I'll meet you atthat place some hour
hence.
Arvt. E. Ho so. This jest shall cost me
some expense. [Exeunt.
Scene H. The same.
Enter Luciana and Antipholws of Syracuse.
Luc. And may it be that you have quite
foigot
A husband's office ? shaU, Antipholus,
Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs
rot?
Sliall love, in building, grow so minous ?
If you did wed my sister for her wealth,
'Then for her wealth's sake 'ise her with
more kindness ;
Or if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth ;
Muffle your false love with some show of
blindness:
Let not my sister read it in your eye ;
Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator ;
Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty ; 11
Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger ;
Bear a fair presence, though your heart be
tauited ;
Teach sin the carriage of a holy samt;
Be secret-false : what need she be acquainted ?
What simple thief brags of his own attaint ?
'Tis double wrong, to truant with your bed
And let her read it in thy looks at board ;
Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed ;
111 deeds are doubled with an evU word. 20
Alas, poor women ! make us but believe.
Being compact of credit, that you love us ;
Though others have the arm, sliow us the
sleeve ;
We in your motion turn and you may move
us.
Then, gentle brother, get you in again ;
Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife :
'Tis holy sport to be a little vain.
When tlie sweet breath of flattery conquers
strife.
Ant. S. Sweet mistress,—what your name
is else, I know not.
Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine,—
Less in your knowledge and your grace you
show not 31
Than our earth's wonder, more tlian earth
divine.
Teach me, dear creature, how to think and
speak;
Lay open to my earthy-gross conceit,
Sraother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak.
The folded meaning of your words' deceit.
. Against my soul's jmre truth why labor you
To make it wander in an unlaiown field ?
Are you a god ? would you create me new ?
Transform me then, and to your power I'll
yield. 40
But if that I am I, then well I know
Your weeping sister is no wife of mine.
Nor to her bed no homage do I owe :
Far more, far more to you do I decline.
O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy
note.
To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears :
Sing, siren, for thyself and I will dote :
Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden
hairs,
And as a bed I'll take them and there lie.
And in that glorious supposition think 50
He gains by death that hath such means to
die :
Let Love, being light, be drowned if she
sink !
Luc. 'What, are you mad, that you do rea¬
son so?
Scene i.]
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
97
Ant S. Not mad, but. mated ; how, I do
not know.
Due. It is a fault that sprlngeth from your
eye.
Ant S. For gazing on your beams, fair
sun, being by.
Luc. Gaze wliere you should, and that will
clear your sight
Ant. S. As good to wink, sweet love, as
look on night
£uc. Why call you me love ? call my sis¬
ter so.
Ant. S. Thy sister's sister.
Luc. That's my sister.
Ant. S. No; 60
It is thyself, mine own self's better part,
Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer
heart.
My food, my fortune and my sweet hope's
aim.
My sole earth's heaven and my' heaven's
claim.
Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be.
AiU. S. CaU thyself sister, sweet, for I am
thee.
Thee will I love and with thee lead my life :
Thou hast no husband yet nor I no wife. »
Give me thy hand.
Luc. O, soft, sir ! hold yon still: 69
I'll fetch my sister, to get her good wiil. [^Exit.
Enter Dbomio of Syracuse.
Ant. S. Why, how now, Dromio ! where
ruun'st thou so fast ?
Dro. S. Do you know me, sir ? am I Dro¬
mio ? am I your man ? am I myself ?
Ant S. 'Thou art Dromio, thou art my
man, thou art thyself.
Dro. S. I am an ass, I am a woman's man
and besides myself.
Ant. S. What woman's man ? and how
besides thyself ? 80
• Dro. S. Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due
to a woman; one that claims roe, one that
haunts me, one that will have me.
Ant S. What claim lays she to thee ?
Dro. S. Marry, sir, such claim as you
would lay t<> your horse ; and she would have
me as a beast; not that, I being a beast, she
would have me ; but that she, being a very
beastly creature, lays claim to me.
Ant. S. What is she ? 90
Dm. S. A very reverent body ; ay, such a
one as a man may not speak of without he sa,y^.
' Sir-reverence.' I have but lean luck in the
match, and yet is she a wondrous fat marriage.
Ant. S. Mow dost thou mean a fat mar¬
riage ?
Dro. S. Marry, sir, she's the kitchen wench
and all grease ; and I know not ♦'liat use to
put her to but to make a lamp of her and rim^
from her by hel own light. I warrant, her
rags and the tallow in them will bum a Poland
winter ; if she lives till doomsday, she'll burn
a week longer than the whole world.
Ant. S. What complexion is she of 7
Dro. S. Swart, like piy shoe, but her face
uothing like so clean kept : for why, she
sweats ; a man may go over slioes in the
grime of it.
Ant. S. That's a fault that water will
mend.
Dro. E. No, sir, 'tis in grain ; Noah's flood
could not do it.
Ant. S. What's her name ? 110
Dro. S. Nell, sir ; but her name and three
quarters, that's an ell and three quarters, will
not measure her from hip to hip.
Ant. S Then she bears some breadth 7
Dro. S. No longer from head to foot than
from hip to hip : she is spherical, like a globe;
I could find out countries in her.
Ant. S. In what part of her body stands
Ireland 7 120
Dro. 6*. Marry, sir, in her buttocks: I
found it out by t.hpftinga
Ant. S. Where Scotland 7
Dro. S. I found it by the barrenness; hard
in the palm of the hand.
Ant. S. Where France 7
Dro. S. In her forehead; armed and re¬
verted, making war against her heir.
• Ant. S. Where England 7
Dro. S. I looked for the chalky cliffy but I
could find no whiteness in them ; but I guess
it stood in her chin, by the salt rheum that
ran between France and it.
Ant. S. Where Spain 7
Dro. S. Faith, I saw it not; but I felt it
hot in her breath.
Ant. S. Where America, the Indies 7
Dro. S. Oh, sir, upon her nose, all o'er em¬
bellished with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires,
declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of
Spain ; who sent whole armadoes of caracks
to be ballast at her nose. 141
Ant. S. Where stood Belgia, the Nether¬
lands 7
Dro. S. Oh, sir, I did not look so low. To
conclude, this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to
me ; called me Dromio ; swore 1 was assured
to her ; told me what privy marks I had about
me, as, the mark of my shoulder, the mole in
my neck, the great wart on my left arm, that
I amazed ran from her as a witch :
And, I think, if my breast had not been made
of faith and my heart of steel, 150
She had transform'd me to a curtal dog and
made me turn i' the wheel.
Ant. S. Go hie thee presently, post to the
road :
An if the wind blow any way from shore,
I will not harbor in this town to-night :
If any bark put forth, come to the mart,
Where I will walk till thou return to me.
If every one knows us and we know none,
'Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack and be
gone. [for life,
Dro. S. As from a bear a man would run
So fly I from her that would be my wife. [Exit.
Ant. S. There's none but witches do in¬
habit here; 161
^3
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
[Act iv
And therefore 'tis higli time that I were hence.
She tliat doth cal! me luisband, even my soul
Doth for a wife abhor. But her fair sister,
Poasess'd with such a gentle sovereign grace,
Of such enchanting presence and discourse.
Hath almost made me traitor to myself :
r,;it, lest myself be guilty to self-wrong,
I'll stop mine ears against the mermaid's song.
Enter AjtCelo with the chain.
Anrj. Master Autipholus,—
Ant. S. Ay, that's my name. 170
Ang, I know it well, sir : lo, here is the
chain.
I thought to have ta'en you at the Porpentine;
The chain undnish'd made me stay thus long.
Ant. S. What is your will that I shall do
with this ?
Ang. What please yourself, sir ; I have
made it for you. ^
Ant. S. Made it for me, sir ! 1 bespoke it
not.
Ang. Not once, nor twice, but twenty
times you have.
Go home with it and please your wife withal ;
And soon at supper-time I'll visit you
And then receive my money for the chain. 180 i
Ant. S. I pray you, sir, receive the money
now,
Yor fear you ne'er see chain nor money more.
Ang. You are a merry man, sir : fare you
well. \Exit.
Ant. S. What 1 should think of this, 1 can¬
not tell:
But this I think, there's no man is so vain
That would refuse so fair an offer'd chain.
I see a man here needs not live by shifts.
When in the streets he meets such golden
gifts.
I'll to the mart, and there for Dromio stay :
If any ship put out, then straight away. [Exit.
ACT IV.
Scene 1. A public place.
Enter Second Merchant, Angelo, and an
OfiTcer.
&:ec. Mer. You know since Pentecost the
sum is due.
And since 1 have not much importuned you ;
Nor now 1 had not, but that I am bound
To Persia, and want guilders for my voyage :
Therefore make present satisfaction.
Or I'll attach you by this officer.
Ang. Even just the sum that I do owe to
you
Is growing to me by Antipholus,
And in the instant that 1 met with you
He had of me a chain : at five o'clock 10
1 shall receive the money for the same.
Pleaseth you walk with me down to his bouse,
1 will discharge my bond and thank you too.
Enter Antipholus of Ephesusvind Dromio
of Ephesus/rom the courtezan's.
Off. That labor may you save ; see where
he comes.
Ant. E. While I go to the goldsmith's
house, go thou
And buy a rope's end : that will I bestow
Among my wife and her confederates.
For locking me out of my doors by day.
But, soft ! 1 see the goldsmith. Get thee
gone ;
Buy thou a rope and bring it home to me. 2P
J)ro. E. I buy a thousand pound a year : 1
buy a rope. [Exit
Ant. E. A man is well holp up that trusts •
to you :
I promised your presence and the chain ;
But neither chain nor goldsmith- came to me.
Belike you thought our love would last toe
long.
If it were chain'd together, and therefore
came not.
Ang. Saving your merry humor, here's the
' note
How much your chain weighs to the utmost
carat, [ion.
The fineness of the gold and chai geful fash-
Which doth amount to three odd ducats more
•Than I stand debted to this gentleman : 31
I pray you, see him presently discharged.
For he is bound to sea and stays but for it.
Ant. E. I am not furnish'd with the pres¬
ent money ;
Besides, 1 have some business in the town.
Good Siguier, take the stranger to my house
And with you take the chain and bid my wife
Disburse the sum on the receipt thereof:
Perchance I will be there as soon as you.
Ang. Then you will bring the chain to her
yourself ? 40
Ant. E. No ; bear it with you, lest I come
not time enough.
Ang. Well, sir, I will. Have you the chain
about you ?
Ant. E. An if I have not, sir, I hope you
have ;
Or else yon may return without your money.
Ang. Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me
the chain :
Both wind and tide stays for this g^entleman,
And I, to blame, have held him here too long.
Ant. E. Good Lord ! you use this dalliance
to excuse
Your breach of promise to the Po^ntine.
I should have chid you for not bringing it, 50
But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl.
Sec. Mer. The hour steals on ; 1 pray you,
sir, dispatch.
Ang. You hear how he importunes me
the chain!
Ant. E. Why, give it to my wife and fetch
your money.
• Ang. Come, come, you know I gave it you
even now.
Either send the chain or send me by some
token.
Ant. E. Fie, now you run this humor out
of breath, >
Scene ii.]
Come, Where's the chain ? I pray you, let me
see it.
Sec. Mer. My business cannot brook this
dalliance.
Good sir, say whether you'll answer me or no:
II not, I'll leave him to the officer. 61
Anl. E. I answer you ! what should I an¬
swer you ?
Ang. The money that you owe me for the
chain.
Ami. E. I owe you none till I receive the
chain.
Ang. You know I gave it you half an hour
since.
Ant. E. You gave me none : j-ou wrong
me much to say so.
Ang. You wrong me more, sir, in denying
it:
Consider how it stands upon my credit.
Sec. Mer. Well, officer, arrest him at my
suit.
Off. I do ; and charge you in the duke's
name to obey me. ^ '70
Ang. This touches me in reputation.
Either consent to pay tliis sum for me
Or I attach you by this officer.
Ant. E. Consent to pay thee that I never
had !
Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou darest.
Ang. Here is thy fee ; arrest him, officer,
I would not spare my brother in this case.
If he should scorn me so apparently.
Off. I do arrest you, sir : you hear the suit.
Ant. E. I do obey thee till I give thee bail.
But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear 81
As all the metal in your shop will answer.
Ang. Sir, sir, I shall have law in Kphesus,
To your notorious shame ; I doubt it not.
Enter Dromio of Syracuse, frmn the bay.
Dro. S. Master, there is a bark of Epi-
damnum
That stays but till her owner comes aboard.
And then, sir, she be.ars away. Our fraught-
age, sir,
I have convey'd aboard ; and I have bought
The oil, the balsamura and aqua-vitse.
The ship is in her trim-, the merry wind 90
Blows fair from land : they stay for nought at
all
But for their owner, master, and yourself.
Ant. E. How now ! a madmau ! Why, *
thou peevish sheep.
What ship of Epidamnum stays for me ?
Dro. S. A ship you sent me to, to hire
waftage.
Ant. E. Thou drunken slave, I sent thee
for a rope ;
And told thee to what puimose and what end.
Dro. S. You sent me for a ippe's end as
soon :
You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark.
Ant. E. I will debate this matter at more
leisure _
And teach your ears to list me with more heed.
To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight:
99
Give her this key, and tell her, in the desk
That's cover'd o'er with Turkish tapestry.
There is a purse of ducats ; let her send it:
Tell her I am arrested in the street
And that shall bail me ; hie thee, siave, be
gone!
On, officer, to prison till it come.
[Exeunt Sec. Meivhant, Angela, Officer,
and Ant. E.
Dro. S. To Adriana! that is where we
dined.
Where Dowsabel did claim me for her hus¬
band : 110
She is too big, I hope, for me to compass.
Thither I must, although against my wiil,
For servants must their masters' minds fulfii.
[Exit,
Scene II. The hotise of Antiphoi.us of
Ephesus.
Entfr Adriana and Luciana.
Adr. Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so ?
Mightst thou perceive austerely in his eye
That he did plead in earnest ? yea or no ?
Ixjok'd he or red or pale, or sad or merrily?
What observation madest thou in this ca.se
Of his heart's meteors tilting m his face ?
Luc. First he denied you had in him no
right.
Adr. He meant ho did me none ; the more
my spite.
Luc. Then swore he that he was a stranger
here.
Adr. And true he swore, though yet for¬
sworn he were, 10
Luc. Then pleaded I for you.
Adr. And what said he ?
Luc. That love I begg'd for you he begg'd
of me.
Adr. With what persuasion did he tempt thy
love?
Luc. With words that in an honest suit might
move.
First he did praise my beauty, then my speech.
Adr. Didst speak him fair ?
lAtc. Have patience, I beseech
Adr. I cannot, nc" I will not, hold me still;
My tongue, though not my heart, shall have
his will.
He is deformed, crooked, old and sere.
Ill-faced, worse bodifd, shapeless everywhere ;
■Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind, 21
Stigmatical in making, wthse in m nd.
Luc. Who would be jealous then of such a
one ?
No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone..
Adr. Ah, but I think him better than I say,
And yet would herein others' eyes were worse.
Far from her nest the lapwing cries away :
My heart prays for him, though my tongue
do curse.
Enter Dromio of Syracuse.
Dro. S. Here ! go ; the desk, the purse
sweet, now, make haste.
Luc. How hast thou lost thy breath ?
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
100
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
|Act iv.
I)ro. S. By running fast. 30
Adr. Where is thy master, Dromlo ? is he
well ?
Dro. S. No, he's in Tartar limbo,worse than
hell.
t A devil in an everlasting garment hath him ;
One whose hard heart is buttou'd up with
steel;
A fleud, a fury, pitiless aud rough ;
A wolf, nay, worse, a fellow all in buff;
A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that
countermands
The passages of alleys, creeks and narrow
lauds ;
A hound that runs counter and yet draws dry-
foot well )
One that before the judgement carries poor
souls to hell. 40
sAdr. ^hy, man, what is the matter ?
Dro. S. I do not know the matter : he is
'rested on the case.
Adr. What, is he arrested ? Tell me at
whose suit.
Dro. S. I know not at whose suit he is ar¬
rested weU ;
But he's in a suit of buff which' rested him,that
can i tell.
Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the
money in his desk ?
Adr. Go fetch it, sister. [Emt Luciana.]
This I wonder at.
That he, unknown to me, should be in debt.
Tell me, was he arrested on a band ?
Dro. & Not on a band, but on a stronger
thing; ^ 50
A chain, a chain ! Do you not hear it ring ?
Adr. What, the chain ?
Dro. S. No, no, the bell; 'tis time that I
were gone:
It was two ere I left him, aud now the clock
strikes one.
Adr. The hours come back ! that did I never
hear.
Dro. S. 0, yes ; if any hour meet a ser¬
geant, a' turns back for very fear.
Adr. As if Time were in debt! how fondly
dost thou reason !
Dro. S. Time is a very bankrupt, and owes
more than he's worth, to season.
Nay, he's a thief too : have you not heard men
say, *
That Time comes stealing on by night aud
« day ? ' 60
If Time be in debt aud theft, and a sergeant in
the way.
Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a
day ?
Reenter LvciwA. with a purse.
Adr. Go, Dromio ; tliere's the money, bear
it straight.
And bring thy master home immediately.
Come, sister : I am press'd down with con¬
ceit-
Conceit, my comfort and my injury.
*. iExeurd.
Scene III. A puhlic plwx.
Enter Anxipholus of Syracuse.
Ant. S. There's not a man I meet but doth
salute me
As if I were their well-acquainted friend ;
And every one doth call me by my name.
Some tender money to me ; some invite me ;
Some other give me thanks for kindnesses ;
Some offer me commodities to buy :
Even now a tailor call'd me in his shop
Aud show'd me silks that he had bought for
me
And therewithal took measure of my body.
Sure, these are but imaginary wiles 10
And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here.
Enter Dromio of Syracuse.
Dro. S. Master, here's the gold yon sent me
for. What, have you got the picture of old
Adam new-apparelled ?
Ant. S. What gold is this ? what Adam
dost thou mean ?
Dro. S. Not that Adam that kept the Para¬
dise, but fhat Adam that keeps the prison ; he
that goes in the calf's skin that was killed for
the Prodigal ; he that came behind you, sir,
like an evil angel, and bid you forsake your
liberty. 20
Ant. S. I understand thee not.
Dro. S. No ? why, 'tis a plain case : he that
went, like a bass-viol, in a case of leather ; the
man, sir, that, when gentlemen are tired, gives
them a sob and 'rests them ;he, sir, that takes
pity on decayed men and gives them suits of
durance ; he that sets up his rest to do more
exploits with his mace than a morris'mike.
Ant. S. What, thou meanest an officer ?
Dro. S. Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band ;
he that brings any man to answer it that
breaks his band ; one thatthinks a man always
going to bed and says ' God give you good
rest!'
Ant. S. Well, sir, there rest in your foolery.
Is there any ship puts forth to-night ? may we
be gone ?
Dro. S. Why, sir, I brought you word au
hour since that the bark Expedition put foith
to-night; and then were you hindered by the
sergeant, to tarry for the hoy Delay. Here
are the angels that yon sent for to deliver you.
Ant. S. The fellow is distract, aud so am I ;
*And here we wander in illusions :
Some blessed power deliver us from hence !
Enter a Courtezan.
Com. Well met, well met. Master Anti-
pholus.
I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now :
Is that the chain you promised me to-day ?
Ant. S. Satan, avoid ! I charge thee, tempt
me not.
Dro. S. Master, is this Mistress Satan ?
Ant. S. It is the devil. 50
Dro. S. Nay, she is worse, she is the devil's
dam ; and here she comes in the habit of a
light wench: and thereof comes that the
Scene iv.]
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
101
weuches say ' God damn me ;' that's as much
to say ' God make me a light weuch.' it is
bitten, they appear to men like aiigels of
light; light is an effect of fire, and fire will
burn ; efgo, light wenches will burn. Come
not near her. ,
Cour. Your man and you are marvellous
merry, sir.
Will you go with me ? We'll mend our dinner
here ? 60
Dro. S. Master, if you do, expect siwou-
meat ; or bespeak a long spoou.
Ant. S. Why, Dromio ?
Dro. S. Marry, he mu.st have a long spoon
that must eat with the devil.
Ant. S. Avoid then, fiend ! what tell'st thou
me of supping ?
Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress :
I conjure thee to leave me and be gone.
Cour. Give me the ring of mine you had at
dinner.
Or, for my diamond, the chain you promised,
And I'll be gone, sir, and not trouble you. 71
Dro. S. Some devils ask but the parings of
one's nail,
A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin,
A nut, a cherry-stone ;
But she, more covetous, would have a chain.
Master, be wise : an if you give it her.
The devil will shake her chaiu and fright us
with it.
Cour.. 1 pray you, sir, my ruig, or else the
chain :
1 hope you do not mean to cheat me so.
Ant. S. Avaunt, thou witch I Come, Dromio,
let us ga 80
Dro. S. ' Fly pride,' says the peacock ; mis¬
tress, that you know.
'[Exeu)U Ant. S. and Dro. S.
Cour. Now, outofdoubt Autipholusisraad,
Else would he never so demean himself.
A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats.
And for the same he promised me a chain :
Both one and other he denies me now.
The reason that 1 gather he is mad.
Besides this present instance of his rage.
Is a mad tale he told to-day at dimier.
Of his own doors being shut against his en¬
trance. ' 90
Belike his wife, acquainted with his fits,
On purpose shut the doors against hb way.
My way is now to hie home to his house.
And tell his wife that, beiug lunatic.
He rush'd into my house and took perforce
My ring away. "This course 1 fittestchoose ;
For forty ducats is too much to lose. {Exit.
Scene IV. A street.
Enter Antipholtts of Ephesus and the Officer.
Ant. E. Fear me not, man ; I wiB not break
away :
I'll give thee, ere I leave thee, so much money.
To warrant thee, as 1 am 're.sted for.
My wife is in a wayward mood to-day.
And will not lightly trust the messenger.
That 1 should be attach'd in Ephesus,
1 tell you, 'twill sound harshly in her ears.
Enter Dkomio of Ephesus with a rope's-end.
Here comes my man ; 1 think he brings the
money.
How now, sir ! have you that I sent you fon?
Dro. E. Here's that, 1 warrant you, will pay
them all. 10
Ant. E. But Where's the money ?
Dro. E. Why, sir, 1 gave the money for the
rope.
Ant. E. Five hundred ducats, villain, for a
rope ?
Dro. E. I'll serve you, sir, five hundred at
the rate.
Ant. E. To what end did I bid thee hie thee
home ?
Dro. E. To a rope's-end, sir ; and to that
end am 1 returned.
Ant. E. And to that end, sir, 1 will welcome
you. [Beating him.
Off'. Good sir, be patient. 20
Dro. E. Nay, 'tis for me to be patient; 1
am in adversity.
Off Good, now, hold thy tongue.
l)ro. E. Nay, rather persuade him to hold
his bands.
Ant. E. Thou whoreson, senseless villain !
Dro. E. 1 would 1 were senseless, sir, that
1 might not feel your blows.
Aiit. E. Thou art sensible in nothing but
blows, and so is an ass.
Dro. E. 1 am an ass, indeed ; you may
prove it by my long ears. 1 have served him
from the hour of my nativity to this instant,
and have nothing at his hands for my service
but blows.. When 1 am cold, he heats me with
beating ; when ' r.m warm, he cools me with
beating ; I am waked with it when 1 sleep ;
raised with it when 1 sit ; driven out of doors
with it when I go from home ; welcomed home
with it when 1 return ; nay, 1 bear it on my
shoulders, as a beggar wont her brat ; and, 1
think, when he hath lamed me, 1 shall beg
with it from door to door.
Ant. E. Come, go along ; my wife is com¬
ing yonder.
Enter Adriana, Luciana, the Courtezan,
and Pinch.
Dro. E. Mistress, ' respice fiuem,' respect
your end ; or rather, tthe prophecy like the
jjarrot, ' beware the rope's-end.'
Ant. E. WUt thou still talk ? [.Beating him.
Cour. How say you now ? is not your hus¬
band mad ?
Adr. His incivility confirms no less.
Good Doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer ; 50
Establish him in his true sense again.
And 1 will please you what you wiU demand.
Luc. Alas, how fiery and how sharp he
looks!
Cour. Mark how he trembles in liis ecstasy!
Pinch. Give me your hand and let me feel
your pulse.
Ant. E. There is my hand, and let it feel
your ear. [Striking him.
102
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
("Act iv.
Pinch. I charge thee, Satan, housed within
this man,
To yield possession to niy iioly prayers
And to thy state o£ darkness liie thee straight:
1 CQnjnre thee by all the saints in heaven ! 60
Ant. E. Peace, doting wizard, peace ! I am
not mad.
ASr. 0, that thou wert not, poor distressed
soul!
Ant. E. You minion, you, are these your
customers ?
Did tills companion with the saffron face
Revel and feast it at my house to-day,
Whikst upon me the guilty doors were shut
And I denied to enter in my house ?
Adr. O husband, God doth know you dined
at home ;
Where would you had remain'd until this time.
Free from these slanders and this open shame !
Ant. E. Dined at home ! Thou villain, what
s^est thou ? 71
Dro. E. Sir, sooth to say, you did not dine
at home.
Ant. E. Were not my doors lock'd up and
I shut out ?
Dro. E. Perdie, your doors were lock'd and
you shut out.
Ant. E. And did not she herself revile me
there ? [there.
Dro. E. Sans fable, she herself reviled you
Ant. E. Did not her kitchen-maid rail,
taunt, and scorn me ?
Dro. E. Certes, she did ; the kitchen-vestal
scorn'd you.
Ant. E. And did not I in rage depart from
thence ?
Dro. E. In verity you did ; my bones bear
witness, 80
That since have felt the vigor of his rage.
Adr. Is't good to soothe him in these con¬
traries ?
Pinch. It is no shame : the fellow finds Ills
vein.
And yielding to him humors weU his frenzy.
Ant. E. 'riiou hast suborn'd the goldsmith
to arrest me.
Adr. Alas, I sent you money to redeem you.
By Dromio here, who.came in haste for it •
Dro. E. Money by me ! heart and good-will
you might;
But surely, master, not a rag of money.
Ant. E. Went'St not thou to her for a purse
of ducats ? 90
Adr. He came to me and I deliver'd it.
Luc. And I am witne.ss with her that she
did.
Dro. E. God and the rope-maker bear me
witness
That I was sent for nothing but a rope !
Pinch. Mistress, both man and master is
possess'd ;
I know it by their pale and deadly looks :
They must be bound and laid in some dark
room.
Ant. E. Say, wherefore didst thou lock me
forth to^y 7
And why dost thou deny the bag of gold 7
Adr. I did not, gentle husband, lock thee
forth. 100
Dro. E. And, gentle master, I received no
gold ; •
But I confess, sir, that we were lock'd out.
Adr. Dissembling villain, thou speak'st
false in both. [in all •
Ant. E. Dissembling harlot, thou art false
And art confederate with a damned pack
To make a loathsome abject scorn of me :
But with these nails I'll pluck out these false
eyes
That would behold in me this shameful sport.
Enter three or four, and offer to hind him. He
strives.
Adr. O, bind him, bind him 1 let him not
come near me.
Pinch. More company ! The fiend is strong
within him. 110
Luc. Ay me, poor man, how pale and wan
he looks 1
Ant. E. What, will you murder me 7 Thou
gaoler, thou,
I am thy prisoner : wilt thou suffer them
To make a rescue ?
Off. Masters, let him go :
He is myprisoner, and you shall not have him.
Pinch. Go bind this man, for he is frantic
too. [.They offer to hind Dro. E.
Adr. What wilt thou do, thou peevish ofli-
cer ?
Hast thou delight to see a wretched man
Do outrage and displeasure to himself 7
Off. He is my prisoner : if I let him go, 120
The debt he owes will be required of me.
Adr. I will discharge thee ere 1 go from
thee :
Bear me forthwith unto his creditor.
And, knowing how the debt grows, I will pay
it
Good master doctor, see him safe convey'd
Home to my house. O most unhappy day !
Ant. E. 0 most unhappy strumi>et !
Dro. E. Master, I am here entered in bond
for you.
Ant. E. Out on thee, villain ! wherefore
dost thou mad me 7 IMO
Dro. E. WUl you be bound for nothing 7 be
mad, good master : cry ' The devil !'
Luc. God help, poor souls, how idly do they
. talk 1
Adr. Go bear him hence. Sister, go you
with me.
{Exeunt all hut Adriana, Luciano,
Officer and Courtezan
Say now, whose suit is he. arrested at 7
Off. One Angelo, a goldsmith : do you know
him 7
Adr. I know the man. What is the sum he
owes 7
Off. Two hundred ducats.
Adr. Say, how grows ft due 7
Off. Due for a chain your husband had of
him.
Scene i.]
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
103
Adr. He did bespeak a chaiu for me, but
had it not.
Cour. When as your husband all in rage
to-day 140
Came to my house and took away my ring—
The ring I saw upon his finger now—
Straight after did I meet him with a chain.
Adr. It may be so, but I did never see it.
Come, gaoler, bring me where the goldsmith
is :
I long to know the truth hereof at large.
Enter Antipholus of Syracuse with his rapier
drawn, and Dhomio of Syracuse.
Luc. God, for thy mercy ! they are loose
again.
Adr. And come with naked swords.
Let's call'more help to have them bound again.
Off. Away ! they'll kill us. 150
[Exeunt all but Ant. S. and Dro. IS.
Ant. S. I see these witches are afraid of
swords.
Dro. S. She that would be your wife now
ran from you.
Ant. S. Come to the Centaur ; fetch our
stuff from thence :
I long that we were safe and sound aboard?
Dro. S. Faith, stay here this night; they
will surely do us no harm ; you saw they speak
us fair, give us gold : methinks they are such
a geutle nation that, but for the mountain of
m^ flesh that claims marriage of me, I could
find in my heart to stay here still and turn
witch. 160
Ant. S. I will not stay to-night for all the
town ;
Therefore away, to get our stuff aboard.
[Exeunt.
ACT V.
Scene I. A street before a Priory.
Enter Second Merchant and Angelo.
, Ang. I am sorry, sir, that I have hinder'd
you ;
But, I protest, he had the chain of me.
Though most dishonestly he doth deny it.
Sec. Mer. How is tlie man esteemed here in
the city ?
Ang. Of very reverend reputation, sir.
Of credit infinite, highly beloved.
Second to none that lives here in the city ;
His word might bear my wealth at any time.
Sec. Mer. Speak softly ; yonder, as I thinic,
he walks.
Eiiter Antipholus of Syracuse and Dromio
of Syracuse.
Ang. 'Tis so ; and that self chain about his
neck 10
Which he forswore most monstrously to have.
Good sir, draw near to me, I'll speak to him.
Signior Antipholus, I wonder much
That you would put me to this shame and
trouble ;
And, not without some scandal to yourself,
With circumstance and oaths so to deny
This chain which now you wear so openly :
Beside the charge, the shame, imprisonment,
You have done wrong to this my honest friend.
Who, but for staying on our controversy, 20
Had hoisted sail and put to sea to-day :
This chain yon had of me ; can you deny it ?
Ant. S. I think I had ; I never did deny it.
Sec. Mer. Yes, that you did, sir, and for¬
swore it too.
Ant. S. Who heard me to deny it or for¬
swear it ?
Sec. Mer. These ears of mine, thou know'st,
did hear thee.
Fie on thee, wretch ! 'tis pity that thou livest
To walk where any honest men resort.
Ant. S. Thou art a villain to impeach me
thus :
I'll prove mine honor and mine honesty 30
Against thee presently, if thou darest stand.
Sec. Mer. I dare, and do defy thee for a vil-
laix". [They draw.
Enter Adriana, Luciana, the Courtezan, and
others.
Adr. Hold, hurt him not, for God's sake !
he is mad.
Some get within him, take his sword away :
Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house.
Dro. S. Run, master, run ; for God's sake,
take a house !
This is some priory. In, or we are spoil'd !
[Exeunt Ant. S. and Dro. S. to the Priory.
Enter the Lady Abbess.
Abb. Be q^niet, people. Wherefore throng
you hitlier ?
Adr. To fetch my poor distracted husband
hence.
Let us come in, that we may bind him fast 40
And bear him home for his recovery.
Ang. I knew he was not in his perfect wits.
Sec. Mer. I am sorry now that I did draw
on him.
Abb. How long hath this possession held
the man ?
Adr. This week he hath been heavy, sour,
sad.
And much different from the man he was ;
But till this afternoon his passion ,
Ne'er bralce into extremity of rage.
Abb. Hath he not lost much wealth by wreck
of sea ?
Buried some dear friend ? Hath not else his
eye 30
Stray'd his affection in unlawful love ?
A sin prevailing much in youthful men.
Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing.
Which of these sorrows is he subject to ?
Adr. To none of these, except it be the last;
Namely, some love that drew him oft from
home.
Abb. You should for that have reprehended
him.
Adr. Why, so I did.
Abb. Ay, but not rough enough.
1(M
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
[Act v.
Adr. As roughly as my modesty would let
me.
Abh. Haply, in private.
Arlr. And in assemblies too.
Abb. Ay, but not enough. 61
Adr. It was the copy of our conference :
In bed he slept not for my urging it;
At board he fed not for my urging it;
Alone, it was the subject of my theme ;
111 company I often glanced it;
Still did I tell him it was vile and bad.
Abb. And thereof came it that the man was
mad :
The venom clamors of a jealous woman
Poisons more deadly than a mad dog's-tooth.
It seems his sleeps were hinder'd by thy rail¬
ing, 71
And therefore comes it that his head is light.
Thou say'st his meat was sauced with thy up-
braidings :
Unquiet meals make ill dige.stions ;
'Thereof the raging fire of fever bred ;
And what's a fever but a fit of madness ?
Thou say'st his sports were hinder'd by thy
brawls;
Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue
But moody and duU melancholy.
Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair, 80
And at her heels a huge infectious troop
Of pale distemperatures and foes to life ?
In food, in sport and life-preserving rest
To be disturb'd, would mad or man or beast:
The consequence is then thy jealous fits
Have scared thy husband from the use of wits.
Luc. She never reprehended him but mildly.
When he demean'd himself rough, rude aiid
■wildly.
Why bear you these rebukes and answer not ?
Adr. She did betray me to my own reproof.
Good people enter and lay hold on him. 91
Abb. No, not a creature enters in my house.
Adr. Then let your servants bring iny hus¬
band forth.
Abb. Neither : he took this place for sanc¬
tuary.
And it shall privilege him from your hands
Till I have brought him to his wits again,
Or lose my labor in assaying it.
Adr. I will attend my husband, be his nurse,
Diet his sickness, for it is my oflice.
And will have no attoniey but myself ; 100
And therefore let me have him home with me.
Abb. Be patient ; for I will not let him stir
Till I have used the approved means I have,
With wholesome syrups, drugs and holy
prayers.
To make of him a formal man again :
It is a branch and parcel of mine oath,
A charitable duty of my order.
Therefore depart and leave him here with me.
Adr. I will not hence and leave my hus¬
band here :
And ill it doth beseem your holiness 110
To separate the husband and the wife.
Abb. Be quiet and depart : thou shalt not
have him. [Exit.
Luc. Complain unto the duke of this indig¬
nity.
Adr. Come, go ; I wUl fall prostrate at his
feet
And never rise until my tears and prayers
Have won his grace to come in person liither
And take perforce my husband from the ab¬
bess.
Sec. Mer. By this, 1 think, the dial points at
five ;
Anon, I'm sure, the duke himself in person
Comes this way to the melancholy vale, 120
'The place of death and sorry execution.
Behind the ditches of the abbey here.
Ang. Upon what cause ?
Sec. Mer. To see a reverend Syracusian
merdiant.
Who put unluckily into this bay
Against the laws and statutes of this town.
Beheaded publicly for his offence.
An,g. See where they come: we will behold
his death.
Luc. Kneel to the duke before he pass the
abbey.
Enter Duke, attended; aloeoif bareheaded;
• with the Headsman and other Officers.
Duke. Yet once again proclaim it publicly.
If any friend will pay the sum for him, 131
He .hall not die ; so much we tender him.
Adr. Justice, most sacred duke, against the
abbess !
Duke. She is a virtuous and a reverend lady:
It cannot be that she hath done thee wrong.
Adr.. May it please your grace, Antipholus,
my husband.
Whom I made lord of me and all I had.
At your important letters,—this ill day
A most outrageous fit of madness took him ;
That desperately he hurried through the street.
With him his bondman, all as mad as he,—141
Doing displeasure to the citisens
By rushing in their houses, bearing thence
Rings, jewels, any thing his rage did like.
Once did I get him bound and sent him home.
Whilst to take order for the wrongs I went.
That here and there his fury had committed.
.4non, I wot not by what strong escape.
He broke from those that had tlieguard of him;
And with his mad attendant and himself, 150
Each one with ireful passion, with drawn
swords.
Met us again and madly bent on us.
Chased us away ; till, raising of more aid.
We came agiim to bind them. Then they fled
Into this abbey, whither we pursued them :
And here the abbess shuts the gates on us
And -will not suffer us to fetch him out,
Nor send him forth that we may bear him
hence.
Therefore, most gracious duke, with thy com¬
mand
Let him be brought forth and borne hence for
help.
Duke. Long since tliy husband served me
in my wars, 161
Scene i.]
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
106
And I to thee engaged a prince's word,
When thou didst make him master ol thy bed,
To do him all the grace and good I could.
Go, some of you, knock at the abbey-gate
And bid the lady abbess come to me.
I wiU determine this before I stir.
Enter a Servant.
Serv. O mistress, mistress, shift and save
yourself !
My master and his man are both broke loose.
Beaten tlie maids a-row and bound the doctor.
Whose beard they have singed off with brands
of fire ; 171
And ever, as it blazed, they threw on him
Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair :
My ma,ster preaches patience to him and the
while
His nuin with scissors nicks him like a fool,
And sure, unless you send some present help,
Between them they will kill the conjurer.
Adr. Peace, fool! thy master and his man
are here.
And that is false thou dost report to us.
Serv. Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true;
I have not breathed almost since I did see it.
He cries for you, and vows, if he can take you,
To scorch your face and to disfigure you.
[Orj/ within.
Hark, hark ! I hear him, mistress: fly, begone!
Duke. Come, stand by me ; fear nothing.
Guard with halberds I
Adr. Ay me, it is my husband ! Witness
you.
That he is borne about invisible :
Even now we housed him in the abbey here ;
And now he's there, past thought of human
reason.
Enter Antiphoi.tJ8 of Ephesus and Dromio of
Ephesus.
Ant. E. Justice, most gracious duke, O,
grant me justice ! 19 i
Even for the service that long since I did thee.
When I bestrid thee in tlie wars and took
Deep scars to save thy life; even for the blood
That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice.
yEge. Unless the fear of death doth make
me dote, ■
I see my son Antipholus and Dromio.
Ant. E. Justice, sweet prince, against that
woman there !
She whom thou gavest to me to be my wife.
That hath abused and dishonor'd me
Even in the strength and height of injury I 200
Beyond imagination is the wrong
That she this day hath shameless thrown on
me.
Duke. Discover how, and thou shalt find
me just.
Ant. E. This day, great duke, sh^shut the
doors upon nie.
While she with harlots feasted in ray house.
Duke. A grievous fault I Say, woman, didst
thou so ?
Adr. No, my good lord : myself, he and my
sister
To-day did dine together. So befall my soul
As this is false he burdens me withal!
Luc. Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on
night, 210
But she tells to your highness simple truth !
Ang. O perjured woman ! They are both
forsworn :
In this the madman justly chargeth them.
Ant. E. My liege, I am advised what I say,
Neither disturbed with the effect Of wine.
Nor heady-rash, provoked with raging ii c.
Albeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad.
This woman lock'd me out this day from din¬
ner :
That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with
her.
Could witness it, for he was with me then ; 220
Who parted with me to go fetch a chain.
Promising to bring it to the Porpentine,
Where Balthazar and 1 did dine together.
Our dinner dune, and he not coming thither,
I went to seek him : in the street I met him
And in his company that gentleman.
There did this perjured goldsmith swear me
down
That I this diiy of him received the chain,
Which, God he knows, I saw not: for the which
He did arrest me with an officer. 230
I did obey, and sent my peasant home
For certain ducats : he with none return'd.
Then fairly I bespoke the officer
To go in person with me to my house.
By the way we met
My wife, lier sister, and a rabble more
Of vile confederates. Along with them
They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-faced
villain,
A mere anatomy, a mountebank,
^A threadbare juggler and a fortune-teller,
A needy, hollow-eyed, sharp-looking wretch,
A living-dead man : this pernicious slave, 241
Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer,
And, gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse.
And with no face, as 'twere, outfacing me.
Cries out, I was possess'd. Then all together
'They fefl upon me, bound me, bore me thence
And in a dark and dankish vault at home
There left me and my man, both bound to¬
gether ;
Till, gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sun¬
der,
I gaiii'd my freedom, and immediately 250
Ran hither to your grace ; whom I beseech
To give me ample satisfaction
For these deep shames and great indignities.
Ang. My lord, in truth, thus far I witness
" with him.
That he dined not at home, but was lock'd out.
Duke. But had he such a chain of thee or
no ?
Ang. He had, my lord : and when.he ran
in here.
These people saw the chain about his neck.
Sec. Mer. ' Besides, I wiU be sworn these ears
of mine |
Heard you confess 5»u had the chain of him
106
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
[Act t.
After you first forswore it on the mart: 261
And thereupon I drew my sword on you ;
And then you fled into this abbey here,
From whence, I think, you are come by miracle.
Ant. E. I never came within these abbey-
walls.
Nor ever didst thoii draw thy sword on me :
I never saw the chain, so help me Heaven !
And this is false you burden me withal.
Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is
this !
I think you all have drunk of Circe's cup. 270
If here you housed him, here he would havo
been ;
If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly;
You say he dined at home; the goldsmith here
Denies that saying. Sirrah, what say you ?
Dro. E. Sir, he dined with her there, at the
Poroentine.
Cour. He did, and from my finger snatch'd
that ring.
Ant.E. 'Tis true, my liege ; this ring I had
of her. here ?
Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey
Cour. As sure, my liege, as I do see your
grace.
Duke. Why, this is strange. Go call the
abbess hither. > 280
I think you are all mated or stark mad.
[Exit one to the Abbess.
.Ege. Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me
speak a word :
Hapiy I see a friend will save my life
And pay the sum that may deliver me.
Duke. Speak freely, Syracusian, what thou
wilt
/Ege. Is not your name, sir, call'd Anti-
pholus ?
And is not that your bondman, Dromio ?
Dro. E. Within this hour I was his bondman
sir.
But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords :
Now am I Dromio and his man unbound. 290
yEge. I am sure you both of you- remember
me.
Dro. E. Ourselves we do remember, sir, by
you ;
For lately we were bound, as you are now.
You are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir ?
.iEge. Why look you strange on me ? you
know me well.
Ant. E. I never saw you in my life till now.
xEge. O, grief hath changed me since you
saw me last.
And careful hours with time's deformed hand
Have written strange defeatures in my face ;
But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?
Ant. E. Neither. 301
A^ge. Dromio, nor thou ?
Dro. E. No, trust me, sir, nor I.
./Ege.. I am sure thou dost.
Dro. E. Ay, sir, but I am sure I do not; and
whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound
to believe him.
./Ege. Not know my voice ! O time's ex¬
tremity,
Hast thou BO crack'd and splitted my pool
tongue
In seven short years, that here my only son
Knows not my feeble key of untuned cares 1
Though now tiiis grained face of mine be hid
In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow.
And all the conduits of my blood froze up.
Yet hath my night of life some memory.
My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left
My dull deaf ears a little use to hear ;
Ail these old witnesses—I cannot err—
Tell me thou art my son Antipbolus.
Ant. E. I never saw my father in my life.
./Ege. But seven years since, in Syracusa,
boy, 320
Tiiou know'st we irarted : but perhaps, my
sou.
Thou shamest to acknowledge me in misery.
Ant. E. The duke and all that know me in
the city
Can witness with me that it is not so :
I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life.
Duke. I tell thee, Syracusian, twenty years
Have I been patron to Antipbolus,
During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa :
I see thy age and dangers make thee dote.
Re-enter Abbess, loith Antipholtts of SjTa-
cuse and Dromio of Syracuse.
Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a man much
wrong'd. VAll gather to see them. 330
Adr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes de¬
ceive me.
Duke. One of these men is Genius to the
other ;
And so of these. Wiiich is the natural man.
And which the spirit ? who deciphers them ?
Dro. S. I, sir, am Dromio ; command him
away.
Dro. E. I, sir, am Dromio ; pray, let nie
stay.
Ant. S. jEgeon art thou not ? or else his
ghost ?
Dro. S. O, my old master ! who hath bomid
him here ?
Abb. Whoever bound him, I will loose his
bonds
And gain a husband by his liberty. 340
Speak, old Aigeoii, if thou be'st the man
That hadst a wife once call'd jEmiiia
That bore thee at a burden two fair sons :
O, if thou be'st the same Aigeon, speak.
And speak unto tlie same Aimilia !
/Ege. If I dream not, thou art .£milia :
If thou art she, tell me where is that son
That floated with thee on the fatal raft ?
Abb. By men of Epidaraniim he and I
And the twin Dromio all were taken up ; 350
But by and by rude fishermen of Corinth
By force took Dromio and my son from them
And me they left with those of Epidamnum.
What then became of them I cannot tell ;
I to this fortune that you see me in.
Duke. Why, here begins his morning story
right;
Xhese two Antipholases, these two so like,
Scene i.]
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
10-T
And these two Dromios, one in semblance,—
Besides her urging of her wreck at sen,—
These are the parents to these children, 360
Which accidentally are met together.
Aatipholns, thou camest from Corinth first ?
Ant. S. No, sir, not I; I came from Syra¬
cuse. [is which.
Duke. Stay, stand apart; I know not which
Ant. E. I came from Corinth, my most gra¬
cious lord,—
Dro. E. And I with him.
Ant. E. Brought to this town by that most
famous warrior,
Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle.
Adr. Which of you two did dine with me
to-day ?
Ant. S. I, gentle mistress.
Adr. And are not you my husband ?
Ant. E. No ; I say nay to that. 371
Ant. S. And so do I; yet did she call me so;
And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here.
Did call me brother. [To Luc.] What I told
you then,
I hope I shall have leisure to make good ;
If this be not a dream I see and hear.
Atu/. That is the chain, sir, wliich you had
of me.
Ant. 8. I think it be, sir ; I deny it not.
Ant. E. And you, sir, for this chain arrest¬
ed me. 380
Ang. I think I did, sir ; I deny it not.
Adr. I sent you money, sir, to be your bail.
By Dromio ; but I think he brought it not.
Dro. E. No, none by me.
Ant. 8. This purse of ducats I received
from you.
And Dromio, my man, did bring them me.
I see we still did meet each other's man.
And I was ta'en for him, and he for me.
And thereupon these ebbobs are arose.
Ant. E. These ducats pawn I for my father
here. [bis life.
Duke. It shall not need ; thy father hath
Cour. Sir, I must have that diamond from
you. 391
Ant. E. ' There, take it; and much thanks
for my good cheer.
Abb. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the
Xiaius
To go with us into the abbey here
And hear at large discoui-sed all our fortunes :
And all that are assembled in this place.
That by this sympathized one day s error
Have suffer'd wrong, go keep us company.
And we shaU make full satisfaction. '
Thirty-three years have I but gone in travail
Of you, my sons ; and till this present hour 401
My heavy burthen ne'er delivered.
The duke, my husband and my children both.
And you the calendars of their nativity.
Go to a gossips' feast, and go with me ;
After so long grief, such festivity I
Dukx. With all my heart, I'll gossip at this
feast. [Exeu7it all but Ant. 8., Ant. E.,
Dro. 8., and Dro. E.
Dro. 8. Master, shall I fetch your stuff from
shipboard 1
Ant. E. Dromio, what stuff of mine hast
thou embark'd ?
Dro. 8. Your goods that lay at host, sir, in
the Centaur. 410
Ant. 8. He speaks to me. I am your mas¬
ter, Dromio :
Come, go with us ; we'll look to that anon :
^Embrace thy brother there ; rejoice with him.
[Exeunt Ant. 8. and Ant. E.
Dro. 8. There is a fat friend at your mas¬
ter's house.
That kitchen'd me for you to-day at dinner :
She now shall be my sister, not my wife.
Dro. E. Methinks youaremy glass, and not
my brother :
I .see by you I am a sweet-faced youth.
Will you walk in to see their gossiping ?
Dro. 8. Not I, sir ; you are my elder. 420
Dro. E. That's a question : how shall wo
try it ?
Dro. 8. We'll draw cuts for the senior;
till then lead thou first
Dro. E. Nay, then, thus :
We came into the world like brother and
brother;
And now let's go hand in hand, not one before
' another. [Exxunt
TWO
THE
GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
^WRITTEN ABOUT 1592-93.J
INTRODUCTION.
Tnis play, though slightly worked out in parts, exhibits an advance on the preceding comedies.
The Errors was a clever tangle of diverting incidents, with a few passages of lyric beauty, and one
of almost tragic pathos ; Looeys Labour*$ Lost was a play of glittering and elaborate dialogue. In
The Two Gentlemen of Vei\>na Shakespeare struck into a new path, which he was to pm-sue witb ad¬
mirable results; it is his earliest comedy in which a romantic love-story is told in dramatic form.
Here first he records the tender and passionate liistory of a woman's heart, and the adventures to
which love may prompt her. Julia is the iirst of that charming group of children of Shajkespeare's
imagination which includes Viola, Portia, liosalind, and Imogen —women who assume, under
some constraint of fortune, the disguise of male attire, and who, while submitting to their transfor¬
mation, forfeit none of the grace, the modesty, the sensitive delicacy, or the pretty wilfulness of
their sex. Launce, accompanied by his immortal dog, leads tbe tram of Shakespeare's humorous
clowns: his licli, grotesque humanity is *'woith all the light, fantastic interludes of Boyet and
Adriano, Costard and Holofernes," worth all the *dancing doggerel or broad-witted prose of either
Dromio." The chaiacters of the play are clearly conceived, and contrasted with almost too obvious
a design : the faithful Valentine is set over against the faithless Proteus ; the bright and clever Sylvia
is set over against the tender and ardent Julia; the clown Speed, uotableas a ve^al wit andquibbler,
is set over against the humorous Launce. The general theme the piav may be defined as love
and friendship, with their mutual relations. The date of the play cannot be definitely fixed ; but its
place among the comedies is probably after Love*s Labour*s Lost and before A Midsummer Ni^hVs
T>ream» The language and verse are characterized by an even sweetness; rhymed lines and doggerel
verses are lessening in number ; the blank verse is written with careful regularity. It is as if Sh^^
speare were giving up his early licences of versification, were aiming at a more refined style (whicii
occasionally became a little tame), but being still a novice in the art of writing blank verse, were
timid and failed to write it with the freedom and " happy valiancy " which distinguish his later
manner. The story of the play is identical in many particulars with The Story of the Shepherdess
Felismena in the Spanish pastoral romance, Diana, bv George of Montemayor; but though manu¬
script translations of the Diana existed at an earlier date, no translation was published before that
of Yonge, in 1598. Valentine's consenting to become captain of tlie robbers' band has been coin-
pared with a somewhat similar incident in Sidney's Arcadia, but the coincidences are slight, and it
may be doubted that Shakespeare had then auy thought of the Arcadia,
DRAMATIS PERSONiE.
Duke of Milan, Father to Silvia.
Pro™®'! the two Gentlemen.
Antonio, Father to Proteus.
Thubio, a foolish rival to Valentine.
Eguamouk, Agent for Silvia in her escape.
Host, where Julia lodges.
OuTUAWS, with Valentine.
Speed, a clownish servant to Valentine.
Launce, the like to Proteus.
Panthino, Servant to Antonio.
Julia, beloved of Proteus.
Silvia, beloved of Valentine.
Lucetta, waiting-woman to Julia.
Servants, Musicians.
Scene, Verona; Milan; ihe frontiers of
Mantua.
ACT I.
Scene I. Verona. An open place
Enter Valentine and Peoteu«.
iinsi
Val. Cease to persuade, my loving Pro»
tens :
Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.
Were't not affection chains thy tender dav'
Scene i.]
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
109
To the sweet glances of thy honor'd love,
I rather would entreat thy company
To see the wonders of the world abroad,
Than, living dully slnggardized at home.
Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.
But since thou lovest, love still and thrive
therein.
Even as I would when I to love begin. 10
Pro. Wilt thou be gone ? Sweet Valen¬
tine, adieu !
Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest
Some rare note-worthy object in thy travel :
Wish me partaker in thy happiness
When thou dost meet good hap ; and in thy
danger.
If ever danger do environ thee.
Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers,
For I will be thy beadsman, Valentine.
Vul. And on a love-book pray for my suc¬
cess ?
Pro. Ui;)on some book I love I'll pray for
thee. ■ 20
Val. That's on some shallow story of deep
love :
How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont.
Pro. That's a deep story of a deeper love ;
For he was more than over shoes in love.
Vol. 'Tis true ; for you are over boots in
love.
And yet you never swum the Hellespont.
Pro. Over the boots ? nay, give me not
the boots.
Val. No, I will not, for it boots thee not
Piv. Wliat ?
Val. To be in love, where scorn is bought
with groans ;
Coy looks with heart-sore sighs ; one fading
moment's mirth 30
With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights:
If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain ;
If lost, why then a grievous labor won ;
However, but a folly bought with wit.
Or else a wit by folly vanquished.
Pro. So, by your circumstance, you call
me fool.
Val.. So, by your circumstance, I fear you'll
prove.
Pro. 'Tis love you cavil at; I am not Love.
Val. Love is your master, for he masters
you :
And he that is so yoked by a fool, 40
Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise.
Pro. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest
bud
The eating canker dwells, so eating love
Inhabits in the finest wits of all.
Val. And writers say, as the most forward
bud
Is eaten by the canker ere it blow.
Even so by love the young and tender wit
Is turn'd to folly, blasting in the b*d.
Losing his verdure even in the prime
And all the fair effects of future hopes. 50
But wherefore waste 1 time to counsel thee.
That art a votary to fond desire ?
Once more adieu ! my father at the road
Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd.
Pro. And thither will I bring thee, Valen¬
tine.
Val. Sweet Proteus, no; now let us take
our leave.
To Milan let me hear from thee by letters
Of thy success in love, and what news else
Betideth here in absence of thy friend ;
And I likewise will visit thee with mine. 60
Pro. All happiness bechance to thee in
Milan !
Val. As much to you at home! and so,
farewell. [ExU.
Pro. He after honor hunts, I after love :
He leaves his friends to dignify them more ,
1 leave myself, my friends and all, for love.
Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphosed me.
Made me neglect my studies, lose my time.
War with good counsel, set the world at
nought;
Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with
thought
Enter Speed
Speed. Sir Proteus, save you ! Saw you
my master ? 70
Pro. But now he parted hence, to embark
for Milan.
Speed. • Twenty to one then he is shipp'd
already.
And 1 have play'd the sheep in losing him.
Pro. Indeed, a sheep doth very often stray.
An if the shepherd be a while away.
Speed. You conclude that my master is a
shepherd, then, and I a sheep ?
Pro. 1 do.
Speed. Why then, my horns are his horns,
whether 1 wake or sleep. 80
Pro. A silly answer and fitting well a
sheep.
Speed. 'This proves me still a sheep.
Pro. True ; and thy master a shepherd.
Speed. Nay, that I can deny by a circum¬
stance. [other.
Pro. It shall go hard but I'll prove it by au-
Speed. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and
not the sheep the shepherd ; but I seek my
master, and my master seeks not me : there¬
fore I am no sheep. 91
Pro. The sheep for fodder follow the shep¬
herd ; the shepherd for food follows not the
sheep ; thou for wages foUowest thy master ;
thy master for wages follows not thee : there¬
fore thou art a sheep.
Speed. Such another proof will make me
cry ' baa.'
Pro. But, dost thou hear ? gavest thou my
letter to Julia ?
Speed. Ay, sir: I, a lost mutton, gave
your letter to her, a laced mutton, and she, a
iaced mutton, gave me, a lost mutton, nothing
for my labor.
Pro. Here's too small a pasture for such
store of muttons.
Speed. If the ground be overcharged, you
were best stick her.
110
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
[Act i.
Pro. Nay : in that yon are astray, 'twere
best pound you. 110
Speed. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall
serve me for carrymg your letter.
Pro. You mistake ; I mean the pound,—a
pinfold.
Speed. From a pound to a pin ? fold it over
and over,
'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to
your lover.
Pro. But what said she ?
Speed. [First nodding} Ay.
Pro. Nod—Ay—why, that's noddy.
Speed. You mistook, sir ; 1 say, she did
nod : and you ask me if she did nod ; and I
say, ' Ay.' 121
Pro. And that set together is noddy.
Speed. Now you have taken the pains to
set it together, take it for your pains.
Pro. No, no ; you shall have it for bearing
the letter.
Speed. WeU, I perceive I must be fain to
bear with you.
Pro. Why, sir, how do you bear with me ?
Speed. Marry, sir, the letter, very orderly ;
having nothing but the word ' noddy' for my
pains.
Pro. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit.
Speed. And yet it cannot overtake your
slow purse.
Pro. Come, come, open the matter in
brief : what said she ?
Speed. Open your purse, that the money
and the matter may be both at once delivered.
Pro. Well, sir, here is for your pains.
What said she ? 140
Speed. Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win
her. [from her ?
Pro. Why, couldst thou perceive so much
Speed. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all
from her ; no, not so much as a ducat for de¬
livering your letter : and being so hard to me
that brought your mind, I fear she'll prove as
hard to you in telling your mind. Give her
no token but stones ; for she'.s as hard as steel.
Pro. What said she ? nothing ? 150
Speed. No, not so much as ' Take this for
thy pains.' "To testify your bounty, I thank
you, you have testerned me ; in requital
whereof, henceforth carry your letters your¬
self : and so, sir, I'll commend you to my
master.
Pro. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship
from wreck.
Which cannot perish having thee aboard.
Being destined to a drier death on shore.
[Exit Speed.
I must go send some better messenger :
I fear my Julia would not deign my lines, 160
Receiving them from such a worthless post.
\ [Exit.
Scene II. The same. Garden o/Julia's
house.
Enter Julia and Lucetta.
Jul. But say, Lucetta, now ige are alone.
Wouldst thou then counsel me to fall in love ?
Luc. Ay, madam, so you stumble not uu-
heedfully.
Jul. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen
That every day with j^rle encounter me.
In thy opinion which is worthiest love ?
Luc. Please you repeat their names, I'll
show my mind
According to my shallow simple skill.
Jul. What think'st thou of the fair Sir
Eglamour ?
Lmc. As of a knight well-spoken, neat and
fine; 10
But, were I you, he never should be mine.
Jul. What think'st thou of the rich Meis
catio?
Luc. WeU of his wealth ; but of MmseU,
so so.
Jul. What think'st tliou of the gentle Pro¬
teus ?
Luc. Lord, Lord ! to see what folly reigns
in us I
Jul. How now ! what means this passion
at his name ?
Luc. Pardon, dear madam : 'tis a passing
shame
That 1, unworthy body as I am.
Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen.
Jul. Why not on Proteus, as of aU the
rest ?
Luc. Then thus ; of many good I think
him best.
Jul. Your reason ?
Luc. I have no other, but a woman's rea¬
son ;
I think him so because I think him so.
Jul. And wouldst thou have me cast my
love on him ?
Luc. Ay, if you thought your love not cast
away.
Jul. Why he, of all the rest, hath never
moved me.
Luc. Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best
loves ye.
Jul. His little speaking shows his love but
small. ,
Luc. Fire that's closest kept bums most of
aU. 30
Jul. They do not love that do not show
their love.
Luc. O, they love least tliat let men know
their love.
JuX. 1 would 1 knew his mind.
Luc. Peruse this paper, madam.
Jul. ' To Julia.' Say, from whom ?
Luc. That the contents will show.
Jul. Say, say, who gave it thee ?
Luc. Sir Valentine's page; and sent, I
think, from Proteus.
He would have given it yon ; but I, being in
the way,
Did in your name receive it; pardon the fault,
I pray. 40
■hd. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker!
Dare you presume to harbor wanton lines ?
To whisper and conspire against my youth 7
Scene ii.]
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
Ill
Xow, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth
And you an officer fit for the place.
There, take the paper ; see it be retum'd ;
Or else return no more into my sight.
Luc. To plead for love deserves more fee
than hate.
Jul. Will ye be gone ? •
Luc. That you may ruminate.
[Exit.
Jul. And yet I would I had o'erlooked the
letter: 50
It were a shame to call her back again
And pray her to a fault for wliich I chid her.
What a fool is she, that knows I am a maid,
And would not force the letter to my view !
Since maids, in modesty, say ' no' to that
Which they would have the proftercr construe
' ay-'
Fie, fle, how wayward is this foolisli love
That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse
And presently ail humbled kiss the rod !
How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence, 60
When willingly I would have had her here !
How angerly I taught my brow to frown,
when inward joy enforced ray heart to smile !
My penance is to call Lucetta back
And ask remission for my folly past.
What ho ! Lucetta !
Re-enter Lucetta.
£uc. What would your ladyship ?
Jul. Is't near dinner-time ?
Luc. I would it were,
That you "might kill your stomach on your
meat
And not upon your maid. 70
Jul. What is't that you took up so gingerly ?
Luc. Nothing.
Jul. Why didst thou stoop, then ?
Xuc. To take a paper up that I let fall.
Jul. And is that paper nothing ?
Luc. Nothing concerning me.
Jul. Then let it lie for those that it con¬
cerns.
Luc. Madam, it will not lie where it con¬
cerns.
Unless it have a false interpreter.
Jul. Some love of yours hath writ to you
in rhyme.
Imc. That I might sing it, madam, to a
tune. 80
Give me a note : your ladyship can set.
Jul. As little by such toys as may be pos¬
sible.
Best sing it to tiie tune of ' Light o' love.'
' Luc. It is too heavy for so light a tune.
Jul. Heavy ! belike it hath some burden
then ?
Luc. Ay, and melodious were it, would
you sing it.
Jul. And why not you 7 •
Imc. I cannot reach so high.
Jul. Let's see your song. How now, min¬
ion !
Luc. Keep tune there stUl, so you will sing
it out;
And yet methiuks I do not like this tune. 90
Jul. You do not 1
Luc. No, madam ; it is too sharp.
Jul. You, minion, are too saucy.
Luc. Nay, now you are too flat
And mar the concord with too hai-sh a descant;
There wanteth but a mean to fill your song.
Jul. The mean is drown'd with your un¬
ruly bass.
Luc. Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus.
Jul. This babble shall not henceforth trouble
me.
Here is a coil with protestation !
[Tears the letter.
Go get you gone, and let the papers lie : 100
You would be fingering them, to anger me.
Luc. She makes it strange ; but she would
be best pleased
To be so auger'd witli another letter. [Exit.
Jul. Nay, would I were so anger'd with
the same !
0 hateful liands, to tear such loving words !
Injurious wasps, to feed on such sweet honey
And kill the bees that yield it with your
stings !
I'll kiss each several paper for amends.
Look, here is writ 'kind Julia.' Unknid
Julia!
As in revenge of thy ingratitude, 110
1 throw thy name against the bruksing stones,
Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain.
And here is writ' love-wounded Proteus.'
Poor wounded name ! my bosom as a bed
Shall lodge thee till thy wound be thoroughly
heal'd ;
And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss.
But twice or thrice was 'Proteus' written
down.
Be calm, good ivind, blow not a word away
Till I have found each letter in the letter.
Except mine own name : that some whirlwind
bear 120
Unto a ragged fearful-hanging rock '
And throw it tlience into the raging sea !
Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ,
' Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus,
To the sweet Julia :' that I'll tear away.
And yet I will not, sitli so prettily
He couples it to his complaining names.
Thus will I fold them one upon another :
Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will.
Re-enter Lucetta.
Luc. Madam, 130
Dinner is ready, and your father stays.
Jul. Well, let us go.
Xwc. What, shall these papers lie like tell¬
tales here 7 [up.
Jul. If you respect them, best to take them
Luc. Nay, I was taken up for laying them
down :
Y'et here they shall not lie, for catching cold.
Jul. I see you have a month's mind to
them.
Luc. Ay, madam, you may say what sights
you see:
112 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
I see things too, although you judge I wink.
Jul. Come, come ; will't please you go ?
lExevnt.
Scene III. The same. Antonio's house.
Enter Antonio and Panthino.
Ant. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was
that
Wherewith ray brother held you in the clois¬
ter ?
Pan. 'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your
son.
Ant. Why, what of him ?
Pan. He wonder'd that your lordship
Would suffer him to spend his youtli at home.
While other men, of slender reputation.
Put forth their sons to seek preferment out ;
Some to the wars, to try their fortune there ;
Some to discover islands far away ;
Some to the studious universities. 10
For any or for all these exercises.
He said that Proteus your son was meet.
And did request me to importune you
To let him spend his time no more at home.
Which would he great impeachment to his age.
In having known no travel in his youtli.
Ant. Nor ueed'st thou much importune me
to that
Whereon this month I have been hammering.
I have consider'd well his loss of time
And how he cannot be a perfect man, 20
Not being tried and tutor d in the world .
Experience is by industry achieved
And perfected by tlie swift course of time.
Then tell me, wiiither were 1 be.stto send him?
Pan. I think your lordship is not ignorant
How his companion, youtiiful Valentine,
Attends the emperor in his royal court.
Ant. I know it well.
Pan. 'Twere good, I think, your lordshqi
sent him thither ;
There siiail he practise tilts and touinaments,
Heaf sweet discourse, converse with noble¬
men, 31
And be in eye of ei'ery exercise
Worthy his youtli and nobleness of birth.
Ant. I like thy counsel; well hast thou
advised :
And that thou mayst perceive how well I
like it.
The execution of it shall make known.
Even with the speediest expedition
I will dispatch him to the emperoPs court.
Pan. To-morrow, may it please you, Don
Alphonso,
With other gentlemen of good esteem, 40
Are journeying to salute the emperor
And to commend tlieir service to his will.
Ant. Good company ; with them shall Pro¬
teus go :
And, in good time f now will we break with
him.
Enter Proteus.
Pro. Sweet love ! sweet lines ! sweet life !
Here is her hand, the agent of her heart ;
Here is her oath for love, her hqnor's pawn.
IAct II.
0, that our fathers would applaud onrdoves.
To seal our liappiness with their consents !
0 heavenly Julia! , 50
Ant. How now ! what letter are you read¬
ing there ?
Pro. May't please your lordship, 'tis a word
> or two
Of commendations sent from Valentine,
Deliver'd by a friend that came from him.
Ant. Lend me the letter; let me see what
news.
Pro. There is no news, my lord, but tha.
he writes
How happily he lives, how well beloved
And daily graced by the emperor ;
Wishing'me with him, partner of his fortune.
Ant. And how stand you affected to his
wi.sh ? fiO
Pro. As one relying on your lordship's will
And not depending on his friendly wish.
Ant. My will is something sorted with his
wish.
Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed ;
For what I will, I will, and there an end.
1 am resolved that thou shalt sp»end some time
With Valentinus in the emperor's court:
What maintenance he from his friends re¬
ceives.
Like exhibition thou shalt have from me.
To-morrow be in readiness to go : 70
Excuse it not, for I am peremptory.
Pro. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided:
Please you, deliberate a day or two.
Ant. Look, what thou want'st shall be sent
■ after thee :
No more of stay ! to-morrow thou must go.
Come on, Panthino : you shall be employ'd
To hasten on his expedition.
LExeunt Ant. and Pan.
Pro. Thus have I shunn'd the fire for fear
of burning.
And drench'd me in the sea, where I am
drown'd.
I fear'd to show my father Julia's letter, 80
Lest he should take exceptions to my love ;
And with the vantage of mine own excuse
Hath he excepted most against my love.
O, how this spruig of love resembletli
The uncertain glory of an April day.
Which now shows all the beauty of the sun.
And by and by a cloud takes all away '
Re-enter Panthino.
Pan. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you :
He is in haste ; therefore, I pray you, go.
Pro. Why, this it is: my heart accords
thereto, !*)'
And yet a thousand times it answers ' no.'
\_Exeunt.
ACT If.
Scene I. Milan. The Duke's palace.
Enter Vai.entinf. and Speed.
Speed. Sir, your glove.
Scene i.]
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
113
V'A. Not mine ; my gloves are on.
uneed. Why, then, this may be yours, for
this is but one.
Val. Ha! let me see : ay, give it me, it's
mine :
Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine •
Ah, Silvia, Silvia !
Speed. Madam Silvia ! Madam Silvia!
Val. How now, sirrah ?
Speed. She is not within hearing, sir.
Val. Why, sir, who hade you call her ?
Speed. Your worship, sir ; or else I mistook.
Val. Well, you'll still be too forward. 11
^eed. And yet I was last chidden for being
too slow.
Val. Go to, sir : tell me, do you know
Madam Silvia ?
Speed. She that your worship loves ?
Val. Why, how know you that I am in
love ?
Speed. Marry, by these special marks: first,
you have learned, like Sir Proteus, to wreathe
vour arms, like a malecontent; to relish a
love-song, like a robin-redbreast; to walk
alone, like one that had the pestilence ; to sigh,
like a .school-boy that had lost his A B C ; to
weep, like a young wench that had buried her
grandam ; to last, like one that takes diet; to
watch, like one that fears robbing ; to speak
puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You
were wont, when you laughed, to crow like a
cock ; when you walked, to walk like one of
the lions ; when you fasted, it was presently
after dinner ; when you looked sadly, it was
for want of money : and now you are meta-
morxjhosed with a mistress, that, when I look
on you, I can hardly think you my master.
Val. Are aU these things perceived in me 7
Speed. They are all perceived without ye.
Val. Without me 7 they cannot.
Speed. Without you 7 nay, that's certain,
for, without you were so simple, none else
would : but you are so without these follies,
that these follies are within you and shine
through you like the water in an urinal, that
not an eye that sees you but is a physicmn to
comment on your malady.
Vol. But tell me, dost thou know my lady
Silvia 7
Speed. She that you gaze on so as she sits
at supper 7
Val. Hast thou observed that 7 even she, I
mean.
Speed. Why, sir, I know her not. 50
Val. Dost thou know her by my gazing on
her, and yet knowest her not 7
Sj^ed. Is she not hard-favored, sir 7
Val. Not so fair, boy, as well-favored.
Speed. Sir, I know that well enough.
Val. What dost thou know 7
Speed. That she is not so fair%s, of you,
well-favored.
Val. I mean that her beauty is exquisite.
Dirt her favor infinite. 60
Speed. That's because the one is painted
wd the other out of all couut
Val. How painted 7 and how out of count 7
Speed. Marry, sir, so painted, to make her
fair, that no man counts of her beauty.
Val. How esteemest thou me 7 I account
of her beauty.
Speed. You never saw her since she was de¬
formed.
Val. How long hath she been deformed 7
Speed. Ever since von ioved her. 71
Val. I have loved her ever since I saw her ;
and still I see her beautiful.
Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her.
Val. Why 7
Speed. Because Love is blind. O, tliat you
had mine eyes ; or your own eyes had the
lights they were wont to have when you chid
at Sir Proteus forgoing ungartered !
Val. What should 1 see then 7 80
Speed. Your own |rresent folly and her
passing deformity : for he, being in love, could
not see to garter his hose, and you, being in
love, cannot see to put on your hose.
Vol. Belike, boy, then, you are in love ;
for last morning you could not see to wipe my
shoes.
Speed. True, sir ; I was in love with my bed :
I thank you, you swinged me for my love,
which makes me the bolder to chide you for
yours.
Val. In conclusion, I stand affected to her.
Speed. I would you were set, so your affec¬
tion would cease. 91
Val. Last night she enjoined me to write
some lines to one she loves.
Speed. And have you 7
Val. I have.
Speed -ire they not lamely writ 7
Val. N , boy, but as well as I can do them.
Peace ! here she comes.
S^ed. [Asftfe] O excellent'motion ! O ex¬
ceeding puppet! Now will he interpret to her.
Enter Silvia.
Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand
good-morrows.
Speed. [Aside] O, give ye good even,! here's
a million of manners.
SH. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two
thousand.
Speed. [Aside] He should give her interest,
and she gives it him.
Val. As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your
etter
Unto the secret nameless- friend of yours ;
Which I was much unwilling to proceed in
But for my duty to your ladyship.
SU. I thank you, gentle servant: 'tis very
clerkly done.
Val. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly
off ;
For being ignorant to whom it goes
I writ at random, very doubtfully.
Sil. Perchance you think too ihuch of so
much pains 7
Val. No, madam ; so it stead you, I wiU
write.
114
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA
[Acx II
Please you command, a thousand times as
much;
And yet—
Sil. A pretty period! Well, I guess the
sequel;
And yet I will not name it; and yet I care
not;
And yet take this again ; and yet I thank you.
Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.
Speed. [Aside] And yet you will; and yet
another ' yet.'
Val. What means your ladyship ? do you
not like it ?
Sil. Yes, yes ; the lines are very quaintly
writ;
But since unwillingly, take them again.
Nay, take them. 130
Val. Madam, they are for you.
Sil. Ay, ay : you writ them, sir, at my re¬
quest ;
But I will none of them ; they are lor you ;
I would have had them writ more movingly.
Val. Please you, I'll write your ladyship
another.
Sil. And when it's writ, for my sake read it
over.
And if it please you, so ; if not, why, so.
Val. If it please me, madam, what then ?
Sil. Why, if it please you, take it for your
labor :
And so, good morrow, servant. [Exit. 140
Speed. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible.
As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock
on a steeple !
My master sues to her, and she hath taught
her suitor,
He being her pupil, to become her tutor.
O excellent device ! was there ever heard a
better,
That my master, being scribe, to himself should
write the letter ?
Val. How now, sir ? what are you reason¬
ing with yourself ?
Speed. Nay, I was rhyming : 'tis you that
have the reason. 150
Vol. To do what ?
Speed. To be a spokesman for Madam
Silvia.
Val. To whom ?
Speed. To yourself : why, she wooes you
by a figure.
Vcd. What figure ?
Speed. By a letter, I should say.
Val. Whv, she hath not writ to me 7
Speed. What need she, when she hath
made you write to yourself ? Why, do you not
perceive the je.st 7 160
Val. No, believe me.
Speed. No believing you, indeed, sir. But
didVou perceive her earnest ?
Vol. She gave me none, except an angry ■
word.
Speed. Why, sh hath given you a letter.
Vol. That's the etter I writ to her friend.
Speed. And that letter hath she delivered,
and there an end.
Val. I would it were no worse.
Speed. I'll warrant you, 'tis as well: 170
For often have you writ to her, and she, in
modesty.
Or else for want of idle time, could not again
reply:
Or fearing else some messenger that might het
mind discover.
Herself hath taught her love himself to write
unto her lover.
All this I speak in print, for in print I found it.
W^ muse you, sir 7 'tis dinner-time.
Vol. I have dined.
Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir ; though the
chameleon Love can feed on the air, I am one
that am nourished by my victuals, and would
fain have meat. , be not like your mistress ;
be moved, be moved. [ExeutO,
Scene H. Vernna. Jcua's hovse.
Enter Ppoteus and Jclia.
Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia.
Jul. I n 1st, where is no remedy.
Pro. When possibly I c.an, I will return.
Jul. If you turn not, you will return the
sooner.
Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake.
[Qiving a ring.
Pro. Why, then, we'll make exchange;
here, take you this.
Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss.
Pro. Here is my hand for my true con¬
stancy ;
And when that hour o'erslips me in the day
Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake, 10
The next ensuing hour some foul mischance
Torment me for my love's forgetfulness !
My father stays niy coming ; answer not;
The tide is now ; nay, not thy tide of tears ;
That tide will stay me longer than I sVould.
Julia, farewell! [Exit Julia.
A7hat, gone without a word 7
Ay, so true love should do : it cannot speak ;
For truth hath better deeds than words to
grace it.
Enter Panthjno.
Pan. Sir Proteus, you are stay'd for.
Pro. Go; I e, 1 come. 20
Alas ! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb.
[Exeunt.
Scene HI. The same. A street.
Enter Launce, leading a dog.
Launce. Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have
done weeping ; all the kind ol the Launces
have this very fault. I have received my pro¬
portion. like the prodi,iious son, and am going
V with Sir Proteus to the Imperial's court. I
think Crab, my dog, bethesourest-natureddog
that lives : my mother weeping, my father
wailing, my siker crying, our maid howling,
our cat wringing her hands, and all our house
in a great perplexity, yet did not this cruel-
hearted cur sWd one tear : he is a stone, a
Scene iv ]
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
115
very pebble stone, and has no more pity in him
than a dog ; a Jew would have wept to have
seen our parting ; why, iny grandam, having
no eyes, iook you, wept lierself blind at ray
parting. Nay, ni show you the manner of
it. This shoe is my father : no, this left shoe is
my father : no, no, this left shoe is my mother:
nay, that cannot be so neither : yes, it is so, it
is so, it hath the worser sole. This shoe, with
the hole in it, is my mother, and this my
father ; a vengeance on't 1 there 'tis : now,
sit, this staff is my sister, for, look you, she is
as white as a lily and as small as a wand :
this hat is Nan, onr maid : I am the dug : no,
the dog is himself, and I am the dog—Oh I
the dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so, so.
Now come I to my father ; Father, your bless¬
ing : now should not the shoe speak a word
for weeping : now should I kiss my father ;
well, he weeps on. Now come I to my mother :
O, that she could speak now like a wood
woman ! Well, I kiss her ; why, there 'tis ;
here's my mother's breath up and down. Now
come I to my sister ; mark the moan she
makes. Now the dog all this whim sheds not
a tear nor speaks a word ; but see how I lay
the dust with my tears.
Enter Panthino.
Pan. Launce, away, away, aboard I thy
master is shipped and thou art to post after
with oars. What's the matter ? why weepest
thou, man ? Away, ass I you'll lose the tide,
if you tarry any longer.
Launce. It is no matter if the tied were
lost; for it is the unkindest tied that ever
any man tied.
Pan. What's the unkindest tide 7
Launce. Why, he that's tied here. Crab,
my dog.
Pan. Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the
flood, and, in losing the flood, lose thy voyage,
and, in losing thy voyage, lose thy master,
and, in losing thy master, lose thy service, and,
in losing thy service,—Why dost thou stop my
mouth ? 51
Launce. For fear thou shouldst lose thy
tongue.
Pan. Where should I lose my tongue 7
Launce. In thy tale.
Pan. In, thy tail!
Launce. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and
the master, and the service, and the tied I
Why, man, if the river were drv', I am able to
fill it with my tears ; if the win3 were down, I
could drive the boat with my sighs. 60
Pan. Come, come away, man ; I was sent
to call thee.
Launce. Sir, call me what thou darest.
Pan. Wilt thou go 7
Launce. Well, I will go. [JExeimi.
Scene IV. Milan. The Duke's jinlucc.
Enter Silvia, Valentine, Thubio, and
Sfeep.
SU. Servant!
Vol. Mistress 7
fipeed. Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you.
Vol. Ay, boy, it's for love.
Speed. Not of you.
Val. Of my mistress, then.
Speed. 'Twere good you knocked him.
\Exit.
Sil. Servant, you are sad.
Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so.
TAu. Seem you that you are not 7 10
Val. Ilaply I do.
Thu. So do counterfeits.
Val. So do you.
Thu. What seem I that I am not 7
Val. Wise.
Thu. AVhat instance of the contrary 7
, Val. Your folly.
' Thu. And how quote you my folly 7
Val. I quote it in your jerkin.
Thu. My jerkin is a doublet 20
Val. Well, then, I'll double your folly.
Thu. How 7
Sil. What, angry, Sir Thurio ! do you change
color 7
Val. Give him leave, madam ; he is a kind
of chameleon.
Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your
blood than live in your air.
Vol. You have said, sir.
Thu. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time. 30
Val. I know it well, sir ; you always end
ere you begin.
SU. A fine voUey of words, gentlemen, and
quickly shot off.
Vol. 'Tis indeed, madam ; we thank the
giver.
Sil. Who is that, servant 7
Val. Yourself, sweet lady ; for you gave
the fire. Sir Thurio borrows his wit from your
ladyship's looks, and spends what he borrows
kindly in your company. 40
Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with
me, I shall make your wit bankrupt.
Val. I know it well, sir ; you have an ex¬
chequer of words, and, I think, no other treas¬
ure to give your followers, for it appears, by
their bare liveries, that they live by your bare
words.
Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more ; here
comes my father.
Enter Duke.
Duke. Now, daughter Silvia, yon are hard
be.set.
Sir Valentine, your father's in good health : 50
What say you to a letter from your friends
Of much good news 7
Val. My lord, I wiU be thankful.
To any happy messenger from thence.
Duke. Know ye Don Antonio, your country¬
man 7
Val. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentle¬
man
To be of worth and worthy estimation
116
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VEEONA.
[Act ii.
And not without desert so well reputed.
Duke. Hath he not a son ?
Val. Ay, my good lord ; a son that well de¬
serves
The honor and regard of such a father. 60
Duke. You larow him weU ?
Val. I know him as myself ; for from our
infancy
We have conversed and spent our hours to¬
gether :
And though myself have been an idle truant,
Omitting the sweet benefit of time
To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection,
Yet hath Sir Proteus, for that's his name,
Made use and lair advantage of his days ;
His years but young, but his exi>erience old ;
His head unmellow^, but his judgment ripe ;
And, in a word, for far behind his worth .71
Comes aU the praises that I now bestow,
He is complete in feature and in mind
With all good grace to grace a gentleman.
Duke. Beshrew me, sir, but if he make this
good,
He is as worthy for an empress' love
As meet to be an emperor's counsellor.
Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me,
With commendation from great potentates ;
And here he means to spend his time awhile :
I think 'tis no unwelcome news to you. 81
Val. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had
been he.
Duke. Welcome him then according to his
worth.
Silvia, I speak to you, and you. Sir Thurio ;
For Valentine, I need not cite him to it:
I will send him hither to you presently. [Exit.
Val. This is the gentleman I told your lady¬
ship
Had come along with me, but that his mis¬
tress
Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks.
Sil. Belike that now she hath enfranchised
them 90
Upon some other pawn for fealty.
Val. Nay, sure, I tliink she holds them pris¬
oners still.
Sil. Nay, then he should be blind ; and,
being blind,
How could he see his way to seek out you ?
Val. Why, lady. Love hath twenty pair of
eyes.
Thu. They say that Love hath not an eye at
aU.
Val. To see such lovers, Thurio, as your¬
self :
Upon a homely object Ix)ve can wink.
Sil. Have done, have done ; here comes the
gentleman.
Enter Pboteus. [Exit Thurio.
Val. Welcome, dear Proteus ! Mistress. I
beseech you, 100
Confirm his welcome with some special favor.
Sil. His worth is warrant for his welcome
hither.
If this be he yon oft have wish'd to hear from.
Val. Mistress, it is : sweet lady, entertain
him
To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship.
SU. 'Poo low a mistress for so high a ser¬
vant.
Pro. Not so, sweet lady : but too mean a
servant
To have a look of such a worthy mistress.
Val. Leave off discourse of disability : 10?
Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant.
Pro. My duty will I boast of ; nothing else.
Sil. And duty never yet did want his meed:
Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mis¬
tress.
Pro. I'll die on him that says so but your¬
self.
Sil. That you are welcome ?
Pro. That you are worthless.
Re-enter Thurio.
Thu. Madam, my lord your father would
speak with you.
Sil. I wait upon his pleasure. Come, Sir
Thurio,
Go with me. Once more, new servant, wel¬
come :
I'll leave you to confer of home affairs
When you have done, we look to hear from
you.
Pro. We'll both attend upon your ladyship.
[Exeunt Silvia and Thurio.
Val. Now, tell me, how do all from whence
you came ?
Pro. Your friends are well and have them
much commended.
Val. And how do yours ?
Pro. I left them all in health.
Val. How does your lady ? and how thrives
your love '/
Pro. My tales of love were wont to weary
you ;
I know you joy not in a love-discourse.
Val. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd
now :
I have done penance for contemning Love,
Whose high imperious tlioughts have punish'd
me
With bitter fasts, with penitential groans.
With nightly tears and daily heart-sore sighs ;
For in revenge of my contempt of love.
Love hath chased sleep from my enthralled
eyes
And made them watchers of mine own heart'-:
sorrow.
O gentle Proteus, Love's a mighty lord.
And hath so humbled me, as, I confess.
There is no woe to his correction,
Nor to his service no such joy on earth.
Now no discourse, except it be of love ; 140
Now cau I break my fa,st. dine, sup and sleep.
Upon the very naked n.ame of love.
Pro. Enough ; I read your fortune in yoM
eye.
Was this the idol that you worship so ?
sceue v.]
THE TWO GENTLEMEN. OF VERONA.
117
Vol. Even she • and is she not a heavMily
saint ?
Pro. No ; but she is an eaithly paragon.
Vol. Cail her divine.
Pro. I will not flatter her.
Vol. 0, flatter me ; for love delights in
praises.
Fro. When I was sick, you gave jne bitter
piiis,
And 1 must minister the like to you. 150
Vol. Then speak the truth by her ; if not
divine,
Yet let her be a principality,
Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth.
Pro. Except my mistress.
Vol. Sweet, except not any ;
Except thou wilt except against my love.
Pro. Have 1 not reason to prefer mine,
own ?
Vol. And I will help thee to prefer her too!
She shall be dignified with this high honor-
To bear my lady's train, lest the base earth •
Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss
And, of so greiit a favor growing proud, , 101
Disdain to root the snmmer-sweiling flower
And make rough winter everlastingly.
Pro. Why, valentine, what braggardismis
this ?
VaL Pardon me, Proteus : all 1 can is noth¬
ing
To her whose worth makes other worthies
nothing ;
She is alone.
Pro. Then let her alone.
Vol. Not for the world : wliy, man, slie is
■ mine own,
And I as rich in having such a jewel
As twenty seas, if ail their sand were pearl.
The water nectar and the rocks pure gold. 171
Forgive me that I do not dream on thee.
Because thou see'st me dote upon my love.
My foolish rival, that her father likes
Only for his possessions are so huge.
Is gone with her along, and I must after,
For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy.
Pro. But she loves you ?
Vol. Ay, and we are betroth'd ; .nay, more,
our marriage-hour,,
With ail the cimning manner of our flight, 180'
Determined of ; how I must climb her win¬
dow.
The liidder made of cords, and ail the means
Plotted and 'greed on for my happiness. .
Good Proteus, go with me to my chanvber,
In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel.
Pro. Go on before • I shall inquire you
forth :
I jnnst unto the road, to disembark
Some necessaries that 1 needs must use.
And then I'll presently attend you. ,
Vol. Will you make haste ? • I'JO
Pro. I wilL [Exit Valentine.
Even as one heat another heat expels, .
Or as one nail by strength drives out another,
^ the remembrance of my former love
Is by a newer object ^uite forgotten,
tis it mine, or Valentine's praise.
Her true perfection, or my false transgression,
That makes me reasonless to reason thus ?
She is fair ; and so is Julia that I love—
That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd ;
Which, like a waxen iumge, 'gainst a fire, 201
Bears no impression of the thing it was.
Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold.
And that I iovo him net as I was wont.
0, but I love his lady too too much.
And that's the reason I love liim so little.
How shall I dote on her with more advice,
Tliat thus without advice begin to love her !
'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld.
And that hath dazzled my reason's light; 210
But when I look on her perfections.
There is no reason but I shall be blind.
If I can check my erring love, I will;
If not, to compass her I'll use my skill. [Exit.
Scene 'V. The same. A street.
Enter Speed and Launce seeerally.
Speed. Launce ! by mine honesty, welcome
to Milan !
Launce. Forswear notthyself, sweet youth,
for I am not welcome. I reckon this always,
that a man is never undone till he be hanged,
nor never welcome to a place till some certain
shot be paid and the hostess say ' Welcome 1'
, Speed. Come on, you madcap, I'll to the
alehou.se with you presently ; where, for one
shot of five pence, thou shalt have five thou¬
sand welcomes, But, sirrah, how did thy
master part with Madam Julia ?
Launce. Marry, after they closed in ear¬
nest, tliey parted very fairly in jest.
Speed. But shall she marry him 7
Launce. No,
Epeed. How then ? shall he marry her ?
LOMnce. No, neither.
Speed. What, are they broken 7
Ijaurux. No, they are both as whole as a
fish.
Speed. Why, then, how stands the matter
with them 7
Launce. Marry, thus ; when it stands well
with him, it stands well with her.
Speed. What an ass art thou! I understand
thee not
Launce. What a block art thou, that thou
canst not 1 My staff understands me.
Speed. What thou sayest 7
Launce. Ay, and what I do too : look thee,
I'll but lean, and my stiff understands me.
Speed. It stands under thee, indeed.
Launce. AVhy, stand-under and under¬
stand is all one.
Speed. But tell me true, will't be a match?
Launce. Ask my dog : if he say ay, it will 1
if he say no, it wjll; if he shake his tail and
.s.ay nothin.g, it will.
Speed. The conclusion is then that it will.
Launce. Thou shalt never get such a secret
from me but. by a parable.
Speed, 'jlis well tha^ I get it so. But^
118
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
[Act ii.
Launce, how sayest thou, that my hiaster is
become a notable lover ?
Ijaunce. I never knew him otherwise.
iSpeed. Thau how ?
Launce. A notable lubber, as thou report-
est him to be.
Speed. Why. thou whoreson ass, thou mis-
takest me. 50
Launce. Why, fool, I pieant not thee ; I
meant thy master.
Sjieed. I tell thee, my ma.ster is become a
hot lover.
Launce. Why, I tell thee, I care not though
he burn himself in love. If thou wilt, go with
me to the alehouse ; if not. thou art an He¬
brew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a
Christian.
Speed. Why ?
Launce. Because thou hast not so much
charity in thee as to go to the ale with a
Christian. Wilt thou go ?
Speed. At thy service. [Erxuni.
Scene VI. The same. The Vvkk'h palace.
Enter Pboteus.
Pro. To leave my Julia, shall I be for¬
sworn ;
To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn :
To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn ;
And even that power which gave me first my
oath
Provokes me to this threefold perjury ;
Love bade me swear and Love bids me for¬
swear.
0 sWeet-suggesting Love, if thou hast sinn'd.
Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it!
At first I did adore a twinkling star.
But now I worship a celestial sun. 10
Unbeedful vows may heedfully be broken.
And he wants wit that wants resolved will
To learn his wit to exchange the bad for better.
Fie, fie, unreverend tongue ! to call her bad.
Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd
With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths.
1 cannot leave to love, and yet I do ;
But there I leave to love where I should love.
Julia I lose and Valentine I lose :
If I keep them, I needs must lose myself ; 20
Iff lose them, thus find I by their loss
For Valentine myself, for Julia Silvia.
I to myself am dearer than a friend,
For love is still most precious in itself ;
And Silvia—witness Heaven, that made her
fair !—
Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope.
I will forget that Julia is alive,
Remembering that my love to her is dead ;
And Valentine I'll hold an enemy,
Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend. 30
I cannot now prove coustiint to myself.
Without some treachery used to Valenfipe.
This night he meaneth "with a corded laddel
To climb celestial Silvia's chamber-window.
Myself in counsel, his competitor. ■
Now presently I'll give her fathec notice
Of their disguising and pretended flight;
Who, all enraged, will banish Valentine ;
For 'Thurio, he intends, sliail wed his daugbter ;
But, Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross
By some sly trick blunt Thurio's dull pro-
' ceeding.
Love, lend me wings to make my puipose
swift.
As thou bast lent me wit to plot this drift!
lExiU
Scene Vll. Verona. Julia's house.
Entei- Julia and Lucetta.
Jul. Counsel, Lucetta ; gentle girl, assist
me ;
And even in kind love I do conjure thee,
Who art the table wherein all my thoughts
Are visibly character'd and engraved.
To lesson me and tell me some good mean
How, with my honor, I may undertake
A journey to my loving Proteus.
Luc. Alas, the way is wearisome and long 1
JuL A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary
To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps ;
Much less shall she that hath Love's wings t6
fly. 11
And when the flight is made to one so dear.
Of such divine perfertion, as Sir Proteus;
Luc. Better forbear till Proteus niake le-
tuni.
Jul. O, know'st tliou not his looks are my
soul's food?
Pity the dearth that I have pined in,
By longing for that food so long a time.
Didst thou but know the inly toucli of love,
Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire n ith snoi#
As seek to quench the fire of love with words.
Luo. 1 do not seek to quench your love's
hot fire, 21
But qualify the fire's extreme rage..
Lest it should burn above the bounds of reasoiu
Jul. The more thou damm'st it up, tlie
more it bums.
The cunent that with gentle murmur glides.
Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth
rage ;
But when his fair course is not hindered.
He makes sweet music with the enamell'd
stones.
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage, 30
And so by many winding nooks he strays
With willing sport to the wild ocean.
Then let me go and hinder not my course
I'll be as patient .as a gentle stream
And make a pastime of each weary step.
Till the last step have brought me "to my love;
And there I'll rest, as after much tui-moil
A blessed soul doth in Elysium.
Luc. But in what habit will you go along 7
Jul. Not like a woman ; for I would pre.
vent M
The loose encounters of lascivious men :
Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds
As may beseem some well-reputed page.
sckne i.j
Lius. Wliy, tneu, your ladysl^ip must cut
your hair.
Jill. No, girl; I'll knit it up in silken
strings
With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots.
To be fantastic may become a youth
Of greater time than I sliali show to be.
Lue. What fasliion, madam, shall I make
your breeches ?
Jul. That fits as well as ' Tell me, good my
lord, 50
What compass will you wear your fa rthingale ?'
Wliy even what, fashion thou best like.st,
Lucetta.
Luc. You must needs have them with a cod¬
piece, maitum.
Jul. Out, out, Luce.ita ( tliat would be ill-
favor'd.
Luc. A round hose, madam, iu>w's not
worth a pin.
Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on,
Jul. Lucetta, as tiiou luvest me, let me
have
What thou thinkest meet and is most man¬
nerly.
But tell me, wench, how wil). the world repqte
me
Tor undertaking so unstaid a journey ? CO
I fear me, it will make me scandalized.
Imc. if you think so, tlieu stay at home
and go not.
Jul. Nay, that I will not.
Luc. Theu never dream on mfamy, but go.
If Proteus like your journey wlien you come.
No matter who's displeased, wli^ you are
gone: 1
I fear me, he will scarce be pleased withal.
Jul. 'fhat is tlie-least, Lucetta, of my fear :
A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears
And instances of infinite of love 70
Warrant me welcome to my Proteus.
Luc. All tliese are servants to deceitful
men.
Jul. Base men, tliat use tliein to so base
effect!
But truer stars did govern Protems' birth ;
His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles.
His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate.
His tears pure messengers sent from his heart.
His heart as far from fraud as heaven from
earth.
inc. Pray heaven he prove so, when you
come to him !
Jul. Now, as thow lovest me, do him not
that wrong 80
To bear a hard opinion of his truth :
Only deserve my love by loving him ;
And presently go with me to my chamber.
To taken note of what I stand in need of.
To furnish me upon my longing journey.
All that is mine I leave at thy dispcAe,
My goods, my lands, my reputation j
Only, in lieu tliereof, dispatch me hence.
Come, answer not, but to it presently 1
I am impatient of my tarriance. 90
ILxeiii't
119
ACT III.
Scene I. Milan. The Ditke's palace. .
Enter Duke, Thurio, and Proteus.
' Duke. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray,
awhile; "
We have some secrets to confer about. ■
[Exit Thv.
Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your wi.l with
me ?
Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would
discover
The law of friendship bids me to conceal;
But when I call to mind your gracious favors
Done to me, undeserving as I am,'
Mv duty pricks me on to utter tliat
Which else no worldly good should diaw from
me. 9
Know, worthy prince. Sir Valentine, my friend.
This niglit intends to steal away your daughter:
Myself am one made'privy to the plot.
I know you have determined to bestow her
Ou Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates ;
And should she thus be stol'n aWay from you.
It would be much vexation to your age.
Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose
To cross my friend in his intended drift
Than, by concealing it, heap on your head
A pack of son'ows which would press you
down, ' 20
Being unprevented, to yourtimeifess grave.
Duke. Proteus, I tluuik thee for thine hon¬
est care ; ' '
Which to requite, command me while I live.
This love of tiieirs myself have often seen.
Haply when they have judged me fast asleep,'
And oftentimes have piirjiosed to forbid
•Sir Valentine her comiiany and my court r
But fearing lest my jealous aim might err
And so unworthily disgrace the man,
A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd, 30
I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find
That which thyself hast now disclosed to the.
And, that thou mayst perceive my fear of this.
Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested,.,
I nightly lodge her in an upper tower.
The key whereof myself have ever kept;
And thence she cannot be colivey'd away. '
Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devilled
a mean
How he her chamber-window will as.eend
And with a corded ladder fetch her down ; 40
Tor which the youthful lover now is gone ^
And this way comes he with it presently ;
Where, if it please you, you may intercept
him.
But, good ray Lord, do it so cuimiiigly
That my discovery be not aimed at ;
For love of you, not hate unto my friend.
Hath made me publisher of this pretence. ,
Duke. Upon mme honor, he shall never
know
That I had any light from thee of this.
Pro. Adieu, my Lord ; Sir Valentine is
aoming. [Exit. 50
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
/20
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
[Aci III.
Enter S'^alentine.
Duke. Sir Valentine, ■whither away so fast ?
Vol. Piease it your grace, there is a mes¬
senger ' '
That stays to bear my letters to my friends,
And I am going to deliver them.
Duke. Be they of much Import ?
Val. The tenor of them dotn but signify
My health and happy being at your court.
Duke. Nay theu, no matter; stay with me
, awhile;
! am to break ■with thee of some affairs
f hat touch me near, wherein thou must be se¬
cret I 60.
'Tis not unknown to thee that I have sought
To match my friend SirThurio to my daugiiter.
Val. I know it well, my Lord ; and, sure,
the match
Were rich and honorable ; besides, the gentle¬
man
Is full of virtue, bounty, worth and quaiities
Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter :
Cannot your Grace win her to fancy him ?
Duke. No, trust me ; she is peevish, sullen,
froward, .
Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty.
Neither regarding tliat she is my child 70
Nor fearing me as if I were her fathet;
And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers.
Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her ;
And, where I thought the remnant of mine
Shouldhave been cherish'd by her child-like
duty,
I now am full resolved to take a wife
And turn her out to who will take her in :
Then let her beauty be her wedding-dower ;
For me and my possessions she esteems not.
Val. What would your Grace have me to '
do in this 1 , 80
Duke tThere is a lady in Verona here
Whom I affect; but she is nice and coy
And nought esteems my aged eloquence :
Now therefore would I have thee to my tutor—
For long agoue I have forgotto court;
Besides, the fashion of the time is changed—
How and which way I may bestow myself
To be regarded in her sun-bright eye.
Val. Win her with gifts, if she respect not
words :
Dumb jewels often in their silent kind 90
More than quick words do move a womah's
miud.
Duke. But she did scorn a present that I
sent her.
Val. A woman sometimes scorns what best
contents her.
Sendheranother; never give her o'er ;
For scorn at first makes after-love the more.
If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you.
But rather to beget more love in you :
If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone ; ■
For why, the fools are mad, if left alone.
Take no repulse, whatever she doth say ; 100
For 'get you gone,' she doth not mean
' away 1'
Flatter and praise, commend, extol their
graces;
Tliough ne'er so black, say they have angels'
faces.
That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man.
If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.
Duke. But she I mean is promised by her
friends
Unto I youthful gentleman of worth.
And kept severely from re.sort of men.
That no man hath access by day to her.
Val. Why, theu, I would resort to her I y
night , lili
Dttke. Ay, but the doors be lock'd and keys
kept safe.
That no man hath recourse to her by night
Val. What lets but oue^ may enter at his
window ?
' Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far Irom the
, ground.
And built so shelving that one cannot climb it
Without apparent hazard of his life. • '
Val. Why then, a ladder quaintly made of
• cords.
To ca.st up, with a pair of anchoring hooks.
Would serve to scale another Hero's tower.
So bold Leander would adventure it. 120
Duke. Now, as thou art a gentleman of
blood.
Advise me where I may have such a ladder.
Val. When would you use it ? pray, sir,
tell me that.
Duke. This very night;; for Love is like a
child, '
That longs for every thing that he can come by.
Val. By seven o'clock I'll get you such a
ladder.
Duke. But, hark thee ; I will go to her
alone :
How shall I best convey the ladder thither ?
Val. It will be light, my lord, that you may
bear it
Under a cioak that is of any len.gth. 130
Duke. A cioak as long as' thine will serve the
turn ?
Val. Ay, my good lord.
Duke. Then let me see thy cloak :
I'll get me one of such another length.
Val. Why, any cloak will servo the turn,
my lord.
Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a
cloak ?
I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.
What letter is this same ? What's here ? ' To
Silvia' 1
And here an engine fit for my proceeding.
I'll be so bold to break the seal for once. 140
[iSeods.
' My thoughts do harbor with my Silvia
nightly, [flying:
And slaves they are to me that send them
O, could their master come and go as lighffy,
Himself would lodge where senseless they
are lying 1
My herald thoughts in tliy pure bosom rest
them;
Scene i.]
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
121
While I, tlieii' king, tliat liither tliem impor¬
tune,
Do curse the grace tliat with such grace hath
bless'd tliem.
Because myself do want my servants' for¬
tune :
I curse myself, for they are sent by me,
That they should harbor where their lord
would be.'
What's here ? 150
' Silvia, this night t will enfranchise thee.'
'Tis so ; and here's the ladder for the purpose.
Why, Phaeton,—for thou art Merops' son,^
Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car
And with thy daring folly burn the world ?
Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on
thee ? ,
Go, base intruder ! overweening slave !
Bestow thy fawning smiles on kjual mates.
And think my patience, more than thy desert.
Is privilege for thy departure hence ;' 160
Thank me for this more than for all the favors
Which all too much I have bestow'd on thee.
But if thou linger in iny territories
Longer than swiftest expedition
Will give thee time to leave our royal court.
By heaven ! my wrath sliall far exceed the
love
I ever bore my daughter or thy.self.
Be gone ! I wlil not hear thy vain exctme ;
But, as thou lovest thy life, make speed from
hence. [Exit.
Val. And why not death rather than living
torment ? 170
To die is to je banish'd from myself ;
And Silvia is myself : banish'd from her
Is self from self; a deadly banishment 1
What light is light, if Silvia be not seen ?
AVhat joy is joy, if Silvia be not by ?
Unless it be to think that she is by
And feed uix)u the .sliadow of perfection.
Eicept I be by Silvia in the night.
There is no music in the nightingale ;
Unless I look on Silvia in the day, 180
'There is no day for me to look upon ;
She is my essence, and I leave to be.
If I be not by her fair influence
Foster'd, illumined, cherish'd, kept alive.
1 fly not death, to fly his deadly doom :
Tarry I here, I but attend on death :
But, fly I hence, 1 fly away from life.
Enter Proteus and L.vunce.
Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out.
Launce. Soho, soho 1
Pro. What seest thou 7 190
Laance. Him we go to find : there's not a
hair on's hes\d but 'tis a Valentine.
Pro. Valentine ?
Val. No.
Pro. Who then 7 his spirit r •
Val. Neither.
Pro. What then 7
Val. Nothing.
LauTtce. Can nothing speak 7 Master, shall
I strike 7
Pro. Who wouldst thou strike ?. 200
Launce. Nothing.
Pro. Villain, forbear. r ,
Launce. Why, sir, I'il strike nothing : I
pray you,—
Pro. Sirrah, I say, forbear. Friend Valen¬
tine, a word. j
Val. My ears are stopt and cannot heai
good news.
So much of bad already hath possess'd them.
Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bar;
mine.
For they are harsh, untuneable and bad.
Vol. Is Silvia dead 7
Pro. No, Valentine. 21'
Vol. No Valentine,, indeed, for sacrec
Silvia.
Hath she forsworn me 7
Pro. No, Valentine.
Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn
me.
What is your news 7
Launce. Sir, there is a proclamation tliat
you are vanished.
Pro. Tliat thou art banished—0, that's tlie
news!— .
From hence, from SUvia and from me tliy
friend.
Val. O, I have fed upon this woe already.
And now excess of it will make me surfeit. 220
Doth Silvia know that I am banished 7
Pro. Ay, ay ; and she hath offer'd to the
doom—
Which, unreversed, stands in effectual force—
A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears:
Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd;
With them, upon her knees, her humble self ;
Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so be¬
came them
As if but now they waxed pale for woe :
But neither bended knees, pure hands held up.
Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-sheddi ig
tears, V 0
Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire;
But Valentino, if he b-> ta'en, must die.
Besides, her in'-ercession chafed him so.
When she for thy repeal was suppliant.
That to close orison he commanded her.
With many bitter threats of biding there.
Val. No more ; unless the next word tlia
thou speak'St
Have some malignant power upon my life :
If so, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear,
As ending anthem '-f my endless dolor. 24(
Pro. Cease to lament for that thou ca.i»j
not help.
And study help for that which thou lament'V
Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.
Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy lcn\ ■
Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life.
Hope is a lover's staff ; walk hence with thj,'
And manage it against despairing thoughts
Thy letters may be here, though thou ar
hence;
W-hich, being writ to me, shall be deliyer'd
Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love. 2?-
122
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
JAct m.
The time no\r serves not to expostulate :
Come, I'll convey thee through the city-gate ;
And, ere I part with thee, eoSer at large
Of all that may concern thy love-affairs.
As thou lovest Silvia, though not for thyself.
Regard thy danger, and along with tne !
Vol. I pray tliee, Lauuce, an if thou seest
my boy.
Bid him make haste and meet me at the North- >
gate.
Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come,Valen¬
tine.
Val. O my dear' Silvia ! Hapless Valen¬
tine ! 2(>0
[Exeunt Val. and Pro.
Latince. I am but a fool, look you ; and
yet I have the wit to thuik my m.aster is a kind
of a knave : but tluit's all one, if he be but one
knave. He lives not now that knows me to be
in love ; yet I am in love \ but a team of hoi-se
shall not pluck that from me ; nor who 'tis I
love; and yet'tis a woman ^ but what woman,
I will not tell myself ; and yet 'tis a milkmaid;
yet 'tis not a maid, for she hath had gossips ;
yet 'tis a maid, for she is her master's maid,
and serves for wages. She hath more qualities
than a water-spaniel; which is much in a bare
Christian. [Pulling out a paper.Here is the
cate-log of her condition. * Imprimis: She can
fetch and carry.' Why, a horse can do no
more : nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only
carry ; therefore is she better than a jade.
' Item: She can milk ;' look yon, a sweet
virtue in a maid with clean hands.
Enter SpekIj.
Speed. How now, Siguior Launce ? What
news with your mastership ? 280
Launce. With my master's ship ? why, it
is at sea.
Speed. Well, your old vice still; mistake
the word. What news, then, in your'paper ?
Launce. The blacke.st news that ever thou
heardest.
Speed. Why, man, how black ?
Launce. Why, as black as ink.
Speed. Let me read them. 290
Launce. Fie on thefei jolt-head ! thOu canst
not read.
Speed. Thou liest; l ean.
Launce. I will try thee. Tell me this: who
begot thee ? '
Speed. Marry, the son of my grandfather.
Launce. O illiterate loiterer! it was the son
of thy grandmother*: this iitoves that thou
canst not read.
Speed. Come, fool, come ; try me in thy
paper. 300
Launce. There; and St. Nicholas be thy
speed !
Speed. [Reads] 'Imprimis: She can milk.'
Launce.' Ay, that she can.
Speed. ' Item : She brews good ale.'
Launce. And thereof comes the proverb :
Blessing of your heart, you brew good ale.'
Speed. ' Item : She can seW.'
Launce. That's as much as to sayt. Can she
so ?
Speed. 'Item : She can knit' 310
Launce. Wliat need a man care for a stock
with a wench, wlieu she can knit him a stock?
Speed. ' Item : She can wash and scour.'
Launce. A special virtue : for then she
need not be washed and scoured. i
Speed. ' Item : She can spin.'
• Launce. "Then may I set the world on wheels,
when she can spin for het' living. t
Speed, -'item: She hath many nameless
virtues.' ■ 320
Launce. That's as much as to say, ba.stard
virtues; that, indeed, know not their fathers
and therefore have no iiames.
Speed. ' Here follow her vices."
Launce. Close at the heels of her virtues.
Speed. ' Item Slie is not to be kissed fast¬
ing, in respect of her breath.'
Launce. Weil, tliat fault may be mended
with a breakfast. Bead on.
Speed. > Item : She bath a sweet mouth.'
Launce. That makes amends for her sour
breath. 331
Speed. ' Item ; She doth talk iii her sleep.'
Launce. It's no matter for t hat, so she sleep
not in her talk.
Speed. ' Item : She is slow in words.' I
Launce. U villain, that set this down among
her vices ! To be slow in words is a woman's
only virtue ; I pray thee, out witli't, and place
it for her chief virtue. 340
Speed. ' Item : She is proud.' i
iMunce. Out with tliat too ; it was Eve's
legacy, aud cannot be ta'en from her.
Speed. ' Item : She hath no teeth.' .
Launce. I care not for that neitlier, because
I love crusts.
Speed. ' Item : She is curst.'
Launce. Well, the best is, side liath no teeth
to bite.
Speed. ' Item I She will often praise her
liquor.' 351
Launce. If her liquor be good, she shall:
if she will not, I will ; for goc^ things should
be praised. , ,
Speed. ' Item : She is too liberal.'
Launce. Of her tongue she c<-innot, for tluit's
writ down she is slow of; of her piu'se slie
shall not, for that I'll keep shut c uow, of an¬
other thing she may, and thaf cannot I help.
Well, proceed. ' 3tiC
■ Speed. ' Item : She hath more hair than wit,
and more faults than hairs, and more wealth
than faults.'
Launce. Stop there ; I'll havb her: she was
mine, and not mine, twice or thrice in that last
article. Rehearse that once more. '
Speed. 'Item: She hath more'hair than
wit,'— ' '
iMunce. More hair than wit ? It may be;
I'll prove it. The cover of the salt hides the
salt, and therefore it is more than tlie salt; tl.a
hair that covers the wit is more than the wit.
for the greater hides the less. Wliat'saiext ?
Scene'HI.]
THE TWO GEHTLEMEN OF VEROH'A.
123
Speed. 'Artd more faults than halts,'—
Lauiux. That's monstrous : O, that thai
were out! ' '
' Speed. 'And mote wealth than faults.'
Launee. Why, that word makes the faults
gracious. Well, I'll have her; and if it be a
match, as notlring is impossible,— '
Speed. What then ? 380
iMunce. Why, then will I tell thei—that
tilt master stays for thee at the North-gate.
Speed. .Forme?
iMunce. For thee ! ay, who art thou ? hW
hath stayed for a better man than thee.
Speed. And must I go to him ?
launee. Thou must run to him', for thoii
hast stayed so long that going will scarce serve
the turn.
Speed. Why didst hot tell me sooner ? pox
of your love-letters ! [Exit. 3!)1
Launee. Now will he be swinged for read¬
ing my letter ; an unmannerly slave, that will
thrust himself into secrets !' I'll after, to re¬
joice in the boy's correction. ' ' [Exit.
ScEN^ JL J7ie satne. The DvKE^spalaee.
Enter Duke and Thukio.
Luke. SirThurio, fear not but that slie will
love yon.
Now 'Valentine is banish'd from her sight.
Thu. Since his exile she hath despised me
' nwst, ' • •
Forsworn my comfiany and rail'd at me.
That I am desperate of obtaining her.
Luke. This weak impress of love is aS a
figure '
Trenched in ice, which with an hour's heat
Dissolves to water and doth lose his form.
A little time will melt her frozen thoughts
And worthless Valentine shall be forgot. 10
1 I ■
Enter Pbotbus.
Uow n'oW, Sir Proteus 1 Is your couiitryinau
According to our pibclamation gone 7 '
Pro. Gone, my good lord.
Luke. My daughter takes his going griev¬
ously. '
Pro. A little time, iHy Ibrd, will kill that
grief. ■ '
Duke. So 1 believe ; but Thurio' thinks not
so. ' '
Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee—
For thou hast shown some sign of good de¬
sert— ' '
Makes me the better to confer with thee.
,Pro. longer than I prove loyal to ydur
grace 20
Let me not live to lOok upon your gnice.
Luke. Thou know'.st how willingly I would'
' effect •
The match between Sir Thurio and my daugh¬
ter.
Pro. I do, my lord.
Luke. And also, I think, thou art not igno¬
rant
How she' opposes her against my will.
Pm She did, my lord, when Valentine waS
here. ■
Luke. Ay, and perversely she perseverS so.
What might we do to make the girl forget
The love of Valentine and love SirThurio 780
Pro. The best way is to slander Valentine
With falsehood, cowardice and poor descent.
Three things that women highly hold in hate.
Luke. 'Ay, but slieflh think that it is spoke
in hate.
Pro. Ay, if his enemy deliver it:
Therefore it mustwith circumstance be spblren
By one whom ^e esteemeth as his friend.
Luke. Then you must undertake to slandei*
hint - I ' ' . i [do!
Pro. < And that, my lord, I shall be loath hJ
'Tis an ill office for a gentleman, . 40
Especially against his very friend.
Luke. Where your' good word catinot ad¬
vantage him, >
Your slander never can endamage him ;
Therefore the office is indifferent, i
Being entreated to it by your friend.
Pro. You liave prevail'd, my lord ; if I can
do it
By ought that I can speak in his dispi-aise.
She shall not long continue love t(^ him.
But say this weed her love from Valentine,
it follows not that She will love .Sir Thurio. ."iO
Thu. ' Therefore, as you 'hiiwiud her love
from him.
Lest it should ravel and be good to none.
You must provide to bottom it on me;
AVhich must be done by praising me as much
As you in worth dispraise Sir Valentine.
Luke. And, Proteus, we dare trust you'in
this kind,
Because we know, on Valentine's report,' '
You are already Love's firm votary
And canuot soou revolt and chaiigc your mind.
Upou this warrant shall you have access ' (10
Where you with Silvia may confer at large ;
For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy.
And, for j'onr friend's sake, will be glad of
you; ■ • ' '
Where you may temper her by your persua¬
sion
Tb hate young Valentine and love my friend.
Pro. As much as I am do, I will effect :
But you. Sir Thurio, are not sharp enough ;
Y'ou must lay lime to tangle her desires •
By wailful sonnets, whose composed riiymes
Slioiild be full-fraught with serviceable vows.
Luke. Ay, . , 71
Much is the force of heaven-hred poesy..
Pro. Say that upon the altiir of her beauty
You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, yoiir
heart :
Write till yonr ink be dry, and with your tears
Moist it again, aud frame some feeling Ime
That may discover sUch integrity:
For Orpheus' lute was strung -with poets'
sinews.
Whose golden touch could softeu steel and
stones, '
Make tigers tame and huge leviathans 80
J2i
Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.
After your dire-lamenting elegies,
Visit by night your lady's chamber-window
With some sweet concert; to their instruments
Tune a deploring dump : the night's dead
silence
Will well become such sweet-complaining
grievance.
This, or else nothing, will inherit her.
Duke. This discipline shows thou hast been
in love. fpractice.
Thu. And thy advice this night 111 put in
Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver,
Let us into the city presently 91
To sort some gentlemen well skill'd in music.
I have a sonnet that will serve the turn
To give the onset to thy good advice.
Duke. About it, gentlemen !
Pro.- We'll wait upon your grace till after
supper.
And afterward determine our proceedings.
Duke. Even now about it I I will ^rdon
you. [Exeunt.
ACT IV.
ScKME I. The frontiers of Mantua. A forest.
Enter certain Outlaws.
First Out. Fellows, stand fast; I see a pas¬
senger.
Bee. Out. If there be ten, shrink not, but
down with 'em.
ErUer Valentine and Speed.
I Third Out. Stand, sir, and throw us that
you have about ye :
U not, we'll make you sit and rifle you.
Speed. Sir, we are undone ; these are the
villains
That all the travellers do fear so much,
Val. My friends,—
First Out. That's not so, sir : we are your
enemies.
Sec. Out. Peace ! we'll hear him.
Third Out. Ay, by my beard, will we, for
he's a proper man. 10
Val. Then know that I have little wealth to
lose:
A man I am cross'd with adversity;
My riches are these poor habiliments.
Of which if you should here disfurnish me.
Yon take the sum and substance that I have.
Sec. Out. Whither travel you ?
Val. To Verona.
First Out. Whence came you ?
Val. From Milan.
Third Out. Have you long sojourned there ?
Val. Some sixteen mouths, and longer might
have stay'd,
K crooked fortune had not thwarted me.
First Out. What,were you banish'd thence?
X
Sec. Out. For what offence ?
Val. For that which now torments me to
rehearse: '
[Act iv.
I kill'd a man, whoso deatli I much repent;
But yet 1 slew him manfully in fight.
Without false vantage or base treachery.
First Out. Why, ne'er repent it, if it were
done so. 30
But were you banish'd for so small a fault ?
Val. I was, and held me glad of such a
doom.
Sec. Out. Have you the tongues ?
Val. My youthful travel therein made me
liapRV.
Or else I often had been miserable.
Third Out. By the bare scalp of Bobin
Hood's fat friar.
This fellow were a king for our wild faction !
First Out. We'll have him. Sirs, a word.
Speed. Master, be one of them ; it's an
honorable kind of thievery. 40
Vol. Peace, villain!
Sec. Out. Tell us this : have you any thing
to take to ?
Val. Nothing but my fortune.
Third Out. Know, then, that some of us
are gentlemen.
Such as the fury of ungovem'd youth
'Thrust from the company of awful men ■
Myself was from Verona banished
For practising to steal away a lady,
An heir, and near allied unto the duke.
Sec. Out. And I from Mantua, for a gentle¬
man, 50
Who, in my*mood, I stabb'd unto the heart.
First Out. And I for such like petty crimes
as these.
But to the purpose—for we cite our faults,
That they may hold excus'd our lawless lives;
And partly, seeing you are beautified
With goodly shape and by your own report
A linguist and a man of such perfection
As we do in our quality much want—
Sec. Out. Indeed, because you are a ban¬
ish'd man.
Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you :
Are you content to be our general ? 61
To make a virtue of necessity
And live, as we do, in this wilderness ?
Third Out. What say'st thou ? wilt thou
be of our consort ?
Say ay, and be the captain of us all :
We'll do thee homage and be ruled by thee.
Love thee as our commander and our king.
First Out. But if. thou scorn our courtesy,
thou diest.
Sec. Out. Thou shalt not live to brag what
we have offer'd.
Vol. I take your offer and will live witl
you, 70
Provided that you do no outrages
On silly women or poor passengers.
Third Out. No, we detest such vile base
practices. '
Come, go with us, we'll bring thee to out
crews.
And show thee all the treasure we have got;
Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose.
[Exeunt.
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VJiRONA.
S.-KN-E It.]
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
125
Scene n. Milan. OuUide th" Dvke'a palace,
under Silvia's chamber.
Enter Proteus,
Pro. Already have I been false to Valen¬
tine
And now I must be as unjust to Thnrio.
Under the color of commending him,
I have access my own love to prefer ;
But Silvia is too fair, too true, too hoiy.
To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.
When I protest true loyalty to her.
She twits me with my falsehood to my friend;
When to her beauty I commend my vows.
She bids me think how I have been forsworn
In breaking faith with Julia whom I loved; 11
And notwithstanding all her sudden quips.
The least whereof would quell a lovers hope.
Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my
love,
Tlie more it grows and fawueth on her still.
But here comes Thurio : now must we to her
window^
And give some evening music to her ear.
Enter Thurio and Musicians.
Thu. How now. Sir Proteus, are you crept
before us ?
Pro. Ay, gentle Thurio : for you know
that love
Will creep in service where it cannot go. 20
Thu. Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not
here.
Pro. Sir, but 1 do ; or else I would be
hence.
Thru Who ? Silvia ?
Pro. Ay, Silvia ; for your sake.
Thu. I tbauk you for your own. Now,
gentlemen.
Let's tune, and to it lustily awhile.
' Enter, at a distance. Host, and Julia in
boy's clothes.
Host Now, my young guest, methinks
you're allycholly : I pray you, why is it ?
Jul. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be
merry.
Host. Come, we'll liave you merry : I'll
7ring you where you shall hear music and see
<he gentleman that y ^u asked for.
Jul. But shall I hear Mm speak ?
Host. Ay, that you ::hall.
Jul. That will be music. [Music plays.
Host. Hark, hark!
Jul. Is he among 'hese ?
Host. Ay : but, peace ! let's hear 'em.
Song.
Who is Silvia ? what is she.
That all our swains coromei^ her ? 40
Holy, fair and wise is she :
The heaven such grace did lend her,
That she might admired be.
Is she kind as she is fair ?
For beauty lives with kindness
Love doth to her eyes repair.
To help him of his blindness,
And, being help'd, inhabits there
Then to Silvia let us sing.
That Siivia is excelling ; , 5A
She excels each mortal tiling
Upon the dull earth dwelling:
To hm; let us garlands bring.
Host. How now I'are yon sadder than yon
were before ? How do yon, man ? the music
likes you not.
Jul. You mistake ; the musician likes me
not.
Host. Why, my pretty youth ?
Jul. He plays false, father.
Host. How r out of tune on the strings t
Jul. Not so ; but yet so false that he
grieves my very heart-strings. ' 61
Host. You nave a quick ear.
Jul. Ay, I would 1 were deaf; it makes
me have a slow heart.
Host. I perceive you delight not in music.
Jul. Not a whit, when it jars so.
Host. Hark, what fine change is in the
music I
Jul. Ay, that change is the spite. 70
Host, ifou would have them always play
but one thing ?
Jul. I would always have one play but one
thing.
But, host, doth this Sir Proteus that we talk
on
Often resort unto this gentlewoman ?
Host. I tell you what Launce, his man,
told me : he loved her out of all nick.
Jul. Where is Launce ?
Host. Gone to seek his dog ; which to¬
morrow, by his master's command, he must
carry for a present to his lady. 80
Jul. Peace! stand aside : the company
parts.
Pro. Sir Thurio, fear not you : I will so
plead
That you shall say my cunning drift excels-
Thu. Where meet we ?
Pro. At Sauit Gregory's well.
Thu. Farewell,
[Exeunt Thu. and Musicians.
Enter Silvia above.
Pro. Madam, good even to your ladyship.
Sil. I thank you for your music, gentle¬
men.
Who is that that spake 1
Pro. One, lady, if you knew his pure
heart's truth.
You would quickly leam to know him by his
voice.
Sil. Sir Proteus, as I take it. 90
Pro. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your
servant.
SU. What's your will ?
Pro. That I may compass yours,
Sil. You have your wish ; my will is even
this :
Tliat presently you hie you home to bed.
126
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
[Act IV.
Thou subtle, perjured, false, 4>eloyal man !
Tliink'st thou t am so sliallow, so couceitless.
To be seduced by thy flattery.
That hast deceived so many with thy vows ?
Return, return, and make thy love amends.
For me, by this pale queen of night I swear,
I am so far from granting thy request 101
That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit.
And by and by intend to dude mysqlt .
Even for this time I spend in talking to thee.
Pro. I grant, sweet love, that I md love a
!but she is iead.
Jul. [Aside} 'Twerq false, if I shonld
speak it; ^ ^ ,
For I am sure she is not buried.
Bit. Say thaj; she be ; yet yalentine thy
friend . ,
Survives ; to whom, thyself art witness, 110
I am betroth'd : and art thou not ashamed,
To wrong him with thy importunacy 1
Pro, I likewise hear that Valentine is dead.
Sit. And so suppose am I ; for in his grave
Assure thvself my love is buried.
Pro. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the
earth, ,
Sil. Go to thy lady's grave and call hers
thence.
Or, at the least, in hers sepulchre thine.
' Jul. [A.iide\ He heard not that. ,
Pro. Madam, if your heart be. so obdurate,
Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love.
The picture that is hanging in your chamber
To that I'll speak, to that I'll sigh and weep :
For since the substance of your perfect self
Is else devoted, I am but a shadow ;
Ajid to your shadow will I make true love.
'Jul. [Aside] If 'twere a substance, you
would, sure, deceive it.
And make it but a shadoiv, as I am. i
Sil. I am very loath to be your idol, sir ;
But since your falsehood shall become you
' well ISO
To worship shadows and adore false shapes,
Send to me in the muruuig and ['il send it;
And so, good rest.
Pro. , As wretches have o'ernight
That wait for ex.cution in tjie morn.
[Exeunt Pro. and Sil. severally.
.Till. Host, will you go ? '
Host. By my halidom, 1 w.as fa.st asleep.^
Jul. P y y,^u, wheiv lies Sir Proteus ?
Host. Marry, at my house.' Trust me, I
think 'tis almost day. ^ ,
Jul. Not so: but it hath been'the' longest
night ' 140
That e'er I watch'd and the most heaviest.
[Exeunt.
Scene HI; The same.
■ Enter Eglamoub. '
Eyl. This is the hour th..tMadam_ llvia
Entreated me to call and kaow her mind ; ,
There's some great matter she'ld enqiloy me
in.
Madam, madam ! ^
Enter Silvia fibove, ^ |
Sil. Who calls ? ,
Egl. Your servant And your friend ;
One that attends your ladyship's command.
Bfl. f Sir Eglamour, p tlmusand times good
morrow.
Egl. As many, worthy lady, to yourself ^
According to your ladyship's impose,. , ,
I am thus early come tq know what service
it is your pleasure to command nie in. 10
Sil. O Eglamour, thou art a gentiemau^
Think not I flatter, for I swear 1 do uots -
Valiant, wise, remorseful, well accomplish'd.;
Thou art not ignorant what dear good will
I bear unto the banish'd Valentine,
Nor how my father would enforce me iparry ,
Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhois, i
Thyself hast loved ; audi have heard, thee say
No grief did ever come so near thy heart t
As when thy lady and thy true love died, 20
Upon whose, grave thou vow'dst piue chastity.
Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine,
'To Mantua, where I hear he makes abode ;
And, for the ways are dangerous to pass,
I do desire thy worthy comimny.
Upon whose laith and honor 1 repose.
Urge not my father's' .anger, Eglamotir,
But think upon my grief, a lady's grief.
And on the justice of my flying hence.
To keep me from a most unholy match,' 30
Which heaven and fortune still i«wards with
' ' plagues.
I do desire thee, even from a heart
As full of sori-owB as the eea of sandS,
To bear me company and go with me v
If not, to hide what'l have said to thee.
That I may venture to depart alone.
Egl. Madam, I pity much your grievances;
Which since I know they virtuously are placed,
I give consent to go along with yon, "
Recking as little what betidetb me . , 40
As much I wish all good befortune you.
When will you go ?
Sil. This evening coming.
Egl. Where shall I meet you ?
Sil. ' At Friar Patrick's cell,
Where I intend holy confession.
Egl. I will not fail your ladyship, Goo'J
morrow, gentle lady.
Sil. Good morrow, kind Sir Eglamour,
[Exeunt severally.
Scene IV. The same.
Enter Launce, ioith Jus, Dog.
Launee. When a man's servant shall piny
the jur with him, look you, it goes hard : one
' hai I brought up of a puppy ; one that I saved
from drowning, when three or four of his'blind
bothers and sisters went to it. I have taught
him, even as one would say pi>ecisely, ' thus I
would teach a dog.' 1 was sent to deliver him as
a prese .t to Mistress Silvia from my master .
and I came no sooner into the diniug-chambet
but he steps me to her trenche^ and steals her
caiiou's leg : , O, 'tis a foul thing wheii cui
SctfNl^ IV.]
'FHt T%VO gentlemen OF VERONA.
127
cannot keep liiraself in ail companies ! I wtonld
have, as one should siiy, one tluit takes npon
him to to a dog Indeed, to be; as it-were, a dog
at all things. If 1 had not had more wit than
he, to take a fault niiou me that he did, i think
verily lie had been hanged for't; sureasi liye,
he liad suffered for't; you shall judge. He
thrusts me himself into the company of three
or four gentlemanlike dogs, under the duke's
taide : he had not b^n there-^bless tiie mark!
^a pissing iwhile, bivt uli the chahiber smelt
him. ' Out with the dog !' says one : < What
cur is tiiat ?' says another: ' Whip him out''
says the third ; 'Hang him up' says the duke.
I, having been acquainted With the smell be¬
fore, knew ic'was Crab, and goes me to the
fellow tha' whips the dogs : ' Friend,' quoth I,
* jfou mean to whip tiie dog ?' ' Ay, many, do
I,' quoth he. ' You do him the more wrong,'
quoth t J ' 'twas I did tlie thing you wot of.'
H'. m.akes me no more ado, but whips me out
of the chamber. How many inasteis would do
this for his serviuit ? Nay,' I'll be sworn, I
have sat in the stocks for puddings he hath
stolen, otherwise he had been executed; I ha\'e
stfx)d on the pillory for geese he hath killed,
otlierwise he had suffered for't. Thou thinkest
not of this now. Nay, I remember the trick
you served me when I took my leave of Madam
Silvia : did not 1 bid thee still mark me and do
as I do ? when didst thou see me heave up my
leg and make water against a gentlewoman's
farthingale ? didst thou ever see me do such a
trick?
Eraer Pkoteus and JuttA.' '
Pro., Sebastian is thy name ? I like ttiee
well
And will employ thee in some service pres¬
ently.
Jul. In what you please : I'll do what I can.
Pro. 1 hope thou wilt.| \ToLauneii] How
, now,,you whoreson peasant!
Where have you been these tvyo days loiteruig 1
Launce., Marry, sir, I.carried Mistress Sil¬
via the dog you bade me^ 50
Pro. And what says she to my little jewel?
Launce. Marry,' she says your dog was a cur,
and tells you currish thanks is good enough for
such a present. •
Pro. But she received my ^og ? .
Launce. No, indeed, did she not; here have
I brought him back again.
Pro. What, didst thou offer her tliis from
me ?
Launce. Ay, sir : the otlier squirrel was
stolen fibm me by the haugman boys in the
market-place: and then I offered her mineown,
who is a dog as big as teu of yours, and there¬
fore the gift the greater. 9 •
Pro. Go get thee hence, and find, my dog
again.
Or ne'er return again into my sight.
.f way, I say ! stay'st thou to vex me here ?
[Exit Launce.
A slave, that still an end turns me to shame !
Sebastian, I have entettaiued thee.
Partly that 1 have need of such a yontti'
That can with some discnetion do my business,
For 'tis no trusting to yond foolish lout, 71
But chiefly for thy face and thy behavior,
W^ich, if my augury deceive me not,
Witness good bringing up, fortune and truth :
Therefore know thou, for this I entertain thee.
Go presently and take this ring with thee.
Deliver it to Madam Silvia : '
She loved me well deliverid it to me.
Jul. It seems yoil loved not her, to leave
her token.
She is dead, belike?
Pro. Not so ; I think she lives. 80
Jul. Alas! , '
Pro. Why dbst thou cry ' alas' ?
Jul. I cannot choose
But pity her.
Pro.' Wherefore shouldst thou pity her ?
Jtrl. Because methinks that she loved yofi
as well ■ "
As you do love your lady Silvia ;
She dreams on him tliat has forgot her love
Y'ou dote on her that cares not for your love.
'Tis pity love should be so contrary ;
And thinking on it makes mccry ' alas !'
Pro. Well, give her that ring and there*
' withal
This letter. That's her chamber. TeU nr?
lady
I claim the promise for her heavenly picture.'
Your message done, hie home unto" my cham¬
ber.
Where thou shalt find me, sad and solitary.
[Exit.
Jul. How many women' would do Such e
message ? '
Alas, poor Proteus ! thou haSt entertain'
A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs. ^
Alas, ix)or fool ! wliy do I pity him '
Ttot with his very heart despiseth me ?
Because he loves her, he despiseth me : 100
Because J love him, 1 must pity him, '
This riim I gave him when he parted from me.
To bind him to remember my good will ;
And now am I, unhappy messenger.
To plead for that which I would not obtain,'
To carry that which I would have refused,
'I'o praise his faith which I would have dis¬
praised.
I am my master's true-confirmed love ;
But cannot be true .servant to my master,
Unless I'prove false traitor to myself. 119
Ydt will I woo for him, but yet so coldly
As, heaven it knows, I would not have him
speed. '
Enter Silvia, attended.'
Gentlewoman, good day ! I pray you, be my
, mean - •
To bring me where to speak with, Madam
Silvia. , ■ ,
Sil. What would you with her, if that 1 be
she ?
128
THH TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
[Act v.
Jul. il you be she, I do eutreat your pa-
tieuce
To hear me speak the message I am seut on.
SU. From whom ?
Jul, From my master, Sir Proteus, madam.
Sil. O, he sends you lor a picture. :;20
Jul. Ay, madam.
HU. Ursula, bring my picture there.
Go give your master this : tell him from me,
')ne Julia, that his changing thoughts forget,
Would better fit his chambM tlian this shadow.
Jal. Madam, please you peruse this letter.—
Paidon me, madam ; I have u:-.advised
Deliver'd you a paper that I should not:
This is the letter to your ladyship.
Sil. I pray thee, let me look on tJiat again.
Jul. It may not be ; good madam, pardon
me. I
Sil. There, hold !
I will not look upon your master's Imes :
I know they are stun'd with protestations
And lull ol new-lound oaths ; which he will
break
As easily as I do tear his paper.
Jul. Madam, he sends your ladyship tills
ring.
Sil. The more shame lor him that he sends
it me ;
Voi I have heard him say a thousand times
His Julia gave it him at his departure. ' 140
Though his false finger have profaned the ring.
Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong.
Jul. She thanks you.
Sil. What say'st thou ?
Jid. I thank you, madam, that you tender
her.
Poor gentlewoman ! ray master wrongs her
much.
Sil. Dost thou know her ?
Jxd. Almost as well as I do know myself :
To think upon her woes I do protest
That I have wept a hundred several times. 150
Sil. Belike she thinks tliat Proteus hath
forsook her.
Jul. I think she doth ; and that's her cause
of sorrow.
Sil. Is she not passing fair ?
Jul. She hath been fairer, madam, than
she is:
When she did think my master loved her well.
She, in my judgment, was as fair as you :
But since she did neglect her looking-glass
And threw her sun-expelling mask away.
The air hath starved the roses in her cheeks
And pinch'd the lily-tincture of her face, 160
That now she is become as black as I.
Sil. How tall was she ?
Jxd. About ray stature ; for at Pentecost,
When all our pageants of delight were play'd.
Our youth got me to play the woman's part.
And I was trimm'd in Madam Julia's gown.
Which served me as fit, by all men's judg¬
ments.
As if the garment had been made for roe :
Therefore I know she is about my height.
And at that time I made her weep agood, 170
For I did play a lamentable part:
Madam, 'twas Ariadne ])as8iouing
For Theseus' perjury and unjust flight;
Which I so lively acted with my tears
That my poor mistress, moved therewithal.
Wept bitterly ; and would I might be dead
If 1 in thought felt not her very sorrow !
Sil. She is beholding to thee, gentle youth.
Alas, poor lady, desolate and left 1
I weep myself to think upon thy words. 18t
Here, youth, there is my purse ; I give th-ae
this
For thy sweet mistress' sake, because th.ju
lovest her.
Farewell. [Exit Silvia, with atterxdantu,
Jul And she Mali thank you for't, if e'er
you know her.
A virtuous gentlewoman, mild and beautiful!
I hope my master's suit will be but cold.
Since she respects my mistress' love so mudi.
Alas, how love can trifle with itself !
Here is her picture : let me see ; I think.
If I had such a tire, this face of mine 190
Were full as lovely as is this of hers :
And yet the painter flatter'd her a little.
Unless I flatter with myself too much.
Her hair is auburu, muie is perfeot yellow :
If that be all the difference in his love,
I'll get me such a color'd periwig. '
Her eyes are grey as glass, and so are mine :
Ay, but her forehead's low, and mine's as
high.
What should it be that he respects in her
But I can make respective in myself, 200
If this fond Love were not a blinded god ?
Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up.
For 'lis thy rival. O thou senseless form,
Thou shalt be worshipp'd, kiss'd, loved and
adored !
And, were there sense in his idolatry,'
My substance should be statue in thy stead.
I'll use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake.
That used me so ; or else, by Jove I vow, •
I should have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes.
To make my master out of love with thee !
[ExU.
ACT V.
Scene I. Milan. An ahhey.
Enter Eolamour.
Egl. The sun begins to gild the western sky;
And now it is about the very hour
That Silvia, at Friar Patrick's ceH, should
meet me.
She will not fail, for lovers break not hours.
Unless it be to come before their time ;
So fnuch they spur their expedition.
See where she comes.
Enter Silvia.
Lady, a happy evening I
Sil. Amen, amen ! Go on, good IJgiar-.vun
Out at the postern by tho abbey-wall:
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 129
Scene iv.)
I fear I am attended by some spies. 10
Egl. Fear not: the forest is not three
leagues off;
If we recover that, we are sure enough.
[Exeunt.
Scene II. The tame. The Duke's palace.
Enter Thubio, Pkoteus, and Julia.
Thu. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my
suit ?
Pro. O, sir, I find her milder tlian she was;
A.nd yet she takes exceptions at your person.
Thu. What, that mj' leg is too long ?
Pro. No ; that it is too little.
Thu. I'll wear a boot, to make it somewhat
rounder.
Jul. [Aside] But love will not be spurr'd
to what it loathes.
Thu. What s.ays she to my face ?
Pro. She says i.* a fair one.
Thu. Nay then, the wanton lies ; my face
is Hack. 10
Pro. But pearls are fair ; and the old say¬
ing is.
Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes.
Jul. [Aside] 'Tu true ; such pearls as put
out ladle::' eyes ;
For I liad rather vink than 1 ^-vk on them.
Thu. How likes she my cisoourse ?
Pro. 1 '1, when yon talk of war.
Thv> 3rt well, when I discourse of love
and peace ?
Jul. [Aside] But better, indeed, when you
hold your peace.
Thu. Wnat says sl/e to my valor ?
Pro. O, sir, she makes no doubt of that. 20
Jul. [Aside] She needs not, when she
knows it cowardice^
Thu. What says she to my birth ?
Pro. That you are well derived.
Jul. [Aside] True ; from a gentleman to a
fool.
271m. Considers she my ix).ssessions ?
Pro. O, ay ; and pities them.
Thtu Wherefore ?
Jtd. [Aside] That such an ass should owe
them." .
Pro. That they are out by lease.
Jul. Here comes the duke. 30
Enter Duke.
Duke. How now. Sir Proteus! how now,
Th'urio!'
Which of you saw Sir Eglamour of late ?
Thu. Not L
Pro. Nor I.
Duke. ' Saw you my daughter ?
Pro. Neither.
Duke. Why then, *
She's tied unto that peasant Valentine ;
And Eglamour is in her comiiany.
'Tis true ; for Friar Laurence met them both,
As be in penance wander'd throngh the forest;
Him he knew well, and guess'd that it ws
she.
But, being mask'd, he was not sure of it; ' 40
Besides, she did intend confession
At Patrick's cell this even ; and there she was
not;
These likelihoods confirm her flight from
hence. ' '
Therefore, I pray you, stand liot to discourse.
But mount you presently and meet with me
Upon the rising of the mountain-foot
That leads towards Mantua, whitlier they are
fled :
Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me.
[Exit.
Thu. Why, this it is to be a peevish girl, .
That flies her fortune when it follows her. 50
I'll after, more to be revenged on Eglamour
Than for the love of reckless Silvia. [Exit.
Pro. And I wKl follow, more for Silvia's
love
Than hate of Eglamour that goes with her.
[Exit.
Jul. And I will follow, more to cross that
love
Than hate for Silvia fliat is gone for love.
[ExiL
Scene HI. The frontiers of Mantua
The forest.
Enter Outlaws xeith Silvia.
First Out. Come, come,
Be patient: we must bring you to our captain.
SU. A thousand more mischances than this
one
Have leam'd me how to brook this patiently.
Sec. Out. Come, bring her away.
First Out. Where is the gentleman that
was with her ?
Third Out. Being nimble-footed, he hath
outrun us.
But Moyses and Valerius follow him.
Go thou with her to the west end of the wood;
There is our captain : we'll follow him that's
fled; . 10
The thicket is beset; he cannot 'scape. ,
First Out. Come, I must bring you to our
captain's cave ;
Fear not; he bears an honorable mind.
And will not use a woman lawlessly.
Sil. O Valentuie, this I endure for thee <.
[Exeunt.
Scene IV. Another part of the forest.
Enter Valentine.
Val. How use doth breed a habit in a man. ,
This shadowy desert, unfrejiiiented woods,
I better brook than flourishing peojiled towns:
Here can I sit alone, unseen of any.
And to the nightingale's complaining notes
Tune my distresses and record my woes.
O thou that do.st inhabit in my breast.
Leave not the mansion so long tenantless.
Lest, growing ruinous, the building'fall
And leave no memory of what It w^as ! • ' 10
Sepair nie with thy presence, Bilvia ; '
130
THE ,
OF VERONA.
[Act t;
Thou geutle nymph, cherish thy forloru swain!
What halloing and what stir is tliis to-day ?
These are my mates, that make tlieir wills
their law.
Have some unhappy passenger in chase.
They love me well; yet I have much to do
To keep them from uncivil outrages.
Withdraw thee, Valentine : who's this comes
here ?
Enter Pkoteus, Silvia, and Julia.
Fro. Madam, this service 1 have done for
you.
Though you respect not aught your servant
doth, 20
To hazard life and rescue you from him
That would have forced your honor and your
love;
Vouchsafe me, for my meed, but one fair look;
A smaller boon tlian this I cannot beg
And less than this, I am sure, you cannot give.
VcU. [Aside] How like a dre^m is this I see
and hear!
Love, lend me patience to forbear awhile.
SiL O miserable, unhappy that I am !
Pro. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I
came;
But by my coming I have made you happy. 30
tSil. By thy approach thou makest me most
unhappy.
■Jul. [Aside] And mc, when he approacheth
to your presence.
Sil. Had I been seized by a hungry lion,
I would have been a breakfast to the beast.
Rather tlian have false Proteus rescue me.
O, Heaven be judge how I love Valentine,
Whose life's as tender to me as my soul!
And full as much, for more th^re cannot be,
I do detest false perjured Proteus.
Therefore be gone ; oolicit me no more. 40
Pro. What diuigerous action, stood it next
to death.
Would I not undergo for one calm look !
O, 'tis the curse in love, and still approved.
When women cannot love where they're be-
* loved!
tiil. When Proteus cannot love where he's
beloved.
.iead over Julia's heart, thy first best love,
tor whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy
faith
Into a thousand oaths ; and all those oaths
De.sceuded into perjury, to love me.
Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou'dst
two; 50
And that's far worse than none ; better have
none
Than plural faith which is too mnch by one:,
Thou counterfeit to thy true friend !
Pro. In love
Who respects friend ?
Six. All men but Proteus.
Pro. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving
words
Can no way change you to a milder form,
I'll woo you like a soldier, at arms' end.
And love you 'gainst the nature of love,(—force
SU. , O heaven 1 [ye.
Pro. I'll force thee yield to my desire.
Vol. Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch.
Thou friend of an ill fashion ! GO
Pro. Valentine!
Val. Thou common friend, that's without
faith or love, ,, . ,
For such is a friend now ; treacherous man 1
Thou hast beguiled my hopes; nought but
mine eye
Could have persuaded me: now 1 dare not say
1 have one friend alive; thou wouldst disprove
me.
Who should be trusted, when one's own right
hand
Is perjured to the bosom ? Pjoteus,
I am sorry I must never trust thee more.
But count the world a stranger for thy sake.
The private wound is deepest; O time most
accurst, ' 71
'Mongst all foes that a friend should be the
worst!
Pro. My shame and guilt confounds me.
Forgive me,Valeutiue : if hearty sorrow
Be a sufficient ransom for offence,
I tender't here ; I do as truly suffer
As e'er 1 did commit.
Vol. Then I am paid ;
And once again I do receive thee honest
Who by repentance is not satisfied
Is nor of heaven nor eartli, for these are
pleased. SO
By pwitence the F.temal's wrath's appeased :
And, that my love may appear plain and free.
All that was mine in Silvia I give tliee.
Jul. O me unhappy 1 f[S'M'ooiw.
Pro. Look to the tJoy.
Val. Why, boy ! why, wag 1 how now'
what's the matter ? Look up ; speak.
Jid. O good sir, my master charged me to
deliver a ring to Madam Silvia, which, out of
my neglect, was never done. 9"
Pro. Where is that ring, boy ?
Jul. Here 'tis ; this is it
Pro. How ! let me see :
Why, this is the ring 1 gave to Julia.
Jul. O, cry you mercy, sir, I have mistook:
This is the ring you sent to Silvia.
Pro. But how camest thou by this ring ?
At my depart
I gave this unto Julia.
Jul. And Julia herself did give it me ;
And Julia herself hath brought it hither.
Pro. How! Julia ! 100
Jul. Behold her that gave aim to all thy
oaths.
And entertain'd 'em deeply in her heart.
How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the rootl
O Proteus, let this habit make thee blush 1
Be thou ashamed that I have took upon me
Such an immodest raiment, if shame live
In a disguise of love :
It is the lesser blot, modesty finds,
Women to change their shapes than men theii
minds.
Scene iv.]
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
131
Pro. Than men tneir minds ! 'tis true. O
heaven ! were man 110
But constant, he were perfect. That one error
Fiils him with faults; makes him run through
all the sins :
Inconstancy falls off ere it begins.
What is in Silvia's face, but I may spy
Mote fresli in Juliais. with a constant eye 9
Vat. Come, come,' a hand from eitlii» :
Let me be blest to make this happy close ;
'Twere pity two such friends should be long
foes. • 1
Pro. Bear witness. Heaven, I have my wish
for ever.
Jul. And I mine. 120
Enter Outlaws, with Duke and Thurio.
Outlaws. A prize, a prize, a prize !
Val. Forbear, forbear, I say f it is my lord
the duke.
Tour grace is welcome to a man disgraced.
Banished Valentine.
Duke. Sir Valentine !
Thu. Yonder is Silvia ; and Silvia's mine.
Val. Thurio, give back, or else embrace
thy death ;
Come not within the measure of my wrath ;
Bo not name Silvia thipe ; if once again,
t Verona shall not hold tliee. Here she stands;
Take but possession of her with a touch : 130
1 dare thee but to breathe upon my love.
Thu. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I;
I hold him but a fool that will endanger
His body for a girl that loves him not; • .
I ciaim her not, and therefore she is thuie.
/)uA». Tlie more degenerate and base art
thou,
To make such means for her as thou hast done
And leave her on such slight conditions.
Now, by the honor of my ancestry,
1 do applaud thy spirit, Valentine, 140
And think thee worthy of an empress' love ; .
Know then, I here forget all former griefs.
Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again.
Plead a new state in thy unrival'd merit.
To which I thus subscribe : Sir Vaientine,
Thou art a gentleman and well derived ;
Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserved
her.
Val. 1 thank yeuif grace j thd s^ft Imth
• made tne happy.
1 now beseech you, for your daughter's sake.
To grant one boon that I shall ask of you. 150
■ iDuke.' J grant it, for thine own, whate'er it
be.
Val. These banish'd men that I have kept
* witiial
Are men endued with worthy qualities ;
Forgive them what they have committed here
And let them be recall'd from their exile :
They are reformed, civil, full of good
And fit for great employment, worthy lord. ^
Duke. Thou hast prevail'd ; I pardon them
and thee :
Dispose of them as thou know'st their deserts.
Come, let us go : we will include all jars 160
'With triumphs, mirth and rare solemnity.
Val. And, as we walk along, I dare be bold
With our discourse to make your grace to
smile.
What think you of this page, my lord ?
Duke. I think the boy hath grace in him ;
he blushes.
Val. I warrant you, my lord, more grace
than boy.
Duke. What mean you by that saying 1
Val. Please you, I'll teli you as we pass
along.
That you will wonder what hath fortuned.
Come, Proteus ; 'tis your penance but to hear
The story of your loves discovered : 171
That done, our day of marriage shall be yours;
One least, one house, one mutual happiness.
{Exeunt.
A
MIDSUMMEE NIGHT'S DEEAM
I
(WRITTEN ABOUT 1593-94.)
INTRODUCTION.
A Mi^snmmer Night's Dream is a strange and beautiful web, woven delicately by a youthful
poet's fancy. What is perhaps most remarkable about the play is the harmonious blending in it of
widely different elements. It is as if threads of silken splendor were run together in its texture
with a yarn of hempen homespun, and both these with lines of dewy gossamer and filaments drawn
from the moonbeams. In North's Plutarch, or in Chaucer's Knight's Tale, Shakespeare may have
found the figures of Theseus and his Amazonian bride ; from Chaucer also (Wife of Bath's Tate),
may have come the figure of the elf-queen (though not her name, Titania), and the story of Pyra-
mus and Thisbe (see Chaucer's Legend of Good Women); this last, however, was perhaps taken from
Goliling's translation of Ovid's Metamorphoses. Oberon, the fairy-king, hiul recently appeared in
Greene's play The Hcottish History of James IV.; Puck, under his name of Robin Goodfellow, was a
roguish sprite, well known in English fairy-lore. Finally, in Montemayor'a Diana, which Shake¬
speare had made acquaintance with before TIte Two Gentlemen of Ferona was written, occur some
incidents which may have suggested the magic effects of the flower-juice laid upon the sleeping
lovers' lids. Taking a little from this quarter and a little from that, Shakespeare created out of such
slight materials his marvellous Dream. The marriage of Duke Theseus and Hippolyta.—who are
classical in name only, being in reality romantic mediaeval figures—sttrrounds the whole, .as it were,
with a magnificent frame. Theseus is Shakespeare's early ideal of a heroic warrior and man of ac¬
tion. His life is one of splendidachievement andof joy;his love is akindof happy victory, his mar¬
riage a triumph. From early morning, when his hounds—themselves heroic creatures —fill the valley
with their " musical confusion," until midnight, when the Athenian clowns end their "yery tragi¬
cal mirth" with a Bergomask dance, Theseus displays his joyous energy and the gracionsness of power.
In contrast with him and his warrior bride, the figures of the young loverslook slight and grace¬
ful, and their love-perplexities and errors are seen to be among the minor and remediable afllictiong
of the world. The mirth of the lovers' partof A iPuIsummerNmht's Dream turns chiefly upon the
incidents, and therefore, as with the brothers Antipholua.in The Comedy of Errors, differences of char¬
acter are not made prominent. Here, as in the Errors, there are entanglements and cross-purposes.
The one play has been named " the mistakes of a day," and the other ♦' the mistakes of a night
but the difference lies deeper than such names intimate ; for in the Errors, the confusion Is ex-er-
nal to the mind, here it is internal; in the Errors, the feelings of the actors remain constant, but
the persons toward whom they are directed take the place, unobserved, one of another; here the
persons remain constant, but their feelings of love, indifference, or dislike are at the mercy of mis¬
chief-making accident. As the two extiemesof exquisite delicacy, of dainty elegance, and, on the
other hand, of thick-witted grossnessand clumsiness, stand tbefairy tribe and the group of Athenian
handicraftsmen. The world of the poet's dream includes the two—a Titania, and a Bottom the
weaver—and can bring them into grotesque conjunction. No such fairy poetry existed anywhere
in English literature before Shakespeare. The tiny elves, to whom a cowslip is tall, for whom the
third part of a minute is an important division of time, have a miniature perfection which is charm¬
ing. They delight in all beautiful and dainty things, and war with things that creep and things that
flv, if they be uncomely; their lives are gay with fine frolic and delicate revelry. Puck, the jestei
of Fairyland stands apart from the rest, the recognizable "lob of spirits," a rough, "fawn-faced,
shock-pated little fellow, a very Shetlander among the gossamer-winged, dainty-limbed shapes
around him." It has been conjectured that A Midsummer Night's Dream was written to grace the
wedding of some noble person—Southampton who wah married in 1598, or Essex who was married
in 1590; but these dates are, the one too late, the other too early. A passage (Act II., Sc. I., L. 88-118)
in which Titania describes the recent ill seasons, wintry summers, flood and fog, would very aptly
correspond with the disastrous years 1593 and 1594. Perhaps we may incline towards 1694 as
the date of the play. It contains a large proportion of rhyming lines ; but the character of the
play naturally calls for this. It has the gaiety, the fancifulness, and the want of either deep
thought or passion which we might expect in an "early drama. It was probably acted before Eliza¬
beth. Tlie praise of " single-blessedness " (Act I., Sc. I., L. 74-78) may have been designed to please the
ears of the maiden queen ; and Oberon's vision (.4ct IT., Sc. I., L. l48-loo) contains a splendid piece
of poetical homage to her. The " fair vestal throned by the west" is certainlv Elizabeth- Twe
quarto editions of the play, of which the second was probably pirated^ were issued in the Jieai ICOOt
SceSe 1.]
A MlI)St/M3/£!lt NIGHT'S DMAM.
loo
DRAMATIS PERS0NJ3.
Theseus, Duke of Athens. ,
Eoeus, fhther to Hermia. ■
Lysandeb, ). ,
Demetrius, ■) 1®^® with Hermia.
Philostratb, master of the revels to Th^
sens.
t^TNCE, a carpenter.
Snug, a joiner.
Bottom, a weaver.
Feutb, a bellows-mender.
SN9UT, a tinker.
SxABVELUtG, a tailor.
Hippolyta, queen of the Amazons, betrothed
to Theseus.
Hermia, daughter to Egeus, in love with Lj -
sander.
Heeeea, in love with Demetrius
Oberon, kingof the fairies.
Titania, queen of the fairies.
Puck, oy Robin Goodfellow.
Peaseblossom,
Cobweb,
Moth,
Mustardseed,
Other fairies attending their King and Queen.
Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta.
Scene : Athens, and a wood near it.
fairies.
ACT I.
Scene I. Athens. The palace of Theseus.
Knler Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate,
and Attendants.
The. Kow, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour
Draws on apace ; four happy days bring in
Another moon : but,, O, methiiiks, how slow
'Hiis old moon wanes ! she lingers my desires.
Like to a step-dame or a dowager
Long withering out a young man's revenue.
Hip. Four days willqiiickly steep themselves
in night ;
Four nights will quickly dream away the time;
And then the moon, like to a silver bow 10
New-bent in heaven, shall behold the night
Of our solemnities.
The. Go, Philostrate,
Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments -
Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth ;
Turn melancholy forth to funerals ; , ,
The pale companion is not for our pomp.
, [Evib Phdostrate.
Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword,
Aiid won thy love, doing thee injuries
But I will wed thee in another key,.
With pomp, with triumph and with revelling.
Enter FkiEus, Hermia, Lysander, and
Demetrius.
£qe: Happy be Theseus, bUr'' renowned
■ dukef '20
The. Thanks, good Egeus: what's the news
with thee ?
Ege. Full of vexation come* I, with com-
plgint
Against my child, "my daughter Hepiia.
Stand forth, Demetrius. My noble lord,
This man hath my consent to marry her.
Stand forth, Lysander: and, my gracious
duke.
This man hath bewitch'd the bosom of my
child ;
Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her
rhymes
And interchanged love-tokens with my child :
Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung
With feigning voice verses of feigning love, 31
And stolen the impression of her fantasy
With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, con¬
ceits.
Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats, messen¬
gers
Of strong prevailment in nnhardcn'd youth :
With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's
heart,
Tnrn'd her obedience, which is due to me.
To stubborn harshness : and, my gracious
duke.
Be it so she will not here before your grace
Conj;ent to marry with Demetrius, 40
I beg the ancient privilege of Athens,,
As she is mine, I may dispose of her :
Which shall be either to this gentleman
Or to her death, according to our law
Immediately piovided in that case.
The. what say you, Hermia 7 be advised,
fair maid ;
To you your father should be as a god ;
One that composed your- beauties, yea, and
one
To whom you are but as a form in wax
By him imprinted and within his power 50
To leave the figure or disfigure it
Demetrius is a worthy |;enUeman.
Her. So is Lysander.
The. In himself he is ;
But in this kind, wanting your father's voice.
The other must be held the worthier. i
Her. I would my father look'd but with my
eyes.
The. Ralher your eyes must with his judg¬
ment look.
Her. I do entreat your grace to pardon me.
I know not by what power I am made bold.
Nor how it may concern my modesty, 60
In such a presence here to plead my thoughts;
But I beseech your grace that I may know
134
A MIDSUMMER
NIGHT'S dream.
[Act i.
The worst that may befall me in this case,
If I refuse to wed Demetrius.
The. Either to die the death or to abjure
For ever the society of men.
Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires;
Know of yonr youth, examine well your blood,
Whether, if you yield not to your father's
ehoice,
You can endure the livery of a nun, '70
For aye to be in s-hady cloister mevrdl
To live a barren sister all yonr life.
Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitiest
moon.
Thrice-blessed they that master so their blood.
To undergo such maiden pilgrimage ;
But earthlier happy is tne rose distilTd,
Than that which withering on the virmn thorn
Grows, lives and dies in single blessedness.
He}'. So will I grow, so live, so die, my
lord.
Ere I will yield my virgin patent up 80
Unto his lordsiiip, whose unwished yoke
My soul consents not to give sovereignty.
The. Take time to pause ; and, by tlie next
new moon— ,
The sealingrslay betwixt my love and me.
For everlasting bond of fellowship—
Upon that day either prepare to die
For disobedience to yonr father's will.
Or else to wed Demetrius, us he would ;
Or on Diana's alta~ to protest
For aye austerity and single life. 90
Hem. Relent, sweet Hermia : and, Lysan-
der; yield
Thy crazed title to my certiiin right. ,
D/t. You have her lather's love, Derao-
trins I
Let me have Hermia's ; do you marry him.
Effe. Scornful Lysander ! true, he hath my
love,
And what is mine-my love shall render him.
And she is mine, and all my right of her
I do estate unto Demetrius.
Li/s. I am, my lord, as well derived as he,
As well possess'd ; my love is more than his ;
My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd, 101
If not with vantage, as Demetrius';
And, which is more than all tliese boasts can
be,
I am beloved of beauteous Hermia :
Why should not I then prosecute my right ?
Demetrius, I'll avouch it to his head, •<
Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena,
Aud won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes,
Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry.
Upon this spotted and inconstant man. 110
The. I must confess that 1 have heard so
much, ' I
And with Demetrius thought to have, spoke
, thereof ;
But, being over-full of self-affairs.
My mind did lose it. But, Demetrius, come ;
And come, Egens ; you shall go with me,
I have some private schooling for yon both.
For yon, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself
To fit your fancies to your fathes^a will;
Or else the law of Athens yields you up—
WWch by no means we may extenuate— 120
To death, or to a vow of single life.
Come, my Hippolyta : what cheer) my love f
Demetrius and Egens, go along I
I must employ you in some business
Against our nuptial and confer with yoit
Of something nearly that concenw yourselves.
Effe. With duty'and desire we follmv you.
[Exeunt all but Lysetndev and Hermia.
Lys. How now, my love ! why is your oheefc
so pale ?
How chance the roses there do fade so fast ?
Her. Belike for want of rain, whieli I cputd
well .130
Beteem them from the tempest of my eyes.
Lys. Ay me ! for aught that I eould eveir
read,
Could ever hear by tale or history.
The course of true love never did run smooth ;
But, either it was different in blood,— ^
Her. O cross I too high to be enthraU'd to
low.
Lys. Or else misgraffed in respect of
yeai-s,—
Her. O spite 1 too old to be engaged to
young.
Lys. Or else it stood upon the choice of
friends,— ' .
Her. O hell! to choose love by another's
eyes. - 140
Lys. Or, if there were a sympathy in
choice.
War, deatli, or sickness did lay siege t»;t.
Making it momentary as a sound.
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream ;
Brief as the lightning in the co'llied night,. i
That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and
earth.
And ere a man hath power to say ' Behold !'
The jaws of darkness do devour it up :
So quick bright things come to confusion.
Her. If then true lovers have been ever
cross'd, 150
It stands as an edict in destiny ;
Then let us teach our trial patience,
Because it is a customary cross.
As due to love a.s thoughts and dreams aud
sighs.
Wishes and tears, jwor fancy's followers.
Lys. A good persuasion : therefore, hear
me, Hermia.
I have a widow annt, a dowager
Of great revenue, and she hath no child :
From Athens is her house rempte seven
leagues ;
And she respects me as her only son. 160
There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee ;
Aud to that place the sharp Athenian law
Cannot pmsne us. If thou lovest me then, .
Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night;
And in the wood, a league without the town.
Where I did meet tlieejmce with Helena,
To do observance to a morn of May,
There will I stay for thee.
Her. My good Lysander'
Scene ii.]
A MIDSUMMER NfGHT'S DREAM.
136
I swear to thee, by Cupid's strongest bow,
By his best arrow with the golden head, 170
By the simplicity of Venus' doves.
By that which huitteth souls and prospers
loves.
And by that fire which bum'd the Carthage
queen.
When the false Troyan under sail was sfeen.
By all the vows that ever men have broke.
In number more than ever women spoke.
In that same place thou hast appointed me.
To-morrow truly will I meet with thee.
Lj/s. Keep immise, love. Look, here comes
Helena. '
Enter Helena.
Her. God speed fair Helena 5 whither
away ? 180
Hel. Call you me fair ? that fair again un¬
say.
Demetrius loves your fair; O happy fair I
Your eyes are lode-stars ; and your tongue's
sweet air
More tuneable than l^k to shepherd's ear.
When wheat ia green, when hawthorn buds
appear.
Sickness is catching : O, were favor so.
Yours would 1 catim, fair Hermia, ere 1 go ;
My ear should catch your voice, iny eye your
eye,
My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet
melody.
Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated,
The rest I'd mve to be to you translate. 191
O, teach me how you look, and with what art
You sway tlie motion of Demetrius' heart
Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves me
still. t
Hel. O that your frowQS would teach my
smiles such skill!
Her. I give him curses, yet he gives me
love.
Hel. O that my prayer? could such affection
move'
Ikr. The more I hate, the more he follows
me.
Jkl, The more I love, the more he hateth
me.
Her J His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine,
Hel. None, but your beauty : would tliat
fault were mine ! 201
Her. Take comfort: be no more shall see
my face ;
Lysander and myself wiU fly this place.
Before the time 1 did Lysander se^ !
Seem'd Athens as a paradise to me :
O, then, what graces in my love do dwell.
That he hath tum'd a heaven unto a hell!
I Lys. Helen, to you our minds we will un¬
fold ; ♦
/ To-morrow night, when Phoebe doth behold
Her silver visage in the watery glass, 210
Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass,
A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal.
Through Athens' gates have we devised to
steal.
Her. I And in the wood, where often you
and I
Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie,
Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet.
There my L.ysander and myself shall' meet;
And thence from Athens turn away our eyes.
To seek new friends and stranger cbiupauies.
Farewell, sweet playfellow : pray thou for us ;
And good luck grant thee thy D^etrius ! 221
Keep word, Lysander : we must starve our
sight •
From lovers' food till morrow deep midnight.
Djs. I will, my Hermia. [Exit Herm.
Heleim, adieu :
As you on him, Demetrius dote on you !
[ExU.
Hel. Hotv happy some o'er other some can
be!
Through Athens 1 am thought as fair as she.
But what of that 7 Demetrius thinks not so ;
He wili not know what all but he do know ;
And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes, 230
So 1, admiring of his qualities :
Things base and vile, holding uo'qnantity,
lx>ve can transpose to form and dignity ;
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the
mind ;
And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind :
Nor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste;
Wings and no eyes figure unheed.y haste :
And therefore is Love said to be a child,
Becau.se in choice he is so oft beguiled.
As waggish boys in game themselves forswear.
So the boy Love is perjured every where ; 241
For ere Demetrius iook'd on Hermia's eyne.
He hail'd down oaths that he was only mine ;
And when this hail some heat fronrHemiia
felt.
So he dissolved, and showers of oaths did melt.
1 will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight:
Then to the wood will he to-morrow night
Pursue her; and for this intelligence
If 1 have thanks, it is a dear exiieuse :
But herein mean 1 to enrich ray pain, 250
To have his sight thither and back again.
. [Exit.
Scene H. Athens. Quince's hous^.
Enter Quince, Snuo, Bottom, Flute, Snout,
and Stakveling.
Quin. Is all our company here 7
Bot. You were best to cab them generally,
man by man, according to the scrip.
Quin. Here is the scroll of every man's
name, which is thought fit, through all Athens,
to play in our interlude before the duke and
the duchess, on his wedding-day at night.
Bot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the
play treats on, then read the names of the
actors, and so grow to a point. 10
Quin. Marry, our play is. The most lament¬
able comedy, and most cruel death of Pyra¬
mus and Thisby. ,
Bot. A very good piece of work, I assure
you, and a merry. Now, good Peter Quince^
136
A MIDSC/JfMEJi NIGHT'S DREAM.
IAct 11.
call forth year actors by the scroll. Masters,
spread yourselves.
Qidn. Auswerasl call you. Nick Bottom,
the weaver. 20
B<yt. Ready. Name what i>art I am for,
and proceed.
Qain. You, Nick Bottom, are set' down for
Pyrainus.
Dot. What is Pyramus ? a lover, or a ty¬
rant 1
Qiiin. A lover, that kills himself most gal¬
lant for love.
Bot. That will ask some tears in. the true
performing of it; if I do it, let the audience
look to their eyes ; I will move storms, I will
condole in some measure. To the rest: yet
my chief humor is for a tyrant: 1 could play
Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to
make all split.
The raging rocks
And shiveriug shocks
Shall break the locks-
Of prison gates; .
And Phibbus' car
Shall shine from far
And make and mar
The foolish Fates. 40
This was lofty ! Now name the rest of the
players. This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein ;
a lover is more condoling.
Quin. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender.
Flu. Here, Peter Quince.
Quin. Flute, you must take Thisby on you.
I'lu. What is 'f hisby ? a wandering knight ?
Quin. It is tlie lady that Pyramus must
love.
Fht. Nay, faith, let me'not play a woman ;
^ have a beard coming. 60
Quin. That's all one: you shall play it in a
mask, and you may speak as small as you
will.
Bot. An I may hide my face, let me play
Thisby too, I'll speak in a monstrous uttle
voice, ' Thisne, Thisne ;' ' Ah, Pyramus, my
lover dear! thy Thisby dear, and lady dear !'
Quin. No, no ; you must play Pyramus:
and. Flute, you Thisby.
Bot. Well, proceed.
Quin. Robin Starveling, the tailor. 60
fStar. Here, Peter Quince.
Quin. Robin Starveling, you mu.st play
Thisby's mother. Tom Snout, the tinker.
Snout. Here, Peter Quince.
Quin. You, Pyramus' father : myself,
Thisby's father. Snug, the joiner ; you, the
lion's part: and, I hope, here is a play fitted.
Snug. Have you the lion's part written ?
pray you, if it be, give it me, for I am slow of
study.
Quin. You may do it extempore, for it is
nouiing but roaring, 71
Bot. Let me play the lion too: I will roar,
that I will do any man's heart good to hear
me ; I wiU roar, that I will make the duke say
' Let him roar again, let him roar again.'
Quin. An you should do it too terribly, yod
would fright the duchess and the ladies, that
they would shriek ; and that were enough to
hang us all.
Ml, That would hang us, every mother's
son.
Bot. I grant you, friends, if that wu should
fright the ladies out of their wits, they would
have no more discretion but to hang us : but
I will aggravate my voice so that I will roar
you as gently as any sucking dove; I wiU
roar you an 'twere any nightingale.
Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus ;
for Pyramus is a sweet-faced man ; a proper
man, as one shall see in a summer's day ; a
most lovely gentlemanrlike man: therefore
yon must needs play Pyramus. 91
Bot. Well, I will undertake it What
beard were I best to play it in ?
Quin. Why, what you will.
Bot. I will discharge it in either your straw-
color beard, your orange-tawny beard, your
purple-in-grain beard, or your French-crown-
color beard, your perfect yellow.
Quin. Some of your French crowns have no
hair at all, and then yon will play barefaced.
But, masters, here are your jxirts: and I am
to entreat you, request you and desire you, to
con them by to-morrow night; and meet me
in the palace wood, a mile without the town,
by moonlight; there wiU we rehearse, for if
we meet in the city, we shall be dogged wifii
company, and our devices known. In the
meantime I will draw a bill of properties, such
as our play wants. I pray you, fail me not.
Bot. We will meet; and there we may re¬
hearse most obscenely and courageously. Take
pains ; be perfect: adieu.
Quin. At the duke's oak we meet.
Bot. Enough ; hold or cut bow-stri^.
. \&eunl.
ACT U.
ScENB I. A wood near Athens..
Enter, from opposite sides, a Fairy, and Puck.
Puck. How now, spirit I whither wander
you ?
Fai. Over hill, over dale.
Thorough bush, thorough brier.
Over park, over pale.
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
1 do wander everywhere.
Swifter than the moon's sphere ;
And I serve the fairy queen.
To dew her orbs upon t'.ie green.
The cowslips tall her pensioners be ; 10
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favors.
In those freckles live their savors:
I must go seek somedewdrops here
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
Farewell, thou lob of spirits ; I'll be gone :
, Our queen and all our elves come here anon.
Scene i.]
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.
137
Puck. The kiug doth keep his revels here
to-night:
Take heed the queen come not within bis
sight;
For Oberon is passing fell and wrath, 20
Because that she as her attendant hath
A lovely hoy, stolen from an Indian king •,
She never had so sweet a changeling ;
And jealous Oberou would have the child
Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild ;
But she perforce withholds the loved boy.
Crowns him with flowers and makes him all
her joy :
And now they never meet in grove or green.
By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen,
But they do square, that all their elves for
fear 30
Creep uito acom-cups and hide them there.
Fai. Either I mistake your shape and
makmg quite.
Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite
Call'd Bobin Goodfellow : are not you he
Tltat frights the maidens of the villagery ;
Skim muk, and sometimes labor in the quern
And booties make the breathless housewife
chum;
And sometime make the drink to bear no
barm:
Mislead nignt-wauderers, laughing at their
' harm 7 • -
Those that Hobgoblin call you and sweet Puck,
You do their work, and tliey sliall have good
luck:
Are not you he 7
Puck. Thou speak'st aright;
I am titat merry wanderer of the night.
I jest to Oberon and make him smile
When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile.
Neighing in likeness of a filiy foal:
And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl.
In very likeness of a roasted crab.
And when she drinks, against her lips I bob
And on her wither'd dewlap pour the ale. 50
The wisest annt, telling the saddest tale.
Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me ;
Then slip I from her bum, down topples she,
Aud ' tailor' cries, and falb into a cou^h ;
And then the whole quire hold their hips aud
laugh.
And waxen in their mirth and neeze and
fwear
A merrier hour was never wasted there.
But, room, fairy ! here comes Oberon.
Fai. And here my mistress. Would that
he were gone !
Enter, from one side, Oberon, with his train;
from, the other, Titania, with hers.
Obe. Ill met by moonlight, proudTitania.
Tito. What, j^ous Oberon ! Fairies, skip
hence: 61
I have forswom his bed and company.
05e. Tarry, rash wanton : am not I thy
lord 7
Tito. Then I must be thy lady ; but I know
When thou hast stolen away from fairy land,
And in the shape of Corin sat all day.
Playing on pipes of com aud versing love
To amorous Phillida. Why art thou here.
Come from the farthest steppe of India 7 .
But tliat, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon, 70
Yonrbuskhi'd mistress and your warrior love.
To Theseus must be wedded, aud you come
To give their bed joy and prosperity.
Obe. How canst thou thus for shame, Tita¬
nia,
Glance at my credit with Hippolyta,
Knowing I know thy love to Theseus 7
Didst thou not iead him through the glimmer¬
ing night
From Perigenia, whom he ravished 7
Aud make him with fair rEgle break his faith.
With Ariadne and Autioiia 7 80
Tito. These are the forgeries of jealousy :
And never, since the middle summer's sprmg.
Met we on hill, in dale, forest or mead,
By paved fountain or by rushy brook,
Or in the beached margent of the sea.
To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, .
But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our
sport
Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain,
As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea
Contagious fogs ; which falling in the laud 90
Have every pelting river made so proud
That they nave overborne their continents :
The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in
vain.
The ploughman lost his sweat, aud the green
com
Hath rotted ere his youth attain'd a beard ;
The fold stands empty in the drowned field.
And crows are fatted with the murrion fiock ;
The nine men's morris is fill'd up with mud'.
And the quaint mazes in the wanton green
For lack of tread are nudistinguishable : 100
The human mortals want their winter here ;
No night is now with hymn or carol blest:
Therefore the moon, the governess of floods.
Pale in her an^er, washes all the air.
That rheumatic diseases do abound :
And thorough this distemperature we see
The seasons alter : hoary-headed frosts
Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose.
And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown
An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds 110
Is, as in mockery, set : the spring, the sum¬
mer.
The childing autumn, angry winter, change
Tlieir wonted liveries, and the mazed world,
By their increase, now knows not which is
which :
And this same progeny of evils comes
From our debate, from our dissension ;
We are their parents and original.
Obe. Do you amend it then; it lies in you:
Why should Titania cross her Oberon 7
I do but beg a little changeling boy, 120
To be my henchman.
Tita. Set your heart at rest:
Tlie faii^ land buys not the child of me.
His mother was a votaress of my order :
138
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.
Act ih
And, in the s'jjicied Indian'air, by night.
Full often hath she gossip'd by my sido.
And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands.
Marking the embarked traders on the flood.
When we have laugh'd to see the sails con-
' eeive
And grow big-bellied with the wanton wind ;
Which she, with pretty and with swimming
gait law
Following,—her womb then rich with my
young sqnire,—
Would imitate, and sail upon the land.
To fetch me trifles, and I'etum again.
As from a voyage, rich with merchandise.
But she, being mortal, of that boy did die ;
And for her sake do I rear up her boy.
And for her sake I will not part with him.
Obe. ^ How long within this wood intend
you stay ?
Tita. Perchance till after Tbeseus' wed¬
ding-day.
If you will patiently dance in our round 140
And see our moonlight revels, go with us ;
If not, shun ine, and I will spare your haunts.'
Obe. Give me that boy, and I will go with
thee.
Tita. Not for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies,
away !
We shall ciiide downright, if I longer stay:
[Exit Titania with her train.'
Obe. Well, go thy way: thou shalt not
from this grove
Till I torment thee for this injury.
My gentle Puck, come hither. Thott remem-
berest
Since once I sat upon a promontory.
And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back 150
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath
That the rude sea grew civil at her song
And certain stars shot madly from their
spheres, ' '
To hear the sea-maid's mUsic.
Puck. I remember.
Obe. That very time I saw, but thou
couldst not,
Flying between the dold moon and the earth,
Cupid all arm'd ; a certain aim he took
At a fair vestal throned by the west,
And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his
bow.
As it should pierce a hundred thousand
hearts; 1(50
But I might see young Cupid's flery shaft
Quench'd In the chaste beams of the watery
moon.
And the imperial votaress passed oh.
In maiden meditation, fancy-free.
Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell:
It fell upon a little western flower.
Before milk-white, now purple with love's
wound,
And maidens call it love-in-idleness. '
Fetch me that flower ; the herb I shew'd thee
once :
The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid 170
Will make or man or woman madly dote
Uljon the next live creature that it sees. i
Fetch me this herb ; and be thou here again
Ere the leviathan can swim a league.;
Puck. I'll put a girdle round about the
earth ' • • i i '
In forty minutes. ' [Exit.
Obe. ' Having once this juice,
I'll watch Titania when she is asleep.
And drop the liquor of it in her eyes.
The next thing then she waking looks upon.
Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull, I 180
On meddling monkey, or on busy ape,
She shall pursue it with the soul of love :
And ere I take this charm from off her sight '
As I can take it with another herb,
I'll make her render up her page to me. i
But who comes here ? I am invisible ;
And I will overhear their conference.
(
Enter Demetrius, 'H.msESX following him.
Dem. I love thee not, therefore pursue me
not. • .1
Where is Lysander and fair Hermia ?
Tlie one I'll slay, the other slayeth me. 190
Thou told'.st me they were stolen unto this
wood ;
And here am I, and wode within this wood,
Because I cannot meet my Hermia..
Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more:
IM. You draw me, you hard-hearted ada¬
mant ; I
But yet you draw not iron, for my heart
Is true as steel: leave you your power to
draw, 1
And I shall have no power to follow you. ■ i
Dem. Do I entice you? do I speak yon'
fair ? I
Or, rather, do I not in plainest truth ' ' SV.
Tell you, I do not, nor I cannot love you 3
l/ei. And even for that do I love jkmi thf
more. • i
I am your spaniel ; and, Demetrius,
The more you beat me, I will fawn on you :
Use me but as your s{mniel, spurn, me,, strike
me.
Neglect me, lose me ; only give me leave,
Unworthy as I am, to follow you..
Wiiat worser place can I beg in your love,-!-
And yet a place of high respect with me,—
Than to be used as you use your dog ? 216
Dem. Tempt not too much the hatred of
my spirit.
For I am sick when I do look on tliee.
Hel. And I am sick when I look net on you.
Dem. You do impeach your moctesty too
much,
To leave the city and commit yourself
Into the hands of one that loves you not;
To trust the opportunity of night I
And the ill counsel of a desert place.
With the rich worth of your virginity.
Rel. Your virtue is my privilege ; lor thait
It is not night when I do see your faoe, ,.221
Therefore I think I am not in the night;
Nor doth this wood lack worlds of comply.
For you in my resnect ace aU the world : '
SCE}(B II.]
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DRE4M.
139
Then how can it be said I aro alone,
When all the world is here to look on ine 1,
Dem. I'll run from thee and hide me ill
the brakes, > ,
And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts.
Hel. The wildest hath not such a heart as
you.
Run when you will, the story shall be changed:
Aijollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase; 234
The dove pursues the griflin : the mild'hind
Makes speed to catch the' tiger ; bootless
speed, I
When cowardice pursues and valor flies.
Dem. ^ I will not stay thy questions ; let me
Or, if ^ou follow me, do not believe •
But I shall do thee mischief iu the wood.
Hel. Ay, in the temple, in the towuk the
field.
You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius!
Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex : 240
We cannot fight for love, as men may do ; '
We should be woo'd and were not made to
woo. [Exit Bern.
I'll follow thee and make a heaven of hell.
To die upon the band 1 love so well. [Exit.
Obe. Fare thee well, nymph : ere he do
leaVe this grove, i
Tliou shalt fly him and be shall seek thy love.
Re-en(ev Fuck.
Haet thou the flower there ? Welcome, wan?
derer.
Puchj Ay, there it is. ,
Obe. ■ I pray thee, give it me,
I know a bank where the wud thyn.e blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
tUuite over-canopied with luscious woodbine.
With sweet musk-roses and with ^lautiue : ,
There sleeps Titania sometime of the night,
LuU'd in these flowers, with dances and de-
' light;
And there the snake throws lier enameU'd
skin.
Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in :
And with tlie juice of this I'll streak her eye.s.
And make her full of hateful fantasies
Take thou some of it, and seek through this
grove:
A sweet Athenian lady is in love 2ti0
With a disdainful youth : anoint his eyes ;
But do it when the nextthing he espies ,
May be the lady : thou shalt know the man
By the Athenian garments he hath ui- •
Effect it with some care, that he may prove
More fond on her than die upon her love :
And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow.,
Puck. Fear not, my lord, your servant
shall do so. ' [Exeunt,
Scene Ik Another part of the teoofl.
'Enter TiTANIA, ieith train.
Tita, Come, now a, roundel and a fairy
song; I
Then, for the third part of a.minute, hence ;
Some to kiU cankers in the musk-rose buds.
Some war with rere-mice for their leathern
. wings, ,
To make my small elves pdatij, and some keep
back ,
The clamorous, owl that nightly hoots (ind
wonders
At our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep ;
Then to your offices and let me rest.
The Fairies sinr/.
You spotted snakhs with double tongue.
Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen ; IJ
. Kewts and blind-worms, do no wrong.
Come not near our fairy queen.
Philomel, with melody
Sing in our sweet lullaby ;
Lulla,.lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby
Never harm.
Nor spell nor chariti.
Come our lovely lady nigh ; ■
So, good night, with lullaby.
• Weaving spiders, come uot here ; 20
Heilce, you long-legg'd spmners, hence !
Beetles black, approach not near ;'
Worm nor snail, do no offence.
Philomel, with melody, &c.
A Fairy. Hence, away 1 now all is well :
One aloof stand sentipel.
[Exevnt Fairies. Titania sleeps.
I
Enter Oberon, and squeezes the flower on
Titania's eyelids.
Obe. What thou seest when thou dost wake.
Do it for thy true-love take,
Love and languish for his sake:
Be it ounce, or cat, or bear. 30
Pard, or boar with bristled hair,
In thy eye that shall ajipear
When tliou wakest, it is thy dear :
Wake when some vile thing is'near.
' ' [Exit.
Enter Lysander and Hermia.,
Lys. Pair lovd, j'ou faint with wandering
in the wood ;
lA.nd to speak troth, I have forgot Our way :
We'll rest us, Herraia, if you think it good.
And tarry for the comfort of the day.
.Her. Be it so, Lysander : find you out a
' bed ; '
For I upon this bank will rest my head. 40
Lys. One turf shall serve as pillow for us
both;
One heart, one bed, twb bosoms and one
troth.
Her. Nay, good Lysander ; for my sake,
my dear.
Lie further off yet, do not lie so near. '
Lys. O, take the sense,' sweet, of my inno¬
cence 1 ' '
Love takes the meaning in love's conference.
I mean, that my heart unto yours is knit
So that but one heart we can make of it;
146
A MIDSUMMER moUT'S DREAM.
[Aot ii.
Two bosoms iuterchained with an oath ;
So then two bosoms and a single troth. 50
Then by your side no bed-room me deny ;
For lying so, Hermia, I do not lie.
Her. Lysander riddles very prettily :
Now mnch beshrew my manners and my
pride,
If Hermia meant to say Lysander lied.
But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy
Lie further off : in human modesty.
Such separation as may well be said
Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid,
So far be distant: and, good night, sweet
friend : 60
Thy love ne'er alter till thy sweet life end!
Lys. Amen, amen, to that fair prayer, say
1 >
And then end life when I end loyalty !
Here is my bed : sleep give thee all his rest!
Her. With half that wish the wisher's eyes
be press'd ! [T/iey sleep.
Enter Puck.
Puck. Through the forest have I gone
But Athenian found I none,
Ou whoso eyes I might approve
This flower's force in stirrmg love.
Night and silence.—Who is here ? 70
Weeds of Atliens he doth wear :
Tliis is lie, my master said.
Despised the Athenian maid ;
And hei'e the maiden, steeping sound.
On tlie dank and dirty ground.
Pretty soul! she durst not lie
Near tliis lack-love, this kill-courtesy.
Churl, upon thy eyes I throw
All the power this charm doth owe.
When thou wakest, let love forbid 80
Sleep his seat on thy eyelid ;
So awake when I am gone ;
For I must now to Oberon. [Exit.
Enter Demetuius and Heleka, running.
Hel. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet
Demetrius.
Dem. I charge thee, hence, and do not
haunt me thus.
Hel. O, wilt thou darkling leave me ? do
notso.
Dem. Stay, on thy peril : I alone will go.
[Exit.
Hel. O, I am out of breath in this fond
chase !
The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace.
Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies ; 90
For she hath blessed and attractive eyes.
How came her eyes so bright ? Not with salt
tears: ,
If so, my eyes are oftener v ash'd than hers;
No, no, I am as ugly as a b ^ar ;
For beasts that meet me run away for fear :
Therefore no marvel though Demetrius.
Do, as a monster, fly my pre.sence thus.
What wicked and dissembling glass of mine .
Made me compare with Hermia's sphery
eyne ? £K)
But who is here ? Lysander ! ou the ground !
Dead ? or asleep ? 1 see no blood, no wound.
Lysander, if yon live, good sir, awake.
Lys. [Awaking'] And run through fire I will
for thy sweet sake.
Transparent Helena ! Nature shows art.
That through thy bosom makes me see thy
heart.
Where is Demetrius ? O, bow fit a word
Is that vile name to perish ou my sword !
Hel. Do not say so, Lysander ; say not so.
What though he love your Hermia ? Lord,
what though ? 109
Yet Hermia still loves you : tlieu be content.
Lys. Content with Hermia ! No ; I do re¬
pent
The tedious minutes I with her have spent.
Not Hermia but Helena I love :
Who will not change a raven for a dove ?
The will of man is by his reason sway'd ^
And reason says you are tlie worthier maid.
Things growing are not ripe until their season;
So I, being young, till now ripe not to rea¬
son ;
And touching now the point of human skill,
Reason becomes the ma^hal to my will 120
And leads me to your eyes, whei-e I o'erlook
Love's stories wntten in love's richest book.
Hel. Wherefore was 1 to this keen mockery
bom?
When at your hands did I deserve this scorn ?
Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man.
That I did never, no, nor never can.
Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye.
But you must flout my insufficiency ?
Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, yon
do.
In such disdahiful manner me to woo.« 136
But fare you well: perforce I must confess
I thought you lord of more true gentleness.
O, that a lady, of one man i-efused.
Should of another therefore be abused I [Exit.
Lys. She sees not Hermia. Hermia, sleep
thou there :
And never mayst thou come Lysander near !
For as a surfeit of the sweetest things
The deepest loathing to the stomach brings.
Or as the heresies that men do leave
Are hated most of those they did deceive, 146
So thou, my surfeit and my heresy.
Of all be hated, but the most of me !
And, all my powers, address your love and
might
To honor Helen and to be her knight I [Exit.
Her. [Awaking'] Help me, Lysander, help
me! do thy wst
To pluck this crawling serpent from my
breast 1
Ay me, for pity ! what a dream was here !
Lysander, look how I do quake with fear :
Methought a serpent eat my heart away, .
And you sat smiling at his cruel prey. 150
Ly.<>ander ! what, removed ? Lysander ! lord !
What, out of hearing ? gone ? no sound, no
word ?
Alack, where are you ? speak, an if you hear;
Scene i.]
A MIDSUMMER
NIGHT'S DREAM.
14
Speak, of all loves ! I swoon almost with fear;
No ? then I well perceive you are not nigh :
Either death or you I'll find immediately.
■ [Exit.
ACT III.
Scene I. The wood. Titania lying asle^.
Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute,
Snout, attd Starveling.
Bot.. Are we all met ?
Qutn. Pat, pat; and here's a marvellous
convenient place for our reheai-sal. This green
plot shall be our stage, this hawthorn-brake
our tiring-house ; and we will do it in action
as we will do it before the duke.
Bot. Peter Quince,—
Quin. What sayest thou, bully Bottom ?
Bot. There are things in this comedy of
P^ramus and Thisby that will never please.
First, Pyramns must draw a sword to kill him-
kelf; which the ladies cannot abide. How
answer you that ?
Snout. By'r lakin, a parlous fear.
Star. I believe we must leave the killing
out, when all is done.
Bot. Not a whit: I have a device to make
all well. Write me a prologue ; and let the
prologue seem to say, we will do no harm
with our swords, and that Pyramns is not
killed indeed ; and, for the more better as¬
surance, tell them that I, Pyramns, am not
Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver : this will
put them out of fear.
^t'n. Well, we will have such a prologue >
and it shall be written in eight and six.
Bot. No, make it two more ; let it be writ¬
ten in eight and eight.
Snout. Will not the ladies be afeard of the
lion?
Star. I fear it, I promise you.
Bot. Masters, you ought to consider with
yourselves : to bring in—God shield us !—a
Uon among ladies, is a most dreadful thing ;
for there is not a more fearful wild-fowl than
your lion living ; and we ought to look to't.
Snout. Therefore another prologue must
tell he is not a lion.
Bot. Nay, you must name his name, and
half his face must be seen through the lion's
neck : and he himself must speak through,
saying thnsi or to the same defect,—' Ladies,
—or 'Fair ladies,—I would wish you,'—or 'I
would request you,'—or ' I would entreat yon,
—^not to fear, not to tremble : my life for
yours. If you think I come hither as a lion, it
were pity of my life : no, I arn no such thing ;
I am a man as other men are ;' nnd there in¬
deed let him namb his name, and tell them
plainly he is Snug the joiner,
Quin. Well, it shall be so. But there is
two hard things ; that is, to bring the moon¬
light into a chamber; for, you know, Pyramus
and Thisby "neet by moonlight 51
Snout. Dotb the moon shine that night we
y our play ?
iot. A calendar, a calendar I look in the
almanac ; find out moonshine, find out moon¬
shine.
^in. Yes, it doth shine that liight
Sot. Why, then may you leave a casement
of the great chamber window, where we pla"'
open, and the moon may shine in at the case¬
ment.
Quin. Ay ; or else one must come in with
a bush of thorns and a lanthorn, and say he
comes to disfigure, or to present, the person
of Moonshine. Then, there is another thing ;
we must have a wall in the guat chamber;
for Pyramus and Tliisby, says the story, did
talk through the chink of a wall.
Snout. You can never bring in a wall. Wha,;
say you. Bottom ?
Bot. Some man or other must present
Wall! and let him have some plaster, or some
loam, or some rough-cast about him, to signify
wall ; and let him hold his fingei's thus, and
through that cranny shall Pyramus and Thisby
whisper.
Quin.' If that may be, then all is well. Come,
sit down, every mother's son, and rehearse
your parts. Pyramns, you begin : when you
have spoken your speech, enter into that
brake : and so every one according to his cue.
Enter PvcK.. behind.
Puck. What hempen home-spuns have we
swaggering here.
So near the cradle of the fairy queen ? 80
What, a play toward ! I'll be an auditor ;
An actor too, perhaps, if X see cause.
Quin. Speak, Pyramus. Thisby, stand
forth.
Bot. Thisby, the flowers of odious savors
sweet,—
Quin. J dors, odors.
Sot. —— odors savors sweet:
So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisby dear.
But hark, a voice ! stay thou but here awhile.
And by and by I will'to tl ee appear. [Eifit.
Puck.' A stranger Pyramrs than e'er played
hefe. [Exit. 90
Flu. Must I speak now ?
Quin. Ay, marry, must you ; for you must
understand he goes but to see a noise that he
heard, and is to come again.
Flu. Most radiant PjTamus, most lily-
white of hue.
Of color like the red rose on triumphant
brier,
Mosffbrisky juvenal and eke most lovely Jew,
As true as truest horse that yet would never
tire,
I'll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny's tomb.
Quin. ' Ninus' tomb,' man : why, you must
not speak that yet; that you answer to Pyra¬
mus : you speak all your part at once, cues
and all. Pyramus enter • your cue is past ;
it is, ' never tire,'
142
A NIGHT'S DREAM.
[Act lit
Flu. O,—As true as truest horse, that yet
would uever tire.
Re-enter Puck, and Bottom with an ass's
head. '
Bot. If I were fair, Thisby,.! were only
thiue.
Quin. O monstrous! 0 strange ! we are
haunted. Pray, masters ! fly, masters! Help !
[Exeunt Quince, Snuy, Flute, Snout, and
Starveliny.
Buck, rn toUow you, I'll lead yot(, about a
round.
Through bog, through bush, through brake,
tlirough brier : 110
Sometime a horse I'll be, sometime a hound,
A liog, a headless bear, .sometime a fire ;
And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and
burn.
Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every
turn. [Exit/
Bot. Wliy do they run away? this is a
knavery of them to make me afeard.
Re-enter Snoot .
Snout. O Bottom, thou art diauged ! what
do I see on thee ?
Bot. What do you see ? you see an ass'head
of your own, do you ? [Exit Snout.. 120
Re-enter Quince.
Quin. Bless thee, Bottom ! bless thee ! thou
art translated. [Exit.
Bot. t see their knavery; tills is to make
an ass of me ; to fright me, if they could. But
I will not stir from this place, do what they can;
I will walk up and down here, and I will sing,
that they shall hear I am not afraid. [/S'tn^s.
The ousel cock so black of hue.
With orange-tawny bill.
The throstle with his note so true, 130
The wren with little quill,—
Tita. [Awakiny'\ What augel wakCs me
from my flowery bed ?
Bot. [Siiif/sj
Tlie finch, the sparrow and the lark,
The plain-song cuckoo gray.
Whose uote full many a man doth mark.
And dares not answer nay
for, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish
a bird 7 who would give a bird the lie, though
he cry ' cuckoo' never so ?
Tita. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again:
Mine ear is much eiiamour'd of thy note ; 141
So is mine eye enthralled to thy stmpe ;
And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move
me r ,
On the first view to say, to swear, I love thee.
Bot. Methinks, mistre.ss, you should have
little reason for that; and yet, to say the truth,
reason and love keep little company together
now-a-days ; the more the pity that some hon¬
est neighbors will not make them frieuds. Nay,.
I can gleek upon occasion- l.'iO
Tita. Thou art as wise as thou art heaiitlfiil.
Bot. Not so, neither : but it I had «it
enough to get out of this Wood, I have enough
to serve mine own turuj
Tita. ' Out of this wood do not desire to got
Thoh shalt remain here, whether thou wilt
or no. - .
I am a spirit of no common rate ;
The summer still doth tend uiwii mjr state ;
And I do love thee : therefore, go wif-h me ;
I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee, 160
And they skall fetch thee jewels from the deep,
-And sing whiie thou on pressed flowei-s dost
sleep;
And I will purge thy mortal grossness so
That thou shalt like an airy spirit go,
Peaseblossom ! Cobweb ! Moth 1 and Mv^tard-
seed! ,,
' I .
Enter PeasebuIssom, Cobweb, Moth, and
Mustabdseed.
Peas. Beady.
Coh. And r.
Moth. And I.
Mus. And I.
All. Where shall we go ?
Tita. Be kind and courteous to this gentle¬
man ;
Hop in his walks and gambol in his eyes ;
Feed him with apricots and dewberries, .
With purple grapes, green figs, and raulbSr-
ries; , 170
The hone^'-bags steal from the humble-bees,
And for mght-taijers crop their w^xen thiglis
And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes.
To have my love to bed aiid to arise ; .
And pluck the wings from painted butterflies
To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyeji:
Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies,
Peas. Hail, mortal!
Cob. HaU!
Moth. Hail ! 180
Mus. Hail! ,
Bot. I cry your worship's mercy, heartily :
I beseech your worship's name.
Cob. Cobweb.
Bot. I shall desire you of more acquaint¬
ance, good Master Cobweb : if I cut my finger,
I shall make bold witli you. Your name,
honest gentleman ? ,
Peas. Peaseblossom.
Bot. I pray you, commend me to Mistress
Squash, your mother, and to Master Peascod,,
your father. Good Master Peaseblossom, I
shall desire you of more aeqiuiintance too.
Your name, I beseech you, sir ? ' .
Mus. Mustardseed.
Bot. Good Master Mustaraseed, I know
your patience well: that same cowardly, giant
like ox-beef hath devoured many a gentleman
of your house : I promise you your kindied,
hath made my eyes water ere now, I desire
your more acquaintance, good Master Mus¬
tardseed. 2Q1
Tita. Come, wait upon him ; lead him to
my bower.
The moon methiukslooks with a watery eye;
Aud when she weeps, weeps every little flower.
Scene if ] A MIDSUMMER
Lamenting some enforced chastity.
Tie up my love's tongbe, bring him silently.
' * [Ezeunti
Scene D. Another part oftlte wood.
■Enter Obbson. i
Ohe. I Wronder if Titania be auukfed ;
Then, what it was tliat next came in her eye,
Which she must dote on in extremity.
, Enter Puck.
Here comes my messenger. ' '
Hownow, mad'spirit^
Whathigh^rule now about this haunted grove?
Puck. My mistress with a mon.stef is ill
love. ' '
l!fear to her dose and consecrated bower,
While she was in her dull and .sleeping hour,
A crew of patches, rude mechanicals.
That work for bread upon Athenian stallsj 10
Were met together to rehearse a play
Intended for great Theseus' nuptial-day.
The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort,
Who Pyramus presented, in their sport
Forsook liis scene and enter'd in a brake ;
When I did him at this advantage take,
An ass's uole 1 fixed on his head : ,
Anon his Thisbe must be answered, . ,
And forth my mimic comes.. When they him
spy, ," '
As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye, ?(|
Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort,
Rising and cawing at the gun's report.
Sever, themselves and madly swcm the sky,
So, at his sight, away his fellows fb i
And, at our stamp, here o'er and o'er one
falls; '
He murder cries and help from Athens calls. "
Their sense thus weak, lost with their fears
thus strong, ,
Made senseless things begin to do them wrong;
For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch ;
Some sleevea, some hats, from yielders all
things catch. , :>(j
I led them on in this distracted fear.
And left sweet Pyramus translated there ;
When in that moment, so it caute to pass,
Titania waked and straightway loved an ass.
Ohe.' This falls out bettm than 1 could
. devise. . ,
But hast thou yet latch'd the Athenian's eyes
With the love-juice, as 1 did bid thee do ? ,
Puck., 1 took him sleeping,—that is finish'4
I too,—
And the Athenian woman by his side :
'Fhat, wlien .he waked, pf force she must ,be
eyed. . 40
Enter Hermia and D'emetriCs.
It
I Ohe." Stand dose this is the^nke Athe¬
nian.
Puck. This is ttie woman, but not thit the
man. .. i
Dem. O, why rebuke you him that loVes
you so ? '
NIGHT'SDREAM. 143
Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.
Her. Now 1 but chide; but I should use
thee worse,, i f
For thou, 1 fear, hast given ,me cause to curse,
If thou hast slam Lysander in his sleeii.
Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep,
And kill me toa ,
The Bun was notso true unto the day , 50
As he to me : would he have stolen away
From sleemng Hermia ? I'll believe as soon
This whole eartlt may be bored and that the
I ■ moon ...
May through the centre creep and so displease
Her brother's noontide with the Antipodes.
It cannot be but thou hastmurder'd him ;
So s'nould a murderer look, so dead, so grim.
Dem. So should tire murdePd look, and so
should I, ,
Pierced through the heart' with your stern
cruelty : 50
Yet yon, die murderer, look as bright, as clear,
As vonder Venus in her glimmering sphere.
Her. What's this to my Lysander? where
is he ?
Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me ?
Dem. I had rather give his carcass to my
hounds.
Her. Out, dog ! out; cur ! Ihou drivest me
past the bounds
Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him,
then ? ,
Henceforth be, never nnmber'd among men !
O, once teU true, tell true, even for my sake ■
Durst thou have look'd upon him beijiig awake.
And hast thou kill'd him sleeping ? O brave
touch ■! ?b
Could not a worm, an adder, do so much ?
An adder did it; for with donbler tongue
Thau thine, thou serpent, never adder stung.
Dem. You spend your passion on a mis¬
prised mood ;
I am not guilty of Lysander's blood ; ,
Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell.
Her. I pray thee, tell me then that he is
well.
Dem. An if I could, what should I get
therefore ?
Her. ' A privilege never to see me more.
And from tliy hated presence jiart I so : 10
See me no more, whether ho be dead or no.
• {Krit.
Dem. There is no following her in this fierce
vein :
Here therefore for a while I will remain.
So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier grow
For debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe ;
Which now in some slight measure it w ill pay,
If for his tender here I make some .stay.
, [Lies down, and sleeps,.
Obe. What hast thou done 7 thou hast mis-
, I taken quite
And laid the love-juice on some true-love's
sight; , . , '
Of thy misprision must perforce ensue 90
Some true loveturn'd and pot a false turn'd
' true.
144
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.
[Act nr.
Puck. Then fate o'er-rules, that, one man
holding troth, ''
A million fail, confounding oaih on oath.
06e About the wood go swifter than the
wind.
And Helena of Athens look thou find
All fancy-sick she is and ])ale of cheer.
With sighs of love, that costs the fresh blood
dear:
By some illusion see thou bring her here ;
I'll charm his eyes against she do appear.
Puck. I go, I go ; look how I go, 100
Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow.
[Exit.
Obe. Flower of this purple dye.
Hit with Cupid 8 archery,
Sink in apple of his eye.
When his love he doth espy.
Let her shiue as gloriously
As the Venus of the sky.
When thou wakest, if she be by.
Beg of her for rem^y.
Re-enter Puck.
Puck. Captain of our fairy baud, 110
Helena is here at hand ;
And the youth, mistook by me.
Pleading for a lover's fee.
Shall we their fond pageant see ?
Lord, what fools these mortals be !
Obe. Stand aside : the noise they make
Will cause Demetrius to awake.
Puck. Then will two at once woo one ;
That must needs be sport alone ;
And those things do best please me
That befal preposterously. 121
Enter Lysaj^oer and Helena.
Lys. Why should you think tliat I should
woo in scorn ? ■ •
Scorn and dei'isiou never come in tears :
Look, when I vow, I weep ; and vows so bom.
In their nativity all truth appears.
How can these things in me seem scom to you.
Beating the badge of faith, to prove them true?
Hel. You do advance your cunning more
" and more.
When truth kills trirth, O devilish-holy fray!
These vows are Hermia's : will you give her
o'er ? 130
Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing
weigh :
Your vows to her and me, put in two scales.
Will even weigh, and both as light as tales.
Lys. I had no judgment when to her I
swore.
Hel. Nor none, in my mind, now you give
her o'er.
Lys. Demetrius loves her, and he loves not
you.
Dein. [Awaking] O Helen, goddess, nymph,
perfect, divine !,
To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne?
Crystal is muddy. O, how ri^ in show
"Ihy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting
grow ! 140
That pure congealed white, high Taurus'
■ snow, ' ■ '"
Fann'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow
When thou hold'st up thy hand : O, let me
kiss
This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss !
Hel. O spite ! O hell! I see you all .gre
bent ,
To set against me for your merriment;
If you were civil and knew courtesy,
You would not do me thus much injury.
Can you not hate me, as I know you do.
But you must join in souls to mock me too ?
If you were men, as men you are in show, 151
You would not use a gentle lady so ;
To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts.
When I am sure you hate me with your
hearts.
You both are rivals, and love Hermia ;
And now both rivids, to mock Helena :
A trim exploit, a manly enterprise.
To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes
With your derision ! none of noble sort
Would so offend a virgui, and extort 160
A poor sonl's patience, all to make you sport.
Lys. You are unkind, Demetrius ; be not
so ;
For you love Hermia ; this yon know I know :
And here, with all good will, with all my heart.
In Hermia's love I yield you up my part ;
And yours of Helena to me bequeath.
Whom I do love and will do till my death.
Hel. Never did mockers waste more idle
breath.
Dem. Lysander, keep thy Hermia ; I will
note ;
If e'er I loved her, all that love is gone. 170
My heart to her but as guest-wise sojourn'd,
And now to Helen is it home return'd.
There to remain.
Lys. Helen, it is not so.
Dem. Disparage not the faith thou dost not
know.
Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear.
Ixx>k, where thy love comes ; yonder is thy
dear.
Re-enter Hermia.
Her. Dark night, that from the eye his
function takes.
The ear more quick of apprehension makes ;
Wherein it doth im^ir the seeing sense.
It pays the hearing double recompense. 180
Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found :
Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound.
But why unkindly didst thou leave me so ?
Lys. Why should he stay, whom love doth
press to go ?
Her. What love could press Lysander from
my side ?
Lys. Lysander's love, that would not let
him bide.
Fair Helena, who more engilds the night
Than all yon fiery oes and eyes of light.
Why seek'st thou me ? could not this make
thee know,
iSoEME II.]
A MIDSUMMER
NIGHT'S DREAM.
145
The hate I hear thee ihade me leave thee so 7
Her. Tou speak not as you thiulc : it caii«
' not be. 191
" Ilel. Lo, she is one of this confederacy (■
Now I jierceive they have conjoin'd sU three
To fashion this false sport, in spite of me. • ■'
Injurious Hermia ! most ungrateful maid I •
Have you conspired, have you with these con-
' ti'ived i
To bait me with this foul derisiou ?
Is all the counsel that wo two have shared^ •
The sisters' vows, the hours that we have
spent,
When we have chid the hasty-footed time 200
For parting us,—O, is it all foigot ?
All school-days' friendship, childhood hino-
cence 7
M'e, Hermia, like two artificial gods, '
Have with our needles created both one floweC)
Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion^
Both warbling of one song, "both in one key, i
As it our hands, our sides, voices and mluds.
Had been incorporate. So we grew togethen;
Like to a double cherry, seeming parted.
But yet an union in partition ; 210
Two lovely ben-ie^ moulded oil one stem ;
So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart;.
Two of the first, like coats in heraldrj'.
Due but to one and crowned with one crest.
And will you rent our ancient love asunder.
To join with men in scorning yourixior friend?
It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly 1
Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it.
Though I alone do feel the injury.
Her. I am amazed at your passionate
words. ■ 220
I scorn you not: it seems that yon scorn me.
Hel. Have you not set Lysander, as iu
scorn, ' 1
TO follow me and praise my eyes and face 7
And made your other love, Demetrius,
Who even but now did spurn me with his foot.
To call me goddes.s, nymph, divine and rare,
Ih-ecious, cele.stial ? Wherefore sjieaks he this
To her he hates 7 and wherefore doth Lysan¬
der ' '
Deny your love, so rich within his soul, i
And tender me, forsooth, affection, 230
But by your setting on, by your consent 7
What though I be not so in grace as you.
So himg upon with love, so fortunate,
But miserable most, to love unloved 7
This you should pity rather than despise.
Her. I understand not what you mean by
this.
Hel. Ay, do, persever, counterfeit sad looks.
Make mouths unon me when I tnni my back;
Wink each at other ; hold the sweet jest up
This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled.
II you have any pity, grace, or miners, 241
You would not make me such an*argunient.
But fare ye well: 'tis partly my own fault ;
Which death or absence soon shall remedy.
Lifs. Stay, gentle Helena ; hear my excuse :
My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena !
Hel. Q excellent!
Her. ■ I . Sweet, do not scorn her so.
Dem. If she cannot entreat, 1 can compel,
■ Lys. Thou canst compel no more than she
entreat: .
Thy threats have no more, strength than her
weak prayers. 250
Helen, I love thee ; by my life, I do ;
I swear by that which I will lose for thee.
To prove him false that says I love thee not.
Dem. I say I love thee more than he can
. do. '
Lys. If thou say so, withdraw, and prove
it too.
Dem. Quick, come !
Her. Lysander, whereto tends all this 7
Lys. Away, you Ethiope !
Dem. , tNo, no ; he'll.,.
Seem to break loose ; take on as you would
follow,
But yet come not: you are a tame man, go !
Lys. Hang off, thou cat, thou burr ! vile
thing, let loose,
Or I will snake thee from me like a seriient!
Her. Why are von giown so rude 7 what
change is this 7
Sweet love,—
Lys. Thy love 1 out, lawny Tartar, out !
Out, loathed medicine ! hated potion, hence !
Her.. Do you not jest 7 ■
Hel. Yes, sooth ; and so do you.
Lys. Demetrius, I will keep my word with
thee.. .
Dem. I would I had your bond, for I per¬
ceive
A weak bond holds' you : I'll nrt trust your
word.
Lys. What, should I hurt hei, strike her,
kill her dead 7
Although I hatcher, I'll not harm her so. 2T0
Her. What, can you do me greater harm
than hate 7
Hate me ! wherefore 7 O me ! what .news, my
love !
Avrt not I Hermia 7 are not you Lysander 7
I am as fair now as I w as erewhile".
Since night you loved me ; yet since night you
left me :
Why, then you left me—O, the gods foibid!—
In earnest, shall I say 7
Lys. Ay, by my life ;
And never did deske to see thee more.
Therefore be out of hope, of question, of doubt:
Be certain, nothing truer ; 'tis no jest .280
That I do hate thee and love Helena.
Her. O me ! you juggler! you canker-
blossom !
You thief of love ! what, have you ecme by
.' night
And stolen my love's heart from him 7
Hel. Fine, i'faith !
Have you no modesty, no maiden shame,
No touch of bashfulness 7 What, will .voutear
Imiiatieiit answers fr6m my gentle tongue 7
Fie. fie ! vou counterfeit, you puppet, you !
Her. Puppet 7 why so 7 ay, tliat vay goes
the game.
10
146
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.
[Act 111.
Now I perceive that she hath made compare
Between our statures; she hath urgM her
height! ' ■ i 291
And with her personage, her tall personage.
Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail'd with
him.
And are you grown so high in bis esteem,
Because 1 am so dwarfish and so low ?
How low am I, thou painted maypole ? .speak ;
How low aih I ? I am not yet so low
But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes.
Hel. I pray you, though you mock me,
gentlemen.
Let her not hurt me : I was never curst; 300
1 have 110 gift at all iu shrewishuess ;
I am a right maid for my cowardice !
Let her not strike me. You perhaps may
think, . '
Because she is something lower than myself.
That I can match her.
Her. Lower I hark, hgain.
Hel. Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with
me. ' '
I evermore did love you, Hermia,
Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong'd
you ;
Save that, in love unto Demetrius,'
f told him of your stealth unto this wood. 310
He follow'd you ; for love I follow'd>him j
But he hath chid me hence and threaten'd
me '
To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too :
And now, so you will let me quiet go.
To Athens will I bear my folly back
And follow you no further : let me go s
You see how simple and how fond I am.
Her. 'Why, get you gone ; who is't that
hinders you ?
Hd. A foolish heart,- that I leavh hare be¬
hind.
Her. What, with Lysander ?
Hel. With Demetrius, 320
Lys. Be not afraid ; she shall not harm
thee, Helena.
Dem. No, sir, she shall not, though yoU
take her part.
Hel. O, when she's angry, she is keen and
shrewd !
She was a vixen when she went t" school; >
And though she be but little, she is fierce.
Her. ' Little' again ! nothing but ' low'
and ' little' !
Why will you suffer her to fiont me thus ?
Let me come to her.
I/ysi Get yon gone, you dwarf ;
You miuimus, of hindering knot-grass made ;
You bead, you acoru.
Dent. You are too officious 330
la her behalf that scorns your services.
Let her alone ; speak not of Helena ;
Take not her part; for, if thou do.st intend
Never so little show of love to her,
TImju shalt aby it.
T/i/s. .Now she holds me not,
Now follow, if tliou darest, to try whose right.
Of thine or mine, is most in Helena.
. Dem. Follow I nay, I'll go with thee, cheek
. by jole.
[Exeunt Lysander and Demetrius.
Her. You, mistress, all this «uil is 'long of
. you;
Nay, go not back. •
Hel. I will not trust you, I, 340
Nor longer stay in your curst company,
Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray,
My legs are longer though, to run away, [Exit.
Her, 1 am amased, and know not what to
say. [Exit.
Obe. 'riiis is thy negligence : stiil thou mi.s-
takest.
Or else committ'st thy knaveries wilfully,
Paek. Believe, me, king of shadows, I mis¬
took. ,
Did not you tell me 1 should know the man
By the Athenian garment he had on ?
And so far blameless proves my enterprise, 330
That I have 'uointed an Athenian's eyes ;
And so far am 1 glad it so did sort
As this their jangling I esteem a spoit,
Obe. Thou see'St these lovers seek a place
to fight:
Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night;.
Tlie starry welkin cover thou anon
With drooping fog as black as Acheron,
And lead these testy rivals so astray -
As one come not within another's way.
Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue.
Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong ; .'161
And sometime rail thou like Demetrius ;
And from e:ich otiier look thou lead them thus.
Till o'er tlieir brows death-counterfeiting sleep
With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep :
Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye ;
Whose liquor hath ttiis virtuous property,
To take from thence all error with his might,
And make his eyeballs roll with wonted siglrt
When tliey next wake, all this derision 370
Shall seem a dream and fruitless vision,
And back to Athens sliall the lovers wend,
With league whose date till death shall nevet
end.
Whiles I in this affair do thee employ,
I'll to my queen and beg her Indian toy ;
And then I will her charmed eye release
From monster's view, and all things shall bo
peace.
Puck. My fairy lord, this must be .done
with baste,
For night's swift .dragons cut the clouds full
fast, ,
And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger ; 380
At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here
and there.
Troop home to churchyards : damned spirits
all.
That in crossways and floods have burial.
Already to their wormy beds are gone ;
For femr lest day should look tlieir sliamei
upon,
They wilfully themselves exile from light
And must for aye consort with black-brow'd
nighL
Scents i.]
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.
147
06e. But we are spirits of anotiier sort:
I with the morning's love haveoltiinulespoi't,
And, like a forester, the groves wniy trend, aoo
Even till the easteni gate, all fiery-i'ed,
Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beam^.
Turns mto yellow gold his salt green streams.
Bat, notwithstanding, haste ; make no delay :
We may effect this business, yet ere day.
[Exit.
Puck. Up and down, up and down,
I will lead them up and down :
1 am fear'd in field and town :
Goblin, lead them up and down.
Here comes one. 400
Be-ettter Lysamdeb.
LffS. Where art thou, proud Demetrius 7
speak thou now.
Puck. Here, villain; drawn and i-eady.
Where art thou ?
Lys. I will be with thee straight
Puck. Follow me, then.
To plainer ground.
[Exit Lysandec, us/oUotoiny the voice.
Re-enter Demetiuus.
Hem. Lysander 1 speak again .
Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled 7
Speak! In some bush 7 -Where dost thou
hide thy head 7
Puck. Thou coward, art thou bragging to
the stars,
Tellihg the bushes that thou look'st for wars.
And wilt not come 7 Come, recreant; come,
thou child ;
I'll whip thee with a rod : he is defiled 410
That dmws a sword on thee.
Dem. Yea, art thou there 7
Puck. Follow my voice : we'll try no man¬
hood here. [Exeunt.
Re-enter' Lysamdeb. '
Lys, He goes before me and still dares me
on :
When I come where he calls, then he is gone.
The villain is much lighter-heel'd than 1 :
1 fohow'd fast, but faster he did fly ;
That fallen am 1 in dark uneven way.
And here will rest me. [Lies doton.] Come,
thou gentle day!
For if but once tlmu show me thy grey light,
find Demetrius and revenge this spite.
[Sleeps.
Re-enter Pcc.l and Demetetos.
Puck. Ho, ho, ho! Cowaid, why comest
thou not 7 421
Dem. Abide me, if thou darest; for well I
wot 0
Thou ruun'st before me, shifting every place.
And darest not stand, nor look me in the face.
Where art thou now 7
Puck. Come hither : I am here.
Dem. Nay, then, thou mock'st me. Thou
shalt buy this dear,
If ever I thy face by daylight see ! .
Now, go thy way. Faintness constraineth me
To measure out my lengtli on this cold bed.
By day's approach look to be visited. 430
[Lies down and sleeps.
Re-enter Helena.
HeL 0 weary night, O long and tedious
night.
Abate thy hours 1 Shine comforts from the
east, '
That I may back to Athens by daylight.
From these that my poor cbm]>any detest:
And sleep, that- sometimes shuki up sorrow's
eye.
Steal me awhile from mine own company.
[Lies dmon and sleeps.
Puck. Yet but three 7 Come one more •
Two of both kinds make up four.
Here she comes, curst and sad :
Cupid is a knavish lad, '440
Thus to make imor females mad;
Re-enter Heemia.
Her. Never so weary, never so in woe,
Beiktbbled with the dew and' torn with
briers,
I can no further crawl, no further go ;
My legs can keep no pace with my desires.
Here will I rest me till the break of day.
Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray !
[Lies down and sleeps.
Puck. On the ground
Sleep sound :
' ril apply 450
To your eye.
Gentle lover, remedy.
[Squeezing the juice on Lysander's eyes.
When thou wakest.
Thou takest
True delight
In the sight
Of thy former lady's eye :
And the country proverb known,
Tliat every man should take his own.
In your waking shall be shown : 460
Jack shall have Jill;
Nought shall go Ul;
The man shall have his mare again, and all
shall be well., [Exit.
ACT IV.
Scene I. The same. Lysandek, Demetrius,
Helena, and Heemia lying asleep.
Enter Titania and Bottom j Peasebeossom,
Cobweb, Moth, Mustardseed, and other
Fairies attending; Oberon behind unseen.
Tila. Come, sit thee down upon this flowery
bed,
While I thy amiable cheeks do coy.
And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth
head.
And kiss thy fair large cars, my gentle joy.
148
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.
[Act. IV.
Bot. Wliere's Peaseblossom 2
Peas. Ready.
Bat. Scratch my head Peaseblossom.
Where's Mounsieur Cooweb 2
Coh. Ready.
Bot. Mounsieur Cobweb, good mounsieur,
get you your weapons in your hand, and kill
me a red-hipped nuiinble-bee on the top of a
thistle ; and, good mounsieur, bring me the
honey-bag. Do not Iret yourself too much in
the action, mounsieur ; .and, good mounsieur,
have a care the honey-bag break not; I would
be loath to have you overflown with a honey-
bag, signior. Where's Mounsieur, Mustard-
seed 2
Mas. Ready.
Bot. Give me yourneaf, Mounsieur Mustard-
seed. Pray you, leave your courtesy, good
mounsieur.
Mus. What's your will 2
Bot. Nothing, good mounsieur, but to help
Cavalery Cobweb to scratch. I must to the
barber's, mounsieur ; for methinks I am mar¬
vellous hairy about the face ; and I am such
a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle mc, I
must scratch.
Tita. What, wilt thou hear some music,
my sweet love ? , , 30
Bot. I have a reasonable good ear in music.
Let's have the tongs and the bones.
Tita. Or say, sweet love, what thou desir-
est to eat.
Bot. Truly, a peck of provender : I could
munch your good dry oats. Methinks I have
a great desire to a bottle of hay :<good hay,
sweet hay, hath no fellow,
Tita. I have a venturous fairy that shall
seek , 39
The squirrel's hoard, and fetch thee new nuts.
■ Bot. I had rather have a handful or two of
dried peas. But, I pray you, let none of your
Ijeople stir me : I have an exposition of sleep
come upon me. •
Tita. Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in
my arms.
Fairies, begone, and be all ways away.
[Exeunt fairies.
So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle
Gently entwist ; the female ivy so
Enrings the barky fingers of the elm.
O, how I love thee ! how I dote on thee ! 60
[They sleep.
Enter Puck.
Gbe. [Advancinfi] Welcome, good Robin.
See'st thou this sweet sight 2
Her dotage now I do begin to pity :
For, meeting her of late behind the wood,.
Seeking sweet favors from this hateful fool,
I did upbraid her and fall out with her ;
For she his hairy temples then had rounded
With a coronet of fresh and fragrant flowei-s ;
And that same dew, which sometime on the
buds
Was wont to swell like round and orient
pearls, •
Stood now within the pretty flowerets' eyes 60
Like tears that did their own disgrace bewgU.
When I had at my pleasure taunted her
And she in mild terms begg'd my patience,
I then did ask of her her changeling child ;
Which straight she gave me, and her fairy
sent
To bear him to my bower in fairy land,
And now I have the boy, I will undo
This hateful imperfection of her eyes .
And, gentle Puck, take tills transformed scalp
From off the head of this Athenian swain ; 70
That, he awaking when the other do.
May all to Athens back again repair
And tliink no more of this night s accidents
But as the fierce vexation of a dream.
But first I, will release the fairy queen.
Be as thou wast wont to be ;
See as thou wast wont to see :
Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower
Hath such force ana blessed power ,
Now, my Titania ; wake you, my sweet queen.
Tita. My Oberon I what visions have Iseeni
Methought I was enamour'd of an ass.
Obe. There lies your love.
Tita. How came these things to pass 7
O, how mine eyes do loathe his visage now I
Obe. Silence awhile. Robin, ta& off this
head.
Titania, music call; and strike more dead
Than common sleep of all these fivetliesensa
' Tita. Music, ho ! mrsic, such as charmeth
sleep! [.Vusic, still.
Puck. Now, when thou wakest, with thine
own fool's eyes peep.
Obe. Sound, music ! Come, myqueen, take
hands with me, 90
And rock the ground whereon these sleepers
be.
Now thou and I are new in amity, '
And will to-morrow midnight solemnly
Dance in Duke Theseus' house triumphantly.
And bless it to all fair prosperity :
There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be
Wedded, with Theseus, all in jollity.
Puck. Fairy king, attend, and mark :
I do near the morning lark.
Obe. Then, my queen, in silence sad, 100
Trip we after the night's sliade ;
We the globe can compass soon
Swifter than the wondering mooa
TUa. Come, my lord, and in our flight
Tell me how it rame this niglit
That I sleepmg here was found
With these mortals on the ground.
[Exeunt.
[Horns winded within.
jErafcr Theseus, Hippouyta, Egeus, and train.
The. Go, one of you, find out the forester;
For now our observation is perform'd ;
.A.nd since we have the vaward of the day, 110
My love shall hear the music of my hounds.
Uncouple in the western valley ; let them go:
Dispatch, 1 say, and find the forester.
[Exit an Attendant,
SCEKE 1.]
A MlDSUMMEn NIGHT'S DREAM.
149
We will, fair queen, up to the mouutaiu's top.
And mark the musical confusion
Of hounds and echo in conjunction.
Hip. I was with Hercules and Cadmus once,
When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear
With hounds of Sparta : never did I hear 119
Such gallant chiding : for, besides the groves.
The skies, the fountains, every region near
Seem'd all one mutual cry : I never heai-d
So musical a discord, such sweet thunder.
The. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan
kind.
So flew'd, so sanded, and their heads are hung
With ears that sweep away the morning dew ;
Crook-knee'd, and dew-lapp'd like Thessalian
bulls;
Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like
bells, 120
Each under each. A cry more tuneable
Was never holla'd to, nor cheer'd with horn.
In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly :
Judge when you hear. But, soft! what nymphs
are these ?
Ege. My lord, this is my daughter here
asleep;
And this, Lysander; this Demetrius is ;
This Helena, old Nedar's Helena :
I wonder of their being here together.
The. No doubt they rose up early to observe
Tlie rite of May, and, hearing our intent, 130
Came here in grace of our solemnity.
But speak, Egeus ; is not this tlie day
ThatHermia should give answer of her choice?
Ege. It is, my loro.
The. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them
with their horns.
[Horns and shout loithin. Lys., Detn., Hel.,
and Her., loake and start up.
Good morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is
past:
Begin tliese wood-birds but to couple now ?
Lys. Pardon, my lord.
"The. I pray you all, stand up.
I know you two are rival enemies :
How comes this gentle concord in the world.
That hatred is so far from jealousy, 141
To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity ?
Lys. Afy lord, I shaH reply amazedly.
Half sleep, half waking: but as yet, I swear,
I cannot truly say how I came here ;
Bn^ as I think,—for truly would I speak,
And now do I bethink me, so it is,—
I came with Henuia hither : our intent
Was to be gone from Athens, where we might,
Without the peril of the Athenian law. 150
Ege. Enough, enough, my lord ; you have
enough :
I beg the law, the law, upon his head.
They would have stolen away j they would,
Demetrius, #
Thereby to have defeated you and me.
You of your wife and me of my consent.
Of my consent that she should be your wife.
Dem. My lord, fair Helen told me of tlieir
stealth.
Of this their purpose hither to this wood ;
And I in fury hither follow'd them.
Fair Helena m fancy following me. 160
But, my good lord, 1 wot not by what power,—
But by some power it is,—my love to Hermia,
Melted as the snow, seems to me now
As the leraembrance of an idle gaud
Which in my childhood I did dote upon ;
And all the faith, the virtue of my heai-t.
The object and the pleasure of mine eye.
Is only Helena. To her, my lord.
Was I betroth'd ere I saw Hermia :
But, like in sickness, did I loathe this food; 170
But, as in health, come to my natural taste.
Now I do wish it, love it, long for it.
And will for evermore be true to it.
The. Fair loVers, you are fortunately met:
Of this discourse we more wili hear anon.
Egeus, I will overbear your will;
For in the temple, by and by, with us
These couples shall eternally be knit:
And, for the morning now is something worn.
Our purposed hunting shall be set aside. 180
Away with us to Athens ; three and three^
We'll hold a feast in great solemnity.
Come, Hippolyta.
[Exhint The., Hip., Ege., and train.
Dem. I'hese things seem small and uudis-.
tinguishable.
Like far-off mountains turned into clouds.
Her. Methinks I see these things with
jiarted eye.
When every thing seems double.
Hel. So methinks:
And I have found Demetrius like a jewel.
Mine own, and not mine own.
Dem. Are you sure
That we are awake ? It seems to me 190
That yet we sleep, we dream. Do not you
think
The duke was here, and bid us follow him ?
Her. Tea; and my father.
Hel. And Hippolyta.
Lys. And he did bid us follow to the
temple.
Dem. Why, then, we are awake : let's fol¬
low him ;
And by the way let us recount our dreams.
[Exeunt.
Dot. [Awaking'] When my cue comes, call
me, and I wiU answer: my next is, ' Alost fair
Pyramus.' Heigh-ho I Peter Quince ! Flute,
the bellows-mender! Snout, the tinker!
Starveling ! God's my life, stolen hence, and
left me asleep I I have had a most rare vision.
I have had a dream, past the wit of man to'say
what dream it was : man is but an ass, if he
go about to expound this dream. Methought
I was—^there is no man can tell what. Me¬
thought I was,—and methought I had,—but
man is but a patched fool, if he will offer to
say what methought I had. The eye of man
hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen,
man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to
conceive, nor his heart to report, what my
dream was. I will get Peter Quince to write
a ballad of this dream; it shall be called Bot-
150
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.
[Act v.
toiu's Dream, because it hath no bottom ; and
I will sing it in the latter end of a play, before
the duke : peradventnre, to make it the more
gracious,! 1 shall sing it at her death. [_EzU.
Scene II. Athens. Quince's hmise.
Enter Quince, Flute, Snout, and
Starveling.
Quin. Have yon sent to Bottom's house ?
is he come home yet ?
Star. He camiot be heard of. Out of doubt
he is transported.
Fin. If he come hot, then the play is
marred : it goes not forward,,doth it 1
Quin. It is not possible : you have not a
man in all Athens able to discharge Pyramus
but he.
Flu. No, he hath simply the best wit of
any handicraft man in Athens. 10
Quin. Yea, and the best person too ; and
he IS a very panunour for a sweet voice.
'Flit. You must say' paragon:' a paramour
is, God bless us, a thing of naught.
Enter Snug.
Snug. • Masters, the duke is coming irom
the temple, and there is two or three loros and
ladies more married : if our sport had gone
forward, we had all been made men.
Flu. O sweet bully Bottom! Thus hath
he lost sixpence a day durmg his life ; he
could not have 'scaped sixpence a day : an the
duke had not given him sixpence a day for
playing Pyramus, I'll be lianged ; he would
have deserved it: sixpence a &y in Pyramus,
or nothing.
Enter Bottom.
Bot. Where are these lads ? where are
these hearts ?
Quin. Bottom ! O most courageous day !
O most happy hour !
Bot. Masters, I am to discourse, wonders :
but a.sk me not what; for if I tell you, I am
no true Athenian. I will tell you every thing,
right as it fell out.
Quin. Let us hear, sweet Bottom.
Bot. Not a word of me. All that I will tell
you is, that the duke hatli dhied. Get your
apparel together, good strings to your beards,
new ribbons to your x)um))s ; meet presently
at the palace ; every man look o'er his part;
for,the short and the long is, our play is pre¬
ferred. In any case, let Thisby have clean
linen ; and let not him that i>lays the lion i>air
his nails, for they shall hang out for the lion's
claws. And, most dear actors, eat no onions
nor garlic, for we are to utter sweet breath ;
and I de niA doubt but to hear them say, it is
a sweet comedy. No more words: away! go,
away! [Exeunt.
ACT V.
Scene I. Athens. The palace of Theseus.
Enter Theseus, HippolvtA, Philosteate,
Lords and Atteudiints.
Hip. 'Tis strange, my Theseus, that these
lovers speak of.
The. More strange than true : I never may
believe
These antique fables, nor these fairy toys.
Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend
More than cool (reason ever comprehends.
The lunatic, the lover and the poet
Are of imagination all compact:
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold.
That is, the madman : the lover, all as frantic.
Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of E|ypt; 11
The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolhng,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth
to heaven j
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
'Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nomiug
A local habitation and a name.
Such tricks hath strong imagination.
That, if it would but apprehend some joy.
It comprehends some bringer of that joy ; 20
Or in the night, imagining some fear.
How easy is a bush supposed a bear 1
Hip. But all the story of the night told
over.
And all their minds transfigured so together.
More witnesseth than fancy's images
And grows to something of great constancy;
But, howsoever, strange and admirable.
The. Here come the lovers, full of joy and
mirth.
Enter Ltsandee, Demetrius, Hermia, and
Helena.
Joy, gentle friends! joy and fresh days of love
Accompany your hearts!
Lys. More than to us 30
Wait in your royal walks, your board, your
bed !
The. Come now; what masques, what
dances shall we have.
To wear away this long age of three hours
Between onr after-supper and bed-time ?
Where is our usual manager of mirth ?
What revels are in hand ? Is there no play,
To ease the anguish of a torturing hour ?
Call Philostrate.
Phil. Here, mighty Theseus.
The. Say, what abridgement have j'ou for
this evening ?
What masque ? what music ? How shall we
beguile 4d
The lazy time, if not with some delight ?
Phil. There is a brief how many sports are
riiie :
Make choice of which your highness will see
first. [Giving a paper.
The. [/feeds] ' The battle with the Cen¬
taurs, to be sung
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. ir,]
Scene i.]
By jiu AtVicnian cunuch to the liarp."
We'll uuiie of that: that have I told my love,
In glory of my kinsman Hercules.
[ifeads] ' The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals,
Tearing the Tliracian singer in their rage.'
That is an old device ; and it was play'd 60
When I from Thebes came last a conqueror,
[ffead^ 'The thrice three Muses mourning
lOT the death
Of Learning, late deceased in beggary.'
That is some satire, keen and critical,
Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony.
[Tfeods] 'A tedious brief scene of young Pyra-
mus
And his love Thisbe ; very tragical«mirth.'
Merry and tragical! tedious and brief 1
t That is, hot ice and wondrous strange snow.
How shall we find the concord of this discord?
PM. A play there is, my lord, some ten
words long, ' ci
Which is as brief as I have known a,play ;
But by ten words, my lord, it is too long.
Which makes it tedious ; for in all the play
There is not one word apt, one player fitted :
And tragical, my noble lord, it is ;
For Pyramus therein doth kill himself.
Which, when I saw rehearsed, I must confess.
Made mine ej es water ; but more merry tears
"The passion of loud laughter never shed. 70
The. What are they that do play it ?
Phd. Hard-handed men tliat work in
Athens here.
Which never labor'd in their minds till now.
And now have toil'd their unbreathed memo¬
ries
With tills same play, against your nuptiaL
The. And we will hear it.
Phil. ■ No, my noble lord;
It is not for you : I have heard it over.
And it is nothing, nothing in the world ;
Unless you can find sport In their intents.
Extremely stretch'd and conn'd with cruel
pain, 80
To do you service.
The. I will hear that play;
For never anything can be amiss.
When simple'ness and duty tender it.
Go, brin^ them in : 'And take your places,
ladies. [Exit Philostrate.
Hip. I love not to see wretchedness o'er-
charged
And duty in his service perishing.
The. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no
such thing.
IIip. He says they can do nothing in this
kind.
The. The kinder we, to give them thanks
• for nothing. 89
Our sport .shall be to take what they mistake ;
And what |XK)r duty cannot do, p^ble respect
t Takes it in might not merit.
Where 1 have come, great clerks have xmr-
posed
To greet me with premeditated welcomes ;
Where I have seen them shiver and look pale.
Make xreriods m the midst of seuteuces.
Throttle their practised accent in their fears
And in conclusion dumbly have broke off.
Not paying me a welcome. Trust lue, sweet,
Out of "this silence yet I pick'd a welcome; 100
.Vnd in the modesty of fearful duty
I read as mucli as from the rattling tongue
Of saucy and audacious eloquence.
Love, tlierefore, and tongue-tied simplicity
In least speak most, to my capacity.
Re-enter Philostrate.
Phil. So please your grace, the Prologue is
address'd.
The. Let him aiiproach.
[Flourish of trumpets.
Enter Quince/or the Prologue.
Pro. If we offend, it is with our good will.
That you should think, we come not to
offend.
But with good will. To show our simple skill.
That is the true beginning of our end. Ill
Consider then we come but in despite.
We do not come as minding to content yon,
Our true intent i.a. All for your delight
We are not here. That you should here re¬
pent you.
The actors are at hand and by their show
You shall know all tliat you are like to know.
The. This fellow doth not stand upon
points.
Lys. He hath rid his prologue like a rough
colt; he knows not the stop. A good moral,
my lord : it is not enough to speak, but to
speak true.
Hip. Indeed he hath played on his prologue
like a child on a recorder ; a sound, but not in
government.
The. His speech, was like a tangled chain ;
nothing impaired, but all disordered. Who is
next ?
Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Wall,
Moonshine, and Lion.
Pro. Gentles, perchance you wonder at
this show;
But wonder on, till truth make all things
plain.
Tliis man is Pyramus, if you would know; 130
'Hiis beauteous lady Thisby is certain.
This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth pre¬
sent
Wall, that vile Wall which did tliese lovers
sunder;
And through Wall's chink, poor souls, they
are content
To whisper. At the which let no man won¬
der.
This man, with lanthom, dog, and bush of
thorn,
Presenteth Moonshine; for, if you will
know,
Bv moonshine did these lovers think no scorn
To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo.
Tlii'j gri.sly beast, which Lion hight by name,
Tlic trustv Thi.sby, coming first by night, 141
Did scare away, or rather did affright;
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.
[Act v.
And, as she fled, her mantle she did fall,
Which Lion vile with - bloody mouth did
stain.
Anon comes Pyramus, sweet vouth and tall.
And finds his trusty Thisby^s mantle slain ;
Whereat, with blade, with bloody blameful
blade.
He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody-
breast ;
And Thisby, tarrying in mulberry shade.
His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest,
Let Lion, Moonshine, Wall, and lovers twain
At large discourse, while here thev do remain.
[Exeunt Prologue, Thisbe, Lion, and
Moomhine.
The. I wonder it the lion be to speak.
Dem. No wonder, my lord : one lion may,
when many asses do.
Wall. In this same intei'lnde it doth befall
That I, one Snout by name, present a wall ;
And such a wall, as I would have you think,
That had in it a craimied hoie or chink.
Through which the lovers, Pyramus aud
Thisby, 100
Did whisper ofteu very secretly.
This loam, this rough-cast and this stone doth
show
That I am that same waU ; the truth is so :
Aud this the cranny is, right and sinister.
Through which the fearful lovers are to whis-
^r.
The. Would you desire lirue and hair to
speak better ?
Dem. It is the wittiest partition that ever I
heard discourse, my lord.
Enter Pykamus.
The. Pyramus draws near the wall: silence!
Pyr. C) grim-look'd night! O night witli
hue so black ! .171
0 night'which ever art when day is not!
O night, O night! alack, alack, alack,
1 fear my Thisby's promise is forgot !
And thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall.
That stand'st between her father's ground
and mine !
Thou wall,.0 wall, O sweet and lovely wall.
Show me thy chink, to blink through with
mine eyne ! [ Wall holds up hU fingers.
Thanks, courteous wall: Jove shield thee well
for this!
But what see I ?' No Thisby do I see. 180
O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss !
Cunsed be thy stones for thus deceiving me!
The. The wall, methiuks, being sensible,
should curse again.
Pgr. No, in truth, sir, he should not. 'De¬
ceiving me' is Thisby's cue: she is to enter now,
and I am to spy her through the wall. You shall
see, it will fall pat as I told you. Yonder she
comes.
Enter Thisbe.
This. 0 wall, full ofteu hast thou heard my
moans, liio
For parting my fair Pyramus and me !
My cherry lips have often kiss'd" thy stones.
Thy stones with lime aud hair knit up in
thee.
Pyr. I see a voice : now will I to the chink,
To spy an 1 can hear my Thisby's face.
Thisby!
This. My love thou art, my love I think.
Pyr. Think what thou wUt, I am thy lover's
grace ;
And, like Limauder, am I trusty still.
This. Aud 1 like Helen, till the Fates me kill.
Pyr. Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true.
This. As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you.
Pyr. O, kiss me through the hole of this
vile wall!
This. I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at
all.
Pyr. Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me
•straightw.ay ?
This. 'Tide life, 'tide death, I come without
delay. [Exeunt Pyramus and Thisbe.
Wall. .Thus have I, Wall, my part dis¬
charged so ;
And, being done, thus Wall away doth go.
[Exit.
The. Now is the mural down between the
two neighbors. 210
Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are
so wilful to hear without warning.
Hip. This is the silliest stuff that ever I
heard.
The. The best in this kind are but shadows;
and the worst are no worse, if imagination
ameud them.
Hip. It must be your imaginatioa then, and
not theirs.
Tlte. If we imagine no worse of them than
they of themselves, they may pass for excel¬
lent men. Here come two noble beasts in, a
man and a lion.
Enter Lion and Moonshine.
Lion. You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts
do fear
The smallest moustrous mouse that creeps
on floor, [here.
May now perchance both quake and tremble
When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar.
Then know that I, "one Snug the joiner, am
A lion-fell, nor else no lion's dam ;
For, if I should as lion come in strife
luto this place, 'twere pity on my life. 230
The. A very gentle beast, and of a good
conscience.
Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord,
tiiat e'er I saw.
Lys. This iion is a very fox for his valor.
The. True ; and a goose for his discretion.
Dem. Not so, my lord ; for his valor can¬
not carry his discretion ; aud the fox carries
the goose.
The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry
his valor ; for the goose carries not the fox. It
is well: leave it to his discretion, and let us
listen to the moon
Moon. This lauthom doth the homed moon
present ;—
sceke i.]
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.
Dem. He should hare worn the horns on
bis head.
The. He is no crescent, and his horns are
invisible within the circumference. ,
Moon. This lanthorn doth the homed moon
present;
Myself the man i' the moon do seem to be.
Die. This is the greatest error of all the
rest; the man should be put into the lanthorn.
How is it else the man 1' the moon ?
I)em. He dares not come there for the candle;
for, you see, it is already in snuff.
IJip. I am aweary of this moon: would he
would change I
The. It appears, by his small light of dis¬
cretion, that he is in the wane; mit yet, in
courtesy, in all reason, we must stay the time.
Ly$. Proceed, Moon. 260
Moon. All that I have to say, is, to tell you
that the lanthorn is the moon ; I, the man in
the moon ; this thom-bush, my thom-bush ;
and this dog, my dug.
Dem. Why, all these should be in the lan¬
thorn ; for aU these are in the moon. But,
silence ! here comes Thisbe.
Enter Thisbe.
JTiis. This is old Ninny's tomb. Where is
my love ?
Lion. [Roariny] Oh—- [Thisbe inms of.
Dem. Well roared. Lion. 270
The. Well run, Thisbe.
Hip. Well shone. Moon. Truly, the moon
shines with a good grace.
[Die Lion makes Thisbe's mantle, and exit.
Die. Well moused, Lion.
Lys. And so the lion vanished.
Dem. And then came Pyramus.
Enter Pvbamus.
Pyr. Sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny
beams ;
1 thank thee. Moon, tor shining now so
bright;
For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering gleams,
1 trust to take of truest Thisby sight 280
But stay, O spite !
But mark, poor knight.
What dreadful dole is here !
^es, do you see ?
How can it be ?
O dainty duck ! O dear!
Thy mantle good.
What, stain'd with blood !
Approach, ye Furies fell 1
■ O Fates, come, come, 290
Cut thread and thrum ;
Quail, crush, conclude, and q^uell!
The. This passion, and the death of a dear
friend, would go near to make a man look sad.
Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pUy the man.
Eyr. O wherefore. Nature, didst thou lions
frame ?
Since lion vile hath here deflower'd my dear:
Which is—no, no—which was the fairest dame
That lived^that loved, that liked, that look'd
with (rneer.
Come, tears, confound ;
Out, sword, and wound
The pap of Pyramus ;
that left pap,
Wheie heart doth hop : [Niohs himselj
Thus die I, thus, thus, thus.
Now am I dead.
Now am I fled ;
My soul is iu the sk^ :
Tongue, lose thy light;
Moon, take thy flight: [Exit Moonshine.
Now die, die, die, die, die. [Dies.
Dem. No die, but an ace, for him ; for he
is but one.
Lys. Less than an ace, man ; for he is
dead ; he is nothing.
The. With the help of a surgeon he might
yet recover, and prove an ass.
Hip. How chance Moonshine is gone be¬
fore Thisbe comes back and finds her lover ?
The. She will find him by starlight. Here
she comes ; and her passion ends the play. 321
Re-enter Thisbe.
Hip. Methiuks she should not use a long
one for such a Pyramus : I hope she will be
brief.
Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which
Pyramus, which Thisbe, is the better ; he for
a man, God waavut us ; she for a woman,
God ble.ss us. [those sweet eyes.
Xj/.s. She hath spied him aiready with
Dem. And thus she means, videlicet:— 330
This. Asleep, my love ?
What, dead, my dove ?
0 Pyramus, arise 1
Speak, speak. Quite dumb 7
Dead, dead ? A tomb
Must cover thy sweet eyes.
These lily lips.
This cherry nose.
These yellow cowslip cheeks.
Are gone, are gone : 340
Lovers, make moan :
His eyes were green as leeks.
O listers Three,
Come, come to me.
With hands as pale as milk ;
Lay them in gore.
Since you have shore
With shears his thread of silk.
Tongue, not a word :
Come, trusty sword ; 350
Come, blade, my breast imbrue :
[Stabs herself.
And, farewell, friends ;
Thus Thisby ends :
Adieu, adieu, adieu. [Dies.
The. Moonshine and Lion are left to bury
the dead.
Dem. Ay, and Wall too.
Dot [Starting up] No, I assure you ; the
wall is down that parted their fathers. Will
it please you to see the epilogue, or to hear a
Bergomask dance between two of our com¬
pany 7 361
154
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.
[Act v.
Tlie. No epilogue, I pray you j tor your
play needs no excuse. Never excuse ; tor
when the players are all dead, there needs
none to be blamed. Marry, if he that writ it
had played Pyramus and hanged himself in
Thisbe's garter, it would liave been a fine
tragedy : and so it is, truly ; and very nota¬
bly discharged. But, come, your Bergomask:
let your epilogue alone. [A dance.
The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve:
Lovers, to bed ; 'tis almost fairy time. 371
1 fear we shall out-sleep the coming mom
As much as we this night have overwatch'd.
This palpable-gross play hath well beguiled
The heavy gait of night. Sweet friends, to
bed.
A fortnight hold we this solemnity.
In nightly revels and new jollity. [Exeunt.
Entct Puck.
Puck. Now the hungry lion roars.
And the wolf behowls the moon ;
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores, 380
All with weary fe»sk fordone.
Now the wasted brands do glow.
Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud.
Puts the wretth that lies in woe
In remembrance of a shroud.
Now it is the time of night
That the graves all gapihg wide.
Every one lets forth his sfffite.
In the church-way paths to glide :
And we fairies, that do run 390
By the triple Hecate's team.
From the presence of the sun,
Following darkness like a dream.
Now are frolic : not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallow'd house :
I am sent with broom before,
'To sweep the dust behind the door.
Enter Obekon and Titania icith their train.
Ohe. Through the house give glimmering
light,
By the dead and drowsy fire ;
Every elf and fairy sprite 400
Hop as light as bird from brier ;
And this ditty, after me,
Sing, .and dance it trippingly.
Tita. Fir.st, rehearse your song by rote
To each word a warbling note :
Hand in liand, with fairy grace.
Will we sing, and bless this place.
, [Sana and dance.
Ohe. Now, until the break of day,
Through this house each fairy stray.
To the best bride-bed will we, 410
Which by us sluill blessed be ;
And the issue there create
Ever shall be fortunate.
So shall all the couples three
Ever true in loving be ;
And the blots of Nature's hand
Shall not in their issue stand ;
Never mole, hare lip, nor scar.
Nor mark prodigious, such as are
Despised in nativity, 420
Shall uix>n their children be.
With this field-dew consecrate.
Every fairy take his gait; ^
And each several chamber bless,
Tlirough this iialace, with sweet peace ;
And the owner of it blest
Ever shall in safety rest.
Trip away ; make no stay ;
Meet me all by break of day. ■
[Exeunt Oberon, Titania, andirain.
Puck. U we shadows have offended, 430
Think but this, and aU is mended.
That yon have but slumber'd here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme.
No more yielding but a dream.
Gentles, do not reprehend t
If you pardon, we will mend ;
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If we have luiearned luck
Now to 'scajie the servient's tongue, 440
We will make amends ere long ;
Else the Puck a liar call;
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends. [Exit.
KING HENRY VX PART Tl.
(written about 1591-92.)
INTRODUCTION.
The second and third parte ot King Henry VI. are recasts of two older plays— The First Part of the
Contention (published ISM) and The True Tragedieof Richard Duke of iork, £c. (published 1595).
About 3,211 Hues of these old plays re-appear either in the same or in an altered form in 2 and 3
Henry VI.; what remains (2,736 lines) being altogether new. No question in Shakespeare scholar¬
ship is more perplexing and difficult than that of the authorship of these four connected historical
dramas. Various theories have been propounded, but the two which have superseded all others
are: (1) that of Mr. Richard Grant White, that Marlowe, Greene, and Shakespeare (and perhaps Peele)
were the authors of the old plays, and Shakespeare alone the reviser; (2) that of Miss Jane Lee, that
Marlowe and Greene (and possibly Peele) were the authors of tlie old plays, and Shakespeare and
Marlowe (working as collaborateurs) the revisers. The latter is perhaps the uio.st generally accepted
theory. Marlowe's hand is certainly visible in both the old plays and ni some of the passages which
appear for the lirsttime in Henry VI. (See, for a striking example, 2 Henry VI., Act IV. Sc. L, L. 1-11).
Shakespeare and the " Dead Shepherd " whom he alludes to in As You Like It, were then fellow-
workers, and if rivals, their rivalry was noble. But in truth, at this time, Marlowe, by virtue of his
prestige, and because be had found his proper genius while Shakespeare was still feeling after his
true direction, would be the superior, and the degree of independence of spirit shown in Shakespeare's
work, although he is under the influence of Marlowe, is interesting and remarkable. It is evident
that already In variety of imagination and sound judgment Shakespeare surpasses his great contem¬
porary. Miss Lee has made a detailed apportionment of the work among the several writers, but
her table is too long to be reproduced here. She says : " The Third Part of Henry VI. underwent
a much less thorough revision than the second. Out of 3,075 lines in Part II. there are 1,715" new
lines, some 840 altered lines (many but very slightly altered), and some 620 old lines. In Part III., out
of 2,902 lines, there are about 1,021 new lines, about 871 altered lines, and about 1,010 old lines. Hence
it is that in Part III. there are fewer resemblances of thought and verbal expression to Shakespeare's
undoubted writings than in Part II." When the revision of the old plays was made cannot be said
with certainty—perhaps a short time before Marlowe's death, in 1593, perhaps at a date previous to
Greene's sneering allusion to Shakespeare in the Groatsworth of Wit, 1592.
xfRAMATIS
King Henrt the Sixth.
Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, his uncle.
Cardinai. Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester,
great-uncle to the King.
Richard Puantagenbt, Duke of York.
Kdwaro and Richard, his sons.
Duke of Somerset.
Duke of Suffolk.
Duke op Buckingham.
Lord Clifford.
Young Clifford, his son.
Karl of Salisbury.
Earl of Warwick.
Lord Scales.
Lord Say.
Sir Humphrey Stafford, an# William
Stafford, his brother.
Sir John Stanley.
Vaux.
Matthew Goffe.
A Sea-captaiu, Master, and Master's-Mate,
and Walter Whiimore.
PERSON.®:.
Two Gentlemen, prisoners with Suffolk.
John Hume and John Southwell, priests.
Bolingbrokb, a conjurer. [man. ]
Thomas Horner, an armorer. Peter, his
Clerk of Chatham. Mayor of Saint Alban's.
Simpcox, an impostor.
Alexander Iden, a Keiitish gentleman.
Jack Cade, a rebel.
George Bevis, John Holland, Dick the
butcher. Smith the -weaver, Michael,
&c., followers of Cade.
Two Murderers.
Margaret, Queen to King Henry.
ELBANORpDuchess of Gloucester.
Margaret Jourdain, a witch.
Wife to Simpcox.
Lords, Ladies, and Attendants, Petitioners,
Aldermen, a Herald, a Beadle, Sheriff, and
Officers, Citizens, 'Prentices, Falconers,
Guards, Soldiers, Messengers, &c.
A Spirit.
.Scene : England.
(l.Wi
156
KING HENRY VI. PART II.
[Act 1.
ACT I.
Scene L lanAon. The palace.
Flourish of trumpets: then hautboys. Enter
the King, Humphrey, Diike of Glouces¬
ter, Salisbury, Warwick, and Cardinal
Beaufort, on the one side; jAs Queen, Suf¬
folk, York, Somerset, and Buckingham,
on the other.
Suf. As by your high imperial majesty
I had ill charge at my depart for France^
As procurator to your excellence.
To marry Princess Margaret for your grace,
So, in tlie famous ancient city. Tours,
In presence of the Kings of France and Sicil,
Tlie Dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretagne and
Alemjon,
Seven earls, twelve barons and twenty reverend
bishops,
I have perform'd my task and was espoused :
And humbly now ui'ion my bended knee, 10
In sight of England and her lordly peers,
Deliver up my title in the queen
To your most gracious hands, that are the sub¬
stance
Of that great shadow I did represent;
The happiest gift tliat ever marquess gave.
The fairest queen that ever king received.
Kiny. Suffolk, arise. Welcome, Queen
Margaret:
I can express no kinder sign of love
Thau this kind kiss. O Lord, that lends me life.
Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness ! 20
For thou hast given me in this beauteous face
A world of earthly ble.ssiugs to my soul.
If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.
Queen. Great King of England and my
gracious lord,
The mutual conference that my mind hath had.
By day, by night, waking and in my dreams.
In courtly company or at my beads.
With you, mine alder-liefest soverei^.
Makes me the bolder to salute my king
With ruder terms, such as my wit affords 30
And over-joy of heart doth minister.
Kimj. Her sight did ravish ; but her grace
in speech.
Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty.
Makes me from wondering fall to weeping
joys ;
Such is the fulness of my heart's content.
Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my
love.
All \kneeUny\. Long live Queen Margaret,
England's happiness I
Queen. We thank you all. [Flourish.
Suf, My lord protector, so it please your
grace,
Here are the articles of contracted peace 40
Between our sovereign and the French king
Charles,
For eighteen months concluded by consent.
Glou. [Reads] ' Imprimis, it is agreed be¬
tween the French king Charles, and William de
la Pole, Marquess of Suffolk, ambassador for
Henry King of England, that the said Henry
shall espouse the Lady Margaret, daughter
unto Beignier Kiiig of Naples, Siciiiaiand derii-
g ilem, and crown lier Queen of Engl.and ere
tlie thirtieth of May next ensuing. Item, that
the duchy of Anjou and the county of Maine
shall be released and delivered to the kinglicr
father'— [Lets the paper fall.
King. Uncle, how now I
Glou. Pardon me, gracious lord ;
Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the
lieart
And dimm'd mine eyes, that 1 can read no fur¬
ther.
King. Uncle of Winchester, 1 pray, read oil
Car. [Reads] ' Item, It is further agreed be¬
tween them, that the duchies of Anion and
Maine shall be released and delivered over to
the king her father, and she sent over of the
King of England's own proiier cost and charges,
without having any dowry.'
King. They please us well. Lord marquess,
kneel down :
We here create thee the first duke of Suffolk,
And gird thee with the sword. Cousin of
York,
We here discharge your grace from being re¬
gent
r the parts of France, till term of eighteen
mouths
Be full e.xpired. Thanks, uncle Winchester,
Gloucester, York, Buckingham, Somerset,
Salisbury, and Warwick ; 70
AVe thaiik you all for this great favor done,
In entertainment to my princely queen.
Come, let us in, and with all sjieed provide
To see her coronation be perform'd.
[Exeunt King, Queen, and Sujfolk.
Glou. Brave peers of England, pillars of the
state.
To you Duke Humphrey must unload his grief.
Your grief, the common grief of all the laud.
What! didmybrotherHenry spend his youth.
His valor, coin and people, in the wars ?
Did he so often lodge in ojien field, 80
In winter's cold and summer's parching heat.
To conquer France, his true inheritance ?
And did my brother Bedford toil his wits.
To keep by policy what Henry got ?
Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham,
Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious AVar-
wick,
Received deep scars in France and Normandy 1
Or hath mine uncle Beaufort and myself,
AVith all the learned council of the realm.
Studied so long, sat in the council-house 90
Early and late, debating to and fro
How France and Frenchmen might be kept in
awe.
And had his highness in his infancy
Crowned in Paris in despite of foes ?
And shall these labors and these honors die 7
Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance.
Your deeds of war and all our counsel die ?
O peers of England, shameful is this league
Fatal this marriage, cancelling your tone, .
Scene i.]
KING HENRY
VL PART II.
157
Blotting j'owr names from books of memory,
Kazing the characters of your renown, 101
Defacing monuments of conquer'd Fiance,
Undoing all, as all had never been !
Car. Nephew, what means this passionate
discourse.
Thisjieroration with such circumstance 7
For France, 'tis ours ; and we will keep it still.
Glou. Ay, uncle, we will keep it, if we can ;
But now it IS impossible we should :
Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the
roast,
Ilath given the duchy of Anjou and Maine 110
Unto the poor King Reignier, whose large style
Agrees not with the leanness of his purse.
Scd. Now, by the death of Him that died
for all.
These counties were the keys of Normandy.
But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant
son ?
War. For grief that they are pa.st recovery :
For, were there hope to conquer them again.
My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes
no tears.
Anjou and Maine ! myself did win them both ;
Those provinces these arms of mine did con¬
quer : 120
And are the cities, that I got with wounds.
Delivered up again with peaceful words ?
Mort Dieu !
York. For Suffolk's duke, may he be suffo¬
cate.
That dims the honor of this warlike isle 1
France should have torn and rent my very
heart.
Before I would have yielded to this league.
I never read but England's kings have had
Large sums of gold and dowries with their
wives :
And our King Henry gives away his own, 130
To match with her that brings no vantages.
Oloti. A proper jest, and never heard before,
Tliat Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth
For costs and cliarges in transporting her !
She should have sUiyed in France and starved
in France,
Before—
Car. My Lord of Gloucester, now ye grow
too hot:
It was the pleasure of my lord the king.
'Gfou. My Lord of Winchester, I know your
mind ;
'Tis not my speeches that you do mfslike, 140
But 'tis my presence that doth trouble ye.
Rancor will out: proud prelate, in thy face
I see thy fury: if 1 longer stay.
We shall begin our ancient bickerings.
Lordings, farewell; and say, when I am gone,
I prophesied France will be lost ere long. [Exit.
Car. So, there goes our protectot in a rage.
'Tis known to you he is mine enemy,
Nay, more, an enemy unto you all.
And no great friend. I fear me, to the king. 150
Consider, lords, he Is the next of blood.
And heir apparent to the English crown :
Had Henry got an empire by his marriage.
And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west.
There's reason he should be displeased at it..
Look to it, lords ! let not his smoothing words
Bewitch your hearts ; be wise and circumsjiect.
What though the common people favor him.
Calling him 'Humphrey, the good Duke of
Gloucester,'
Clapping their hands, and crying with loud
voice, ItiO
' Jesu maintain your royal excellence I'
With 'God preserve the good Duke Hum¬
phrey !'
I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss.
He will be found a dangerous protector.
Buck. Why should he, then, protect onr
sovereign.
He being of age to govern of himself ?
Cousin of Somerset, join you with me.
And all together, with the Duke of Suffolk,
We'll quickly hoise Duke Humphrey from his
seat.
Car. This weighty busuiess wiU not brook
d^ay: 170.
I'll to the Duke of Suffolk presently. [Exit.
Som. Cousin of Buckingham, though Hum¬
phrey's pride
And greatne.ss of his place be grief to us.
Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal :
His insolence is more intolerable
Than all the princes in the land beside :
If Gloucester be displaced, he'll be protector.
Buck. Or thou or I, Somerset, will be pro¬
tector.
Despite Duke Humphre.y or the cardinal.
[Exeunt Buckingham and Somerset.
Sal. Pride went before, ambition follows
him. 180
While these do labor for their own preferment.
Behoves it us to labor for the realm.
I never saw bntHumphrey Dukeof Gloucester
Did bear him like a noble gentleman.
Oft have I seen the haughty cardinal.
Mora like a soldier than a man o' the church.
As stout and proud as he were lord of all.
Swear like a ruffian and demean himself
Unlike the ruler of a commonweal.
Warwick, my sou, the comfort of my age, 190
Thy deeds, thy plainness and thy housekeep¬
ing.
Hath won the greatest favor of the commons.
Excepting none but good Duke Humphrey :
And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland,
In bringing them to civil discipline.
Thy late exploits done in the heart of France,
When thou wert regent for onr sovereim.
Have made thee fear'd and honor'd of the peo¬
ple :
Join we together, for the public good, '
In what we can, to bridle and suppress 200
The pride of Suffolk and the cardinal, ■
With Somerset's and Buckingham'sambition ;
And, as we may, cherish Duke Humphrey's
deeds,
AVhile they do tend the profit of the .land.
War. So God help Warwick, as he loves
the land.
158
KING HENRY VI. PART 11.
[Act i.
And Common gtrofit of iiis country !
Yorh. [Aside] And so says York, for he hath
greatest cause.
ScU. Then let's make haste away, and look
unto the main.
War. Unto the main ! O father, Maine is
lost;
That Maine which by main force Warwick did
' win.
And would have kept so long as breath did last!
Main chance, father, yon meant; but I meant
Maine,
Which, I will win from France, or else be slain,
[Exeunt Warwick and Salisbury.
York. Anjou and Maine are given to the
French ;
Paris is lost; the state of Normandy
Stands on a tickle point, now they are gone :
Suffolk concluded on the articles.
The jieers agreed, and Henry was well pleased
To change two dukedoms for a duke's fair
daughter. 219
I cannot blame them all : what is't to them ?
'Tis thine they give away, and not their own.
Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their
pill.age
And purchase friends and give to courtezans,
Still revelling like lords till all be gone ;
While as the silly owner of the goods
Weeps over them and wrings his hapless hands
And shakes' his head and trembling stands,
aloof.
While all is shared and all is borne away.
Ready to starve and dare not touch his own :
So York must sit and fret and bite his tongue,
While his own lands are bargain'd for and
sold. 231
Methinks the realms of England, France and
Ireland
Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood
As did the fatal brand Althsea bum'd
Unto the prince's heart of Calydon.
Anjou and Maine both given unto the French !
Cold news for me, for I had hope of France,
Even as I have of fertile England's soil.
A day will come when Yoidc shall claim his
own ;
And therefore I will take the Nevils' parts 240
And make .a show of love to proud Duke Hum¬
phrey,
And, when 1 spy advantage, claim the crown.
For that's the golden mark I seek to hit:
Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right.
Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist.
Nor wear the diadem upon his head.
Whose church-like humors fits not for a crown.
Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve :
Watch thou and wake when others be asleep.
To pry into the secrets of the state ; 250
Till rienry, snrfeiting in joys of love.
With his new bride and England's dear-bought
queen, [jars :
And Humphrey with the peers be fall'u at
Then will.I raise sdoft the milk-white rose.
With whose sweet smell tlie air shall be i^er-
josaed ■-
And in my standivrd bear the arms of York,
To grapple with tlve house of Lancaster ;
And, force perforce, I'll make him yield the
crown.
Whose bookish rule hath pnll'd fair England
down. » [Exit.
Scene XL The Duke op Geoucesteb's
house.
Enter Duke Humphkey and his wife El¬
eanor,
Duch. Why droops my lord, like over-
ripen'd com.
Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load ?
Why doth the great Duke Humphrey knit his
brows.
As frowning at the favors of the world ?
Why are thine eyes fixed to the sullen earth.
Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight
What seestthou there ? King Henry's diadem.
Enchased with all the honors of the world ?
If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face.
Until th.y head be cii-cled with the same. 10
Put forth thy luind, reach at the glorious gold.
What, is't too short? I'll lengthen it with
mine ;
And, having both together heaved it up.
We'll both together lift our heads to heaven,
And never more abase our sight so low
As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground.
Glou. O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love ,
thy lord.
Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts.
And may that thought, when I imagine ill
Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry,
Be my last breathing in this mortal world ! 21
My troublous dream this night doth make me
sad.
Duch. What dream'd my lord ? tell me,
and I'll requite it
With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream.
Glou. Methought tins staff, mine office-
badge in coqrt.
Was broke in twain ; by whom I have forgot.
But, as I think, it w.as by the cardinal;
And on the pieces of the broken wand
Were placed the heads of Edmund Duke of
Somerset, ,
And William de la Pole, first duke oil Suffolk.
This was my dream : what it doth bode, God.
knows. I 31
Duch. Tut, this was nothing but au argu¬
ment
That he that breaks a stick of Gloucester's
grove
Shall lose his head for his presumption.
But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweetduke:
Methought I sat in seat of majesty
In the cathedral church of Westmimster,
And in that chair where kings and queens are
crown'd ;
Where Henry and. dame Margaret kneel'd to
me .
And on my head did set the diadem. 40
Glou. Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide out-
Scene hi.]
KING HENRY VI. PART II.
155)
Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtured Eleanor,
Art thou not second woman in the realm.
And the protector's wife, beloved of him ?
Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command.
Above the reach or compass of thy thought ?
And wilt thou still be hammering treachery.
To tumble down thy husband and thyself
From top of honor to di.sgrace's feet ?
Away from me, and let me hear no moie ! 50
Duch. What, what, my lord ! are you so
choleric
With Eleanor, for telling but her dream f
Next time I'll keep ray dreams unto myself,
And not be check'd.
Glou. Nay, be not angry ; I am pleased
again.
Enter Messenger.
Mess. My lord protector, 'tis his highness'
pleasure
You do prepare to lide unto Saint Alban's,
Where as the king and queen do mean to hawk.
Glou. I go. Come, Nell, thou wilt ride
with us ?
Duch. Yes, my good lord, I'll follow pres¬
ently. 60
[Excxint Gloucester and Messenger.
Follow I must; I cannot go before.
While Gloucester, bears this base and humble
mind.
Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood,
1 would remove these tedious stumbling-
blocks [necks ;
And smooth my way upon their headless
And, being a woman, I will not be slack
To play my part In Fortune's pageant.
Where are you there ? Sir John I nay, fear
not, roan.
We are alone ; here's none but thee and I.
Enter Hume.
Hume. Jesus preserve your royal majesty !
Duch. What say'st thou ? majesty ! I am
but grace. 71
Hume. But, by the grace of God, and
Hume's advice.
Your grace's title shall be multiplied.
Dueh. What say'st tliou, man ? hast thou
as yet conferr'd
With Margery Jonrdain, the cunning witch.
With RogerEollngbroke, the conjurer?
And will they undertake to do me good ?
Hume. This they have promised, to show
your hmhness
A splnt raised from depth of under-ground,
That shall make answer to such questions 80
As by your grace shall be propounded him.
Dueh. It Is enough ; I'll think upon the
questions :
When from St. Alban's we da make return.
We'll see these things effects to the full.
Here, Hume, take this reward ; make merry,
man,
With thy confederates In this weighty cause.
[Exit.
Hume. Hume must make merry with the
duchess' gold;
Marry, and shall. But, how now, Sir John
Hume !
Seal up your hps, and give no words but mum:
The business asketh silent secrecy.
Dame Eleanor gives gold to bring the witch ;
Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil.
Yet have I gold flies from another coast;
I dare not say, from the rich cardinal
And from the great and new-made Duke of
Suffolk,
Yet I do find it so ; for, to be plain, ■ [mor,
They, knowing Dame Eleanor's aspiring hu-
Have hired me to undermine the duchess
And buz these conjurations In her brain.
They say '■ A crafty knave does need no bro¬
ker ; • 100
Yet am I Suffolk and the cardinal's broker.
Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near
To call them both a pair of crafty knaves.
Well, so it stands ; and thus, I fear, at last
Hume's knavery will be the duchess' wreck.
And her attalnture will be Humphrey's fall :
Sort how It will, I shall have gold for all.
[Exit.
Scene III. The palace.
Enter three or four Petitioners, Peter,
Axmorex''s man, being one..
First Petit. My masters, let's stand close :
my lord protector will come this way by and
by, and then we may deliver ovr supplications
In the milll.
Sec. Petit. Marry, the Lord protect him,
for he's a good man ! Jesu bless him I
Enter Suffolk and Queen.
Peter. Here a' comes, niethiuks, and the
queen with him. I'll be the first, sure.
Sec. Petit. Come back, fool ; this is the
Duke of Suffolk, and not my lord protector. 10
Suf. How now, fellow ! would'st anything
with me ?
Fix-sl Petit. I pray, my lord, pardon me ; I
took ye for my lord protector.
Queen. [Reading] ' To my Lord Protector!'
Are your supplications to his lordship ? Let
me see them : what is thine ?
First Petit. Mine is, an't please your grace,
against John Goodman, my lord cardinal's
man, for keeping my house, and lauds, and
wife and all, from me. 21
Suf. Thy wife, too ! that's some wrong.
Indeed. What's yours ? What's here ! [fJe<i<isj
' Against the Duke of Suflblk, for enclosing
the commons of Melford.' How now, sir
knave!
Sec. Petit. Alas, sir, I am but a poor peti¬
tioner of our whole township.
Peter. [Giving his petition] Against my
master, Thomas Homer, for saying that the
Duke of York was rightful heir to the crown.
Queen. What sayst thou ? did the Duke of
York say he was rightful heir to the crown ?
Peter '. That my master was ? no, forsooth:
my master said that he was, and that the king
was an usurper.
Suf. Who Is there ? [ Enitr Servant.] Take
160
this fellow iu, aud send for his master with a
pursuivant presently: we'll hear more of your
matter before the king.
[Exit Servaiit loilh Peter.
Queen. Aud as for you, that love to be
protected 40
Under the wings of our protector's grace,
Begin your suits anew, aud sue to him.
[Tears the supplication.
Away, base cullions ! Suffolk, let them go.
All. Come, let's be gone. [Exeunt.
Queen. My Lord of Suffolk, say, is this the
guise.
Is this the fashion iu the court of England ?
Is this the government of Britain's isle,
And this the royalty of Albion's king ?
What, shall King Henry be a ijupil still
Under the surly Gloucester's governance ?
Am I a queen iu title and in style.
And must be made a subject to a duke ?
I tell thee, Pole, when in the city Tours
Thou ran'St a tilt in honor of my love
And stolest away the ladies' hearts of France,
I thought King Henry had resembled thee
In couKige, courtship and proportion :
But all his mind is bent to holiness,
To number Ave-Maries on his beads ;
His champions are the prophets and apostles,
His weapons holy saws of sacred writ, 61
His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves
Are brazen images of canonized saints.
I would the college of the cardinals
Would choose him pope, and carry him to
Rome,
And set'the triple crown upon his head :
That were a state fit for his holiness.
Suf. Madam, be patient : as I was cause
Your highness came to England, so will I
In England work your grace's full content. 70
Queen. Beside the haughty protector, have
we Beaufort,
The imperious churchman, Somerset, Buck¬
ingham, [the.se
And grumblin.g York: and not the least of
But can do more in England than the kuig.
Suf. And he of these that can do most of
all
Cannot do more in England than the Hevils :
Salisbury and Warwick are no simple peer.s.
Queen, Not all these lords do vex me half
so much
As that proud dame, the lord protector's wife.
She sweeps it through the court with troops of
ladies, 80
More like an empress than Duke Humphrey's
wife :
Strangers in court do take her-for the queen:
She bears a duke's revenues on her back.
And in her heart she scorns our poverty:
Slrall I uot live to be avenged on her ?
^ntemptuous base-born callet as she is.
She vaunted 'mongsther minions t'other day,
'The very train of her worst wearing gown
Was better worth than all my father's lands,
1111 Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daugh¬
ter. 90
[Act 1.
Suf. Madam, myself have limed a bush for
her.
And placed a quire of such enticing birds,
That she wili light to listen to the lays.
And never mount to trouble you again.
So, let her rest: and, madam, list to me ;
For I am bold to counsel you in this.
Althougli we fancy not the cardinal.
Yet must we join with him aud with the lords.
Till we have brought Duke Humphrey in dis¬
grace.
As for, the Duke of York, this late com¬
plaint 100
Will make but little for his benefit.
So, one by one, we'll weed them all at last,
Aud you yourself shall steer the happy helm.
Sound a sennet. Enter the Kom, Ditke Hum¬
phrey of Gloucester, Cari>inal Beau¬
fort, Buckingham, York, Sosierset,
Salisbury, Warwick, and the Duchess
op Gloucester.
King. For my part, noble lords, I care not
which ;
Or Somerset or York, all's one to me.
York. If York have ill demean'd himself
in France,
Then let him be denay'd the regentship.
Som. If Somerset be unworthy of the
place.
Let York be regent; I will yield to him.
War. Whether your grace be worthy, j'ea
or no.
Dispute not that: York is the worthier. 110
Car. Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters
speak.
War. The cardinal's not my better in tlie
field.
Buck. All in this presence are thy betters,
AVarwick.
War. Warwick may live to be the beat of
all.
Sal. Peace, son ! and show some reason,
Buckingham,
Wliy Somerset should be preferred in tliis.
Queen. Because the king, forsooth, will
have it so.
Olou. Madam, the king is old enongk
Iiimself
To give his censure: these are no women's
matters. 120
Queen. If he be old enough, what needs
your grace
To be protector of his excellence ?
Glou. Madam, I am protector of the realm;
And, at his pleasure, will resign my place.
Suf. Resign it then and leave thine inso¬
lence.
Since thou wert king—as who is king but
thou ?—
The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck ;
The Dauphin hath prevail'd beyond the seas ;
And all the peers and nobles of the realm
Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty. 130
Car. The commons hast thou rack'd ; tl e
clergy's bags
KING HENRY VI. PART II.
Scene iv.] KING HENRY
Are lAuk and lean with thy extortions.
Som. Thy sumptuous, builduigs and thy
wile's attire
Have cost a mass of public treasury.
Buck. Thy cruelty in execution
Upon offenders, hath exceeded hvw,
And left thee to the mei-cy of the law.
Queen. Thy .sale of offices and towns in
France,
'f they were known, as the suspect is great,
/Vould make thee quickly hop without thy
head. i r
lExit Gloucester, The Queen drops Iter fan.
Give me my fan : what, minion ! can ye not ?
[/She gives the Duchess a box on the ear.
I cry you mercy, madam ; was it you ?
Duch. Was't I! yea, I it was, x>roud French¬
woman ;
CJould I come near your beauty with my nails,
I'd set my ten commandments in your face.
King. Sweet aunt, be quiet; 'twas against
her will.
Duch. Against her will! good king, look
to't in time ; [baby ;
She'll hamper thee, and dandle thee like a
Though in this place most master wear no
breeches.
She shall not strike Dame Eleanor unre-
venged. [Exit.
Buck. Lord cardinal, I will follow Eleanor,
And listen after Humphrey, how he pro¬
ceeds :
She's tickled now ; her fume needs no spurs,
She'U gallop far enough to her destruction.
[Exit.
Re-enter Gloucester.
Glou. Now, lords, my choler being over¬
blown
With walking once about the quadrangle,
( come to talk of commonwealth affairs.
As for your spiteful false objections.
Prove them, and I lie open to the law :
But God in mercy so deal with my soul, 160
As 1 in duty love my king and country !
But, to the matter that we have in hand ;
1 say, my sovereign, York is meetest man
To be your regent in the realm of France.
Svf. Before we make election, give me
leave
To show some reason, of no little force.
That York is most unmeet of any man.
York. I'll tell thee, Suffolk, why I am un¬
meet :
first, for I cannot flatter thee in pride ;
Next, if I be appointed for the place, 170
My Lord of Somerset will keep me here.
Without discharge, money, or furniture,
fill France be won mto the Dauphin's hands :
Last time, 1 danced attendance on his will
Till Paris was besieged, fan^sli'd, and lost.
War. That can I witness ; and a fouler
fact
Did never traitor in the land commit.
/Suf. Peace, headstrong Warwick !
War. Image of pride, why should I hold
my peace ?
ri. PART 11. 161
Enter Horner, the Atmorer, and Itis man
Peter, guarded.
Suf. Because here is a man accused of
treason : 180
Pray God the Duke of York excuse himself !
York. Doth any one accuse York for a
traitor ?
King. What mean'st thou, Suffolk ; tell
me, what are these ? [man
Stif. Please it your majesty, this is the
Tliat doth accuse his master of nigh treason ;
His words were tifese : that Richard, Duke of
York,
Was rightful heir unto the English crown
And tliat your majesty was a usurper.
King. Say, man, were these thy words ?
Hor. Au't shall please your majesty,
never said nor thought any such matter ; God
is my witness, I am falsely accused by the
villain.
Pet. By these ten bones, my lords, he did
speak them to mo in the ganet one night, as
we were scouring my Lord of York's armor.
York. Base dunghill villain and mechan¬
ical,
I'll have thy head for this thy traitor's speech.
1 do beseech your royal majesty.
Let him have all the rigor of the law. 199
Ilor. Alas, my lord, hang me, if ever I
spake the words. My accuser is my 'prentice ;
and when I did correct him for his fault the
other day, he did vow upon his knees he
would be even with me : 1 nave good witness
of this : therefore 1 beseech your majesty, do
not cast away an honest man for a villain's
accusation.
King. Uncle, what shall we say to this in
law ?
Glou. This doom, my lord, if I may judge:
Let Somerset be regent o'er the French,
Because in York this breeds suspicion : 210
And let these have a day appointed them
For single combat in convenient place.
For he hath witness <>f his servant's malice :
This is the law, and this Duke Humphrey's
doom.
Som. I humbly thank your royal majesty.
Hor. And 1 accei>t the combat willingly.
Pet. Alas, my lord, 1 cannot fight; for
God's sake, pity my case. The spite of man
l>revaileth against me. O Lord, liave mercy
upon me ! I shall never be able to fight a
blow. O Lord, my heart! 221
Glou. Sirrah, or you must fight, or else he
hang'd,
King. Away with them to ivrison ; and the
day of combat shall be the last of the next
month. Come, Somerset, we'll see thee sent
away. [F7oti'i'is/i. Exeunt.
Scene IV. Gloucester's garden.
Enter Margery Jourdain, Hume, South¬
well, and Bolingbroke.
Hume. Come, my masters ; the duchess, I
tell you, expects performance of your prom¬
ises.
11
1(52
KING HENRY VI. PART 11.
lact ii.
Bolin'g. Master Hume, we are therefore
provided : will her ladyship behold and hear
our exorcisms ?
Hume. Ay, what else? fear you not her
courage.
Baling. I have heard her repoited to he a
woman of an invincible spirit ; but it sliall be
convenient. Master Hume, that you be by her
aloft, while we be busy below ; and so, I pray
you, go, in God's name, and leave us. [Azit
Hume.'\ Mother Jourdaiu, be you prostrate
and grovel on the earth;'John Southwell,
read you ; and let us to our work.
Enter Duchess aloft, Hume following.
Duch. Well said, my masters ; and wel¬
come all. To this gear the sooner the better.
Baling. Patience, good lady ; wizards
know their times ;
Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night.
The time of night when Troy was set on fire ;
The time when screech-owls cry and ban-dogs
howl.
And spirits walk and ghosts break up their
graves.
That time best fits the work we have in hand.
Madam, sit you and fear not: whom we raise.
We will make fast within a hallow'd verge.
[Here theg da the ceremanies belanging,
and make the circle; Bolingbrake or
Southwell reads, Conjuro te, &c. It
thunders and lightens terribly; then
the Spirit riseth.
Spir. Adsum..
M. Jourd. Asmath,
By the eternal God, whose name and power
Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask ;
For, till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from
hence. 30
Spir. Ask what thou wilt. That I had said
and done!
Baling. ' First of the king : what shall of him
become ?' [Reading out of a paper.
Spir. The duke yet lives that Henry shall
depose ;
But him outlive, and die a violent death.
[As the Spirit speaks, Southwell
writes the answer.
Baling. ' What fates await the Duke of
Suffolk?'
Spir. By water shall he die, and take his
end.
Baling. ' What shall befall the Duke of
Somerset ?'
Spir. Let him shun castles ;
Siifer shall he be upon the sandy plains
Than where castles mounted stand. 40
Have done, for more I hardly can endure.
Baling. Descend to darkness and the burn¬
ing lake !
False fiend, avoid !
[Thunder and lightning. Exit Spirit.
Enter the Duke of York and the Duke of
Buckirgham with their Guard and break in.
York. Lay hands upon these ttailiqts and
their tra.sh.
Beldam, I think we watch'd you at an inch.
Wh.at, madam, are you there ? the king and
commonweal
Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains :
My lord protector will, I doubt it not,
See you well guerdon'd for these good deserts.
Duch. Not half so bad as thine to England's
king, 60
Injurious duke, thatthreatest where's no caiisfe-
Buck. True, madam, none at all: what call
yon this ?
Away with them I let them beclapp'd up close.
And kept asunder. You, madam, shall with
us.
Stafford, take her to thee.
[Exeunt above Duchess and Hume, guarded.
We'll see your trinkets here all forthcoming.
All, away I
[Exeunt guard with Jaurdain, Southwell, <tc.
York. Lord Buckingham, methinks, you
watch'd her well :
A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon !
Now, pray, my lord, let's see the devil's writ.
What have we here ? [Reads. 61
' The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose;
But him outlive, and die a violent death.'
Why, this is just
' Aio te, jEacida, Romanes viucere posse.'
Well, to the rest:
' Tell me whatfate awaits the Dukeof Suffolk?
By water shall he die, and take his end.
What shall betide the Duke of Somerset?
Let him shun castles ; 70
Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains
Than where castles mounted stand.'
Come, come, my lords ;
These oracles are hardly attain'd.
And hardly understood.
The king is, now in progress towards Saint
Alban's,
With him the husband of this lovely lady :
Thither go these news, as fast as horse can
carry them:
A sorry breakfast for my lord protector.
Buck. Your grace shall give me leave, my
lord of York, 80
To be the post, in hope of his reward.
York. At your pleasure, my good lord.
TVho's within there, ho !
Enter a Servingman.
Invite my Lords of Salisbury and Warwick
To sup with me to-morrow night. Away !
[Ezenini.
ACT H.
Scene I. Saint Alban's.
Enter the King, Queen, Gloucester, Car¬
dinal, and Suffolk, with Falconers hol¬
laing.
Queen. Believe me, lords, for flying at the
brook,
I saw not better sport these seven years' day ;
Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high ;.
ScEint i,j
KING HENRY VI. PART II.
And, tea to cue, old Joan had not gone out.
Kin;). But wliat a point, my lord, your fal¬
con made.
And what a pitch she flew above the rest!
To see how God in all his creatures works !
Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high.
&'«/. No marvel, an it like your majesty.
My lord protector's hawks do tower so well; 10
They know their master loves to be aloft.
And bears his thoughts above his falcon's
pitch.
Qlou. My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind
That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.
Car. I thought as much ; he would be above
the clouds.
Glou. Ay, my lord cardinal ? how think
you by that ?
Were it not good your grace could fly to
heaven y
Klmj. The treasury of everlasting joy.
Car. Thy heaven is on earth ; thine eyes
and thoughts
Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart; 20
Peniicious protector, dangerous peer,
That smooth'st it so with king and common-
, weal !
Gloa. What, cardinal, is your priesthood
grown peremptory ?
Tantane animis coelestibns irae ?
Churchmen so hot ? good uncle, hide such mal¬
ice ;
With such holiness can you do it?
All/. No malice, sir ; no more than well be¬
comes
So good a quarrel and so bad a peer.
Glau. As who, my lord ?
Suf. Why, as you, my lord,
An't like your lordly lord-protectorship. 30
Glou. Why, Suffolk, England knows thine
insolence.
Queen. And thy ambition, Gloucester.
' Kinci. I prithee, peace, good queen.
And whet not on these furious peers ;
For blessed are the iieacemakers on earth.
Car. Let me be blessed for the peace I
make.
Against this proud protector, with my sword !
Glou. [Aside to Car.'] Faith, holy uncle,
would 'twere come to that!
Car. [Aside to Glou.] Marry, when thou
darest.
Glou. [Aside to Can] Make np no factions
numbers for the matter ; 40
In thine own person answer thy abuse.
Car. [Aside to Glou.] Ay, where thou
darest nut peep : an if thou darest,
Tliis evening, on the east side of the grove.
King. How now, my lords !
Car. Believe me, cousin Gloucester,
Had not your man put up the fowl .so suddenly.
We had had more sport. [AsideTo Glou.] Come
with thy two-hand sword.
Glofu. True, uncle.
Oar. [Aside to Glou.] Are ye advised ? the
east side of the grove ? [.vou.
Glott, [Aside to Car.] Cardinal, I am with
King. Why, how now, uncle Gloucester 1
Gloit. Talking of liawking; nothing else,
my lord. 50
[Aside to Car.] Now, by God's mother, priest,
I'll shave your crown for this,
Gr all my fence shall fail.
Car. [Aside to Glou.] Medice, teipsum—
Protector, see to't well, protect yourself.
King. The winds grow high ; so do your
stomachs, lords.
How irksome is this music to my heart!
When such strings jar, what hope of-har¬
mony ?
I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife.
Enter a Townsman of Saint Allan's, crying
' A miracle !'
Glou. What means this noise ?
Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim ? 60
Towns. A miracle ! a miracle !
Suf. Come to the king and tell him what
miracle.
Tokens. Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Al-
ban's shrine.
Within this half-hour, hath received his sight;
A man that ne'er saw in his life before.
King. Now, God be praised, that to believ¬
ing souls
Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair !
Enter the Mayor of Saint Allan's and his
brethren, bearing Simpcox, between two. in a
chair, simpcox's Wife following.
Car. Here comes the townsmen on proces¬
sion.
To present your highness with the man.
King. Great is his comfort in this earthly
vale, 70
Although by his sight his sin be multiplied.
Glou. Stand by, my masters: bring him
near the king;
His highness' pleasure is to talk with him.
King. Good fellow, tell us here the circum¬
stance.
That we for thee may glorify the Lord.
What, hast thou been long blind and now re¬
stored ?
Simp. Born blind, an't please your grace.
Wife. Ay, indeed, was he.
Snf. What woman is this ?
His wife, an't like your worship. 80
Glou. Hadst thou been his mother, thou
couldst have better told.
King. Where wert thou born ?
Simp. At Berwick in the north, an't like
your grace.
King. Poor soul, God's goodness hath been
great to thee :
Let never day nor night unhallow'd jiass.
But still remember what the Lord hath done.
Queen. Tell me, good fellow, camest thou
here by chance,
Or of devotion, to this holy shrine ? [call'd
Simp. God knows, of pure devotion ; being
A hundred times and oftener, in my sleep, fjo
By good Saint Alban ; who said, ' Simjicox,
come.
164
•
Com.^, offer at ruy shime, and I will help thee.'
Wife. Most true, forsooth ; and uuiny time
and oft
Myseif have heard a voice to cali him so.
Car. What, art thou lame ?
Simp. Ay, God Almighty help me !
Suf. How camek thou so ?
Simp. A fall off of a tree.
Wife. A plum-tree, master.
Gloii. How long hast thou been blind ?
Simp. O, born so, ma.ster.
GU)u. What, and wouldst climb a tree ?
Simp. But that in aii my life, when I was
a youth.
Wife. Too true ; and bought his climbing
very dear. 100
Glou. Mass, thou lovedst plums well, that
wouldst venture so.
Simp. Alas, good master, my wife desired
some damsons.
And made me climb, with danger of my life.
Glou. A subtle knave ! but yet it shall not
serve. [them:
Let me see thine eyes : wink now : now open
In my opinion yet thou see'st not well.
Simp. Yes, master, clear as day, I thank
God and Saint Alban.
Glou. Say'st thou me so ? What color is
this cloak of 7
Simp. Red, master; red as blood. 110
Glou. Why, that's well said. What color
is my gown of 7
Simp, Black, forsooth : coal-black as jet
King. Why, then, thou know'st what color
jet is of 7
Suf. And yet, I think, jet did he never see.
Glou. But cloaks and gowns, before this
day, a many.
Wife. Never, before this day, in all liis life.
Glou. Tell me, sirrah, what's my name?
Simp. Aias, master, I kuow not
GUm. What's his name 7
Simp. I know not 120
0km. Nor his 7
Simp. No, indeed, master.
Glou. What's thine own name 7
Simp. Saunder Simpcox, an if it please
you, master
Glou. 'fheu, Saunder, sit there, the lyingest
knave in Christendom. If thou hadst been
born blind, thou mightest as well have known
all our names as uius to name the several
colors we do wear. Sight may distinguish of
colors, but suddenly to nominate them all, it
is impossible. My lords. Saint Alban here
hath done a miracle ; and would ye not think
his cunning to be great, that could restore
this cripple to his legs again 7
Simp. O m.oster, that you could !
Glou. My masters of Saint .Ylban's, have
you not beadles in your town, and things
called whips 7
May. Yes, my lord, if it please your grace.
Gloiu Then send for one presently. 140
May. Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither
•tiais^t. \,Exit an Attendant.
[.\Ot II.
Glou. Now fetch me a stool hither by and
by. Now, sirrah, if you mean to save yourself
from whiijping, leap me over tliis stool and
run away.
Simp. Alas, master, I am not able to stand
alone:
You go about to torture me in vain.
Knter a Beadle xcith whips.
Glou. Well, sir, we must have you 6nd
your legs. Sirrah beadle, whip him till he
leap over that same stool. 15C
Bead. I will, my lord. Come on, sirrah;
off with your doublet quickly.
Simp.^ Alas, master, what shall I do 7 )
am not able to stand.
[After the Beadle hath hil him once,
lie leaps over the stool and runt
away; and they follow and cry,
' A miracle !'
King. 0 God, seest Thou this, and bearest
so long 7
Queen. It made me laugh to see the villain
run.
Glou. Follow the knave; and take this drab
away.
Wife. Alas, sir, we did it for pure need.
Glou. Let them be whijiped through every
market-town, till they come to Berwick, from
whence they came. 160
[Exeunt Wife, Beadle, Mayor, Ac.
Car. Duke Humphrey has done a miracle
to-day,
Suf. True ; made the lame to leap and fly
away.
Glou. But you have done more miracles
than I;
You made in a day, my lord, whole towns to
fly.
Enter BtrcKiNGHAM,
King. Wliat tidings with our cousin Buck¬
ingham 7
Buck. Such as my heart doth tremble to
unfold.
A sort of naughty persons, lewdly bent.
Under the countenance and confederacy
Of Lady Eleanor, the protector's wife.
The ringleader and head of ail this rout, 170
Have practised dangerously agaiixst your state,
Dealing with witches and with conjurers ;
Whom we have anprehended in the fact;
Raising up wicked spirits from under ground.
Demanding of King Henry's life and death.
And other of your highness' privy-council;
As more at large your gmce shall uudei-stand.
Car. [Aside to Gloit^ And so, my lord pro¬
tector, by this means
Your lady is forthcoming yet at London.
This news, I think, hath tum'd your weapon's
edge; 18C
'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour.
Glou. Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict
my heart :
Sorrow and grief havevauquish'd all my pow'
ei-s ;
And, vanquish'd as I am, I yield to thee,
KING BENRY VI. PART 11.
Scene tt.]
KING HENRY
VI. PART XL
166
Ot to the meanest groom.
King. O God, what mischiefs work the
wicked ones, ,
Heaping confusion on their own heads there¬
by ! .
Queen. Gloucester, see here the tainture of
thy nest,
And look thyself he faultless, thou wert best.
Olou. Madam, for myself, to heaven 1 do
appeal, 1<)0
How I have loved my king and commonweal:
And, for my wife, I know not how It stands ;
Sorry I am to hear what I liave heard :
Noble she Is, but If she have forgot
Houor and virtue and conversed with such
As, like to pitch, defile nobility,
I banish her my bed and company
And give her as a prey to law and shame.
That hath dlshouor'd Gloucester's honest
name.
King. Well, for this night we will repose us
here : 200
To-morrow toward London back again,
To look into this business thoronghly
And call these foul offenders to their answers
And poise the cause in justice' equal scales.
Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause
prevails. [Flourish. Exeunt.
Scene II. London. The Dckb of York's
garden.
Enter York, Salisbury, and Warwick.
York. Now, my good Lords of Salisbury
and Warwick,
Our simple supper ended, give me leave
In this close walk to satisfy myself.
In craving your opinion of my title.
Which is infallible, to England's crown.
Sal. My lord, I long to hear it at full.
Wm\ Sweet York, begin i and if thy claim
be good.
The Nevils are thy subjects to command.
York. Then thus :
Edward tlie Third, my lords, had seven sons ;
The first, Edward tlie Black Prince, Prince of
Wales; 11
The second, William of Hatdeld, and the tliird,
Lionel Duke of Clarence : next to whom
Was John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster ;
The fifth was Edmund Langley, Duke of York;
The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of
Gloucester ;
William of Windsor was the seventh and last.
Edward the Black Prince died before his father
And left behind him Richard, his only son,
Who after Edward the Third's death reign'd
as king; 20
Till Henry Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster,
The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt,
Crown'd by the name of Henry |he Fourth,
Seized on ttie realm, deposed the rightful king.
Sent his poor queen to France, from whence
she came.
And him to Pomfret; where, as all you know,
Harmless Richard was mnrder'd traitorously.
War. Father, the duke bath told the truUi;
Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown.
York, Which now they hold by force and
not by right; SO
For Richard, the first son's heir, being dead.
The issue of the next sou should have reign'd.
Sal. But William of Hatfield died without
an heir.
York. The third son, Duke of Clarence,
from whose line
I claim the crown, had issue, Philippe, a
daughter.
Who married Edmund Mortimer, Earl of
March :
Edmmid had issue, Roger Earl of March ;
Roger had issue, Edmund, Anne and Eleanor.
Sal. This Edmund, in the reign of Boling¬
broke,
As I have read, lajd claim unto the crown j 40
And, but for Owen Gleudower, had been kmg,
Who kept him in captivity till he died.
But to the rest.
York. His eldest sister, Anne,
My mother, being heir unto the crown,
Married Richard^ri of Cambridge; who w as
sou
To Edmund Langley, Edward the Third's fifth
sou.
By her I claim the kingdom : she was hek
To Roger Earl of March, who was the son
Of Edmund Mortimer, who married Philippe,
Sole daughter unto Lionel Duke of Clarence :
So, if tlie issue of the eider sou 51
Succeed before the younger, I am king.
War. What plain proceeding is more plain
than this ?
Henry doth claim the crown from John of
Gaunt,
The fourth son ; York claims it from the third.
TiU Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign ;
It fails not yet, but flourishes in thee
And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock.
Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together;
And in this private plot be we the first 60
That shall salute our rightful sovereign
With honor of bis birthright to the crown.
Both. Long live our sovereign Richard,
England's king!
York. We thank you, lords. But I am not
your king
Till I be crown'd and that my sword be staiu'd
With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster;
And that's not suddenly to be perform'd.
But with advice and silent secrecy.
Do yon as I do in these dangerous days :
Wink at the Duke of Suffolk's insolence, 70
At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition,
At Buckingham and all the crew of them.
Till they have snared the shepherd of the flock.
That virtuous prince, the good Duke Hum¬
phrey :
'Tis that they seek, and they in seeking that
Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy.
Sal. My lord, break we off'; we know your
mind at full.
War. My heart assures me that the Earl of
Warwick
166
KING HENRY
VI. PART 11.
[Act ii.
Shall one d<ay make the Duke of York a king.
York. And, Nevil, this I do assure myself :
Kichard shall live to make the Karl of War¬
wick
The greatest inan in England but the king.
\^ExeurU.
Scene III. A hall of justice.
'Sound trumpets. Enter the King, the Queen,
Guoucbsteb, York, Suffolk, and Salis-
bubv ; the Duchess of Gloucester, Mar¬
gery JouBDAiN, Southwell, Hume, and
Bolingbroke, under tjuard.
King. Stand forth. Dame Eleanor Cobham,
Gloucester's wife:
In sight of God and ns, your guilt is great;
Receive the sentence of the law for sins
Such as by God's book are adjudged to death.
Yon four, from hence to prison back again ;
From thence unto the place of execution ;
The witch in Smithfield shall be bnrn'd to
ashes.
And yon three shall be strangled on the gal¬
lows.
You, madam, for you are more nobly born,
Despoiled of your honor in your life, 10
Shall, after three days' open penance done.
Live in your country here in banishment.
With Sir John Stanley, in the Isle of Man.
Duch. Welcome is banishment; welcome
were my death.
Olou. Eleanor, the law, thou see'st, hath
judged thee:
I cannot jiistif}' whom the law condemns.
\_Exeunt Duchess and other prisoners, guarded.
Mine eyes are fnll of tears, my heart of grief.
Ah, Humphrey, this dishonor in thine age
Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground!
I beseech yoiir majesty, give me leave to go ;
Sorrow would solace aud mine age would ease.
King. Stay, Humphrey Duke of Gloucester:
ere thou go.
Give up thy staif : Henrv will to himself
Protector be ; and God .shall be my hope.
My stay, my guide and lantern to my feet:
And go in peace, Humphrey, no less beloved
Than when thou wert protector to thy king.
Queen. I see no reason why a king of years
Should be to be protected like a child. 29
God and King Henry govern England's realm.
Give up your staff, sir, and the king his realm.
Glou. My staff ? here, noble Henry, is my
staff ;
As willingly do I the same resigii
As e'er thy father Henry made it mine ;
And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it
As others would ambitiously receive it.
Farewell, good king: when I am dead aud
gone.
May honorable peace attend thy throne! [Exit.
Queen Why, now is Henry king, and Mar¬
garet queen ;
And Humphrey Duke of Gloucester scarce
himself, 40
That bears so shrewd a maim ; two pulls at
once; *
His lady banish'd, and a limb lopp'd off.
This staff of honor raught, there let it stand
Where it be.«t fits to be, in Henry's hand.
Suf. Thus droops this lofty pine aud hauga
his sprays ;
ThnsEleaiior's pride dies in her youngest days.
York. Lords, let him go. Please it your
majesty,
This is the day appointed for the combat;
And ready are the appellant and defendant,
The armorer and his man, to enter the li.sts, 50
So please your highness to behold the fight
Queen. Ay, good my lord ; for pui'iiosely
therefore
Left I the court, to see this qimrrel tried.
King. O God's name, see the lists and all
things fit: [right!
Here let them end it; and God defend the
York. I never saw a fellow worse bested.
Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant.
The servant of this armorer, my lords.
Entei' at one door, Horner, the Armorer, and
his Neighbors, drinking to him so much that
he is drunk; aiul he enters with a drum be¬
fore him and his staff with a sand-bag fas¬
tened to it; and at the other door Peter, his
man, with a drum and sand-bag, and 'Pren¬
tices drinking to him.
First Neigh. Here, neighbor Horner, I
drink to you in a cup of sack : and fear not,
neighbor, you shall do well enough. 61
tsec. Neigh. And here, neighbor, here's a
cup of charneeo.
Third Neigh. And here's a pot of good
double beer, neighbor: drink, and fear not
your man.
Hor. Let it come, i' faith, and I'll pledge
you all ; and a fig for Peter 1
First 'Pren. Here, Peter, I drink to thee :
and be not afraid.
Sec. 'Pren. Be merry, Peter, and fear not
thy master : fight for credit of the 'prentices.
Peter. I tliank you all: drink, and pray for
me, I pray you ; for I think I have taken my
last draught in this world. Here, Robin, an if
I die, I give thee my apron : and. Will, thou
shalt have my hammer: and here, Tom," take
all the money that I have. O Lord bless me !
I pray God 1 for I am never able to deal with
my master, he hath learnt so much fence
already.
Sal. Come, leave your drinking, and fall to
blows. Sirrah, what's thy name ? 61
Peter. Peter, forsooth.
Sat. Peter ! what more ?
Peter. Thump.
Sal. Thump I then see thou thump thy
master well.
Hor. Masters, I am come hither, as it were,
upon my man's instigation, to prove him a
knave and myself an honest man : and touch¬
ing the Duke of York, I will take my death, I
never meant him any ill, nor the king, nor the
queen : and therefore, Petei-, have at tliee witli
a downright blow t
ScfiNB IV.J
York. Dispatch : this knave's tongoe He-
gins to double.
Sound, trumpets, alarum to tlie combatants
[Alarum. Theyftyht, and Peter strikee
him down.
Hor. Hold, Peter, hold ! I confess, I confess
treason. [Dies.
York. Take away his weapon. Fellow,
thank God, and the good wine in thy master's
way. 99
Peter. O God, h!»v61 overcome mine enemy
in this presence ? O Peter, thou hast prevailed
in right 1
King. Go, take hence that traitor from our
sight;
For by his death we do perceive his guilt:
And God in ju.stice hath revealed to us
The truth and innocence of this poor fellow.
Which he had thought to have murder'd
wrongfully.
Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward.
[Sound a flourish. Exeunt.
SCENK IV. A street.
Enter Gloucester and his Servingmen, in
mourning cloaks.
Glou. Thus sometimes hatli the brightest
day a cloud ;
And after summer evermore succeeds
Barren winter,with his wrathful nipping cold;
So Cares and joys abound, seasons tieet
Sirs, what's o clock ?
Serv. Ten, my lord.
Glou. Ten is the hour that was appointed
me
To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess:
Uneath may she endure the flinty streets.
To tread them with her tender-feeling feet.
Sweet Nell, ill can tiiy noble mind abrook 10
The abject people gasing on thy face,
AVith envious looks, laughing at thy shame.
That erst did follow thy piohd chariot-wheels
When thou didst ride in triumph through the
streets. ,
But, soft! I thinlc she comes ; and I'll prepare
My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries.
Enter the Duchess op Gloucester in a ichite
sheet, and a toper biirningin her haitd; with
Sir JoHff ST.4NLEV, the Sheriff, and Offlcers.
Serv. ' So please your grace, we'll take her
from the sheriff.
Glou. No, stir not, for your lives ; let her
rss by.
Come you, my lord, to see my open
shame ? [gaze!
Now thou dost ^nance too. Look how they
See how the giddy multitude do point, 21
And nod their heads, and throw lieir eyes on
thee I
Ah, Gloucester, hide thee from their hateful
looks.
And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame.
And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine !
Glou. Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this
grief.
167
Duch. Ah, Gloucester, teach me to forget
myself !
For whilst I think I am thy married wife
And thou a prince, protector of this land,
Methinhs I should not thus be led along, 30
Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my baele.
And followed with a rabble tliat rejoice
To see my team and hear my deep-let gioansi.
The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet.
And when I start, tlie envious people laugh
And bid me be advised how I tread.
Ail, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke 7
Trow'st thou that e'er I'll look upon the world.
Or count them happy that enjoy the sun ?
No ; dark shall be my light and night my day;
To think uixm my pomp siiall be my hell. 41
Sometime I'll say, I am Duke Humphrey's
wife.
And he a prince and ruler of the land :
Yet so he ruled and such a prince he was
As he stood by whilst I, his forlorn duchess.
Was made a wonder and a pointing-stock
To every idle rascal follower.
But be thou mild and blush not at my shame.
Nor stir at nothing till the axe of death
Hang over thee, as, sure, it shortly will; 50
For Suffolk, he that can do all in all
With her that hateth thee and hates us all.
And York and impious Beaufort, that false
priest.
Have all limed buslies to betray thy wings,
And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangjfe
thee :
But fear not thou, until thy foot be snared.
Nor never seek prevention of thy foes.
Glou. Ah, Nell, forbear ! thou aimest all
awry;
I must offeud before I be attainted ;
And had I twenty times so mauy foes, 60
And each of them had twenty times their
power.
All these could not procure me any scathe.
So long as I am loyal, true and crimeless.
Wouldst have me rescue thee from this re¬
proach ?
Why, yet thy scandal were not wiped away
But I in danger for the breach of law.
Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell :
I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience ;
These few days' wonder will be quickly worn.
Enter a Herald.
Her. I summon your grace to his majesty's
parliament, 70
Holden at Bury the first of this next month.
Glou. And my consent ne'er ask'd herein
before I
This is close dealing. Well, I will be there.
■ [Exit Herald.
My Nell, I take my leave : and, master sheriff,
Let not her penance exceed the king's com¬
mission.
Sher. A n't please your grace, here my com¬
mission stays.
And Sir John Stanley is appointed now
To take her with him to the Isle of Man. .
KING HENRY VI. PART 11.
103
KING HENRY VI. PART II.
[Act hi.
Glon. Must you, Sir John, protect my lady
here ?
Stan. So am I given in charge, may't please
your grace. 80
Glou. Entreat her not the worse in that 1
pray
You use her well: the world may laugh again;
And I may live to do you kindness if
You do it her : and so. Sir John, farewell!
Duch. What, gone, my lord, and bid me not
farewell !
Glou. Witness my tears, I cannot stay to
speak.
[Exeunt Gloucester and Servingmen.
Duch. Art thou gone too 1 all comfort go
with thee !
For none abides with me : my joy is death ;
Death, at whose name I oft have been afear'd.
Because I wish'd this world's eternity, 90
Stanley, I prithee, go, and take me hence ;
I care not whither, for I beg no favor.
Only convey me where thou art commanded.
Stan. VVhy, madam, that is to the Isle of
Man ;
There to be used according to your state.
Duch. That's bad enough, for I am but re¬
proach :
And shall I then be used reproachfully ?
Stan. Like to a duchess, and Duke Hum¬
phrey's lady ;
According to that state you shall be used.
Duch. Sheriff, farewell, and better than I
fare, 100
Although thou hast been conduct of my shame,
Sher. It is my othce ; and, madam, paidon
me.
Duch. Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is dis¬
charged.
Come, Stanley, shall we go ?
Stan. Madam, your penance done, tlirow off
this sheet.
And go we to attire you for our journey.
Duch. My shame will not be shifted with
my sheet :
No, it will hang upon my richest robes
And show itself, attire me how I can.
Go. lead the way ; I long to see my prison. 110
[Exeunt.
ACT III.
Scene I. The Abbey at Bury St. Edmund's.
Sound a sennet. Enter the King, thx Queen,
Cardinal Beaufort, Suffolk, York,
Buckingham, S.alisbury and Warwick to
the Parliament.
King. I muse my Lord of Gloucester is not
come :
'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man,
Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now.
Queen. Can you not see ? or will ye not ob¬
serve
The strangeness of his alter'd countenance ?
With what a majesty he bears himself.
How insolent of late he is become.
How proud, how jieremptory, aud unlike him¬
self 1
We know the time since he was mild and af¬
fable.
And if we did but glance a far-off look, 10
Immediately he was upon his knee.
That all the court admired him for submis¬
sion :
But meet him now, aud, be it in the mom.
When every one will give the time of day.
He knits bis brow aud shows an aiiCTy eye,
And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee.
Disdaining duty that to us belongs.
Small curs are not regarded when they grin ;
But great men tremble when the lion roars ;
And Humphrey is no little man in England., 20
Fii-st note that he is near you in descent,
Aud should you fall, he as the next will mount.
Me seemetb then it is no policy.
Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears
And his advantage following your decease.
That he should come about your i-oyal peison
Or be admitted to your higlmess' council.
By flattery hath he won the commons' hearts.
And when he please to make commotion,
'Tis to be fear'd they all will follow him. 30
Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are sliallow-
rooted ;
Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the gar¬
den
And choke the herbs for want of husbandry.
The reverent care I bear unto my lord
Made me collect these dangers in the duke.
If it be fond, call it a woman's fear ;
Which fear if better reasons can supplant,
I will subscribe and sa.y I wrong'd the duke.
My Lord of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York,
Reprove my allegation, if you can ; 40
Or else conclude my words effectual.
Suf. Well hath your highness seen nito this
duke ;
And, had I first been put to speak my mind,
I think I should have told your grace's tale.
The duchess, by his subornation.
Upon my life, began her devilish practices :
Or, if he were not iirivy to those faults,
Y'et, by reputing of his high descent.
As next the king ho was successive heir.
And such high vaunts of his nobility, 50
Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess
By wicked means to frame our sovereign's
faU.
Smooth rims the water where the brook is
deep ;
And in his simple show he harbors treason.
The fox barks not when he would steal the
lamb.
No, no, my sovereign ; Gloucester is a man
Unsounded yet and full of dee|j deceit.
Car. Did he not, contrary to form of law.
Devise strange deaths for small offences done?
York. And did he not, in his protector¬
ship, 60'
Levy great sums of money through the realm
For soldiers' pay in Fiance, and never sent it?
Scene i.]
KING HENRY
VI. PART 11.
169
By means whereof the towns each dav revolt¬
ed.
Suck. Tut, these are petty faults to faults
unknown,
Wliich time will bring to light in smooth Duke
Humphrey.
King. My lords, at once : the care you have
of us.
To mow down thorns that would annoy our
foot.
Is worthy praise : but,* shall I speak my con-
sciencev ■
Our kinsman Gloucester is as innocent
From meaning treason to our royal person 70
As is the sucking lamb or harmle.ss dove ;
The duke is virtuous, mild and too well given
To dream on evil or to work my downfall.
Queen. Ah, what's more dangerous than
this fond affiance I
Seems he a dove? his feathers are but bor¬
rowed.
For he's disposed as the hateful raven :
Is he a lamb ? his skin is surely lent him.
For he's inclined as is the ravenons wolf.
Who cannot steal a shape that means deceit ?
Take heed, my lord ; the welfare of us all 80
Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man.
Enter Somebset.
Som. All health unto my gracious sover¬
eign !
King. Welcome, Lord Somerset. Wlrat
news from France ?
Som. That all your interest in those terri¬
tories
Is utterly bereft you ; all is lost
King. Cold news. Lord Somerset: but God's
will be done!
York. [Asid^ Cold news for me ; for I had
hope of iWice
As firmly as I hope for fertile England.
Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud
And caterpillars eat my leaves away ; 90
But I will remedy this gear ere long.
Or sell my title for a glorious grave.
Entei- GnotrcESTEii.
Olou. All happiness unto my lord the king !
Pardon, my liege, that I have stay'd so long.
Stif. Nay, Gloucester, know that thou art
come too soon.
Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art:
I do arrest thee of high treason here.
Glou. Well, Suffolk, thou shalt not see me
blush
Nor change my countenance for this arrest :
A heart mrspotted is not easily daunted. 100
The purest spring is not so free from mud
As I am clear from treason to my sovereign :
Who can accuse me ? wherein am I guilty ?
York. 'Tis thought, my lord, that you took
bribes of France,
And, being protector, stayed the soldiers' pay ;
By means whereof his highness hath lost
France.
Glott. Is it but thought so ? what are they.
that think it?
I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay.
Nor ever had one penny bribe from France.
So help me God, as I have watch'd the night,
Ay, night by night, in studying good for ihig-
&nd. 111
That doit that e'er-I wrested from the king.
Or any groat I hoarded to my use.
Be brought against me at my trial-day !
No ; many a pound of mine own proper store.
Because 1 would not tax the needy commons.
Have I disbursed to the garrisons.
And never ask'd for restitution.
Car. It serves you well, my lord, to say so
much.
Glou. I say no more than truth, so help me
God ! , 120
York. In your protectorship you did devise
Strange tortures for offenders never heard of,
That England was defamed by tyranny.
Glou. Why, 'tis well known tliat, whiles I
was protector.
Pity was all the fault that was in me ;
For I should melt at an offender's tears.
And lowly words were ransom for their fault.
Unless it were a bloody murderer,
Or foul felonious thief that fleeced poor pas¬
sengers,
I never ^ave them condign punishment: 130
Murder indeed, that bloody sin, I tortured
Above the felon or what trespass else.
Suf. My lord, these faults are easy, quickly
answered :
But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge.
Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself.
I do arrest you in his highness' name ;
And here commit you to my lord cardinal
To keep, until your further time of trial.
King. My lord of Gloucester, 'tis my spe¬
cial hope
That you will clear yourself from all suspect:
My conscience tells me you are innocent. 141
Glou. Ah, gracious, lord, Uiese days are
dangerous :
Virtue is choked with foul ambition
And charity chased hence by rancor's hand ;
Foul subornation is predominant
And equity exiled your highness' land.
I know their complot is to have my life.
And if my death might make this island happy.
And prove the period of their tyranny,
I would exiiend it with all willingness : 150
But mine is made the jn-ologue to their play ;
For thousands more, that yet suspect no peril.
Will not conclude their plotted tragedy.
Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's
malice.
And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy bate ;
Sharp Buckingham nnburthens with his
tongue
The envious load that lies iqxjn his heart ;
And dogged York, that reaches at the moon.
Whose overweening arm I have pluck'd back,
By false accuse doth level at my life : 160
And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest,
Causeless have laid disgraces on my head.
And with your best endeavor have stirr'd up
170
KING HENRY VI. PART IL
[ACT III.
My liefest liege to be mine enemy :
Ay, all you have laid your heads together—
Myself had notice of your conventicles—
And all to make away my guiltless life.
I shall not want false witness to condemn me,
Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt;
The ancient proverb will be well effected : 170
'A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.'
(Jar. My liege, his railing is intolerabie :
It those that care to keep your royal person
From treason's secret knife and traitors' rage
Be thus upbraided, chid and rated at.
And the offender granted scope of speech,
'Twill make them cool in seal unto your grace.
Nqf. Hath he not twit our sovereign lady
here
With ignominious words, though clerkly
couch'd.
As if she had suborned some to swear 180
False allegations to o'erthrow his state ?
Queen. But I can give the loser leave to
chide.
Cflau. Far truer spoke than meant; I lose,
indeed ;
Beshrew the winners, for they play'd me false!
And well such losers may have leave to speak.
Ruci;. He'll wrest the sense and hold us
here all day:
Lord cardinal, he is your prisoner.
Car. Sirs, take away the duke, and guard
him sure.
(flou. Ah I thus King Henry throws away
his crutch
Before his legs be firm to bear bis body. 190
Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side,
And wolves are gnarling who shall guaw thee
first.
Ah, that my fear were false I ah, that it were!
For, good King Henry, tliy decay I fear.
[Exit, guarded.
King. My lords, what to your wisdoms
seemeth best,
Do or undo, as if ourself were here.
Queen. What, will your highness leave the
parliament ?
King. Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown'd
with grief,
Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes,
My body round engirt with misery, 200
For what's more miserable than discontent ?
All, uncle Humphrey! in thy face I see
The m.ap of honor, truth and loyalty :
And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come
That e'erl proved thee false or fear'd thy faith.
What louring star now envies thy estate.
That these great lords and Margaret our queen
Do seek subversion of thy harmless life ?
Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man
wrong ;
And as the butcher takes away the calf 210
And binds the wretch, and beats it when it
strays.
Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house.
Even so remorseless have they borne him
hence;
ae the dam runs lowing up and down^
Looking the way her harmless young one
went.
And can do nought but wail her darling's
loss.
Even so myself bewails good Gloucester's case
With sad unhelpful tears, and with dimm'd
eyes
Look after him and cannot do him good.
So mighty are his vowed enemies. 220
His fortunes I will weep; and, 'twixt each groan.
Say ' Who's a traitor ? Gloucester he is none.'
[Exeunt all but Queen, Cardinal Beaufort,
Suffolk, and York; Somersettremaine aparti
Queen. Free lords, cold snow melts with
the sun's hot beams.
Henry my lord is cold in great affairs.
Too full of foolish pity, and Gloucester's show
Beguiles him as the mournful crocodile
With sorrow snares relenting passengers.
Or as the snake roU'd in a flowering bank.
With shining checker'd slough, doth sting a
chiid
That for the beauty thinks it excellent. 230
Believe me, lords, were none more wise than
I—
And yet herein I judge mine own wit good—
This Gloucester should be quickly rid the
world.
To rid us of the fear we have of him.
Car. That he should die is worthy policy.
But yet we want a color for his death :
'Tis meet he be condemn'd by course of law.
Suf. But, in my mind, that Were no policy:
The king wiil labor still to save his life.
The commons haply rise, to .save his life; 240
And yet we have but trivial argument.
More than mistrust, that shows him worthy
death.
York. So that, by this, you would not have
him die.
Suf. Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I!
York. 'Tis York that hath more reason for
his death.
But, my lord cardinal, and you, my Lord of
Suffolk,
Say as you think, and speak it from your souls,
Were't not all one, an empty eagle were set
To guard the chicken from a hungry kite.
As place Duke Humphrey for the king's pro¬
tector ? 230
Queen. So the poor chicken should be sure
of death.
Suf. Madam, 'tis true ; and were't not
madness, tbeiSy
To make the fox surveyor of the fold ?
Who being accused a crafty murderer.
His guUt sliould be but idly posted over.
Because his purpose is not executed.
No; let him die, in that he is a fox.
By nature proved an enemy to the flock.
Before his chaps be stain'd with crimson blood,
As Humphrey, proved by reasons, to my liege.
And do not stand on quillets how to slay him:
Be it by gins, by snares, by subtlety.
Sleeping or waking, 'tis no matter how,
So he be dead; for that is good deceit
Scene l]
KING HENRY VI. PART II.
171
Which mates him first that first intends deceit.
Queen. Tbrice-noble Suffolk, 'tis resolutely
' spoke.
Suf. Not resolute, except so much were
done ;
For things are often spoke and seldom meajit:
But that my heart accordeth with my tongue,
Seeing the deed is meritorious, 270
And to preserve my sovereign from his foe,
Sivy hut the word, and I will be his priest.
Car. But I would have him dead, my Lord
of Suffolk,
Ere you can take due orders for a ))riest;
Say you consent and censure well the deed.
And I'll provide his executioner,
I tender so the safety of my liege.
Ruf. Here is my hand, the deed is worthy
doing.
Queen. And so say I.
York: And I: and now we three have spoke
it, 280
It skills not greatly who impugns our doom.
Enter a Post.
Post. Great lords, from Ireland am I come
amain.
To signify that rebels there are up
And put the Englishmen unto the sword :
Send succors, lords, and stop the rage betime.
Before the wound do grow uucurable ;
For, being green, there is great hope of help.
Car. A breach that craves a quick ex])^-
ent stop 1'
What counsel give you iu this weighty cause ?
York. That Somerset be sent as regent
thither: 290
'Tis meet that lucky ruler be employ'd j
Witness the fortune he hath had ui France.
Som. If York, with all his far-let policy.
Had been the regent there instead of me.
He never would have stay'd in France k> long.
York. No, not to lose it all, as tlioii hast
done :
I rather would have lo.st my life betimes
Than bring a burthen of dishonor home
By staying there so long till all were lost.
Sliow me one scar charaeter'd on thy skin: 300
Men's flesh preserveckso whole do seldom win.
^teeen. Nay, then, tliis spark will prove a
raging 6re, '
If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with ;
No more, good York; sweet Somerset, be still:
Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been regent
there.
Might happily have proved far worse tlian his.
York. What, worse than nought ? nay, then,
a shame take all I
Som. And, in the number, thee that wish-
est shame !
Car. My Lord of York, try ^at your for¬
tune is.
Tlie uncivil kerns of Ireland are iu arms 310
And temper clay with blood of Englishmen :
To Ireland will you lead a band of men.
Collected choicely, from each county some.
And try your hap against the Irishmen '
York. I will, my lord, so please his majesty.
Ruf. Why, our authority is his consent.
And what we do establisli he confirms :
Then, noble York, take thou this task iu hand.
York. I am content: x>rovide me soldiers,
lords,
Whil^ I take order for mine own affairs. 320
Ruf. A charge, Lord York, that I will see
perform'd.
But now return we to the false Duke Hum¬
phrey.
Car. No more of him ; fur I will deal with
him
That henceforth he shall trouble us no more. ■
And .so break off ; the day is almost spent:
Lord Suffolk, you and 1 must talk of that event.
York. My Lord of Suffolk, witliin fourteen
days
At Bristol I expect my soldiers ;
For there I'll ship them all for Ireland^
Ruf. I'll see it truly done, my Lord of York.
[Exeunt all but York.
York. Now, York, or never, steel thy fear¬
ful thoughts, 331
And change misdoubt to resolution :
Be that thou hopest to be, or what thou art
Resign to death ; it is not worth the enjoying:
Let pale-faced fear keep with the mean-born
man.
And find no harbor in a royal heart.
Faster than spring-time showers comes thought
on thought.
And not a thought but thinks on dignity.
My brain more busy than the labormg spider
Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.
Well, nobles, well, 'tis politicly done.
To send me packing with an host of men :
I fear me you but warm the starved snake,
Who, cherish'd in your breasts, will sting your
hearts.
'Twas men I lack'd and you will give them me:
I take it kindly; and yet be well assured
You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands.
Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band,
I will stir up in England some black storm
Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or
hell ;
And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage
Until the golden circuit on my head.
Like to the glorious sun's trans|)arent beams.
Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw.
And, for a minister of my intent,
I have seduced a headstrong Kentishman,
John Cade of Ashford,
To make commotion, as full well he can.
Under the title of John Mortimer.
In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade 360
Oppose himself against a troop of kerns.
And fought so long, till that his thighs with
daits
AVere Almost like a sharp-quill'd porpentine ;
And, in the end being rescued, I have seen
Him cairer upright like a wild Morisco,
Shaking the bloody darts as he his bells.
Fun often, like a snag-hair'd crafty kern.
Hath he conversed witli the enemy.
172
KING HENRY VI. PART 11.
[Act hi.
And undiscover'd come to mo aj^in,
And given me notice of their vilianies. 370
This devii liere shall be my substitute ;
For that John Mortimer, which now is dead,
In face, in gait, in si)eech, he doth resemble :
1^ this 1 sliall perceive the commons' mind,
Ifow they affect the house and claim of York.
Say he be taken, rack'd and tortured,
I know no min they can inflict npon him
Will make him say I moved him to those arms.
Say that he thrive, as 'tis great like he will.
Why, then from Ireland come I with my
strength
And reap tlie harvest which that rascal sow'd;
For Humphrey being dead, as he shall be,
And Henry put apart, the next for me. \Exit.
SO£ME II. Bury St. Edmund's. A room of
state.
Enter certain Murderers, hastily.
First Mur. Run to my Lord of Suffolk ; let
him know
We have dispatch'd the duke, as he com¬
manded.
See. Mur. O that it were to do ! What have
we done ?
Didst ever hear a man so penitent ?
Enter Suffolk.
First Mur. Here comes my lord,
Suf. Now, sirs, have you dispatch'd this
thing ?
First Mur. Ay, my good lord, he's dead.
Suf. Why, that's well said. Go, get you
to my house ;
I will reward you for tliis venturous deed.
The king and all the peers are here at hand. 10
Have you laid fair the bed? Is all tilings
well.
According as I gave directions ?
First Mur, 'Tis, my good lord.
Suf. Away! begone. [ExeuntMurderers.
Sound trumpets. Enter the King, the Queen,
Cabdinali Beaufort, Somerset, with At¬
tendants.
King. Go, call onr uncle to our presence
straight;
Bay we intend to try his grace to-day,
If be be guilty, as 'tis published.
Suf. I'll call him presently, my noble lord.
[Exit.
King. Lords, take your places ; and, Iptay
you all,
Proceed no straiter 'gainst onr uncle Glouces¬
ter 20
Than from true evidence of good esteem
He be approved in practice cul^ble. . [vail,
Queen. God forbid any malice should pre-
That faultless may condemn a nobleman !
Pr^ God he may acquit him of suspicion !
King. I thank thee, Meg ; tliese words con¬
tent me much.
Re-enter Suffoijc.
How now ! why look'st thou pale 7 why trem<
Ueatthou?
Where is our uncle ? what's the matter, Suf¬
folk 7
Suf. Dead in his bed, my lord ; Gloucester
is dead.
Queen. Marry, God forfend ! 30
itar, God's secret judgment: I did dream
to-night
The duke was dumb and could not speak a
word. [ The K ing swoons.
Queen. How fares my lord 7 Help, lords !
the king is dead.
Som. Rear up his body ; wring him by the
nose. .
Queen. Rim, go, help, help ! O Henry, ope
thine eyes !
Suf. He doth revive again : madam, be
patient.
King. O heavenly God I
Queen. How fares my gracious lord 7
iS'»/. Comfort, my sovereign I gracious
Henry, comfort!
King. What, doth my Lord of Suffolk com¬
fort me 7
Came he right now to sing a raven's note, 40
Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers ;
And thinks he that the chirping of a wren.
By crying comfort from a hollow breast,
Can chase away the first-conceived sound ?
Hide nJl thy poison with such sugar'd words ;
Lay not thy hands on me ; forbear, I say ;
Their touch affrights me as a serpent's sting.
Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight 1
Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyranny
Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world. 50'
Look not upon me, lor thine eyes are wound¬
ing :
Yet do not go away ; come, basilisk.
And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight;
For in the shade of death 1 shall find joy ;
In life but double deatli, now Gloucester'!
dead.
Queen. Why do you rate my Lord of Suf¬
folk thus 7
Although the duke was enemy to him.
Yet he most Christian-like laments his death :
And for my myself, foe as he was to me.
Might liquid tears or heart-offending groans
Or blood-consummg sighs recall his life, G1
I would be blind with weeping, sick with
groans.
Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking
sighs.
And all to have the noble duke alive.
What know I how the world may deem of me?
For it is known we were but hollow friends :
It may be judged I made the duke away ;■
So shall my name with slander's tongue be
wounded.
And princes' courts be fill'd with my reproach.
This get 1 by his death : ay me, unhappy I 70
To be a queen, and crown'd with infamy !
King. Ah, woe is me for Gloucester,
wretched man!
Queen. Be woe for me, more wretched than
he is.
Vbat, dost thou turn away and bide thy facet
Scene it.]
KING HENRY VI. PART II.
173
I am no loathsome leper ; look on me.
What! art thou, like the adder, waxen deaf ?
Be poisonous too and kill thy forlorn queen.
Is all thy comfort shut in Gloucester's tomb 7
Why, then, dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy.
Erect his statue and worship it, 80
And make my image but an alehouse sign.
Was I for this nigh wreck'd upon the sea
And twice by awkward wind from England's
bank
Drove back a^in unto my native clime?
What boded this, but well forewarning wind
Did seem to say ' Seek not a scorpion's nest.
Nor set no footing on this nnkind shore' ?
What did I then, but fcursed the gentle gusts
And he that loosed them forth their biazen
caves :
And bid them blow towards England's blessed
shore, }K)
Or turn our stem upon a dreadful rock 7
Yet .£olus would not be a murderer.
But left that hateful office unto thee :
The pretty-vaulting sea refused to drown me.
Knowing that thou wouldst have me drown'd
on shoi-e.
With tears as salt as sea, through thy unkind-
ness:
The splitting rocks cower'd in the sinking
sands
And would not dash me with their ragged
sides.
Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they,
Might in thy palace perish Margai-et. 100
As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs,
When from thy shore the tempest beat us back,
I stood upon the hatches in the storm.
And when the dusk^ sky be^an to rob
My eamest-gaping sight of thy land's view,
1 took a costly jewel from my neck,
A heart it was, bound in with diamonds,
And tirmw it towards thy land : the sea re¬
ceived it.
And so I wish'd thy body might my heart:
And even with this I lost fair England's view
And bid mine eyes be p<acking with my heart
And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles,
For losing ken of Albion's wished coast.
How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue.
The agent of thy foul inconstancy,
To sit and witch me, as Ascauius did
When he to madding Dido would unfold
His father's acts commenced in burningTroy !
Am I not witch'd like her 7 or thou not false
like him 7 •
Ay me, I can no more ! die, Marj^ret! 120
For Henry weeps that thou dost live so long.
Noise within. Enter Warwick, SAWSBunY,
and many Commons.
War. It is reported, mighty«overeign.
That good Duke Humphrey traitorously is
raurder'd
By Suffolk and the Cardinal Beaufort's means.
The commons, like an angry hive of bees
That want their leader, scatter up and down
And care not who they sting in his revenge.
Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny,
Until they hear the order of his death.
King. That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis
too true ;
But how he died God knows, not Henry :
Enter Jiis chamber, view his breathless corpse.
And comment then upon his sudden death.
War. That shall I do, my liege. Stay,
Salisbury,
With the rude multitude tiil I return. [Exit.
King. O Thou that judgest all things, stay
my thouglits.
My thoughts, that labor to persuade my soul
Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's
life!
If my suspect be false, forgive me, God,
For judgment only doth belong to Thee. 140
Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips
With twenty tliousand kisses, and to drain
Upon his face an ocean of salt tears.
To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk.
And with my fingers feel his hand unfeelmg :
But all in vain are these mean obsequies ;
And to survey his dead and earthly image.
What were it but to make my sorrow greater 7
Re-enter Warwick and others, bearing Glou¬
cester's body on a bed.
War. Come hither, gracious sovereign, view
this body.
King. That is to see how deep my grave is
made; 150
For with his soul fled all my worldly solace.
For seeing him I see my life in death.
War. As surely as my soul intends to live
With that dread King that took our state upon
him
To free us from his father's wrathful curse,
I do believe that violent hands were laid
Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke.
tiaf. A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn
tongue !
What instance gives Lord Warwick for his
vow 7
War. See how the blood is settled in his
face. KiO
Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost,
Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale and blood¬
less.
Being all descended to the laboring heart ;
Who, in the conflict that it holds with death,
Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the
enemy ;
Which with the heart there cools and ne'er re-
turneth
To blush and beautify the cheek again.
But see, his face is biack and full of blood.
His eye-balls further out than when he lived,
Shiring full ghastly like a strangled man ; 170
His iiair uprear'd, his nostrils stretched with
struggling ;
His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd
And tugg'd for life and was by strength sub¬
dued :
Look, on the sheets his hair, you see, is stick-
lug;
174
KING HENRY VT. PART II.
[Act 1i^
His well-proportion'd beard made rough and
rugged,
Like to the summer's com by tempest lodged.
It cannot be but lie was murder'd here ;
The least of all these signs were probable.
Suf, Why, Warwick, who should do the
duke to death ?
Myself and Beaufort had him m protection ;
And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers. 181
War. But both of you were vow'd Duke
Humphrey's foes, .
And you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep :
'Tls like you would not feast him like a friend ;
And 'tis well seen he found'an enemy.
Queen. Then you, belike, suspect these
noblemen
As guilty of Duke Humphrey's timeless death.
War. Who finds the heifer dead and bleed¬
ing fresh
And sees fast by a butcher with an axe.
But will suspect 'twas he that made theslaugh-
ter ? I'JO
Who finds the jiartrldge in the puttock's nest.
But may Imagine how the bird was dead.
Although the kite soar with unbloodled beak ?
Even so suspicious Is this tragedy.
Queen. Are you the butcher, Suffolk?
Where's your knife ?
Is Beaufort term'd a kite? Where are his
talons ?
Suf. 1 wear no knife to slaughter sleeping
men ;
But here's a vengeful sword, rusted with ease.
That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart
That slanders me with murder's crimson
badge.
Say, If thou darest, proud Lord of Warwick¬
shire,
That 1 am faulty in Duke Humphrey's death.
[Exeunt Cardinal. Somerset, and others.
War. What dares not Warwick, if false
Suffolk dare him ?
Queen. He dares not calm his contumelious
spirit
Nor cease to be an arrogant controller,
Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand
times.
War. Madam, be .still; with reverence may
1 say ;
For every word you speak in his behalf
Is slander to your royal dlgultj'.
Suf. Blunt-wltted lord, ignoble in demean¬
or ! 210
If ever lady wrong'd her lord so much.
Thy mother took Into her blameful bed
Some stern untutor'd churl, and noble stock
Was graft with crab-tree slip ; whose fruit
thou art.
And never of the Nevlls' noble race.
War. But that the guilt of murder bucklers
thee
And I should rob the deathsman of his fee,
Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames.
And that my sovereign's presence makes me
mild, 219
I would, false murderous coward, on thy knee
Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speecli,
And say it was thy mother that thou meant'st.
That thou thyself was born in bastardy ;
And after all this fearful homage done.
Give thee thy hire and send thy soul to hell,
Pernicious blood-sucker of sleeping men !
Suf. Thou shall be waldug while 1 shed thy
blood.
If from this presence thou darest go with me.
War. Away even now, or I wiU drag thee
hence: 229
Unworthy though thou art, I'll cope with thee
And do some service to Duke Humplirey's
ghost. [Exeunt Suffolk and Warwick.
King. Wlmt stronger'breastplate than a
lieart untainted !
Thrice Is he armed that hath his quarrel just.
And he but naked, though lock'd up In steel.
Whose conscience with Injustice is corrupted.
[A noise vxiOiin.
Queen. What noise is this ?
Re-enter Suffoi-k and Warwick, with their
weapons drawn.
King. Why, how now, lords ! your wrath¬
ful weapons drawn
Here in our presence! dare you be so bold ?
Why, what tumultuous clamor have we here 7
Suf. The traitorous Warwick with the men
of Bury 240
Set all upon me, mighty sovereign.
Sal. [To the Commons, entering] Sirs, stand
apart ; the kmg shall know your mind.
Dread lord, the commons send yon word by
me, I
Unless Lord Suffolk straight be done to death,
Or banished fair England's territories.
They will by violence tear him from your
palace
And torture him with grievous lingering death.
They say, by him the good Duke Humphrey
died ;
They say, in him they fear your highness'
death ;
And mere instinct of love and loyalty, 250
Free from a stubborn opposite intent.
As being thought to contradict your liking.
Makes them thus forward in his banishment.
They say, in care of your most royal person.
That if your highness should intend to sleep
And charge that no man should disturb your
rest
In pain of your dislike or pain of death.
Yet, notwithstanding such a strait edict.
Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue.
That silly glided towards your majesty, 200
It were but necessai^' you were waked.
Lest, being suffeFd in that harmful slumber.
The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal;
And therefore do they cry, though you forbid,
That they will guard you, whether you will or
no.
From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is,
With whose envenomed and fatal stlug.
Your lovlug uncle, twenty times his worth.
They say, is shamefully bereft of life.
Scene ii.]
Commons. [IVftftin] An answer from the
UinR, my Lord of Salisbury 1 270
&'«/. 'Tis like the commons, rude uupolish'd
hinds,
Could send such message to their sovereign :
But yon, my lord, were glad to be employ'd,
To show how quaint an orator you are :
But all the honor Salisbury hath won
Is, that he was the lord ambassador
Sent from a sort of tinkers to the king.
Commons. [ Within] An answer from the
king, or we will all break in I [me,
King. Uo, Salisbury, and teil them all from
I thank them for their tender loving care; 280
And had I not been cited so by them.
Yet did I purpose as they do entreat ;
For, sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy
Mischance unto my state by Sunolk's means :
And therefore, by His majesty I swear.
Whose far unworthy deputy I am,
He shall not breathe infection in tliis air
But three days longer, on the pain of death.
[Exit Salisburjf.
Queen. O Henry, let me plead for gentle
Suffolk I
King. Ungentle queen, to call him gentle
Suffolk 1 2fK)
No more, I say : if thou dost plead for him.
Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath.
Had I but said, I would have kept iny word.
But when I swear, it is irrevocable.
If, after three days' space, thou here be'st
found
On any ground that I am ruler of.
The worn shall not be ransom for thy life.
Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with
me ;
I liave great matters to impart to thee.
[Exeunt all but Queen and Suffolk.
Queen. Mischance and sorrow go along
with you ! 300
Heart's discontent and sour affliction
Be playfellows to keep you company 1
There's two of you ; the devil make a third I
And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps!
Suf. Cease, gentle queen, these execrations.
And let thy Siimrlk take his heavy leave.
Queen. Fie, coward woman and soft-hearted
wretch I
Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemy ?
Suf. A plague upon them! wherefore should
I curse them ?
Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's
groan, 310
I would invent as bitter-searching terni.s.
As curst, as harsh and horrible to hear,
Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth.
With full as many signs of deadly hate.
As lean-faced Envy in her loathsome cave :
My tongue should stumble in mine earnest
■ words ; ♦
Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint;
Mine hair be fixed on end, as one distract;
Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban :
And even now my burthen'd heart would
break 320
175
Should I not curse them. Poison be their
drink I [taste!
Gall, woi-se than gall, the daintiest that they
Their sweetest shade a grove of cypress trees I
Their ehiefest prospect murdering iksilisks I
Their softest touch as smart as lizards' stings 1
Their music frightful as the serpent's hiss,
And boding screech-owls make the conceit full!
All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell—
Queen. Enough, sweet Suffolk ; thou toi--
ment'st thyself ;
And tlie.se dread curses, like the sun 'gainst
glass, 330
Or like an overcliarged gun, recoil.
And turn the force of them upon thyself.
Suf. T'ou bade me ban, and will you bid me
leave ?
Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from,
Well could I curse away a winter's night.
Though standing naked on a mountain top.
Where biting cold would never let grass grow,
And think it but a minute spent in sport.
Queen. O, let me entreat thee cease. Give
me thv hand.
That I may 4ew it with my mournful tears ;
Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place, 341
To wash away my woful monuments.
O, could this kiss lie printed in thy band,
"That tliou mightst think uimn these by tlie seal,
Through whom a thousand sighs are breathed
for thee !
So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief ;
'Tis but surmised whiles thou art standing by.
As one that surfeits thinking on a want.
I will repeal thee, or, be well assured.
Adventure to be banished myself: 350
And banished I am, if but from thee.
Go ; speak not to me ; even now be gone.
0, go not yet! Even thus two friends con-
demn'd
Embrace and kiss and take ten thousand leaves.
Leather a hundred times to pai-t than die.
Yet now farewell ; and farewell life with thee I
S'h/. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished;
Once by the king, and three times thrice by
tliee.
'Tis not the land I care for, wert thou thence
A wilderness is populous enough, 300
So Suffolk had thy heavenly company :
For where thou art, there is the world itself.
With every several pleasure in the world.
And where thou art not, desolation.
I can no more : live thou to joy thy life j
Myself no joy in nought but that thou livesb
Enter Vaux.
Qtieen. Whither goes Vaux so fast? what
news, I prithee ?
Vaux. To signify unto his majesty
That Cardinal Beaufort is at point of death ;
For suddenly a grievous sickness took him, 370
That makes him gasp and stare and catch the
air.
Blaspheming God and cursing men on earth.
Sometime he talks as if Duke Humphrey's
ghost
KING HENRY VT. PART 11.
176
Were by his side ; sometime he calls the king,
ind whispers to his pillow, as to him.
The secrets of his overcharged soul;
And I am sent to tell his majesty
That even now he cries aloud for him.
Queen. Go tell this heavy message to the
king. ' [Exit Vaux.
Ay me I what is this world I what news are
these I 380
But wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss,
Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure ?
Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee.
And with the southern clouds contend in tears.
Theirs for the earth's increase, mine for my
sorrows ?
Now get thee hence : the king, thou know'st,
is coming ;
If thou be found by me, thou art but dead.
Sujf. If I depart from thee, I cannot live ;
And in thy sight to die, what were it else
But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap ? 390
Here could I breathe my soul into the air.
As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe
Dying with mother's dug between its lips :
Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad.
And evy out for thee to close up miue eyes,
To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth j
So shouldst thou either turn my flying soul.
Or I should breathe it so into thy body.
And then it lived in sweet Elysium.
To die by thee were but to die in jest; 400
From thee to die were torture more than death:
O, let me stay, befall what may befall!
Queen. Away I though parting be a fretful
corrosive.
It is applied to a deathfnl wound.
To France, sweet Suffolk : let me hear from
thee ;
For wheresoe'er thou art in this world's globe,
I'll have an Iris tluit shall find thee out.
Su/. I go.
Queen. And take my heart with thee.
iiuf A jewel, lock'd into the wofull'st cask
That ever did contain a thing of worth. 410
Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we :
This way fall I to death.
Queen. This way for me.
[Exeunt severally.
Scene III. A bedchamber.
Enter the King, Sausbubv, W.vrwick, to the
Cabdinal. in bed.
King. How fares my lord ? speak, Beaufort,
to thy sovereign.
Car. If thou be'st death, I'll give thee Eng¬
land's treasure.
Enough to purchase such another island.
So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain.
King. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life.
Where death's approach is seen so terrible!
War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks
to thee.
Car. Bring me unto my trial when yon will.
Died he not in his bed ? where should he die ?
Can I make men live, whether they will or no?
O. torture me no more 1 1 will confess.
[Act iv.
Alive again ? then show me where he is :
rU give a thousand pound to look upon Kim.
He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them.
Comb down his hair ; look, look I it stands up-
right.
Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged .soul.
Give me some drink ; and bid the apothecary
Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.
King. O thou eternal Mover of the heavens.
Look with a gentle eye npon this wretch! 20
O, beat away the busy meddling fiend
'fhat lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul.
And from his bosom purge this black despair!
War. See, how the pangs of death do make
him grin!
Sal. Disturb him not; let him pass peace¬
ably.
King. Peace to his soul, if God's good pleas¬
ure be I
Lord cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's
bliss.
Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope.
He dies, and makes no sign. 0 God, forgive
him !
War. So bad a death argues a monstrous
life. 30
King. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners
all.
Close up his eyes and draw the curtain close ;
And let us all to meditation. [ExeutU,'
ACT IV.
Scene I. 37te coast of Kent.
Alarum. Fight at sea. Ordnance goes tdt.
Enter a Captain, a Master, a Master's-Mate,
Walter Whitmobe, and others; with them
Suffolk, and others, prisoners.
Cap. The gaudy, blabbing and remorseful
day
Is crept into the bosom of the sea ;
And now loud-howling wolves arouse the
jades
That drag tlie tragic melancholy night;
Who, with their drowsy, slow and flagging
wings.
Clip dead men's graves and from their misty
jaws
Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air.
Therefore bring forth the soldiers of our prize;
For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs.
Here shall tliey make tlieir ransom on tiie
sand, 10
Or with their blood stain this discolor'dsliore.
Master, this prisoner freely give 1 thee ;
And thou that art his mate, make boot of this;
The other, Walter Whitinore, is thy sliare.
First Gent. What is my mnsora, master ?
let me know.
Mast. A thousand crowns, or else lay down
your head.
Mate. And so much shall you give, or of(
goes yours.
KING HENRY VI. PART 11.
KING HENRY VI. PART II. 17?
SCKNE 1.]
Cap. What, think you much to pay two
thousand crowns,
Aiid hear tlie name and port of gentlemen ?
Cut both the villains' throats ; for die yon
shall: 20
The lives of those which we have lost in
fight
Be coimterix)ised with such a petty sum !
First Gent. I'll give it, sir ; and therefore
spare my life.
See. Gent. And so will I and write home for
it straight.
Whit. I lost mine eye in laying the prize
aboard.
And tlierefore to revenge it, slialt thou die ;
[To Saf.
And so should these, if I might have my will.
Cap. Be not so rash ; take ransom, let him
live.
Suf. Look on my George ; I am a gentle¬
man :
Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be
paid. 80
Whit. And so am I; my name is Walter
Whitraore.
How now ! why start'st thou ? what, doth
death affnglit ?
Svf. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound
is death.
A cunning man did calculate ihy birth
And told me tiiat by water 1 sliould die;
Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded ;
Thy name is Gauitier, being rightly sounded.
■ Whit. Gauitier or Walter, which it is, I care
not:
Never yet did base dishonor blur our name.
But with our sword we wiped away the blot;
Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge.
Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defaced,
And I proclaim'd a coward through the world 1
Svf. Stay, Whitraore ; for thy iirisoner is a
prince.
The Duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole.
Whit. The Duke of Suffolk muffled up in
rags!
Svf. Ay, but these rags are no part of the
duke :
Jove sometimes went disguised, and why not
I ?
Cap. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt
be.
Svf. Obscure and lowly swain. King
Henry's blood, 50
The honorable blood of Lancaster,
Must not be shed by such a jaded groom.
Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand and held my
stirrup ?
Bare-headed plodded by my foot-cloth mule
And thought thee happy when I shook my
head ? ^
How often hast thou waited at my cup.
Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the
board.
When I have feasted with Queen Margaret ?
Remember it and let it make thee crest-fall'n.
Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride ; 60
How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood
And duly waited for my coming forth ?
This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf.
And therefore shall it charm thy riotous
tongue.
Whit. Speak, captaiu, shall I stab the
forlorn swain ?
Cap. First let my words stab him, as he
hatii me.
Suf. Base slave, thy words are bluu., and
so art thou.
Cap. Convey him hence and m our long¬
boat's side
Strike off his head.
Srf. Thou darest not, for thy own-
Cup. Yes, Pole,
Sxif. Pole !
Cap. Pool! Sir Pool ! lord ! 70
Ay, kennel, puddle, sink ; whose filth and
dirt [drinks.
Troubles the silver spring where England
Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth
For swallowing the treasiire of tlie realm :
Thy lips that kiss'd the queen siiall sweep the
ground ;
And thou thatsmiiedst at good Duke Humph¬
rey's death,
Aminst die senseless winds -shalt grftl in vain,
A\^o in contempt shall hiss at thee again :
And wedded be thou to the hags of heii.
For daring to affy a mighty lord 80
Unto the daughter of a worthless king.
Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem.
By devilish policy art tliou grown great.
And, like ambitious Syiia, ovei-goiged
With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding heart.
By thee Anjoti and Maine were sold to France
■The false revolting Normans thorough thee
Disdain to call as lord, and Picardy
Hath .slain their governors, surprised onr foi-t.s
And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home.
The princely Warwick, and the Neviis all, 9?
Whose dreadful swords were never drawn i^
vain,
As hating thee, are rising up in arms :
And now the house of Y'ork, thrust from tb
crown '
By shameful murder of a guiltless king
And lofty proud encroaching tyranny.
Bums with revenging fire ; whose hopeful
colors
Advance our half-faced sun, striving to shine.
Under the which is writ ' Invitis nubibns.'
The commons here in Kent are up inarms : 100
And, to conclude, reproach and beggary
Is crept into the palace of our king.
And aU by thee. Away ! copvey him hence.
Svf. O that I were a god, to shoot forth
thunder
Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges 1
Small things make base men proud : this vil¬
lain here.
Being captain of a pinnace, threatens more
Than Bargulus the strong Illyrian pirate.
Drones suck not eagles' blood but rob bee¬
hives :
12
178
KING HENRY VI. PART 11.
[Act iv.
It is impossible that I should die 110
By such a lowly vassal as thyself.
Thy words move rage and not remorse iu me :
I go of message from the queen to France ;
I charge thee waft me safely cross the Cliannel.
Cap. Walter,—
Whit. Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to
thy death.
Suf. Gelidus timor occupat artus it is thee
I fear.
Wkit. Thou shalt have cause to fear before
I leave thee.
What, are ye daunted now ? now will ye stoop 1
First Cent. My gracious lord, entreat him,
speak him fair. 120
Suf. Suffolk's imperial tongue is stem and
rough.
Used to command, tmtaught to plead for
favor.
Far be it we should honor such as these
With humble suit: no, rather let my head
Stoop to the block than these knees bow to any
Save to the God of heaven and to my king ;
And sooner dance upon a bloody pole
Than stand uncover d to the vulgar groom.
True, nobility is exempt from fear :
More can 1 bear than you dare execute. 130
Cap. Hale him away, mid let him talk no
more.
Suf. Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye
can.
That this my death may never be foigot!
Great men oft die by vile bezonians :
A Roman sworder and banditto slave
Murder'd sweet Tully ; Brutus' bastard hand
Stabb'd Julius Ciesar ; savage islanders
Ponmey the Great; and Suffolk dies by pirates.
[Exeunt Whitmore and others with Suffolk.
Cap, And as for these whose ransom we
have set.
It is our pleasure one of them depart; 140
Therefore come you with us and let him go.
[Exeunt all but the First Gentleman.
Reenter Whitmore with Suppolk's body.
Whit. . There let his head and lifeless body
lie, •
Until the queen his mistress bury it. [Exit.
First Gent. O barbarous and bloody spec¬
tacle !
His body will 1 bear unto the king :
If he revenge it not, yet will his friends ;
So will the queen, that living held him dear.
[Exit with the body.
Scene 11. Blabkheath.
Enter Geoboe Bevis and John Holland.
Bevis. Come, and getthee a sword, though
made of a lath ; they have been up these two
days.
Holl. They have the more need to sleep
now, then.
Bevis. I tell thee. Jack Cade the clothier
means to dress the commonwealth, and turn it,.
and set a new nap upon it.
Holl. So he had need, fop'tis threadbare.
Well, I say it was never merry world in Eng.
land since gentlemen came up. 10
Bevis. O miserable age I virtue is not regard¬
ed in handicrafts-men.
Holl. The nobility think scorn to go in
leather aprons.
Bevis. Nay, more, the king's council are
no good worhraen.
Holl. True ; and yet it is said, labor in thy
vocation ; which is as much to say as, let the
magistrates be laboring men ; and therefore
should we be magistrates. 20
Bevis. Thou hast hit it; for there's no better
sign of a brave mind than a hard hand.
Holl. . 1 see them ! 1 see them ! there's Best's
son, the tanner of Wingham,—
Bevis. He shall have the skin of our ene¬
mies, to make dog's-leather ot
Holl. And Dick the Butcher,—
Bevis. Then is sin struck down like an ox,
and iniquity's throat cut like a calf.
Holl. And Smith the weaver,— 30
Bevis. Argo, their thread of life is spun.
Holl. Come, come, let's fall in with them.
Drum. Enter Cade, Dick Butcher, Smith the
Weaver, and a Sawyer, with infinite numbers.
Cade. We John Cade, so termed of our
supposed father,—
Dick. [Aside] Or rather, of stealii^a cade
of herrings.
Cade. For our enemies shall fall before us,
inspired with the spirit of putting down kings
and princes,—Command silence.
Dick. Silence ! 40
Cade. My father was a Mortimer,--
Dick. [Aside] He was an honest man, and
a good bricklayer.
Cade. My mother a Plantagenet,—
Dick. [Aside] I knew her well; she was a
midwife.
Cade. My wife descended of the Lacies,—
Dick. [Aside] She was, indeed, a pedler's
daughter, and sold many laces. 49
Smith. [Aside] But now of late, notable to
travel with her furred pack, she washes bucks
here at home.
Cade, Therefore am I of an honorable
house.
Dick. [Aside] Ay, by my faith, the field is
honorable ; and there was ne borne, under a
hedge, for his father had never a house but
the cage.
Cade. Valiant lam.
Smith, [Aside] A' must needs ; for beggary
is valiant.
Cade. I am able to endure much. 60
Dick. [Aside] No question of that ; for I
have seen him whipiied three market-days to¬
gether.
Cade. 1 fear neither sword nor fire.
Smith. [Aside] He need not fear the sword;
for his coat is of proof.
Dick. [Aside] But methinks he should
stand in fear of fire, being burnt i' the hand
for stealing of sheep.
SCBK£ II.]
KINO HENRY
VI. PART U.
179
Cade. Be brave, then ; for your captain is
brave, and vows reformation. There sliall be
in England seven halfpenny loaves sold for a
i>euuy : the three-hooped ]M)t shall have ten
hooi>s ; and I will make it felony to drink
small beer : all the realm shall be in common;
and in Cheapside shall my palfrey go to grass:
and when 1 am king, as king I will be,—>
All. God save your majesty I
Cade. I thank yon, good people : there shall
be no money ; all shall oat aiid drink on my
score ; and I will apparel them all in one liv¬
ery, tliat they may agree like brothers and
worship me their lord.
Dick. The first thing we do, let's kill all the
lawyers.
CwU. Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this
a lamentable thing, that of the skin of an in¬
nocent lamb should be made parchment ? that
I>archment, being scribbled o'er, should undo
a man ? Some say the bee stings : but I say,
'tis the bee's wax ; for I did but seal once to a
thing, and I was never mine own man since.
How now ! who's there ? 91
Enter some, bringinf/ forward the Clerk of
Chatham.
Smith. The clerk of Chatham ; he can write
and read and cast accompt.
Cade. O monstrous !
Smith. We took him setting of boys' copies.
Cade. Here's a villain !
Smith. Has a book in his xwcket with red
letters in't.
Cade. Nay, then, he is a conjurer. 100
Dick. Nay, he can make obligations, and
write court-hand.
Cade. I am sorry for't; the man is a proper
man, of mine honor ; unless I find him guilty,
he shall not die. Come hither, sirrah, I must
examine thee : what is thy name t
Clerk. Emmanuel.
Dick. They use to write it on the tojr of let¬
ters : 'twill go hard with you.
Cade. Let me alone. Dost thou use to
write thy name ? or hast thou a mark to thy¬
self, like an honest plain-dealing man 1 111
Clerk. Sir, I thank God, I have been so
well brought up that I car. write my name.
All. He liath confessed : away with him !
he's a villain and a traitor.
Cade. Away with him, I say ! hang him with
his pen and ink-hom about his neck.
[Exit one with the Clerk.
Enter Michael.
Mich. Where's our general ?
Cade. Here I am, thou particular fellow. 119
Mich. Fly, fly, fly ! Sir Humphrey Stafford
and his brother are hard by, yith the king's
forces.
Cade. Stand, villain, stand, or I'll fell thee
down. He shall be encountered with a man as
good as himself: he is but a knight, is a' ?
Mich. No.
Cade. To equal him, I will make myself a
knight presently. [KneeU] Rise up Sir John
Mortimer, [ifi'ses] Now have at him 1
Enter Sir Humphrey Stafford and his Bro¬
ther, with drum and soldiers,
Staf. Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum
of Kent, 130
Mark'd for the gallows, lay your weapons
down;
Home to your cottages, forsake this groom ;
The king is merciful, if you revolt.
Dro. But angry, wrathful, and inclined to
blood.
If you go forward ; therefore yield, or die.
Cade. As for tliese silken-coated slaves, I
* pass not:
It is to you, good people, that I speak.
Over whom, in time to come, I hope to reign ;
For I am rightful heir unto the crown. 139
Staf. Villain, thy father was a plasterer ;
And thou thyself a shearman, art thou not ?
Cade. And Adam was a gardener.
Dro. And what of that ?
Cade. Marry, tills : Edmund Mortimer, Earl
of March,
Married the Duke of Clarence' daughter, did
he not ?
Staf. Ay, sir.
Cade. By her he liad two children at one
birth.
Dro. That's false.
. Cade. Ay, there's the question ; but I .say,
'tis true :
The elder of them, being put to nurse, 150
Was by a beggar-woman stolen away ;
And, ignorant of his birth and parentage.
Became a bricklayer when he came to age :
His son am I ; deny it, if you can.
Dick. Nay, 'tis too true ; therefore he shall
be kuig.
Smith. Sir, he made a chimney in my
father's house, and the bricks are alive at this
day to testify it ; therefore deny it not
Staf. And will you credit this base drudge's
words,
That speaks he knows not what ? 160
All. Ay, marry, will we ; therefore get ye
gone.
Dro. Jack Cade, the Duke of York hath
taught you this.
Cade. He lies, for I invented it my¬
self.
Go to, sirrah, tell the king from me, that, for
his father's sake, Heiiry the Fifth, in whose
time boys went to span-counter for French
crowns, I am content he shall reign ; but I'll
be protector over him.
Dick. And furthermore, we'll have the Lord
Say's head for selling the dukedom of Maine.
Cade. And good reason ; for, thereby is
England mained, and fain to go with a staff,
but that my puis.sance holds it up. Fellow
kings, 1 tell you that that laird Say hath geld¬
ed the commonwealth, and m.ade it an eunuch:
and more than that, he c.an apeak French ; and
therefore be is a traitor.
180
KING HENRY VI. PART II.
[Act iv
Staf. O gTOfis and miserable ignorance !
Cade. Nay, answer, if you can : the French¬
men- are our enemies ; go to, then, I ask but
this : can he that speaks with the tongue of an
enemy be a good counsellor, or no ?
AIL No, no ; and therefore we'll have his
head.
Bro. Well, seeing gentle words ivill not pre¬
vail,
Assail them with the army of the king.
Staf. Herald, away ; and throughout every
town
Proclaim them traitors that are up with Cade;
That those which fly before the battle ends
May, eve* in their wives' and children's sight.
Be haug'd up for example at their doors : I'Jo
And you that be the king's friends, follow me.
[JSxeunf the two Stnfforde, and soldiers.
Cade. And you that love the commons, fol¬
low me.
Now show yourselves men ; 'tis for libei-ty.
We will not leave one lord, one gentleman :
Spare none but such as go in clouted shoon ;
For they are thrifty honest men, and such
As would, but that they dare not, take our
parts.
Dick. They are all in order and march to¬
ward us.
Cade. But then are we in order when we
are most out of order. Come, march for¬
ward. [Exerint- 200
Scene III. Another part of Blackheath.
Alarnms to the fight, wherein both the Staf-
fords are slain. Enter Cade and the rest.
Cade. Where's Dick, the butcher of Ash-
ford ?
Dick. Here, sir.
Cade. They fell before thee like sheep and
oxen, and thou behavedst thyself as if thou
hadst been in thine own slaughter-house :
therefore thus will I reward thee, the Lent
shall be as long again as it is ; and thou shalt
have a license to kill for a hundred lacking
one.
Dick. I de.sire no more. 10
Cade. And, to speak truth, thou deservest
no less. This monument of the victory will I
bear [putting on Sir Humphrey's hrigandiney.
and the bodies shall be dragged at my horse
heels till I do come to London, where we will
have the raayoi's sword borne before us.
Dick. If we mean to thrive and do good,
break open the gaols and let out the prison¬
ers.
Cade. Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come,
let's march towards London. [Exeunt. 20
Scene IV. London. The palace.
Enter the King with a supplication, and the
Qceen with Suffolk's head, the Duke of
Buckingham and the Loud Say.
Queen. Oft have I heard that grief softens
the mind.
And makes it fearful and degenerate ;
Think therefore on revenge and cease to weep.
But who can cease to weep and look on this ?
Here may his head lie on my throbbing
breast:
But Where's the body that I should embrace 5
Buck. What answer makes your grace tc
the rebels' supplication ?
King. I'll send some holy bishop to entreat;
For God forbid so many simple souls 10
Should perish by the sword f And I myself.
Rather tlian bloody war shall cut them si on,
Will parley with Jack Cade their general :
But stay, I'll read it over once ^ain.
Qtteeru Ah, barbarous villains ! hath this
lovely face
Ruled, like a wandering planet, over me.
And could it not enforce them to relent,
That were unworthy to behold the same ?
King. Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to
have thy head.
Say. Ay, but I hope your highness shall
have his. 20
King. How now, madam 1
Still lamenting and mourning for Suffolk's
death ?
I fear me, love, if tliat I had been dead.
Thou wouldst not have mourn'd so much for
me.
Qiceen. No, my love, I should not mourn,
but die for thee.
Enter a Messenger.
King. How now 1 what news ? why coraest
thou in such haste ?
Mess. The rebels are in Southwark ; fly, my
lord I
Jack Cade proclaims himself Lord Mortimer,
Descended from the Duke of Clarence' house.
And calls your grace usurper ojrenly 30
And vows to crown himself in Westmmster.
His army is a ragged multitude
Of hinds and jiea-sanks, rude and merciles.s :
Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother's
death
H.ath given them heart and courage to pro¬
ceed ;
All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen.
They call false c.aterpillars, and mteud their
death.
King. O graceless men ! tliey know not
what they do.
Buck. My gracious lord, return to Killing-
worth,
Until a ixiwer be raised to put them down. 40
Queen. Ah, were the Duke of Suffolk now
alive.
These Kentish rebels would be soon appeased:
King. Lord Say, the traitors hate tliee ;
Therefore away with us to Killingworth.
Say. So might your grace's person be ia
danger.
The sight of me is odious in their eyes ;
And therefore in this city will I stay
And live alone as .secret as I maj'.
Enter another Messenger.
.1/cs.*. J.-ick Cade hath gotten London bridge:
The citizens fly and forsake their houses :
Scene vi.]
KING HENRY VI. PART II.
181
The rascal people, thirsting after prey,
Join with the traitor, and they jointly swear
To spoil the city and your royal court.
Buck. Then linger not, my lord ; away, take
horse.
King. Come, Margaret ; God, our hope,
will succor us.
Queen. My hope is gone, now Suffolk is
deceased.
King. Farewell, my lord : trust not the
- Kentish rebels.
Buck. Trust nobody, for fear you be be-
tiay'd.
Say. The trust I have is in mine innocence.
And therefore am I hold aud resolute. 60
[Exeunt.
.Scene V. London. The Tower.
Enter Lord Scales upon the Tower, walking.
Then entei' two or three Citizens below.
Scales. How now ! is Jack Cade slain ?
First at. No, my lord, nor likely to be
slain ; for they have won the bridge, killing
all those that withstand them : the lord mayor
craves aid of your honor from the Tower, to
defend the city from the rebels.
Scales. Such aid as I can spare you shall
command ;
But I am-troubled here with them myself ;
The rebels have assay'd to win the Tower.
But get you to Smithfield, and gather head,10
And thither I will send you Mattliew Goffe ;
Fight for your king, your country aud your
lives;
And so, farewell, for I must hence again.
[Exeunt.
Scene VI. London. Cannon Street.
Enter Jack Cade and the rest, and strikes
his staff on London-stone.
Cade. Now is Mortimer lord of this city.
And here, sitting n|)ou London-stone, I charge
and command that, of the city's cost, the
pissing-conduit run nothing but claret wine
this first year of our reign. And now hence¬
forward it shall be treason for any that calls
me other than Lord Mortimer.
Enter a Soldier, minning.
Sold. Jack Cade ! Jack Cade !
Code. Knock him down there.
[They kill him.
Smith. If this fellow be wise, he'll never
call ye Jack Cade more : I think he hath a
very fair warning.
Dick. My lord, there's an army gathered
together in Smithfield.
Cade. Come, then, let's go fight with them ;
but first, go and set London bridge on fire :
and, if you can, burn down the 'Tower too.'
Come, let's away. « [Exeunt.
Scene VII. London. Smithfield.
Alarums. Matthew Gofpb is slain, and all
me rest. Then enter Jack Cade, with his
company.
Cade. So. sirs : now go some and pull down
the Savoy ; others to the inns of court; down
with them all.
Dick. I have a suit unto your lordship.
Cade. Be it a lordship, thou .shalt have it
for that word.
Dick. Only that the laws of England may
come out of your mouth.
Roll. [Aside] Mass, 'twill be sore law,
then ; for he was thrust in the mouth with a
spear, and 'tis not whole yet. 11
Smith. [Aside] Nay, John, it will be stink¬
ing law r for his br^th stinks with eating
toasted cheese.
Cade. I have thought upon it, it shall be sa
Away, bum all the records of the realm : my
mouth shall be tiie parliament of England.
Roll. [Aside] Then we are like to have
biting statutes, uule.ss his teeth be pulled out.
Cade. And henceforward all tilings shall
be in common. 21
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. My lord, a prize, a prize ! liere's the
Lord Say, which sold the towns in France ; he
that made us pay one and twenty fifteens, and
one shilling to the pound, tlie last subsidy.
Enter George Bbvis, with the Lord Say.
Cade. Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten
times. Ah, thou say, thou seige, nay, thou
buckram lord ! now art thou within pouit-
blank of our jurisdiction legal. What canst
thou answer to my majesty for giving np of
Normandy unto Mounsieur Basimecu, the
dauphin of France ? Be it known unto thee
by these presence, even the presence of Lord
Mortimer, that 1 am the besom that must
sweep the court clean of such filth as thou ait.
Thou hast most traitorously corrupted the
youth of the realm in erecting a grammar
school ; and whereas, before, our forefathers
had no other books but the score and the tally,
thou hast caused printing to be used, and,
contrary to the king, his crown and dignity,
thou hast built a paper-mill. It will be proved
to tliy face that thou hast men about thee that
usually talk of a noun and a verb, and such
abominable words as no Christian ear can
endure to hear. Thou hast appointed justices
of peace, to call poor men before them about
matters they were not able to answer. More¬
over, thou hast put them in prison ; and be¬
cause they could not read, thou hast handed
them ; when, indeed, only for that cause they
have been most worthy to live. Thou dost
ride in a foot-cloth, dost thou not ?
Say. What of that ?
Cade. Marry, thou onghtest not to let thy
horse wear a cloak, when hoiiester men than
thou go in their hose and doublets.
Di(^. And work in their shirt too ; as my¬
self, for example, that am a butcher.
Say. You men of Kent,—
Dick. What say yon of Kent ? 60
Say. Nothing 'but this ; 'tis ' bona terra,
mala gens.'
182
KING HENRY VI. PART II.
[Act IV.
Cadi. Away with him, away with him !
he speaks Latin.
Say. Hear me but speak, and bear me
wliere you.will.
Kent, in the Commentaries Csesar writ.
Is term'd the civil'st place of all this isle :
Sweet is the country, because full of riches ;
The i>eople liberal, valiant, active, wealthy ;
Which makes me hope you are not void of
pity.
I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy, 70
Yet, to recover them, would lose my life.
Justice with favor have 1 always done ;
Prayers and tears have moved me, gifts could
never.
When have I aught exacted at your hands,
But to maintain the king, the realm and you ?
Large gifts have I bestow'd on learned clerks.
Because my book preferr'd me to the king.
And seeing ignorance is the curse of God,
Knowledge the whig wherewith we fly to
heaven.
Unless you be possess'd with devilish spirits,
You cannot but forbear to murder me ; 81
This tongue hath parley'd unto foreign kings
For your behoof,—
Cade. Tut, when struck'st thou one blow
in the field ?
Say. Gyeat men have reaching hands : oft
have I struck
Thosp that I never saw and struck them dead.
Geo. O monstrous coward ! what, to come
behind folks 1
Say. These cheeks are pale for watching
for your good. 90
Cade. Give him a box o' the ear and that
will make 'em red again.
Say. I-ong sitting to determine poor men's
causes .
Hath made me full of sickness and diseases.
Cade. Ye shall have a hempen caudle, then,
and the help of hatchet.
Dick. Why dost thou quiver, man ?
Say. The palsy, and not fear, provokes me.
Cade. Nay, he nods at us, as who should
say, I'll be even with you : I'll see if his head
will stand steadier on a pole, or no. Take
him away, and behead him.
Say. "Tell me wherein have I offended most ?
Have I affected wealth or honor ? speak.
Are my chests flU'd up with extorted gold ?
Is my apparel sumptuous to behold ?
Whom have I injured, that ye seek ray death ?
The,se hands are free from guiltless blood-
shedding.
This breast from harboring foul deceitful
thoughts.
0, let me live ! 110
Cade. [Aside] I feel remorse in myself with
his words ; but I'll bridle it: he shall die, an
it be but for pleading so well for his life.
Away with him ! he has a familiar under his
tongue ; he speaks not o' God's name. Go,
take him away, I s.ay, and strike off his head
presently ? and then break into his son-in-
law's house, Sir James Cromer, and strike off
his h^d, and bring them both upon two poles
hither.
AU. It shall be done. 120
Say. Ah, countiymen ! if when you make
your prayers,
God should be so obdurate as yourselves,
How would it fare with your departed souls ?
And therefore yet relent, an save my life.
Cade. Away with him ! and do as I com¬
mand ye. [Exeunt some with Lord Say.
The proudest peer in the realm shall not wear
a head on his shoulders, unless he pay me
tribute; there shall not a maid be married,
but she shall pay to me her maidenhead ere
they have it; men shall hold of me in capite ;
and we charge and command that their wives
be as free as heart can wish or tougue can tell.
Dick. My lord, when shall we go to Cheap-
side and take up commodities upon our bills ?
Cade. Marry, presently.
AU. O, brave !
Re-enter one with the Jieads.
Cade. But is not this braver ? Let them
kiss one another, for they loved well when
they were alive. Now part them again, lest
they consult about the ^ving up of some more
towns in France. Soldiers, defer the spoil of
the city until night: for with these borne be¬
fore us, instead of maces, will we ride through
the streets, and at every comer have them kiss.
Away! • [Exeutvl.
Scene VIII. Southwark.
Alarum and retreat. Enter Cade and all hi»
rahblement.
Cade. Up Fish Street! down Saint Magnus'
Comer! kiil and knock down ! throw them
into Thames ! [S'ouaci a parley.1 What noise
is this I hear ? Dare any be so bold to sound
retreat or parley, when I command them kill ?
Enier BuoKiNGHASt and old Clifford, at¬
tended.
Buck. Ay, here they be that dare and will
disturb thee ;
Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the
king
Unto the commons whom thou hast misled ;
And here pronounce free pardon to them all
That will forsake thee and go home in peace.
Clif. What say ye, countrymen ? will ye
relent, ii
And yield to mercy whilst 'tis offer'd you ;
Or let a rebel lead you to your deaths ?
Who loves the king and will embrace bis
pardon,
Fling up his cap, and say ' God save his ma¬
jesty !'
Who hateth him and honors not his father,
Henry the Fifth, that made all France to
quake,
Shake he his weapon at ns and pa.ss by.
All. God save the king! "God save the
king !
Cade. What, Buckingham and Clifford, are
ye so brave ? And you, base peasants, do y«
Scene ix.]
KING HENRY
Vt. PART 11.
183
believe him ? will ycit needs be banged with
your pardons abr-ut your necks ? Hatli my
sword tliei-efore bri-ke through London gates,
that you should leave me at the White Hart
in Soutbwark? I thought ye w^uld never
have given out these arms till you had re-
covereid your ancient freedom : but you are
all recreants and dastards, and delight to live
in slavery to the nobility. Let them break
your backs with buithens, take your houses
over your heads, ravish your wives and daugh¬
ters before your faces ; for me, I will make
shift for one ; and so, God's curse ligiit upon
you all !
All. We'll follow Cade, we'll follow Cade !
(Uif. Is Cade tiie son of Henry the Fifth,
That thus you do lann you'll go with him ?
Will he conduct you through the heart of
France,
And make t..e meanest of yon earls and dukes?
Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to ; 40
Nor knows he i.jw to live but by tiie spoil,
Unless L/ robbi g of your friends and us.
Were't not a shame, that whilst you live at
jar, [ed,
The fearful French, whom you late vauquish-
Should make a sfc.it o'er seas and vanquish
you ?
Methinks ..Iready in this civil broil
I see them lordiiig it in London streets.
Crying ' h illiago !' unto all they meet.
Better tin thousaaJ base-born Cades miscarry
Than you should stoop unto a Frenchman's
mercy. 50
To France, to France, and get what you have
lost,
Sjiare England, for it is your native coast ;
Henry liath money, you are strong and mauly ;
God on our side, doubt not of victory.
All. A Jliflford ! a Clifford I we'll follow
the king aud Clifford.
Cade. Was ev m feather so lightly blown
to and fro as this multitude ? Tlie name of
Henry tlie Fifth hales them to an hundred
mischiefs, and makes 'hem leave me desolate.
I see them lay their heads together to sur¬
prise me. My sword make way for me, for
here Is no staying. In desjiite of the devils
and hell, have through the verymiddest of
you? and heavens and honor be witness, that no
want of resolution in me, but only my follow¬
ers' base and ignominious treasons, ihakes me
betake me to my heels. [Exit.
Buck. What, is he fled ? Go some, and
follow him ;
And he that brings his head unto the king
Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward.
[Exexmt some of them.
Follow me, soldiers: we'll devise a mean 71
To reconcile you all unto the kin# [Exeunt.
Scene IX. Kenilworlh Castle.
Sound Trumpets. Enter Kino, Qceen, and
Somerset, on the terrace.
Kinej. Was ever king that joy'd an earthly
throne,
And could command no more content than I?
No sooner was 1 crept out of my cradle
But I was made a king, at nine montlis old.
Was never subject loiig'd to be a king
As 1 do long and wisii to be a subject.
Enter Buckingham and old Cuifford.
Buck. Health and glad tidings to your ma¬
jesty !
King. Why, Buckingham, is the traitor
Cade surprised ?
Oi Is ho but retired to make him strong ?
Enter below, mulliludes, with halters about
their necks.
Clif He is fled, my lord, and all his
powers do yield ; 10
And humbly thus, with haltei-s on their necks.
Expect your highness' doom, of life or death.
King. Then, heaven, set ope thy everlast¬
ing ga. .s.
To entertain my vows of thanks and praise !
Soldiers, this day have you redeemed your
lives.
And show'd how well you love your prince
and country :
Continue still in this so good a mind, ^
And Henry, though he be infortunate.
Assure yourselves, will never be unkind :
And so, with thanks and pardon to you all, 20
I do dismiss you to your several countries.
All. God save the king ! God save the
king 1
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Please it your grace to be adver¬
tised
The Duke of York is newly come from Ire¬
land,
And with a puissant and a mighty power
Of gallowgiasses and stout kerns
Is marching hitherward in proud array.
And still proclaimeth, as he comes along.
His arms are only to remove from thee
The Duke of Somerset, whom he terms
traitor. 30
King. Thus stands my state, 'twixt Cade
and York distress'd.
Like to a ship that, having 'scaped a tempest.
Is straiglitway calm'd and boarded with a pi¬
rate :
But now is Cade driven back, his men dis¬
persed ;
And now is York in arms to second him.
I pray thee, Buckingham, go and meet him.
And ask him what's the reason of these arms.
Tell him I'll send Diike Edmund to the Tower ;
And, Somei-set, we'll commit thee thither,
Until ids army be dismlsS'd from him. 40
Som. My lord,
I'll yield myself to pri.son willingly.
Or unto death, to do my Cpuntry good.
King. In any case, be not' too rough in
terras ;
For he is fierce and cannot brook hard lan¬
guage.
Buck. 1 will, my lord • and doubt not so
to deal
184
KING HENRY PART II.
[Act iv.
As all things sliall redound unto your good.
King. Oome, wife, let's in, and learn to
govern better;
For yet may England curse my wretched
reign. [F/onrisn. Exeunt.
Scene X. Kent. Iden's garden.
Enter Cade.
Cade. Fie on ambition ! fie on myself, that
have a sword, and yet am ready to famish !
These five days have I hid me in these woods
and durst not peep out, for all the country is
laid for me ; but now am I so hungry that if
I might have a lease of my life for a thousand
years I could stay no longer. Wherefore, on
a brick wall have I climbed into this garden, to
see if 1 can eat grass, or pick a sallet another
while, which is not amiss to cool a man's stom¬
ach this hotweather. And I think this word
' sallet' was born to do me good: for many a
time, but for a sallet, my brain-iran had been
cleft with a brown bill; and many a time,
when I have been dry and bravely marching,
it hath served me instead of a qnait pot to
drink in ; and now the word ' sallet' must
serve me to feed on.
Enter Iden.
Iden. Lord, who would live tnrmoiled in
the court.
And may enjoy such quiet walks as these ?
This small inheritance my father left me 20
Contenteth me, and worth a monarcliy.
I seek not to wax great bj' others' waning.
Or gather wealth, I care not, with what envy;
Sufflceth that I have maintains my state
And sends the poor well pleased from my gate.
Cade. Here's the lord of the soil come to
seize me for a stray, for entering his fee-simple
without leave. Ah, villain, thou wilt betray
me, and get a thousand crowns of the king by
carrying my head to him ; but I'll make thee
eat iron like an ostrich, and swallow my sword
like a great pin, ere thou and I part.
Iden. Why, rude companion, whatsoe'er
thou be,
I know thee not; why, then, should I betray
thee ?
Is't not enough to break into my garden.
And, like a thief, to come to rob my grounds,
Climbing my walls in spite of me the owner.
But thou wilt brave me with these saucy
terms 1
Cade. Brave thee! ay, by the best blood
that ever was broached, and beard thee too.
Look on me well: I have eat no meat these five
days ; yet, come thou and thy five men, and
if I do not leave you all as dead as a door-nail,
I pray God I may never eat grass more.
Iden. Nay, it shall ne'er be said, while
England stands.
That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent,
Took odds to combat a poor famish'd man.
Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine.
See if thou canst outface m# with thy looks
Set Umb to limb, and thou art far the'iesser; 50
Thy hand is but a finger to my fist.
Thy leg a stick compared with this truncheon;
My foot shall fight with all the strength thou
hast;
And if mine arm be heaved in the air.
Thy grave is digg'd already in the earth.
As for words, whose greatness answers words.
Let this my sword report what speech for¬
bears.
Cade. By my valor, the most complete
champion that ever I heard ! Steel, if thou
turn the edge, or cut not out the burly-boned
clown in chines of beef ere thou sleep in thy
sheath, I beseech God on my knees thou may.st
be turned to hobnails.
[Here they fight. Cade falls
O, I am slam! famine and no other hath slain
me ; let ten thousand devils CDUie against me,
and give me but the ten meals I have lost, and
I'll defy them all. Wither, garden ; and be
henceforth a burying-place to all that do dwell
in this house, because the unconquered soul
of Cade is fled. 70
Iden. Is't Cade that I liave slain, that mon¬
strous traitor ?
Sword, I will hallow thee for this thy deed.
And hang thee o'er my tomb when 1 am de^.
Ne'er shall this blood be wiped from thy point;
But thou shalt wear it as a herald's coat,
To emblaze the honor that thy master got.
Cade. Iden, farewell, and be proud of thy
victory. Tell Kent from me, she hath lo.st he'i
best man, and exhort all the world to be cow¬
ards ; for I, that never feared any, am van¬
quished by famine, not by valor. [J3ic,i. >81
Iden. How much thou wrong'st me, hea.
veil be my judge.
Die, damned wretch, the curse-of her thai
bare thee ;
And as I thrust thy body in.with my sword.
So wish I, I might thrust thy soul to hell.
Hence will I diag thee headlong by the heels
Unto a dunghill which shall be thy grave.
And there cut off thy most ungracious head ;
Which I will bear in triumph to the kmg.
Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon. 90
[Exit-
ACT V.
Scene I. Fields between Dartford and Black-
■ heath.
EnterYoKK, and his army of Irish, with drum
and colors.
York. From Ireland thus comes York to
claim his right.
And pluck the crown from feeble Henry's
head :
Ring, bells, aloud ; burr), bonfires, clear and
bright.
To entertain great England's lawful king.
Ah ! sancta majestas, who would not buy thee
dear ?
Let them obey that know not how to rule-'
Scene j.]
KING HEjfRY VI. PART 11.
185
This hand was made to handle naught but
gold.
I cannot give due action to my words,
Except a sword or sceptre balance it:
A sceptre shall it have, have I a soul, 10
On which I'il toss the flower-de-luce of France.
Enier Buckingham.
Whom have we here ? Buckingham, to dis¬
turb me ?
Tlieking hath sent him, sure:I must dissemble.'
Buck. York, if thou meanest weli, I greet
thee well.
York. Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept
thy greeting.
Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure ?
B uck. A messenger from Henry, our dread
liege,
To know.the reason of these arms in peace ;
Or why thou, being a subject as I am.
Against th^ oath and true allegiance sworu,20
Should raise so great a power without his
leave.
Or dare to bring thy force so hear the court.
York. I Aside] Scarce can I speak, my choler
is so great:
0,1 could hew up rocks and light with flint,
1 am so angry at these abject terms ;
And now, like Ajax Telamonius,
On sheep or oxen could I spend my fury.
I am far better born than i» the king.
Mure like a king, moi'e kingly in my thoughts:
But 1 must make fair weather yet a while, 30
Till Henry be more weak and I more strong,—
Buckingham, I prithee, pardon me.
That I nave given no answer all this while ;
My mmd was troubled with deep melancholy.
The cause why I have brought this army
hither
Is to remove jrroud Somerset from the king.
Seditious to his grace and to the state.
Buck. That is too much presumption on
thy part:
But if thy arms be to no other end.
The king hath yielded imto thy demand: 40
The Duke of Somei-set is in the Tower.
York. Upon thine honor, is he prisoner ?
Buck. Upon mine honor, he is prisoner.
York. Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my
powers.
Soldiei-s, 1 thank you all; disperse yourselves;
Meet me to-morrow in St. George's field.
You shall have pay aud every thing you wish.
And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry,
Command my eldest son, nay, all my "sons.
As pledges of my fealty and love ; 50
I'll send them all as willing as I live :
Lands, goods, horse, armor, any thing I have.
Is his to use, so Somerset may die.
Buck. York, I commend tliis kind submis¬
sion : ■
We twain will go into his highness' tent.
Enter King and Attendants.
King. Buckingham, doth York intend no
harm to us.
That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm ?
Y k. In ail submission and humility
York doth present himself unto your highness.
King. Then wha intends these forces thou
dost bring ? 60
York. To heave the traitor Somerset from
hence.
And fight against that monstrous rebel Cade,
Who since I heard to be discomfited.
Enter Iden, with Cade's head.
Blen. If one so rude aud of so mean condi¬
tion
May pass into the presence of a king,
Lo, I present your grace a traitor's Tiead,
The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew.
King. The head of Cade ! Great God, how
just art Thou!
0, let me view his visage, being dead.
That living wrought me such exceeding trouble.
Teil me, my friend, art thou the man that slew
him ? 71
Iden. 1 was, an't like your majesty.
King. How art thou caiTd ? and what is
thy degree ?
Iden. Alexander Iden, that's my name ;
A poor esquire of Kent, that loves his king.
Buck. ^ please it you, my lord, 'twere not
amiss
He were created knight for his good seiwice.
King. Iden, kneel down, [/fe kneels.] Kise
up a knight.
We give thee for reward a thousand marks.
And will that thou henceforth attend on us. 80
Iden, May Iden live to merit such a bounty,
And never uve but true unto his liege ! [ilises.
Enter Queen and Somerset.
King. See, Buckingham, Somerset con.es
with the queen :
Go, bid her hide him quickly from the duke.
Queen. For thousand Yorks he shall not
hide his head.
But boldly stand and front him to his face.
York. How now ! is Somerset at liberty 1
Then, York, unloose thy long-imprisbi:.'d
thoughts.
And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart.
Shall I endure the sight of Somerset ? ;iO
False king ! why hast thou broken faith with
me.
Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse ?
King did I call thee ? no, thou art not king,
Not fit to govern and rule multitudes.
Which darest not, no, nor canst not rule a triiiv
tor.
Tliat head of thine doth not become a crown ;
Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer's staff.
And not to grace an awful princely sceptre. ,
That gold must round engirt these brows of
mine.
Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles' spe.*i.r,
Is able with the change to kill and cure. 101
Here is a hand to hold a sceptre up
And with the same to act controlling laws.
Give place : by heaven, thou shalt rule no more
O'er him whom heaven created for thy ruler.
186
KING HENRY VI. PART II.
(Act r.
Som. 0 monstrous traitor ! I arrest thee,
York,
Of capital treason 'gainst the king and crown ;
Obey, audacious traitor ; kneel for grace.
Yori;. Wonldst have me kneel ? drst let
me ask of these,
n they can brook I bow a knee to man. 110
Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail;
\ExU Attendant.
I know, ere they will have me go to ward,
They'll pawn their swords for my enfranchise¬
ment.
Queen. Call hither Clifford ! bid him come
amain,
To say if that the bastard boys of York
Shall be the surety for their traitor father.
\Exit Buckinyham.
York. O blood-besotted Neapolitan,
Outcast of Naples, England's bloody scourge !
The sons of York, thy betters in tlieir birth.
Shall be their father's bail ; and bane to those
That for my surety will refuse the boys ! 121
Enter Edward and Richard.
See where they come : I'll warrant they'll
make it good.
Enter old Clifford and his Son.
Queen. And here comes Clifford to deny
their bail.
Cli/. Health and all happiness to my lord
the king ! [Kneels.
York. 1 thank thee, Clifford : say, what
news with thee ?
Nay, do not fright us with an angry look ;
We are thy sovereign, Clifford, kneel again;
For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee.
Cli/. This is my Mug, York, I do not mis¬
take ;
But thou mistakest me much to think I do : 130
To Bedlam with him ! is the man grown mad ?
Kiny. Ay, Clifford ; a bedlam and ambi¬
tious humor
Makes him oppose himself against his Mng; ''
C'hy. He is a traitor t let liim to the Tower,
And chop away that factions pate of his.
Queen. He is arrested, but will not obey ;
His sons, he says, shall give their words for
him.
Yo)'k. WUl you not, sons ?
Edw. Ay, noble father, if our words, will
serve.
Rich. And if words will not, then our
weapons shall. 140
Chy. Why, whiit a brood of traitors-have
we here ! [so :
York. Look in a gla.ss, and call thy image
I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor.
Call hither to the stake my two brave bears.
That with the very shaking of their chains
They may astonish these fell-lurking curs :
Bid Salisbury and Warwick come to me.
Enter the Earls of Warwick, and Salis¬
bury.
■ cay. Are these thy bearsif we'll bait thy
bears to death.
And manacle the bear-ward in their chains.
If thou darest bring them to the baiting place.
Rich. Oft have I seen a hot o'erweening
cur 151
Run back and bite, because he was withheld ^
Who, being suffer'd with the bear's fell paw.
Hath clapp'd his tail between his legs and
cri^ :
And such a piece of service Will you do.
If you op^ge yourselves to match Lord War-
witM
Cliy. Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested
lump,
As crooked in thy manners as thy shape 1
York. Nay, we sliall heat you thoroughly
anon.
CUy. Take heed, lest by yonrheat you burn
yourselves. 160
Kiny. Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot
to bow ?
Old Salisbury, shame to thy silver hair,
"Thou m.ad misleader of thy brain-sick son (
What, wilt thou on thy death-bed pla the
ruffian,
And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles ?
O, where is faith ? O, where is loyalty ?
If it be banish'd from the frosty head.
Where shall it find a harbor in the earth ?
Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war,
And shame thine honorable age with blood 1
Why art thou old, and waut'st experience? 17 '
Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it ?
For shame ! in duty bend thy knee to me
Th.at bows unto the grave with mickle age.
6'al. My lord, I have consider'd with my¬
self
The title of this most renowned duke ;
And in my conscience do repute his grace
The rightful heir to England's royal seat.
Kiny. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto
'me ?
Sal. I have. ' 180
Kiny. Canst thou dispense with heaven for
such an oath ?
Sal. It is great sin to swear unto a siu,
But greater sin to keep a sinful oath.
Who can be bound by any solemn vow
To do a murderous deed, to rob a man,
To force a spotless virgin's chastity.
To reave the orphan of his patrimony,
To wring the widow from her ciistoiti'd right,
And have no other reason for this wrong
But that he was bound by a solemn oath ? RK?
Queen. A subtle traitor needs no sophister.
Kiny. Call Buckingham, and bid him am
himself.
York. Call Buckingham, and all the friends
thou hast,
I am resolved for death or dignity.
CUy. The first 1 warrant thee, if dreams
prove true. [a.gain.
War You were best to go to bed and dreani
To keep thee from the tempest of the field.
Clif. I am resolved to bear a greater stonn
Than any thou canst conjure up toi-df.y ;
And tliat I'M write upon thy burgonet. ' 20C
sckim ii.]
KING HENRY VI. PART 11.
187
Might I but know. thee by thy household
, badge.
' War. Now, by my lather's badge, old
Nevil's crest,
The rampant bear chain'd to the tagged staff,
This day I'll wear aloft my bnrgonet.
As on a mountain top the cedar shows
Tliiit keeps his leaves in spite of any storm.
Even to affright thee with the view thereof.
Clif. And from thy burgonet I'll rend thy
bear
And'tread it under foot with all contempt.
Despite the bear-ward that protects the bear.
Y. Clif. And so to arras, victorious father.
To quell the rebels and their complices.'
Rich. ' Fie 1 charity, for shame ! speak no't
in spite.
For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night.
Y. Clif. Foul stigmatic, that's more thin
thou canst tell.
Rich. If not in heaven, you'll surely sup in
hell. ' [Exeunt severmly.
SCENi: II. Eaint Alian's.
1 jUarunw to the battle, Enter Wakwick,.
IFar. Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick
calls
And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear.
Now, when the angry trumpet sounds alarum
And dead men's cries do fill the empty air,
Clifford, I Say, come forth and fight with me -.
Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland,
Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms.
Enter York.
How now, my noble lord ! what, all afoot ?
York. The deadly-handed CUfford slew my
steed.
But match to match I have encounter'd him 10
And made a prey for carrion kites and crows
Even of the bonny beast he loved so well.
Enter old Clifford.
War. Of one or both of us the time is come.
York. Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some
other chase.
For I myself must hunt this deer to death.
War. Then, nobly, York ; 'tis for a crown
thou fight'St.
As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day.
It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd.
[Exit.
Clif. What seest thou in me, York ? why
dost thou pause ?
York. With thy brave bearing should I be
in love, 20
But that thou art so fast mine enemy.
Clif. Nor should thy prowess want praise
and esteem.
But that 'tis shown ignobly and in treason.
York. So let it help me now against thy
sword •
As I in justice and true right express it.
Clif. My soul and liody on the action both!
York. A dreadful lay 1 Address thee in¬
stantly. [They fiejht, and Cliffordfalls.
Clif. La fin couroime les wuvres. fOies.
York. Thus war hath given thee xieace, for
thou art still.
Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will!
[Exit. ' 30
Enter iJounQ CtiFFORfi.
y. Clif, I Shamegud confusion ! all is on tlie
rout;
Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds
Where it should guard. 0 war, thou son of
hell.
Whom angry heavens do make tlieir minister.
Throw in the frozen bosoms of onr part
Hot coals of vengeance 1 Let no soldier fly.
He that is truly dedicate to war , •
Hath no self-love, nor he that loves himself
Hath not essentially but by circumstance
The name of valor. [Heeiny hie dead father.
O, let the vile world end, 40
And the premised flames of the last day
Knit earth and heaven together !
Now let the general trumpet blow his blast,
Particularities and jietty sounds
To cease ! Wast thou ordain'd, dear fathet.
To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve
The silver livery of advised age,
And, in thy reverence and thy chaii'-days, tlius
To die in ruffian battle ? Even at this sight
My heart is turu'd,to stone : and while 'tis
mine, , . 50
It shall be stony. York not our old men spares ;
No more tvill I Uieir babes : tears virginal
ShaU be to me even as the dew to fire.
And beaut.y that the tyrant oft reclaims
Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax.
Henceforth I will not have to do with pity :
Meet 1 an infant of the house of Y'ork,
Into as many gobbets will I cut it
As wild Medea young Absyrtus did :
In cruelty will I seek out my fame. 60
Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house :
As did .Sneas old Anchises bear.
So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders ;
But then jEneas bare a living load.
Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine.
[Exit, hearing off his father.
Enter Richard and Somerset to fight.
Somerset is killed.
Rich. So, lie thou there ;
For underneath an alehouse' paltry sign,
The Castle in Saint Alban's, Somerset
Hath made the wizard famous in his death.
Sword, hold thy temper ; heart, be wrathful
still : 70
Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill. [Exit.
Fight: excursions. Enter Kikg, Queen, and
others.
Queen. Away, my lord ! you are slow ; for
shame, away i
King. Can we outrun the.heavens ? good
Margaret, stay.
Queen. What are you made at ? you'll nor
fight nor fly :
Now is it manho^, wisdom and defence.
To give the enemy way, and to secure us
188
KING HENRY VI. PART II.
[Act v.
By vhat we can, which can no more but fly.
[Alarum afar off.
If you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom
Of all our fortunes : but if we haply scape,
As well we may, if not through your neglect, 80
We shall to London get, where you are loved
And where this breach now in our fortunes
made
iVIr.y leadily be stopp'd.
Re-enter young Clifford.
Y. Clif. But that my heart's on future mis¬
chief set,
I would apeak blasphemy ere bid you fly :
But fly you must; uucurable discomfit
Reigns iu the hearts of all our present parts.
Away, for your relief ! and we will live
To see their day and them our fortune give :
Away, my lord, away ! [Exeunt,
Scene III. Fields near St. Alban's.
Alarum. Retreat. Enter York, Richard,
Warwick, and Soldiers, with drum and colors.
York. Of Salisbury, who can report of him,
That winter lion, who in rage forgets
Aged contusions and aU brush of time.
And, like a gallant in the brow of youth.
Repairs him with occasion ? This nappy day
Is not itself, nor have we won one foot,
If Salisbury be lost.
Rich. My noble father.
Three times to-day I holp him to his herse
Three times bestrid him ; tlirice I led him off.
Persuaded him from any furtlier act: 10
But still, where danger was, still there I met
him ;
And like rich hangings iu a homely house.
So was his will in his old feeble body.
But, noble as he is, look where he comes.
Enter SALisBCRy.
SaL Now, by my sword, well hast thou
fougiit to-day ;
By the mass, bo did we alL I thank you, Rich¬
ard :
God knows how long it is I have to live ;
And it hath pleased him that tliree times to-day
You have defended me from imminent deatli.
WeU, lords, we have not got that which we
have: 20
'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled.
Being opposites of. such repairing nature.
York. I know our safety is to follow them;
For, as I hear, tlie king is fled to London,
To call a present court of parliament.
Let us pursue him ere the writs go forth.
What says Lord Warwick ? shall we after
them ? [can.
War. After them ! nay, before them, if we
Now, by my faith, lords, 'twas a glorious day :
Saint Alban's battle won by famous York 30
Shall be eternized in all age to come.
Sound drums and trumpets, and to London all;
And more such days as these to us befall'.
[Kneunt
KING HENEY VI PART m.
(written about 1591-92.)
INTRODUCTION.
[See Introduction to Part XL]
DRAMATIS PERSON.®.
King Henrt the Sixth.
Edward, Prince or Wales, his son.
Lewis XI. King or France.
Duke of Somerset.
Duke or Exeter.
Earl or OxroRD.
Earl or Northdmberl.and.
Earl or Westmoreland.
Lord Clifeord.
Richard Plantagenbt, Duke of York
Edward, Earl of March, afterwards'
King Edward IV.,
Edmund, l^rl of Rutland,
George, afterwards Duke of Clar¬
ence,
Richard, afterwards Duke of Glou¬
cester,
Duke or Norfolk.
Marquess of Montague.
Earl of Warwick.
E.arl of Pembroke.
Lord Hastings.
his
sons.
Lord Stafford.
Sir John Mortimer, I uncles to the Duke'
Sir Hugh Mortimer, J of York.
Henrv, Earl of RichraoniL a youth. ,
Lord Rivers, brother to Lady Grey.
Sir William Stanley.
Sir John Montgomery.
Sir John Somerville.
Tutor to Rutland. Mayor of York.
Lieutenant of the Tower. A Nobleman.
Two Keepers. A Huntsman.
A Sou that has killed his father.
A Father that has killed his son.
Queen Margaret.
Lady Grey, afterwards Queen to Edward
IV.
Bona, sister to the French Queen.
Soldiers, Attendants, Messengers, Watchmen.
&c.
Scene : England and France.
ACT I.
oCENE I. London. The Parliamertt-house.
Alarum. Enter the Duke or York, Edward,
Richard, Norfolk, Montague, Warwick,
and Soldiers.
War. I wonder how the king escaped our
hands. ■
York. While we pursued the horsemen of
the north.
He slily stole away and left his men :
Whereat the great Lord of Northumberland,
Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat.
CheePd np the drooping army ; and himself,
Lord Clifford and Lord Stafford, all abreast,
Chaiged our main battle's front, and breaking
in
Were by the swords of common soldiers slain.
Edw. Lord Stafford's father, Duke of Buck¬
ingham, 10
Is either slain or wounded dangerously ;
I cleft his beaver with a downright blow :
That this is true, father, behold his blood.
Mont. And, brother, here's the Earlof Wilt¬
shire's blood.
Whom I enconnter'd as the battles join'd.
JRich. Speak thou for me and tell them
what I did.
[Throwing down the Duke of Somersets head,
(189)
190
KING HENRY
n. PART III.
[Act 1.
Yorlc. Richard hath best deserved of all my
sons.
But is your grace dead, my Lord of Somerset ?
Norf. Such hope have all the liue of John
of Gaunt!
Sicli. Thus do I hope to shake King Hpnry!s
|head. ' * I L 1 i
War. And so do I. victorious Prince of
York,
Before I see thee seated in that throne
Which now the house of Lancaster usurps,
I vow by heaven these eyes sliall never close.
This is the palace of the fearful king.
And this the regal seat: possess it, York ;
For this is thine and not King Henry's heirs'.
York. Assist me, then, sweet Warwick, an4
I will;
For hither we have broken in by force.
Norf. We'll all assist you ; he that flies
shall die. 30
York. Thanks, gentle Norfolk : stay by me,
my lords ;
And, soldiers, stay and lodge by me this night.
[They go xip:
War. And when the king comes, offer him
no violence.
Unless he seek to thrust you out perforce!
York. The queen this day here holds her
pariiameut.
But little thinks we shall be of her council r ,
By words or blows here let us win our right.
Rich. Arm'd as we are, let's stay within
this house.
War. The, bloody parliament shall this be
call'd.
Unless Plantagenet, Duke of York, be king, 40
And bashful Henry deposed, whose cowardice)
Hath made us by-words to our enemies. [
York. Then leate me not, my lords; be
resolute ;
I mean to talce possession of my right.
War. Neither the king, nor he that loves
him best, , ^
The proudest he that holds np Lancaster,
Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells.
I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares :
Resolve thee, Richard ; ' claim the English
crown.
J/'lourish. Enter King Henry, Cuf#obi>,
Northumberland, Westmoreland, E.\e-
ter, and the rest.
K. Hen. My fords, look where the sturdy .
rebel sits, 50
Even in the chair of state : belike he means,
Back'd by the power of Warwick, tliat false
peer,
To aspire unto the crown and reign as king.
Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father.
And thine. Lord Clifford,; and yo.u both have
vow'd revenge
Da him, his sons, his favorites and his friends.
North. If I be not. heavens be revenged on
me 1
Clif. The hope thereof ii^akes Clifford
mourn in steeL
West. What, shall we suffer this ? let's
pluck him down :
My heart for anger burns ; I caimot brook it
K. Hen. Be patient, gentle Earl of West¬
moreland. 61
Clf., patience is for ixiltroon?, such, as he :
He flurst nqt sit tbene, Jiad yqnrifatheiiliye^.
My gracious lord, here in the parliament
Let us assail the family of York.
North. Well hast thou spoken, cousin : be
it so.
K. Hen. Ah, know you not the city favors
them,
'And they Iiave troops of soldiers at their beck?
Exe. But when the duke is slain, they'll
J ■ qujcklV'fly.
K. Hen. Far be the thought of this from
Henry's heart, 70
To make a shambles of the parliament-house !
Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words and threats
Shall be the war that Henry means to use.
Thou factious Duke of York, descend my
throne.
And kneM for grace and mercy at my feet;
I am thy sovereign.
York. I am thine.
Exe. For shame, come down : he made thee
Duke of York.
York. 'Twas my inheritance, as the'earldom
was. ■, ,
Exe. Thy father was a traitor to the' crown.
War. Fxeter, thou art a traitor to the crown
In following this usurping Henry. , 81
Clif. Whom should he follow but hisuatpral
king ?
War. True, Clifford J and'thatJ'g Richard
Duke of York. ,
K. Hen. And shall I stand, and thoU sit in ■
my throne ? • ,
York. It innstand shall be' sorcoutent thyself.
War. Be Duke of Lancaster; let him be king.,
IFest. He is both king and Duke Of Lan¬
caster ;
And that the Lord of W^stiporeland shall
maintain. '
War. And Warwick shall disprove it. iTou
forget '
That we are those which chased yon from the
field 90
And slew your fathers, and with colors spread
March'd through the city to the palace gates.
North. Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my
grief ;
And, by his eonlj tliou and thy hotise BhaU rue
it.
West. Plantagfenet, of thee and these thy
sons.
Thy kinsmen and thy frieudsj I'll have more
;lives
Than drops of blood were in my father's veins.
Clif. Urge it no more ; lest that, instead
of words,
I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger |
.\s shall revenge his death before 1 stir. 100
War. Poor Clifford 1 how I scorn liis worth-
I less threats!
SCEN^ I.]
KINO HENRY FT, PART IIP
101
Ywh. Trill yoa we show our title to the
crown ?
If not, our swOrds shall plead it in the field.
K. Hen. What tiilo hast thou, traitor, to the
crown 1
Thy father was, as thou art, Duke of York ;
Thy grandfather, Koger Mortimer, Earl of
' March i
I am the son of Henry the Fifth, • '
Who made the Dauphin and the French to
stoop
And seized upon their towns and provinces.
War. Talk not of France, sitli thou hast
lost it all. ' 110
K. Hen. The lord protector lost it, and not 1:
When I was crown d 1 was but nine months
' old.
Rich. 'Yon «re old enough now; and yet,
niethink.s, you lose.
Father, tear the crown from the usuiper's head.
Edw. Sweet father, do so ; set it on your
head.
Mmt. Good brother, as thou lovest and
honorest arms.
Let's fight it out and not stand cavilling thus.
Rich. • Sound drums and trumijets, and thd
king will fly. '
York. Sons, peace 1 ■
K. Hen. Peace, thou 1 and give King Henry
leave to speak. 12®
War. Plantageuet shall speak first ; hear
him, lords ;
And be you silent and attentive too,
For he that interrupts him shall not live.
K. Hen. Think'st thou that i will leave my
kingly throne.
Wherein my graudsire and my father sat ?
No : first shaJl war unpeople this my realm ;
Ay, and their colors, often borne in France,
And now in England to our heart's great
sorrow.
Shall be my winding-sheet Why faint you,
lords ? ' '
My title's good, and better far than his. 130
War. Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be
king.
K. Hen. Henry the Fourth by conquest got
the crown.
York. ' 'Twas Inr rebellion against his king.
K. Hen. [Aside] I know not what to say ; my
title's weak.—
Tell me, may not a king adopt an heit ?
York. What then ?
K. Hen. An if he may, then am I lawful
king;
For Richard, in the view of many lords, >
Resign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth,
Whose heir my father was, and I am his. 14(1
York. He rose against him, being his sove¬
reign, A
And made him to resign his crown perforce.
War. Suppose, my lords* he did it nncon-
strain'd.
Think you 'twere prejudicial to his crown?
Exe. No ; for he could not so resign his
crown
But that the next heir should succeed and
reign.
K. Hen. Art tlion agamst us, Duke of Exeter?
Exe. His is the right, and therefore pardon
me.
York. Why whisper you, my lords, and an¬
swer not ?
Exe. My conscience teUs me he is lawful
king. 'I 150
K. Hen. [Aside] All will revolt from me, and
turn to him. [lay'st
North. Plantageuet, for all the claim thou
Tbiuk not that Henrjr shall be so deposed.
War. Deposed he shall be, in despite of all.
North. Thou art deceived c 'tis not thy
southern |x>wer, ■
Of Essex, Norfollc, Suffolk, nor of Kent,
Which makes thee thus presumptuous and
proud.
Can set the duke np in despite of me.
Clif. King Henry, be thy title right ■ or
wrong,
Loi-d Clifford Vows to fight in thy defence : 160
May that ground gape and swallow me alive.
Where 1 shall kneel to him that slew my fa¬
ther !
K. Hen. 0 Clifford, how thy words revive
my heart!
York. Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown.
What mutter you, or what conspire you, loifis?
War. Do right unvo tnis princely Duke of
York, '
Or 1 will fill the house with armed men.
And over the chair of state, where now he sits,
Write up his title with usurping blood.
\He stamps with his foot and, the soldiers
show themselves.
K. Hen. My Lord of Warwick, hear me but
one word : 170
Let me for this my life-time reign as king.
York. Confirm the crown to me and to mine
' heirs.
And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou livest.
King. I am content : Richard Plantagenety
Enjoy the kingdom after my decease.
■ Clif. What wrong is this unto the prince
your son ! ,
' War. What good is this to England and him¬
self !
West. Base, fearful and despairing Hecry !
Clif. How hast thou injured both thyself
and us! '
West. 1 cannot stay to hear these articles.
North. Nor 1. 181
Clif. Come, cousin, let us tell the queen
' these news.
West. Farewell, faint-hearted and degenep
rate king,
In whose cold blood no spark of honor bides.
North. Be thou a prey unto the house of
York,
And die in bands for this unmanly deed!
Clif. In dreadful war mayst thou be over-
• come.
Or live in peace abandou'd and despised!
\Exeimii North., Cliff., and West.
m
War. Turn this way, Henry, and regard
them not.
Exe. They seek revenge and therefore will
not yield. 190
K. Hen. Ah, Exeter !
War. Why should you sigh, my lord'
K. Hen. Not for myself. Lord Warwick, bui,
ray son,
Whom 1 unnaturally shall disinherit.
But be it as it may : I here entail
Tlie crown to thee and to thine lieirs for evci.
Conditionally, that here thou take an oath
To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live.
To honor me as thy king and sovereign.
And neitlier by treason nor hostility
To seek t^nt me down and reign thysell. "00
York, liiis oath I willingly take 'an.1 will
perform.
War. Long live King Henry! Plantagenet
embrace him.
K. Hen. And long live thou and these thy
forward sons!
York. Now York and Lancaster are recon¬
ciled.
Exe. Accursed be he that seeks to make
them foes ! [Sennet. Here they coTne
down.
York. Farewell, my gracious lord ; I'll to
my castle.
War. And Til keep London with my soldiers.
Horf. And I to Norfoia with my followers.
Mont. And I unto the sea from whence I
came.
[Exeunt York, and his Sons, Warwick, Nm\
folk, Montague, their Soldiers, and At'
tendarUs.
K. Hen. And I, with grief and sorrow, to
the court 210
Enter Queen Makgaret and the Prince of
Wales.
Exe. Here comes the queen, wl kjte looks
bewray her anger :
I'll steal aw^.
K. Hen, Exeter, so will I.
Q. Mar. Nay, go not from me , I will fol¬
low thee.
K.Hen. Be patient, gentle queen, and I
will stay.
Q- Mar. Who can be patient in such ex¬
tremes !
Ah, wretched maul would I had died a maid
And never seen tliee, never borne tliee son.
Seeing thou hast proved so unnatural a father!
Hatli he deserved to lose his birthright thus ?
Hadst tliou but loved him half so well as I, 220
Or felt that pain which I did for him once.
Or nourish'd him as I did with my blood,
Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood
there.
Rather than have that savage duke thine heir
And disinherited thine only son.
Prince. Father, you cannot disinherit me :
If you be king, why should not I succeed ?
K. Hen. Paidonme, Margaret; pardon me,
sweet son a
[Act i.
The Earl of W&nr'eif and the duke enforced
me.
Q. Mar. Enforced theo ( art thou king, and
wilt be forced ? 230
t shame to hear thee s;>eak. Ah, timorous
wretch !
Tnou hast imdoue tbysaJf, thy son and me ;
And given unto tlie hoase of York sucli head
As thou shalt leign but Ly their sufferance.
To entail him and hi.s heirs unto the crown.
What is it, but to make thy sepulchre
And creep Into it far before tiiy time ?
Warwick is chancellor and the lord of Calais ^
Stem Falcoubrldge commands the narrow seas'
The duke is made protector of the realm ; 240
And yet shalt thou be safe? such safety finds
The trembling lamb environed with wolves.
Had I been there, which am a silly woman.
The soldiers should have toss'd me on their
pikes
Before I would have granted to that act.
But thou preferPst thy life before tliine hon¬
or :
And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself
Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed.
Until that act of parliament be repem'd
Whereby my son is disinherited. 250
The northern lords tliat have forsworn tiiy
colors
Will follow mine, if once they see them spread;
And spread tliey shall be, to thy foul dis¬
grace
And utter ruin of the house of York.
Thus do 1 leave thee. Come, sou, let's away;
Our army Is ready ; come, we'll after them.
K. Hen. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear
me speak.
Q. Mar. Thou hast spoke too much already:
get thee gone. [with me ?
K. Hen. Gentle sou Edward, thou wilt stay
Q. Mar. Ay, to be murder'd by his ene¬
mies. 260
Prince. When I return with victory from
the field
I'll see your grace : till then I'll follow her.
Q. Mar. Come, son, away ; we may not
linger thus.
[Exeunt Queen Margaret and the Prince.
K. Hen. Poor queen ! how love to me and
to her son
Hath made her break out into terms of rage
Revenged may she be on that hateful duke.
Whose hauglity spirit, winged with desire.
Will cost ray crown, and like an empty eagle
Tire on the flesh of me and of my son !
The loss of those three lords torments my
heart : 270
I'll write unto them and entreat them fair.
Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger.
Exe. And I, I hope,'shall reconcile them all.
[Ezeurd.
Scene H. Sandal Castle.
Enter Richard, Edward, and Montague.
Eich. Brother, though I be youngest, give
me leave.
KING HENRY VI. PART III
Scene iii.]
Edw. No, I can better play the orator.
Mont. But I have reasons strong and for¬
cible.
Enter the Duke of York.
Yorlc. Why, how now, sons and brother ! at
a strife ?
What is your quarrel ? how began it first ?
Edio. No quarrel, but a slight contention.
York. About what?
Rieh. About that which concerns your grace
and us ;
The crown of England, father, which is yours.
I'oj'A:. Mine, boy ? not till King Henry be
dead. 10
Rich. Your right depends not on his life or
death.
Edw. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it
now :
By giving the house of Lancaster leave to
breathe.
It will outrun you, father, in the end.
York. I took an oath that he should quietly
reign.
Edw. But for a kingdom airy oath may be
broken: [year.
I would break a thousand oaths to reign one
Rich. No ; God forbid your grace should be
forsworn.
York. I shall be, if I claim by open war.
Rich. I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear
me speak. 20
York. Thou canst not, sou ; it is impossi¬
ble.
Rich. An oath is of no moment, being not
took
Before a true and lawful magistrate.
That hath authority over him that swears :
Henry had none, but did usurp the place ;
Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to de¬
pose.
Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous.
Therefore, to c.rms! And, father, do but
think
How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown ;
Within whose circuit is Elysium 30
And all that poets.feign of bliss and joy.
Why do we linger thus ? I cannot rest
Until the white rose that 1 wear be dyed
Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart.
York. Richard, enough ; I will be king, or
die.
Brother, thou shalt to London presently.
And whet on Warwick to this enterprise.
Thou, Richard, shalt to the Duke of Norfolk,
And tell him prvily of our intent.
You, Edward, shall unto my Lord Cobham, 40
With whom the Kentishmen will willingly
rise :
In them I trust; for they are scddiers.
Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit.
While you are thus employ'd, what resteth
more, *
But that I seek occasion how to rise.
And yet the king not privy to my drift,
Nor any of tlte house of Lancaster ?
'193
Enter a Messenger.
But, stay : what news ? Why comest thou in
such post ?
Gabr. The queen with all the northern earls
and lords
Intend here to besiege you in your castle : 50
She is hard by with twenty thousand men ;
And therefore fortify your hold, my lord.
York. Ay, with my sword. What! thiuk'st
thou that we fear them ?
Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me ;
My brother Montague shaU post to London :
Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest.
Whom we have left protectors of the king.
With powerful policy strengthen themselveS)
And trust not simxile Henry nor his oaths.
Mont. Brother, I go ; I'll win them, fear it
not: CO
And thus most humbly I do take my leave.
[Exit.
Enter Snt John Mortimer and Sir Hugh
Mortimer.
York. Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer
mine uncles.
You are come to Sandal in a happy hour ;
The army of the queen mean to besiege us.
Sir John. She shall not need ; we'll meet
her in the field.
York. What, with five thousand men ?
Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a
need :
A woman's general; what should we fear ?
[A march afar off.
Edw. I hear their drums : let's setour men
in order, 70
And issue forth and bid them battle straight.
York. Five men tO' twenty ! though the
Odds be great,
I doubt not, uncle, of our victory.
Many a battle have I won in France,
When as the enemy hath been ten to one :
Why should I not now have the like success ?
[Alarum. Exeunt.
Scene IH. Field of battle betwixt Sandal
Castle and Wakefield.
Alarums. Enter Rutland and his Tutor.
Rut. Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their
hands ?
Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes!
Enter CLiprORD and Soldiers.
Clif. Chaplain, away ! tliy priesthood saves
thy life.
As for the brat of this accursed duke.
Whose father slew my father, he shall die.
, Tut. And I, my lord, wiU bear him com¬
pany.
Clif. Soldiers, away with him !
Tut. Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent
child.
Lest thou be hated both of God and man !
[Exit, dragt/ed off by Soldiers.
Clif. How now ! is he dead already ? or is
it fear 10
KING HENRY VI. PART IIL
194 KING HENRY VI. PART III.
That makes him close his eyes ? I'll open
them.
Rut. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the
wretch
That trembles under his devouring paws ;
And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey,
And so he come^ to reuduis limbs asunder.
Ah, gentle Cliffoi^, kill me with tliy sword.
And not with such a cruel tlireatening look.
Sweet Cliilord, hear me speak before I die.
I am too me:ui a subject for thy wrath :
Be thou revenged on men, aud let me live. 20
Cl^f. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy ; my
father's blood ,
llath stoi)p'd the passage where thy words
should enter.
Rut. Then let my father's blood open it
again :
He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.
Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives
aud thine
Were not revenge sufficient for me ;
No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves
And hung their rotteu coffins up iu chains.
It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart.
The sight of any of the house of York 30
Is as a fury to torment my soul;
And till I root out their accursed line
.\nd leave not one alive, I live in hell.
Therefore— • [Liftinfj his hand.
Rut. O, let me pray before I take my death I
To thee I pray ; sweet Clifford, pity me 1
Clif. Sucli pity as my rapier's point affords.
Rut. I never did thee harm ; why wilt thou
slay me ?
Clif. 'rhy father hath.
Rut. But 'twas ere I was bom.
Thou hast one son ; for his sake pity me, 40
Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just,
He be as miserably slain as I.
Ah, let me live in prison all my days ;
And when I give occasion of offence.
Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.
Clif. No cause 1
Thy father slew my father ; therefore, die.
[Stabs him.
Rat. Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae !
[Dies.
Clif. Plantageuet 1 I come. Plantagenet!
And this thy son's blood cleaving to niy blade
Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood, 51
Congeal'd with this, do make me wii)e off
both. [Exit.
Scene IV. Another part of the field.
Alarum. Enter Richard, Duke of York.
York. The army of the queen hath got the
field:
My uncles both are slain in rescuing me ;
And all my followers to the eager foe
Turn back and fly, like ships before the wind
Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves.
Sty sons, God knows what hath bechanced
them:
But this I know, they have demean'd them-
sdves
[Act ^
Like men born to renown by life or death.
Three times did Richard make a lane to me.
And thrice cried ' Courage, father 1 fight it
out 1' 10
And full as oft came Edward to my side,
\Vith purple falchion, painted to the hilt
In blood of those that had encounter'd him
And when the hardiest warriors did retire,
Richard cried ' Charge 1 and give no foot of
ground 1'
Aud cried' A crown, or else a glorious tomb !
A sceptre, or an earthly sepulclire 1'
With this, we charged again: but, out, alas '.
We bodged again ; as I have seen a swan
With bootless labor swim against the tide 20
Aud spend her strength with over-matching
waves. [a short alarum withiii.
Ah, hark 1 the fatal followers do pursue ;
Aud I am faint and cannot fly their fury :
And were I strong, I would not shun their fury :
The sands are number'dtbat make upmy life;
Here must I stay, and here my life must end.
Enter Quejen Margaret, Clifford, North¬
umberland, the young Prince, and Soldiers.
Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumber¬
land,
I dare your quenchle.ss fury to more rage:
I am your butt, aud I abide your shot.
North. Y'ield to our mercy, proud Pb f .-
genet. El
Clif. Ay, to such mercy as his ruthlesi »'a,
With downright payment, show'd unt g.y
father.
Now Phaethon h.ath tumbled from his q i.
And made an evening at the noontide pi y.
York. My ashes, as the phoenix, niaj ifrg
forth
A bird that will revenge upon you all:
And iu that hope I throw mine'eyes to? .'aven,
Scorning whate'er you can afflict me w h.
Why come you not? what 1 multitud./s, and
fear ?
Clif. So cowards fight when they can fly
no further ; 'iO
So doves do peck the falcon's piercing taloiv.;
So desperate thieves, all hopeless jf theii
lives, ■
Breathe out invectives 'gaiast the officers.
Yoi'k. O Clifford, but betliink t .ee once
again.
And iu thy thought o'er-run my fori .er time
And, if though canst for blusMng, lew this
face,
And bite thy tongue, that slauden him witL
cowardice
Whose frown liath made thee fail .1 and
ere this 1
Clif. I will not bandy with thee word fj"
word,
But buckle with thee blows, twice t' o for one.
Q. Mar. Hold, valiant Clifford ! i ;r a theu-
saud causes 51
I would prolong awhile the traitor', iife.
Wrath makes ium deaf : speak the Northiyii*
beriaad.
ScSHE'iy.)
RING TlENnt
n. PART lit.
195
■North. Hold, Clifford ! do not honor him so
much
To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart:
What valor were it, when a cur doth grin,
For one to thrust his hand between his teeth,
When he mi^ht spurn him with his footaway ?
It is war's prize to take all vantages ;
And ten to one is no impeach of valor. 60
{They lay hands on York, to/to struggle*.
Clif. Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with
the gin.
North. So doth the cony struggle in the net.
York. So triumph thieves upon their con-
quer'd booty ;
So true men yield, with robl erssoo'ermatch'd.
North. What would your grace have done
unto him now ?
Q. Mar. Brave warriors, Clifford and North¬
umberland,
Come, make him stand upon this molehill here.
That raught at mountains with outstretched
arras,
Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.
What! was it you that would be England's
liing ? 70
Was't you that revell'd in our parliament,
And made a preachment of your high de¬
scent ?
Where are your mess of sons to back you now ?
The wanton Edward, and the lusty George ?
And Where's tliat valiant crook-back prMigy,
Dicky your boy, tliat with his grumbling voice
Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies ?
Or, with tlie re.st, where is your darling Rut¬
land ?
I.s)ok, York : I staiu'd this napkin with the
blood
That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point, 80
M.ade issue from the bosom of the boy ;
And if thine eyes can water for his death,
I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal
Alas, poor York ! but that I hate thee deadly,
I should lament thy miserable state,
t prithee, grieve, to make me merry, York.
What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'J thine
entrails
That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death ?
Why art thou patient, man ? thou shouldst be
mad ;
And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus.
Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and
dance. W
Thou would^t be fee'd, I see, to make me sport :
York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown.
A crown for York ! and, lords, bow low to
him :
Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on.
[Putting a paper crown en his head.
Ay, mari^r, sir, now looks he like a king!
Ay, this is he that took King Henry's chair,
And this is he was his adopted heir.
But how is it that great Plantagenet
Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemnoath ?
As I bcthmk me, you should not be king 101
TOl our King Henry had shook hands with
death.
And will you pale your head in Henry's glory,
And rob his temples of tlie diadem.
Now in his Ufo, against your holy oatJa ?
O, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable !
Off with the crown ; and, with the crown, his
head ;
And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him ^
dead. '
Clif. That is my office, for my fathe.r'.s .sake.
Q. Mar. Nay, stay ; lets hear the orisons
he makes. 110
York. She-wolf of France, but worse than
wolves o£ France,
Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's
tooth !
How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex
To triumph, like an Amazonian trull,
Upon their woes whom fortune captivates i
But that thy face is, vizard-like, unchanging.
Made impudent with use of evil deeds,
I would assay, proud queen, to make theo
blush.
To tell thee whence thou camest, of whom
derived.
Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thon
not shameless. 190
Thy father bears the type of King of Naples,
Of both the Sicils and Jerusalem,
Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman.
Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult'!'
It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen.
Unless the adage must be verified,
Tliat beggars mounted run their horse to death.
'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud ;
But, od he knows, thy share theieof is small:
'Tis virtue that doth make them mostadmired ;
The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at:
'Tis government that makes them seem divine;
The want thereof manes thee abominable
Thou art as opposite to every good
As the Antipodes are unto us.
Or as the south to the septentrion.
O tiger's heart wrapt in a woman's hide !
How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the
child.
To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,
And yet be seen to bear a woman's face ? 140
Women are soft, mild, pitiful and flexible ;
Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorse¬
less.
Bids't thou me rage ? why, now thouhasA thy
wish ; '
Wouldst have me weep ? -why, now thou hast
thy will :
For raging wind blows up incessant showers.
And when the rage allays, the rain begins.
These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies :
And every drop cries vengeance for his death,
'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false
Frenchwoman.
North. Beshrew me, but his passion moves
me so 150
That hardly can I check my eyes from tears.
York. That face of his the hnngiy cannibals
Would mt have touch'd, womd not have
stain'd with blood:
19^
KING HENRY VI. PART III.
[Act n
But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,
O, ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcauia.
See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears :
This cloth thou dip'dst in blood of my sweet
boy.
And I with tears do wash the blood away.
Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this ;
And if thou tell'st the heavy story right, ItJO
Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears ;
Yea even my foes will shed fast-falling tears,
And nay ' Alas, it was a piteous deed !'
There, take the crown, and, witli the crown,
my curse ;
Aud in thy need such comfort come to thee
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand !
Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world:
My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads I
North. Had he been slaughter-man to all my
kin,
I should not for my life but weep with him,
To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul. 171
Q. Mar. Whai, weeping-ripe, my Lord
Northumberland ?
Think but upon the wrong he did us all.
And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.
CUf. Here's for my oath, here's for my
father's death. [Stabbing him.
Q. Mar. And here's to right our gentle-
hearted king. [Stabbing him.
York. Oijeu Thy gate of mercy, gracious
God !
My soul flies through these wounds to seek out
Thee. [Dies.
Q. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on
York gates ;
So York may overlook the town of York. 180
[Flourish. Exeunt.
ACT II.
Scene I. A plain near Mortimer's Cross in
Herefordshire.
A march. Enter Edward, Hichard, and
their power.
Edw. I wonder how our princely father
'scaped.
Or whether he be 'scaped away or no
From Clifford's aud Northumberland's pur¬
suit ;
Had he been ta'eu, we should liave heard th*
news ; ■ .
Had he been slain, we should have heard the
news ;
Or had he 'scaped, methinks we should have
heard
The happy tidings of his good escape.
How fares my brotlier ? why is he so sad 1
Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolved
Where our right valiant father is become. 10
I saw him in the battle range about;
And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth.
Methought he bore him in the thickest troop
As doth"a lion in a herd of neat;
Or as a hear, encompass'd round with dogs.
Who having pinch'd a few and made them
cry.
The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him.
So fared our father with his enemies ;
So fled his enemies my warlike father ;
Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son. 20
See how the morning opes her golden gates.
And takes her farewell of the glorious sun!
How well resembles it the,prime of youth,
Trimm'd like a younker prancing to his love !
Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three
suns ? [feet sun ;
Rich. Three glorious sims, each one a por-
Not separated with the racking clouds.
But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky.
See, see 1 they join, embrace, and seem to
kiss.
As if they vow'd some league inviolable : 30
Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun.
In this the heaven figures some event.
Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet
never heard of.
I think it cites us, brother, to the field.
That we, the sons of brave Plantageuet,
Each one already blazing by our meeds.
Should notwithstanding join our lights to¬
gether
And over-shine the earth as this the world.
Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear
Upon my target three fair-shining suns. 40
Rich Nay, bear three daughters ; by your
leave I speak it.
You love the breeder better than the male.
Enter a Messenger.
But what art thou, whose heavy looks, foretell
Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue ?
Mess. Ah, one that was a woful looker-on
When as the noble Duke of York was slain.
Your princely father and my loving lord !
Edw. O, speak no more, for I have heard too
much.
Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all.
Mess. Environed he was with many foes, 60
And stood against them, as the hope of Troy
Against the Greeks that would have enter'd
Troy.
But Hercules himself must yield to odds ;
Aud many strokes, though with a little axe.
Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.
By many hands yoar father was suMued ;
But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm
Of unrelenting Clifford and the queen.
Who crown'd the graciousduke in high despite,
Laugh'diu his face ; and when with grief be
wept, GO
The ruthless queen gave him to dry his cheeks
A napkin steeiied in the liarmless blood
Of sweet yomjg Rutland, by rough Clifford
slain :
And after many scorns, many foul tamits,
They took his head, and on the gates of York
They set the same ; and there it doth remain,
The saddest spectacle that e'er 1 view'd.
Edw. Sweet Duke of York, our prop to learn
upon,
Scene i.]
KmO HENRY
n. PART III.
197
Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay.
O Clifford, boisterous Clifford ! thou hast slain
The flower of Europe for his chivalry ; 71
And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him.
For hand to hand he would have vanquish'd
thee.
Now my soul's palace is become a prison :
Ah, would she break from hence, that this my
body
Might in the ground be closed up in rest!
For never henceforth shall I joy again.
Never, O never, shall 1 see more joy I
Rich. I cannot weep ; for all my body's
moisture
Scarce serves to quench my fumace-bumiug
heart: 80
Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great
burthen ;
For selfsame wind that I should speak withal
Is kindling coals that flres all my breast.
And burns me up with flames that tears would
quencli.
To weep is to make less the depth of grief :
Tears tlien for babes ; blows and revenge for
me [death,
Richard, I bear thy name ; I'll \mge thy
Or die renowned by attempting it.
Edio. His name that valiant duke hath left
with tliee ;
His dukedom and his chair witli me is left. 90
Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's
bird,
Show tliy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun :
For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom
say;
Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his.
March. Enter Warwick, Marquess op
Montague, and their anni/.
War. How now, fair lords ! What fare ?
what news abroad ?
Rich. Great Lord of Warwick, if we should
recount
Our baleful news, and at each word's deliver¬
ance
Stab poniards in our flesh tiU all were told,
Tiie words would add more anguish than the
wounds.
0 valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain ! 100
Edw. O Warwick, Warwick ! that Planta-
genet.
Which held thee dearly as his soul's redemp¬
tion.
Is by the stem Lord Clifford done to death.
War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news
in tears ;
And now, to add more measure to your woes,
1 come to tell you things sith then befall'n.
After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought.
Where your brave father breathed his latest
g-Asp,
Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could ran.
Were brought me of your loss and his depart.
I, then in London, keeper of the king. 111
Muster'd my soldiers, gatheFd flocks of
, friends,
And very well appointed, as I thought,
March'd toward Saint Alban's to intercept the
queen.
Bearing the king in my belialf along ;
For by my scouts I was advertised
Tlrat she was coming with a full intent
To dash our late decree in parliament
Touching King Henry's oath and yoiu- succes¬
sion.
Short tale to make, we at Saint Alban's nrct.
Our battles joln'd, and botli sides tier ely
fought: 121
But whether 'twas the coldness of the king.
Who look'd full gently on his warlike queeu.
That robb'd my soldiers of tlieir heated spleen;
Or whetlier 'twas report of her success ;
Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigor,
Who thunders to his captives blood and death,
I cannot judge : but, to conclude with truth,
Their weapons like to lightning came and went;
Our soldiers', like the night-owl's lazy flight.
Or like an idle thresher with a flail, i;fl
Fell gently down, as if they struck their
friends.
I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause.
With promise of high pay and great rewards :
But all in vain ; thev had no heart to fight.
And we in them no iiope to win the day; -
So that we fled ; tlie king unto the queen ;
Lord George your brother, Norfolk and myself.
In haste, post-hasie, are come to join with you;
For in the marches h ,re we heard you were.
Making another hoa;! to fight again. 141
Edw. Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle
Warwick ?
And when came George from Burgundy to
England ?
War. Some six miles off the duke is with
the soldiers ;
And for your brother, he was lately sent
From your kind aunt. Duchess of Burgundy,
With aid of soldiers to this needful war.
Rich. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant
Warwick fled :
Oft liave I heard his praises in pursuit.
But ne'er till now his scandal of retire. 150
War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost
thou hear ;
For thou shalt know this strong right hand of
mine
Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head.
And wring the awful sceptre from his fist.
Were he as famous and as bold in war
As he is famed for mildness, peace, and prayer.
Rich. I know it well. Lord Warwick; blame
me not:
'Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak.
But in this troublous time what's to be done ?
Shall we go throw away our coats of steel, 160
And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns.
Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads t
Or shall we on the helmets of our foes
Tell our devotion with revengeful arms ?
If for the last, say ay, and to it, lords.
War. Why, therefore Warwick came to
seek you out;
198
KINO HENRY
n. PART m.
[Act ti.
And therefore comes my brother Montague.
Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen,
With Clifford and the haught Northnmber-
land, 169
And of their feather many more proud birds.
Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax.
He swore consent to your succession,
His oath enrolled in the parliament;
And now to London all the crew are gone.
To frustrate both his oath and what beside
May make against the house of Lancaster.
Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong:
Now, if the help of Norfolk and myself.
With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of
March, 179
Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure.
Will but amount to five and twenty thousand.
Why,Via ! to London will we march amain.
And once again bestride our foaming steeds.
And once again cry ' Charge upon our foes !'
But never once again turn back and fly.
Rich. Ay, now methinks I hear great War¬
wick speak :
Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day.
That cries ' Retire,' if Warwick bid him stay.
Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will
I lean ;
And when thou fail'st—as God forbid the
hour!— 190
Must Edward fall,which peril heaven forfend !
War. No longer Earl of March, but Duke
of York :
The next degree is England's royal throne ;
For King of England shalt thou be i)roclaira'd
lu every borough as we pass along ;
And he that throws not up his cap for joy
Sliall for the fault make forfeit of his head.
King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague,
Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown.
But sound the trumpets, and about our task.
Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard
as steel, 201
As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,
I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine.
Edio. Then strike up drums; God and Saint
George for us !
Enter a Messenger..
War. How now ! what news ?
Mess. The Duke of Norfolk sends yon word
by me, »
The queen is coming with a puissant host;
And craves your company for speedy counsel.
War. Why then it sorts, brave warriors,
let's away. [Exeunt.
Scene 11. Before York.
Flourish. Enter King Henry, Queen Mar¬
garet, the Prince op Wales, Clifford,
atid Northumberland, with drum and
trumpets.
Q. Mar. Welcome, my lord, to this brave
town of York.
Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy
That sought to be encompass'd with your
crown :
Doth not the object cheer your heart, my
lord ?
K. Hen. Ay, as the rocks cheei^hem that
fear their wreck ;
To see this sight, it irks my very souL
Withhold revenge, dear 'God ! 'tis not my
fault.
Nor wittingly have I infringed my vow.
Clif. My gracious liege, this too much
lenity
And harmful pity must be laid aside. 10
To whom do lions cast their gentle looks ?
' Not to the beast that would usurp their den.
Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick 7
Not his tliat spoils her young before her face.
Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal
sting ?
Not he that sets his foot npon her back.
The smallest worm will turn being trodden on.
And doves will peck in safeguard of their
brood.
Ambitious York doth level at thy crown, 19
Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows :
He, but a duke, would have his son a king.
And raise his issue, like a loving sire ;
Thou, being a king, blest with a goodly son,
Didst yield consent to disinherit him.
Which argued thee a most unloving father.
Unreasonable creatures feed their young ;
And though man's face be fearful to their
eyes.
Yet, in protection of their tender ones.
Who hath not seen them, even with tho.se
wings
Which sometime they have used with fearful
flight, 30
Make war with him that climb'd unto their
nest.
Offering their own lives in their young's de¬
fence ?
For shame, my liege, make them your prece¬
dent !
Were it not pity that this goodly boy
Should lose his birthright by his father's fault.
And long hereafter say unto his child,
' What my great-grandfather and grandsire
got
My careless father fondly gave away' ?
Ah, what a shame were this ! Look on the
boy;
And let his manly face, which promiseth 40
Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart
To hold thine own and leave thine own with
him.
K. Hen, Full well hath Clifford play'd
the orator.
Inferring arguments of mighty force.
But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear
That things Ul-got had ever bad success ?
And liappy always was it for that son
Whose father for his hoarding went to hell ?
I'll leave my son my virtuous de^s behind ;
And would my father had left me no morelM
For all the rest is held at such a rate
As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep
Than in possession any jot of pleasure. .
SCUNG 11.1
Ah, cousin Yott! would thy best friends did
know
How it doth grieve me that tliy head is here !
Q. M<u\ My lord, cheer up your spirits :
our foes are nigh.
And this soft courage makes your followers
faint.
You promised knighthood to our forward son:
Unsheathe your sword, and dub him presently.
Edward, kneel down. &
K. Hen. Edward Plantageuet, arise a
knight;
And learn this lesson, draw in right.
Prince. My gracious father, by j our kingly
leave,
I'll draw it as apjiarent to the crown,
And in that quarrel use it to the death.
C'lif. Why, that is spoken like a toward
prince.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Royal commanders, be in readiness :
For with a baud of thirty thousand men
Conies Warwick, backing of the Duke of York;
And in the towns, as they do march along, 70
Proclaims him king, and many fly to him :
Darraign your battle, for they are at hand.
• C'lif. I would your highness would deiiart
the field :
The queen bath best success when you are
absent.
Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to
our fortune.
K. Hen. Why, that's my fortune too;
therefore I'll stay.
North. Be it with resolution then to fight.
Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble
lords
And hearten those that fight in your defence:
Unsheathe your sword, good father"; cry' ^int
George !' 80
March. Enter Edward, George, Richard,
Warwick, Norfolk, Montagvb, and
Soldiers.
Edw. Now, perjured Henry ! wilt thou
kneel for grace.
And set thy diadem upon my head ;
Or bide the mortal fortune of the field ?
Q. Mar. Go, rate thy minions, proud in¬
sulting boy!
Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms
Before thy soveremn and thy lawful king ?
Edw. i Rm his King, and he siiould bow his
knee ;
I was adopted heir by his consent:
Since when, his oath' is broke ; for, as I hear.
You, that are king, though he do wear the
crown, 90
Have caused him, by new act of parliament.
To blot out me, and put his own ipu in.
Clif. And reason too :
Who should succeed the father but the son ?
RicA. Are you there, butcher ? 0,1 can¬
not speak!
Clif. Ay, crook-back, here I stand to answer
thee,
199
Or any he the proudest of thy sort.
Rich. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland,
was it not ?
Clif. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied.
Rich. For God's sake, lords, give signal to
the fight. 100
War. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou
yield the crown ?
Q. Mar. Why, how now, long-tongued War¬
wick ! dare you speak ?
When you and I met at Saint Alban's last,*
Your legs did better service than your hands.
War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now
'tis thine.
Clif. You said so much before, and yet you
fled.
War. 'Twas not your valor, Clifford, drove
me thence.
North. No, nor your manhood that durst
make you stay.
Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee rever¬
ently.
Break off tlie parley ; for scarce I can refrain
The execution of my big-swoUi heart 111
Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.
Clif. I slew thy father, call'st thou him a
child ?
Rich. Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous
coward,
As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland ;
But ere sunset I'll make thee curse the deed.
K. Hen. Have done with vrords, my lords,
and hear me speak.
Q. Mar. Defy them then, or else hold close
thy lips.
K. Hen. I prithee, give no limits to my
tongue :
I am a king, and privileged to speak. 120
Clif. My liege, tlie wound that bred this
meeting here
Cannot be cured by words ; therefore be still.
Rich. Then, executioner, unsheathe thy
sword :
By him that made us all, I am resolved
That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue.
Edw. Say, Henry, shall I have my right,
or no ?
A thousand men have brolte their fasts to-day.
That ne'er shall dine unless thou yield the
crown.
War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy
head;
For York in justice puts his armor on. 130
Prince. If that be right which Warwick says
is right,
There is no wrong, but every thing is right.
Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother
stands;
For, well 1 wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue.
Q. Mar. But thou art neither like thy sire
nor dam ;
But like a foul mis-shapen stigmatic,
Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided,
As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings.
Rich. Iron of Naples hid with English gilt.
Whose lather bears the title ol a king,-r- liO
KING HENRY VI. PART ///-
200
KING HENRY VI. PART HI.
[Act II.
As if a channel should be call'd the sea,—
Shamest thou not, knowing whence tliou art
extraught.
To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart ?
Edw. A wisp of straw were worth a thou¬
sand crowns.
To make this shameless callet know herself.
Helen of Greece wiis fairer far than thou,
Although thy husband may be Menelaus ;
And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd
By that false woman, as this king by thee.
His father revell'd in the heart of France, 150
And tamed the king, and made the dauphin
stoop;
And had he match'd according to his state,
He might have kept that glory to this day ;
But when he took a beggar to his bed.
And graced thy poor sire with his bridal-day.
Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for
him.
That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of
France,
And heap'd sedition on his crown at home.
For what hiith broach'd this tumult but thy
pride ?
Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept;
And we, in pity of the gentie king, 161
Had slipp'd our claim until another age.
Geo. But when we saw our sunshine made
thy spring.
And that tliy summer bred us no increase,
We set the axe to thy usurping root ;
And though the edge hath something hit our¬
selves.
Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike.
We'll never leave till we have hewn theedown.
Or bathed thy growing with our heated bloods.
Edw. And, in this resolution, I ,.,efy thee ;
Not willing any longer conference, 171
Since thou deniest the gentle king to speak.
Sound trumpets ! let our bloody colors wave!
And either victory, or else a grave.
Q. Mar. Stiiy, Ekiward.
Edw. No, wrangling woman, we'll no longer
stay :
These words will cost ten thousand lives this
day. [Exeunt.
SOBWE III. A field of battle between Tovoton
and Saxton, in Yo7-kshire.
Alarum. Excursions. Enter Warwick.
War. Forspent with toil, as runners with
a race,
I lay me down a little while to breathe ;
For strokes received, and many blows repaid.
Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their
strength.
And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile.
Enter Edward, running.
Edw. Smile, gentle heaven ! or strike, un¬
gentle death!
For this world. frowns, and Edward's sun is
clouded.
Tfai'. How now, my lord ! what hap ? what
hope of good ? ,
Enter George.
Geo. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad de¬
spair ;
Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us : 10
What counsel give you ? whither shall we fly?
Edw. Bootless is flight, they follow us with
wings ;
And weak we are and cannot shnn pursuit
Enter Richard.
Rich. Ah, Warwick, why liast thou with¬
drawn thyself ?
Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hatli
drunk,
Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's
lance;
And in the very pangs of death he cried.
Like to a dismal clangor heard from far,
' Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my
death !'
So, underneath the belly of their steeds, 20
That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood.
The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.
War. Then let the earth be drunken with
our blood :
I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly.
Why stand we like soft-hearted women here.
Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage ; <
And look upon, as if the tragedy
Were play'd in je.st by counterfeiting actors 1
Here on my knee I vow to God above,
I'll never iiause again, never stand still, 30
Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine
Or fortune given me measure of revenge.
Edw. O Warwick, 1 do bend my knee with
thine;
And in this vow do chain my soul to thine I
And, ere ray knee rise from the earth's cold
face,_
I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee,
Thou setter up and plucker down of kings.
Beseeching thee, if with thy will it stands
That to my foes this body must be prey.
Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope, 40
And give sweet passage to my sinful soul!
Now, lords, take leave until we meet again.
Where'er it be, in heaven or in earth.
Rich. Brother, give me thy hand; and,
gentle Warwick,
Let me embrace thee in my weary arms :
I, that did never weep, now melt with woe
That winter should cut off our spring-time so.
War. Away, away ! Once more, sweet
lords, farewell.
Geo. Yet let us all together to our troops.
And give them leave to fiy that will not stay;
And call them pillars that will stand to us ;
And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards
As victors wear at the Olympian games:
This may plant courage m tteir quailing
breasts ;
For yet is hope of life and victory.
Forslow no longer, make we hence amain.
[Exeunt.
Scene IV. Another part of the field.
Excursions. Enter Richard and Ci,iFPOBn
SCEKB v.]
KING HENRY VI. PART III.
201
Rich. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee
alone:
Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York,
And this for Rutland ; both bouud to revenge,
Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall.
Clif. Now, Richard, I am with thee here
alone :
This is the hand that stabb'd thy father York;
And this the hand that slew thy brother Rut¬
land ;
.\nd here's the heart that triumphs in their
death
And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and
brother
To execute the like upon thyself ; 10
And so, have at thee !
[Thcyfiaht. Wanoick comes; Clifford flies.
Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out ^me otlier
chase ;
For 1 myself will hunt tliis wolf to death.
\Exeunt.
Scene V. Another part of the field.
Alarum. Enter Kino Henkv alone.
King. This battle fares like to the morn¬
ing's war,
When dying clouds contend with growing
light,
What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,
Can neither call it perfect day nor night.
Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea
Forced by the tide to combat with the wind ;
Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea
Forced to retire by fury of the wind :
Sometime the flood prevails, and then the
wind;
Now one the better, then another beat; 10
Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast.
Yet neiuer conqueror nor conquered :
^ is the e(jual ]^ise of this fell war.
Here on this molehill will I sit me down.
To whom God will, there be the victory !
For Marp;aret my queen, and Clifford too.
Have chid me from the battle ; swearing both
They prosper best of all when I am thence.
Would I were dead ! if God's good will were so;
For what is in tills world but grief and woe? 20
O God ! methinks it were a happy life,
'To be no better than a homely swain ;
To sit upon a hill, as I do now.
To carve out dials quaintly, point by point.
Thereby to see the minutes how they run.
How many make the hour full complete ;
How many hours bring about the day ;
How many days will nnish up the year ;
How many years a mortal man may live.
When this is known,thon to divide the times: 30
So many hours must I tend my flock ;
So many hours must I tak- my rest;
So many hours must I contempla|e ;
So many hours must I sport myself;
many days my ewes have been with young;
So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean ;
So many years ere I shall shear the fleece :
So minutes, hours, days, mouths, and years,
Hsss'd over to the end they were created,
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. 40
Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how
lovely!
Gives not the havrthom-bush a sweeter shade
To shepherds looking on their silly sheep.
Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy
To kings that fear their subjects' treachery ?
O, yes, it doth ; a thousand-fold it dotli.
Airi to conclude, the shepherd's homely curds.
His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle.
His wonted sieep under a fresh tree's shade,
All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, 50
Is far beyond a prince's deiicates.
His viands sparkiing in a golden cup.
His body couched in a curious bed.
When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him.
Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his
father, dragging in the dead body.
Son. Ill blows the wind that profits nobody.
This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight.
May be possessed with some store of crowns ;
And I, tlrat haply take them from him now.
May yet ere night yield both my life and them
To some man else, as this dead man doth me. 60
Who's this? O God ! it is my father's face.
Whom in this conflict I niiwares have kill'd.
O heavy times, begetting such events !
From I^ndon by the king was I press'd forth;
My father, being the Earl of Warwick's man.
Came on the part of York, press'd by his mas¬
ter ;
And I, who at his hands received my life.
Have by my hands of life bereaved him.
Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did !
And pardon, father, for I knew not thee ! 70
My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks;
And no more words till they have flow'd their
fiil.
K. Hen. O piteous spectacle! O bloody
times !
Whiles lions war and battle for their dens.
Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.
Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for
tear ;
..ind let our hearts and eyes, like civil war.
Be blind with tears, and break o'erchaiged
with grief.
Enter a Father that has killed hi. jon, bringing
in the body.
Fath. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted
me.
Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold ; 80
For I have bought it with an hundred blows.
But let me see : is this our foeman's face ?
Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son !
Ah, bey, if any life be left in thee,
Throit up thine eye ! see, see what showers
arise.
Blown with the windy temp^t of my heart.
Upon thy wounds, that kUl mine eye and
heart!
O. pity, God, this miserable age !
What stratagems, how fell", how butcherly.
Erroneous, mutinous and unnatural, 90
This deadly quarrel daily doth beget 1
202
KING HENRY
VI. PART III.
[Act; it
O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon.
And hath bereft thee of thy life too late'i
K. Hen. Woe above woe ! grief more than
common grief ! [deeds !
O that my death would stay these ruthful
0, pity, pity, gentle heaven, jdty I
The red rose and the white are on his face.
The fatal colors of otir striving houses :
The one his purpleJjlood right well resembles;
The other his pale cheeks, methinks, present-
eth: 100
Wither one rose, and let the other flourish ;
If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.
lion. How will my mother for a father's
death
Take on with me and ne'er be satisfied !
Path. How will my wife for slaughter of my
son
Shed seas of tears and ne'er be satisfied !
K. Hen. How will the country for these W07
fill chances
Misthiuk the king and not be satisfied !
Son. Was ever son so rued a father's death?
Path. Was ever fathet so bemoan'd his
sou ? 110
K. Hen. Was ever king so grieved for sub¬
jects' woe ?
Much is your sorrow ; mine ten times so much.
Son. I'll bear thee hence, where I may
weep my fill. with the body.
Path. 'These arms of mine shall be thy
winding-sheet ;
My heart, sweet boj', shall be thy sepulchre.
For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go;
My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell ;
And so obsequious will thy father be,
tEven for the loss of thee, having no more.
As Priam was for all his valiant sons. 120
ru bear thee hence ; and let tliem fight that
will.
For 1 have murdered where 1 should not kill.
[Exit with the body.
K. Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone
with care.
Here sits a king more woful than you are.
Alarums: excursions. Enter Queen Marga-
re'f, the Prince, and Exeter.
Prince. Ty, father, fly! for all your friends
are fled,
And Warwick rages like a chafed bull:
Away ! for death doth hold us in pursuit.
Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord ; towards Ber¬
wick post amain :
Edward and Eichard, like a brace of grey¬
hounds
Having the fearful flying hare in sight. 130
With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath.
And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands.
Are at our backs ; and therefore hence amaui.
Exe. Away! for vengeance comes along with
them :
Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speeiL-;
Or else come after-; I'll away before.
K. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good
sweet Exeter:
I
\ Not that 1 fear to stay, but love to go
Whither the queen intends. Forward ; away!
[Exemni.
Scene VL Another part of the field.
A loud alarum. Enter Clifford, wounded.
Clif. Here bums my candle out; ay, here
it dies, '
Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Hairy light
O Lancaster, 1 fear thy overthrow
More than my body's parting with my soul!
My love and fear glued many friends to thee ;
And, now 1 fall, thy tough commixture melts.
Impairing Henry, strengthening misproud
York,
The common people swarm like summer flies ^
And whither fly the gnats but to the sun ?
And who shines now but Henry's enemies? 10
0 Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent
That Phaethon should check thy fiery steeds, 1
Thy burning car never had scorch'dthe earth!
And, Henry, hadstthousway'daskings should
do.
Or as thy father and'his faflier did.
Giving no ground unto the house of York,
They never then had sprung like summer flies;
1 and ten thousand in this luckless realm
Had left no mourning widows for our death ;
And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in
peace. 20
For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air ?
And what makes robbers bold but too much
leuity ?
Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my
wounds ;
No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight;
The foe ia merciless, and will not pity ;
For at their hands 1 have deserved no pity. .
The air hath got into my deadly wounds, '
And much effuse of blood doth make me faint.
Come, York and Eichard, Warwidi and the
rest;
1 stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast
[He/aints.
Alarum and retreat. Enter Edward,George,
Eichard, Montague, Warwick, and Sol¬
diers.
Edw. Now breathe we, lords : good fortune
bids us pause, 31
And smooth &e frowns of war with peaceful
looks.
Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen.
That led calm Henry, though he were a king.
As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust,-
Command an argosy to stem the waves.
But think you, lords, that Clifford fled, with
them ?
War. No, 'tis impossible he should escape,.
For, though before his face 1 speak the words,
Your brother Eichard mark'd him for the
grave: 40
And wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead.
[Cliffbrd groans, and dies.'
Edw. 'Whose sonf is that which takes her
heavy leave ?
SCENB t-l
KING HENRY
VI. PART III.
201
Rich. A deadly groan, like life and death's
departing.
Edw. See who it is : and, now the battle's
ended,
"d friend or foe, let him be gently used.
Rkh. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis
Clifford ;
Who not contented that he lopp'd tlie branch
In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth.
But set his murdering knife unto the root
t'rom whence that tender spray did sweetly
spring, ' 50
I mean our princely father, Duke of York.
Wa ^ From off the gates of York fetch down
the head.
Your father's head, which Clifford placed
tliere ;
Instead whereof let this supply the room :
Measure fur measure must be answered.
Edw. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to
our house.
That nothing sung but deatli to us and ours :
Now death shaU stop his dismal threatening
sound, .
And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak.
War. I think his understanding is bereft.
Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to
tliee ? 61
Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of
life.
And he nor sees nor hears us what we say.
Rich. O, would he did ! and so perhaps he
doth:
"Tis but his policy to counterfeit.
Because he would avoid such bitter taunts
Which in the time of death he gave our father.
Oeo. If so thou think'St, vex him with eager
words,
Rich. Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no'
grace.
Edw. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence.
. War. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.
Geo. While we devise fell tortures for thy
faults.
Rich. Thou didst love York, and I am son
to York.
Edw. ■ Thou pitied'St Rutland ; I will pity
thee.
Geo. Where's Captain Margaret, to fence
yOu now ?
War. They mock thee, Clifford : swear as
thou wast wont.
Rich. What, not an oath ? nay, then the
world goes hard
When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath.
I know by that he's dead ; and, by my soul,
If this right band would buy two hour's life.
That I in all despite might raii at him, 81
Tliis hand should chop it off, aud with the is¬
suing blood ♦
Stifle the villain whose unstanched thirst
York and young Rutland could not satisfy.
War. Ay, biit he's dead : off with the trai¬
tor's head.
And rear it in the place your father's stands.
And now to Ismdon with triumphant march
There to be crowned England's royal king :
From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to
F'rance,
And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen : ilO
So shalt thou sinew both these lands together;
And, having France thy friend, thou slialt not
dread
The scatter'd foe that hopes to rise .again ;
For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt,
Y'et look to have them buzz "to offend thine
ears.
First will I see the coronation ;
And then to Brittany I'll cross the sea,
To effect this marriage, so it please my lord.
Edw. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick,
let it be ;
For in thy shoulder do I build my seat, 100
And never will I undertake the thing
Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting.
Richard, 1 will create thee Duke of Gloucester,
And Georg., of Clarence : Warwick, as our-
sclf.
Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best.
Rich. Let me be Duke of Clarence, George
of Gloucester ;
For Gloucester's dukedom is too ominous.
War. Tut, that's a foolish observation :
Richard, be Duke of Gloucester. Now to Lon¬
don,
To see these honors in possession. lift
lExeunt.
ACT in.
Scene I. A forest in the north of England.
Enter two Keepers, viith cross-bows in their
hands.
First Keep. Under this thick-grown brake
we'll shroud ourselves ;
For through tliis laund anon the deer will
come ;
And in this covert will we make our stand.
Culling the principal of all the deer.
6'ec. Keep. I'll stay above the hill, so both
may shoot.
First. Keep. That cannot be: Jie noise of
thy cross-bow
Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost.
Here stand we both, and aim we at the best:
And, for the time shall not seem tedious,
I'll tell thee what befell me on a day IC
In this self-place where now we mean to stand.
&c. Keep. Here comes a man ; let's stay
till he be past.
Enta- King Heney, disguised, with aprayer-
hook.
K. Hen. From Scotland am I stol'n, even oi
pure love
To greet mine own land with my wishful sight.
No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine ;
Thy place is fili'd, thy sceptre wrung from
thee.
Thy balm wash'd off wherewith thou wast .■
ointed :
204
KING HENRY VL PART III.
[Act ir
No bending knee will call thee Casar now,
No humble suitors press to speak for right,
No, not a man cornes for redress of thee ; 20
For how can I lielp them, and not rayseif ?
Pirst Keep. Ay, here's a deer whose skin's
a keeper's "fee :
This is the quondam king ; let's seize upon
him.
K. Hen. Let me embrace thee, sour ad¬
versity.
For wise men say it is the wisest course.
S'ec. Keep. Why linger we ? let us lay
hands upon him.
First Keep. Forbear awhile ; we'll hear a
little more.
K. Hen. My queen and son are gone to
France for aid ;
And, as I hear, the great commanding War¬
wick
Is thither gone, to crave the French king's
si.«ter 30
To wife for Edward : if this news be true.
Poor queen and son, your labor is but lost ;
For Vvarwick is a subtle orator.
And Lewis a prince. soon won with, moving
words.
By this account then Margaret may win him ;
For she's a woman to be pitied much :
Her sighs will make a battery in his breast;
Her tears will pierce into a marble heart ;
The tiger will be mild wliiles she doth niouni;
And Nero will be tainted with remorse, 40
To hear and see iier plaints, her brinish teare.
Ay, but she's come to beg, Warwick, to give ;
Slie, on his left side, craviim aid for Henry,
He, on his riglrt, a.sking a wife for Edward.
She weeps, and says her Henry is deposed ;
He smiles, and says his Edward is iustali'd ;
That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no
more ;
Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the
wrong,
Inferreth arguments of mighty strength,
And in conclusion wins the king from her, 50
Witli promise of his sister, and what else.
To strengthen and support King Edward's
place.
O Margaret, thus 'twill be ; and thou, poor
soul.
Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn i
Sec. Keep. Say, what art thou that talk'st
of kings and queens ?
K. Hen. More than I seem, and less than I
was born to :
A man at least, for less I should not be ;
And men may talk of kings, and why not 11
Sec. Keep. Ay, but tliou talk'st as if thou
wert a king.
K. Hen. Why, so I am, in mind ; and that's
enough. 60
Sec. Keep. But, if thou be a king, where is
thy crown ?
K. Hen. My crown is in my heart, not on
my iiead ;
Not deck'd with diamonds and Tndian stones.
Nor to be seen : my crown is called content:
.4 crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.
Sec. Keep. Well, if you be a king crown'4
with content,
Your Clown content and you must be con¬
tented
To go along with us ; for, as we think.
You are the king King Edward hath disposed ;
And we his subjects sworn in all allegiance 70
Will apprehend you as his enemy.
K. Hen. But did you never swear, and
break an oath ?
Sec. Keep. No, never such an oath ; nor
will not now.
' K. Hen. Where did yon dwell when I was
King of England '?
See. Keep, Here in this country, where w«
now remain. [old ;
K. Hen. I was anointed king at nine mouths
My father and my grandfather were kmgs.
And you were sworn true subjects unto me :
And tell me, then, have you not broke yotj
oaths?
First Keep. No ; t(
For we were subjects but while you were king
K. Hen. Why, am I dead ? do I not breatht
a man?
Ah, simpie men, you know not what yor
swear!
Look, as I blow this feather from my face,
And as the air blows it to me again.
Obeying with my wind when 1 do blow,
And yielding to anotlier when it blows.
Commanded always by the greater gust;
Such is the lightness of you common men.
But do not break your oaths ; for of that sin 9(
My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty.
Go where you will, the king shall be com
manded ;
And be yon kings, command, and I'll obey.
First. Keep. We are true subjects to the
king. King Edward.
K. Heiu So would you be again to Henry,
If he were seated as King Edward is.
First Keep. We charge you, in God's namq
and the king's.
To go with us unto the ofBcers. .
K. Hen. In God's name, lead ; your king's
name be obey'd :
And what God will, that let your king perform;
And what he will, I humbly yield unto.' 101
[Exeunt.
Scene II. -London. The palace.
Enter King Edward, Gdoucester, Clar¬
ence, and Lady Grey.
K. Edw. Brother of Gloucester, at Saint
Alban's field
This lady's husband. Sir Richard Grey, was
slain.
His lands then seized on by the conqueror :
Her suit is now to repossess those lands ;
Which we in justice cannot well deny.
Because in quarrel of the house of York
The worthy gentleman dia lose his life.
GUm. Your highness shall do weU to giDut
her suit;
KING HENRY VI. PART III.
205
j^OENB II.]
It were dishonor to deny it her.
K. Edw. It were no less ; hut yet I'll make
a pause. 10
Glou. [jlside to Clar.} Yea, is it so 7
I see the lady hath a thing to graut,
Before the king will grant her humble suit.
Clar. [Agide to Glou.] He knows the game :
liow true he keeps the wind !
Glmi- [^Aside to Clar.] Silence !
K. E-lio, Widow, we will consider of your
suit ;
And come some other time to know our mind.
L. <irey. Right gracious lord, Icaiinot brook
delay :
Way it please your highness to resolve me
now ;
And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me. 20
Glou. \_Asidc to C/ar.] Ay, widow 7 then I'll
warrant you all your lands.
An if what pletises him shall pleasure you.
Fight closer, or, good faith, you'll catch a
blow.
Clar. [Aside to Glou.] I fear her not, unless
she cht^nce to fall.
Glou. [Aside to Clar.] God forbid that! for
he 11 take vantages.
K. Edw. How mauy children hast thou,
widow 7 tell me.
dar. [Aside to Glou.] I think he means to
beg a child of her.
Glou. [Aside to Clar.] Nay, whip me then :
he 11 rather give her two.
L. Grey. Three, my most gracious lord.
Glou. [Aside to Clar.] You shall have four,
if you'll he ruled by him. ^
K. Edto. 'Twere pity they should lose their
father's lands.
L. Grey. Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it
then.
K. Edw. Lords, give us leave : I'll try this
widow's wit.
GI(m. [Aside to Clar.] Ay, good leave have
you ; for you will have leave,
fill youth take leave and leave you to the
crutch. [Glou and Clar. retire.
K. Edw. Now tell me, madam, do you love
your children 7
L. Grey. Ay, full as dearly as I love
myself.
K. Edw. And would you not do much to do
them good 7
Z. Grey. To do them good, I would sustain
some harm.
K. Edw. Then get your husband's lands, to
do them good. 40
L. Grey. Therefore I came unto your
majesty.
K. Edw. Til tell you how these lands are to
begot.
Jt. Grey. So shall you bind me to your high¬
ness' service. •
£. Edw. What service wUt thou do me, if I
give them 7
u. Srey. What you command, that rests in
me to do. [boon.
If. Edw. But you will take exceptions to my
L. Grey. No, gracious lord, except I cannot
do it.
K. Edw. Ay, hut thou canst do what I mean
to ask.
L. Grey. Why, then I will do what your
grace commands.
Glou. [Aside to Clar.] He plies her hard ;
and much rain wears the marble. 50
Clar. [Aside to Glow.] As red as fire ! ns",
then her wax must melt.
L. Grey. Why stops my lord, shall I not
hear my task 7
K. Edw. An easy task ; 'tis but to love a
king.
L. Grey. That's soon perform'd, because
am a subject.
K. Edw. Why, tlien, thy husband's lands I
freely give thee.
L. Grey. I take my leave with mauy thou¬
sand thanks.
Glou. [Aside to CTnr.] The match is made;
she seals it with a curtsy.
K. Edw. But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of love
I mean.
L. Grey. The fruits of love I mean, my
loving liege.
K. Edw. Ay, but, I fear me, in another
sense. 60
What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to
get 7
L. Grey. My love till death, my humble
thanks, my prayers ;
That love which virtue begs and virtue grants.
K. Edw. No, by my troth, I did not mean
such love.
L. Grey. Why, then you mean not as I
thought you did.
K. Edw. Biit now you partly may perceive
my mind.
L. Grey. My mind will never grant what I
perceive
Your highness aims at, if I aim aright.
K. Edw. To tell thee plain, I aim to lie
with thee.
L. Grey. To tell you plain, I had rather lie
in prison. 70
K. Edw. Why, then thou shalt not have thy
husband's lauds.
L. Grey. Why, then mine honesty shall be
my dower;
For by that loss I will not jiurchase them.
K. Edw. Therein thou wrong'st thy children
, mightily.
L. Grey. Herein your highness wrongs both
them and me.
But, mighty lord, this merry inclination
Accords not with the sadness of my suit:
Please you dismiss me either with ' ay' or
'no.'
K. Edw. Ay, if thou wilt say ' ay' to my
request;
No. if thou dost say ' no' to my demand. 80
L. Grey. Then, no, my lord. My suit is at
an end.
Glou. [Aside to Clar.] The widow likes him
not, she knits her brows.
206
KING HENRY VI. PART III.
[Act ik
Glar. [Aside to 6to«.] He is tlie bluntest
wooer in Christendom.
K. Edw. \_Aside\ Her looks do argue her
replete with modesty ;
Her words do show her wit lncomi>arable ;
Ail her perfections challenge sovereignty :
One way or other, she is for a king ;
And she shall be my love, or else my queen.—
Say that King Edward take thee for his
queen ?
L. Grey. 'Tis better said than done, my
gracious lord : 90
I am a subject fit to jest withal.
But far unfit to be a sovereign.
K. Edw. Sweet widow, by my state I swear
to thee
T speak no more than what my soul intends ;
And that is, to enjoy thee for my love.
L. Grey. And that is more than I will
yield unto :
I know I am too mean to be your queen,
And yet too good to be your concubine.
K. Edw. You cavil, widow ; 1 did mean, my
queen.
L. Grey. 'Twill grieve your grace my sons
should call you father. 100
K. Edw. No more than when my daughters
call thee mother.
Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children;
And, by God's motiier, I, being but a bachelor.
Have other some ; why, 'tis a happy thing
To be the father unto many sons.
Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen.
Glou. [Aside to Clar.'] The ghostly father
now hath done his shrift.
Clar. [Aside to Gloii.'\ When he was made
a shriver, 'twas for shift.
K. Edw. Brothers, you muse wliat chat we
two have had.
Glou. The widow likes it not, for she looks
very sad. 110
K. Edw. You'll think it strange if I should
marry her.
Clar. To whom, my lord ?
K. Edw. Why, Clarence, to myself.
Glou. That would be ten days' wonder at
the least ' [lasts.
Clar. That's a day longer than a wonder
Glou. By so much is the wonder in extremes.
K. Edw. Well, jest on, brothers : I can tell
you both
Her suit is granted for her husband's lands.
Enter a Nobleman.
Nob. My gracious lord, Henry your foe is
taken.
And brought your prisoner to your palace gate.
K. Edw. See that he be convey d unto the
Tower: 120
And go we, brothers, to the man that took him,
To question of his apprehension.
Widow, go you along. Lords, use her hon¬
orably. [Exeunt all but Gloucester.
Glou. Ay, Edward will use women honor¬
ably.
Would he were wasted, man»w, bones and all,
That from his loins no hopeful branch may
spring.
To cross me from the golden time I look for!
And yet, between my sonl's desire and me—
The lustful Edward's title burled— ' 129
Is Ciarenoe, Henry, and his son j'oung Edward,
And all the unlook'd for issue of their bodies.
To take their rooms, ere I can place myself :
A cold premeditation for my purpose !
Why, then, 1 do hot dream on sovereignty ;
Like one that stands upon a promontory.
And spies a far-off shore where he would tread,
Wishing his foot were equal with his eye.
And chides the sea that sunders him from
thence,
Saying, he'll lade It dry to have his way :
So do I wish the crown, being so far off ; 140
And so I chide the means that keeps me from
it;
And BO I say, I'll cut the causes off,
Flattering me with Impossibilities.
My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too
much.
Unless my hand and strength could equal them.
Well, say therelsno kingdom then for Richard;
What other pleasure can the world afford ?
ru make my heaven In a lady's lap.
And deck my body In gay ornaments.
And witch sweet ladies with my words and
looks. IM
O miserable thought! and more unlikely
Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns !
Why, love forswore me In'my motlier's womb;
And, for I should not deal m her soft laws.
She did corrupt t.Ail nature with some bribe.
To snrink mine arm up like a witlieFd shrub;
To make an envious mountain on my Ixick,
Where sits deformity to mock my b^y;
To shape my legs of an unequal size;
To disproportion me la every part, " 160
Like to a chaos, or an unlicli'd bear-whelp
That carries no impression like the dam.
And am I then a man to be beloved ?
O monstrous fault, to harbor such a thought]
Tiien, since this earth affords no joy to me.
But to command, to check, to o'erbear such
As are of better person than myself,
I'll make my h^ven to dream upon the crown.
And, whiles I live, to account this world but
hell,
Until my mis-shaped trunk tliat bears this head
Be round impaled with a gloiious crown. 171
And yet I know not how to get the crown.
For many lives stand between me and home:
And I,—like one lost in a thorny wood.
That rends the thorns and is rent with ihe
thorns.
Seeking a way and straying from the way ;*
Not knowing how to find the ojien air, '
But toiling desperately to find it out,—
Torment myself to catch the English crown :
And from that torment 1 will free myself, ik)
Or hew my way out with a bloody axe. '
AVby, I can smile, and murder whiles i smile.
And cry 'Content' to that which grieves m'v
heart|
ScENt: ifi.(
KING HENRY
VI. PART III
And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,
And frame my face to all occasions.
I'll drown more sailors than tiie mermaid shall;
I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk;
I'll play the orator as well a.s Nestor,
Deceive more slily than Ulysse.s could.
And, like a Sinon, take another Troy. 190
I can add colors to the chameleon,
Change shapes with Proteus for advantages.
And set the murderous Machiavel to school.
Can I do this, and cannot get a crown ?
Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down,
[Exit.
Scene III. France. The King's palace.
Flourish. Enter Lewis the French Kiny, his
sister Bona, his Admiral, called Bourbon :
Prince Edward, Queen Margaret, and
(aeeard of Oxford. Lewis s«(s, andriseth
up aaain. |
K. Lew. Fair Queen of England, worthy
Margaret,
Sit down with us : it ill befits thy state
And birth, that thou shouldst stand while
Lewis doth sit.
Q. Mar. No, mighty King of France : now
Margaret
Must strike her sail and learn awhile to serve
Where kings command. I was, I must confess.
Great Albion's queen in former golden days
But now mischance hath trod my title down.
And with dishonor laid me on the ground ;
Where I must take like seat unto my fortune, 10
And to my humble seat conform myself.
K. Lew. Why, say, fair qneen, whence
springs this deep desjmir ? ■
Q. Mar. From such a cause as fills mine
eyes with tears
And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd
in cares.
K. Leto. Whate'er it be, be thou still like
thyself,'
And sit thee by OUF side! [Seats her by hirn^
Yield not thy neck
To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind
Still ride in triumph over all mis,.hance.
Be plain, Queen Margaret, and teb thy grief;
It shall be eased, if France can yielu relief. 20
' Q. Mar. Those gracious words revive my
drooping thoughts
And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to
speak.
Now, therefore, be it known to noble Lewis,
That Henry, stde possessor of my love,
Is of a king become a banish'd man.
And forced to live in Scotland a forlorn ;
While proud ambitious Edward Duke of York
Usurps the regal title and the seat
Of England's true-anointed lawful king.
This is the cause that I, poowMargaret, 30
With this my son. Prince Edward, Henry's
heir,
Am Come to crave thy just and lawful aid ;
And if thou fail us, all our hope is done :
Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help ;
Our p::ople and our peers are both misled.
Our treasures seized, our soldiers put to flight.
And, as thou seest, ourselves in heavy plight.
K. Lew. Renowned queen, with patiencf
calm the storm.
While we bethink a means to break it off.
Q. Mar. The more we stay, the stronge;
grows our foe. 40
K. Lew. The more I stay, the more I'll suc¬
cor thee.
Q. Mar. 0, but impatience waiteth on true
sorrow. [row !
And see where comes the breeder of my sor-
Enter Warwick.
E. Lew. What's he approacheth boldly to
our presence ? #
Q. Mar. Our Earl of Warwick, Edward's
greate.st friend.
K. Lew. Welcome, brave Warwick I What
brings thee to France ?
[He descends. She ariseth.
Q. Mar. Ay, now begins a second storm to
rise;
For this is he that moves both wind and tide.
War.. From worthy Edward, King of Albion,
My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend,
I come, in kindness and unfeigned love.
First, to do greetings to thy royal person ;
And then to crave a league of amity ;
And lastly, to confirm that amity
With nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant
That virtuous Lady Bona, thy fair sister.
To England's king in lawful marriage.
Q. Mar. [Aside] If that go forward, Henry's
hope is done.
War. [To Bona] And, gracious madam, in
our king's belialf,
I am commanded, with your leave and favor.
Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue
To tell the passion .of my sovereign's heart;
Wh«re fame, late entering at his heedful ears.
Hath ilacedtliy beauty's image and thy virtue.
Q. Mar. King Lewis and Lady Bona, hear
me speak.
Before you answer Warwick. His demand
Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest
love.
But from deceit bred by neces.«ity ;
For how can tyrants safely govern home.
Unless abroad they purchase great alliance? 7(5
To prove him tyrant this reason may suffice,
Itiat Henry liveth still ; but were he dead.
Yet here Prince Edward stands. King Henry's
son.
Look, therefore, Lewis, that by this league and
maniage
Thou draw not on thy danger and dishonor;
For though usurpers sway tlie rule awhile.
Yet heavens are just, and time suppresseth
wrongs.
War. Injurious Margaret!
Prince. And why mot queen ?
War. Because thy father Henry did nsurii ■
And thou no more are prince than she is queen.
Oxf. Then Warwick disannuls great John
of Gaunt^ 81
208
KING HENRY
VI. PART III.
[ACT III.
Which did suMue tli© greatest part of Spain ;
And, after John of Gaunt, Henry the Fourth,
Wliose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest;
And, after tliat wise prince, Henry the Fifth,
Who by his prowess conquered all J'rauce :
From these our Henry lineally descends.
War. Oxford, how haps it, in this smooth
discourse.
You told not how Henry the Sixth hath lost
All that which Henry the Fifth had gotten? 90
Methiuks these peers of France should smile
at that.
But for the rest, yon tell a pedigree
Of threescore and two years ; a silly time
T* make prescription for a kingdom's worth.
Orf. Why, ^%lrwick, canst thou speak
against thy liege.
Whom thou obeyed'st thirty and six years.
And not bewrsiy thy treason with n blush ?
War. Can Oxford, that did ever fence the
right,
Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree ?
For shame ! leave Henry, and call Edward
king. 100
Ox/. Call him my king by whose injurious
doom
My elder brother, the Lord Aubrey Yere,
Was done to death ? and more than so, my
father,
Even in the downfall of his mellow'd years,
AVhen nature brought him to the door of death ?
No, Warwick, no ; while life upholds this arm,
Tiiis arm upholds the house of Lancaster.
War. And 1 tlie house of York.
K. Lew. Queen Margaret, Prince Edward,
and Oxford,
Vouchsafe, at our request, to stand aside, 110
While I use further conference with Warwick.
[7'/ie?/ stand aloof.
Q. Mar. Heavens grant that Warwick's
words bewitch him not!
K Lew. Now Warwick, tell me, even iqwu
thy conscience.
Is Edward your true king ? for I were loath
Tp link with him that were not lawful chosen.
War. Thereon I pawn my credit and mine
honor. [eye ?
K. Lew. But is he gracious in the people's
^ War. The more that Henry was unfortur-'-.te.
K. Lew. Then further, all dissembling set
aside.
Tell me for truth the measure of his love 120
Unto our sister Bona.
War. Such it seems
As may beseem a monarch like himself.
My.self have often heard him say and swear
That this his love was an eternal jilant,
Wiiereof the root was fi.x'd in virtue's ground.
The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's
sun.
Exempt from envy, but not from disdain.
Unless the Lady Bona quit his pain.
K. Leto. Now, sister, let us hear your firm
resolve.
Bona. Your grant, or your denial, shall be
mine: 13b
[To War.] Yet I confess that often ere this
day.
When I have heard your king's desert recount¬
ed.
Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire.
K. Leto. Then, Warwick, thus : our sister
shall be Edward's;
And now forthwith shall articles be drawn
Touching the jomture that your king must
make.
Which with her dowry shall be counterpoised.
Draw near, Queen Margaret, and be a witness
That Bona shall be wife to the English kinj;.
Prince. To Edward, but not to the English
king. 140
Q. Mar. Deceitful Warwick ! it was thy
device
B.y this alliance to make void my suit:
Before thy coming Lewis was Henry's frieijd.
K. Lew. And still is friend to him and Miir^
garet:
But if your title to the crown be weak.
As may appear by Edward's good success,
Then 'tis but reason that I be released
From giving aid which late I promised.
Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand
That your estate requires and mine can yiei t
War. Henry now lives in Scotland at lis
ease.
Where having nothing, nothing can he lose.
And as for you yourself, our quondam queen,
You have a father able to maintain yon ;
And better ''were you troubled him than
France.
Q. Mar. Peace, impudent and shameless
Warwick, peace.
Proud setter up and puller down of kings !
I will not hence, till, with my talk and tears,
Both full of truth, I make King Lewis behold
Thy sly conveyance and thy lord's false love
For both of you are birds of selfsame feather.
[Po-st blows a horn within.
, K la to. Warwick, this is some post to us
or thee.
Enter a Post.
Pooo. [ To War.] My lord ambassador, these
letters are for you.
Sent from your brother. Marquess Montague :
[2'o Lewis.] These from our king unto your
majesty:
[7b Margai-et.] And, madam, these for you ;
from whom I know not.
[Thetj all read their letters.
Oxf. I likci it weU that our fair queen and
mistress
Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at
his.
Prince. Nay, mark how Lewis stamps, as
he were "nettled:
I hope all's for the best. 170
K. Lew. Warwick, what are thy news '?
and yours, fair queen ?
Q. Mar. Mine, such as fill my heart with
unhoped joys.
War. Mine, full of sorrow and heart's dia-
coutenf'
Scene i.]
KING HENRY
VI. PART III.
209
K. Ijem. What! has your king married the
Lady Grey!
And now, to sootlie your forgery and his,
Sends me a paper to persuade me patience ?
Is tliis the alliance tliat he seeks with France ?
Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner ?
y. Mar. I told your majesty as much be¬
fore :
This proveth Edward's love and Warwick's
• honesty. 180
War. King Lewis, I here protest, in sight
of heaven.
And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss.
That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's,
No more my king, for he dishonors me,
Bnt most himself, if he could see his shame
Did I forget that by the house of York
My father came untimely to his death ?
Did I let pass the abuse done to my niece ?
Did I imjiale him with the regal crown ?
Did I put Henry from his native right ? 190
And am I guerdon'd at the last with shame ?
Shame on himself ! for my desert is honor :
Aud to repair my honor lost for him,
I here renounce )iim aud return to Henry.
My noble queen, let former grudges pass.
And henceforth I am thy true servitor :
I will revenge his wronjc to Lady Bona
And replant Henry in his former state. <
Q. Mar. Warwick, these words have tum'd
my hate to love ;
And I forgive and quite forget old faults, 200
And joy that thou becomest King Henry's
friend.
War. So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned
friend.
That, if King Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us
With some few bauds of chosen soldiers,
I'll undei-take to land them on our coast
And force the tyiant from his seat by war.
'Tis not his new-made bride shall succor him :
And as for Clarence, as ray lettei-s tell me.
He's very likely now to fall from him.
For matching more for wanton lust than
honor, 210
Or than for strength and safety of our country.
Bona. Dear brother, how shall Bona be re¬
venged I
But by thy hel(> to this distressed queen ?
Q. Mar. Renowned prince, how shall poor
Henry live.
Unless thou rescue him from foul de.spair ?
Bona. My quarrel and this English queen's
are one.
War. And mine, fair lady Bona, joins with
yours.
K. Lew. And mine with hers, and thine,
and Margaret's.
Tlierefore at last I firmly am resolved
You shall have aid. > 220
Q. Mar. Let me give humble thanks for all
at once.
K. Lew. Then, England's messenger, re¬
turn in post.
And tell false Edward, thy supposed king.
That Lewis of France is sending over masquers
To revel it with him and his new bride:
Thou seest what's past, go fear thy king withal.
Bona. Tell him, in hope he'll prove a wid¬
ower shortly,
I'll wear the willow garland for his sak&
Q. Mar. Tell him, my mourning weeds are
laid aside.
And I am ready to put armor on. 200
War. Tell him from me that he hath done
me wrong,
Aud tlierefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long.
There's thy reward : be gone. [Exit Post.
K. Lew. But, Warwick,
Thou and Oxford, with five thousand men.
Shall cross the seas, aud bid false Edward
battle ;
And, as occasion serves, this noble queen
And prince shall follow with a fresh supply.
Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one doubt.
What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty ? 239
War. This shall assure my constant loyalty.
That if our queen and this young prince agree,
I'll jom mine eldest daughter and my joy
To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands..
Q. Mar. Yes, I agree, and thank you for
your motion.
Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous.
Therefore delay not, give thy hand to War¬
wick ;
And, with thy hand, thy faith irrevocable.
That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine.
Prince. Yes, I accejit her, for she well de¬
serves it;
And here, to pledge my vow, I give my band.
[He gives his hand to Warwick.
K. Lew. Why stay we now? These sol¬
diers shall be levied.
And thou. Lord Bourbon, our high admiral,
Shalt waft them over with our royal fleet.
I long till Edward fall b^ war's mischance.
For mockuig marriage with a dame of France.
[Exeunt alt but Warwick.
War. I came from Edward as ambassador.
But I return his sworn and mortal foe :
Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me.
But dreadful war shall answer his demand.
Had he none else to make a stale but me? 260
Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow.
I was the chief that raised him to the crown.
And I'll be chief to bring him down again :
Not that I pity Henry's misery.
But seek revenge on Edward's mockery. [Exit.
ACT IV.
Scene I. London. The palace.
Enter Gloucester, Clarence, Somerset,
and Montague.
Glon. Now tell me, brother Clarence, what
think you
Of this new marriage with the Lady Grejf ?
Hath not our brother made a worthy choice ?
Vlar. Alas, you know, 'tis far from hence
to France;
14
210
KING HENRY VI. PART III.
[Act iv
How could he stay till Warwick made return ?
Horn. My lords, forbear this talk ; here
comes the king.
Glozt. And his well-chosen bride.
C'lar. I mind to tell him plainly what I
think.
Flourish. Enter King Edward, attended;
Lady Grey, as Queen; Pembroke, Staf¬
ford, Hastings, and others.
K. Edw. Now, brother of Clarence, how like
you our choice.
That you stand pensive, as half malcontent ?
Clar. As well as Lewis of France, or the
Earl of Warwick, 11
Which are so weak of courage and in judg¬
ment
That they'll take no offence at our abuse.
K. Edw. Suppose they take offence with¬
out a cause.
They are but Lewis and Warwick ; I am Ed¬
ward,
Vour king and Warwick's, and must have my
^will.
Glou. And shall have your will, because
our king :
Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well.
K. Edw. Y'ea, brother Richard, are you
offended too ?
Glou. Not I; 20
No, God forbid that I should wish them sever'd
AVhom God hath join'd together ; ay, and
'twere pity
To sunder them that yoke so well together.
K. Edw. Setting your scorns and your mis-
like aside.
Tell me some reason why the Lady Grey
Should not become my wife and England's
queen.
And you too, Somerset and Montague,
Speak freely what you tliiiik.
Clar. Then this is mine opinion : that King
Lewis
Becomes your enemy, for mocking him 30
AlKuit the marriage of the Lady IJona.
Glou. And Warwick, doing what you gave
in charge.
Is now dishonored by this new marriage.
K. Edw. AVhat if both Lewis and Warwick
be ajipeased
By such invention as I can devise ? , ■
Mont. Yet, to have join'd with France in
such alliance
Would more have strengthen'd this our com¬
monwealth
'Gainst foreign storms than any home-bred
marriage.
Hast. Why, knows not Montague that of
itself
England is safe, if true within itself ? 40
Mont. But tlie safer when 'tis baek'd with
France.
Hast. 'Tis better using France than trusting
France:
Eet us be baek'd with God and with the seas
Which He hath given for fence impregnable.
And with their helps only defend ourselves ;
In them and iu ourselves our safety lies.
Clar. For this one speech Lord Hastings
well deserves
To have the heir of the Lord Hungerford.
K. Edw. Ay, what of tliat ? it was my will
and grant;
And for this once my will shall stand for law.
Glou. And yet methinhs your grace hath
not done well, 51
To give the heir and daughter of Lord Scales
Unto the brother of your loving bride ;
She better would have fitted me or Clarence :
But iu your bride you bury brotherhood.
Clar. Or else you would not have bestow'd
the heir
Of the Lord Bonville on your new wife's son.
And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere.
K. Edio. Alas, poor Clarence ! is it for a
wife
That thou art malcontent ? I will provide thee.
Clar. In choosing for yourself, you show'd
your judgment, 61
Which being shallow, you shall give me leave
To play the broker in mine own behalf ;
And to that end I shortly mind to leave you.
K. Edw. Leave me, or tarry, Edward will
be king,
And not be tied unto his brother's will.
Q. Eliz. My lords, before it pleased his
majesty
To raise my state to title of a queen.
Do me but right, and you must all confess
That I was not ignoble of descent; 70
And meaner than myself have had like fortune.
But as this title honors me and mine.
So your dislike, to whom I would be pleasing.
Doth cloud my joj's with danger and with sor¬
row.
K. Edio. My love, forbear to fawn upon
their frowns :
What danger or what sorrow can befall thee.
So long as Edward is thy constant friend.
And tlieir true sovereign, whom they must
obey ?
Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too.
Unless they seek for hatred at ray hands ; 80
Which if they do, yet will I keep thee safe.
And they shall feel the vengeanoeof my wrath.
Glou. I hear, yet say not much, biit think
the more. [Aside.
Enter a Post
K. Edw. Now, messenger, w-hat letters or
what news
From France ?
Post. My sovereign liege, no letters ; and
few words.
But such' as I, without your special pardon.
Dare not relate.
K. Edw. Go to, we pardon thee : therefore,
in brief.
Tell me their words as near as thou canst guess
them. 90
AVliat answer makes King Lewis imto our let¬
ters ?
Scene hi.]
KING HENRY VI. PART III.
211
Post. At my depart, these were his very
words :
'Go tell false Edward, thy supposed king.
That Lewis of France is sending over masquers
To revel it with him and his new hride.'
• K. Edio. Is Lewis so brave? belike he tliinks
me Henry.
But wluit said Lady Bona to my marriage ?
Post. These were her words, ut er'd with
mild disdain :
'Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower
shortly,
I'll wear the willow garland for his ssilf e.' 100
K. Echo. I blame not her, she could say lit¬
tle less;
She had the wrong. But what said Henry's
queen ?
For 1 have heard that she was there in place.
Post. 'Tellhim,'quotli slie, ' my mourning
weeds are done.
And 1 am ready to put armor on.'
K. Echo. Belike she minds to play the Am¬
azon.
But what said Warwick to these injuries ?
Post. He, more incensed against your ma¬
jesty
Than all the rest, discharged me with these
words:
' Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong.
And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long.'
K. Edw. Ha ! durst the traitor breathe out
so proud words 7
Well I will arm me, being thus forewarn'd :
"They shall have wars and pay for their pre¬
sumption.
But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret?
Post. Ay, gracious sovereign ; they are so
link'd in friendship.
That young Prince Edward marries Warwick's
daughter.
Clar. Belike the elder; Clarence will have
the younger.
Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast.
Fori will hence to Warwick's other daughter;
That, though I want a kingdom, yet in mar¬
riage
1 may not prove inferior to yourself.
You that love me and Warwick, follow me.
[Exit Clarence, and Homerset JolUnos.
Glcm. [yisicie] Not I:
My thoughts aim at a further matter ; I
Stiiy not for the love of Edward, but the crown.
K. Edw. Clarence and Somerset both gone
to Warwick 1
Yet am I arm'd againstthe worst can happen ;
And haste is needful in this desperate case.
Pembroke and Stafford, you in our behalf 130
Go levy men, and make prepare for war ;
They are already, or quickly will be landed :
Myself in person will straight follow you.
[Exeunt Pembmke and Stafford.
But, ere I go, Hastings and Montague,
Resolve my doubt. You twain, of all the rest,
Are near to Warwick by bloodand by alliance;
Tell me it you love Warwick more than me ?
If it be so, then both depart to him
I rather wish you foes than hollow friends :
But if you mind to hold your true obedience.
Give me assurance with some friendly vow.
That I may never have you in suspect.
Mont. So God help Montiigue as he proves
true !
Hast. And Hastings as he favors Edward's
cause!
K. Edw. Now, brother Richard, will you
stand by us ?
Glou. Ay, in despite of all tlmt shall with¬
stand you.
K. Edw. Why, so ! then am I sure of vic¬
tory.
Now therefore let us hence ; and lose no hour.
Till we meet Warwick with his foreign power.
[Exeunt.
Scene II. A plain in Wai-wickshire.
Enter Warwick and OxtoBD, with French
soldiers.
War. Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes
well;
The common people by numbers swarm to us.
Enter Clarence and Somerset.
But see where Somerset and Clarence come !
Speak suddenly, my lords, are we all friends?
Clar. Fear not that, my lord.
War. Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto
Warwick ;
And welcome, Somerset : I hold it cowardice
To rest mistrustful where a noble heart
Hath pawn'd an oiien hand in sign of love ;
Else might I think that Clarence, Edward's
brother, 10
Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings:
But welcome, sweet Clarence ; my daughter
shall be thine.
And now what rests but, in night's coverture.
Thy brother being carelessly encamp'd.
His soldiers lurking in the towns about.
And but attended by a simple guard,
We may surprise and take h im at our pleasure ?
Our scouts have found the adventure very easy:
That as Ulysses and stout Diomede
With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus'
tents, 20
And brought from thence the Thracian fatal
ste^s.
So we, well cover'd with the night's black
mantle.
At unawares may beat down Edward's guard
And seize him.seif ; I say not, slaughter him.
For I intend but only to surprise him.
You that will follow me to this attempt.
Applaud the name of Henry with your leader.
[They all cry, ' Henry !'
Why, then, let's on our way in silent sort:
For Warwick and his friends, God and Saint
George! [Exeunt.
Scene IH. Edward's camp, near Warwick.
Enter three Watchmen, to guard the King's
tent.
First Watch. Come on, my masters, each
man take his stand ;
212
The king by this is set him down to sleep.
Second Watch. What, will he not to bed 7
Fir$t Watch. Why, no; lor he hath made a
solemn vow
Kever to lie and take his natural rest
Till Warwick or himself be quite suppress'd.
Second Watch. To-morrow then belike shall
be the day.
If Warwick be so near as men report.
Third Watch. ' But say, I pray, what noble¬
man is that
That with the king here resteth in his tent? 10
First Watch. 'Tis the Lord Hastings, the
king's chiefest friend.
Third Watch. O, is it so ? But why com¬
mands the king
That his chief followers lodge in towns about
him,
While he himself keeps in the cold field ?
Second Watch. 'Tis the more honor, because
more dangerous.
Third Watch. Ay, but give me worship and
quietness;
I like it better than a dangerous honor.
If Warwick knew in what estate he stands,
'Tis to be doubted he would waken him.
First Watch. Unless our halberds did shut
up his passage. 20
Second Watch. Ay, wherefore else guard
we his royal tent.
But to defend his jierson from night-foes ?
Enter Warwick, Clarence, Oxford, Som¬
erset, and French soldiers, silent all.
War. Tills is his tent; and see where stand
his guard.
Courage, my masters ! honor now or never !
But follow me, and Edward shall be ours.
First Watch. Who goes there ?
Second Watch. Stay, or thou diest!
[Warwick and the rest cry all, 'War¬
wick ! Warwick!' and set upon the
Guard, who fly, crying,' Arm! arm !'
Warwick and the rest following them.
The drum playing and trumpet sounding, re¬
enter Warwick, Somerset, and the rest,
bringing the Kino out in his gown, sitting in
a chair. Bichard and Hastings fly over
the stage.
Som. What are they that fly there ?
War. Bichard and Hastings : let them go ;
here is
The duke.
K. Edw. Tlie duke ! Why, Warwick, when
wo parted, 30
Thou caU'dst me king.
War. Ay, but the case is alter'd ;
When you disgraced me in my embassade.
Then I degraded you from being king,
And come now to create you Duke of York.
Alas ! how should you govern any kingdom
That know not how' to use ambassadors.
Nor how to be contented with one wife.
Nor how to use your brothers brotherly,
Nor how to study for the people's welfare.
Nor how to shroud yourself from enemies? 40
[Act IV.
K. Edw. Yea, brother of Clarence, are thou
here too ?
Nay, then 1 see that Edward needs must down.
Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance.
Of thee thyself and all thy complices,
Edward will always bear himself as king :
Though fortune's malice overthrow my state.
My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel.
War. Then, for his mind, be Edward Eng¬
land's Wng : [ Takes off his crown.
But Henry now shall wear the English crown.
And be true king indeed, thou but the shadow.
My Lord of Somerset, at my request, 51
See that forthwith Duke Edward be convey'd
Unto my brother. Archbishop of York.
When I have fought with Pembroke and his
fellows,
I'l. follow you, and tell what answer
Lewis and the Lady Bona send to him.
Now, for a while farewell, good Duke of York.
[They Iwd him out forcibly.
K. Edw. Wliat fates impose, that men must
needs abide ;
It boots not to resist both wind and tide.
[Exit, guarded.
Oxf. What now remains, my lords, for us
to do 60
But march to London with our soldiers ?
War. Ay, that's the first thing that we have
to do ;
To free King Henry from imprisonment
And see him seated in the regal throne.
[Exeunt.
Scene IV. London. The palace.
Enter Queen Elizabeth and Bivers.
Riv. Madam, what makes you in this sud¬
den change ?
Q. Eliz. Why, brother Bivers, are you yet
to leam
What late misfortune is befall'n King Ed¬
ward ?
Riv. What! loss of some pitch'd battle
against Warwick ?
Q. Eliz. No, but the loss of his own royal
person.
Riv. Then is my sovereign slain ?
Q. Eliz. Ay, almost slain, for he' is taken
firisoner.
Either betray'd by falsehood of his guard
Or by his foe surprised at imawares :
And,' as I farther have to understand, 10
Is new committed to the Bishop of York,
Fell Warwick's brother and by that our foe.
Riv. These news I must confess are full of
giief;
Yet, gracious madam, bear it as you may :
Warwick may lose, that now hath won the
day.
Q. Eliz. Till then fair hope must hinder
life's decay.
And I the rather wean me from despair
For love of Edward's offspring in my womb .
This is it that makes me bridle passion
And bear with mildness my misfortune's
cross : 20
KiyG HENRY VI. PART HI.
ScEMtf Vl.]
KING HENRY VI. PART III.
213
Ay, ay, for this I draw in niany a tear
And stop the rising of blood-sucking s%hs.
Lest wim my sighs or tears 1 blast or drown
King Edward's fruit, true heir to tlte English
crown.
Riv. But, madam, where is Warwick theti
become 7
Q. Elia. I am iuform'd that he comes to¬
wards London,
To set the crown once more On Henry's head :
Oness thou the rest; King Edward's friends
must down,
But, to prevent the tyrant's vioience,— '
For trust not him that hath once broken
faith,— 80
T'U hence foithwith unto the sanctuary.
To save at least the heir of Edward's right :
There shall I rest secure from force and fraud'.
Come, therefore, let us fly while we may fly :
If Warwick kvlte us we are sure to die.
[Exeunt.
Scene V. . A park near Middlelumii Castle in
Yorkshire.
Enter Gloucester, Lord Hastings, and Sir
I , William Stanley.
Glou. Now, my Lord Hastings and Sir
William Stanley,
Leave off to wonder wliy I drew you hither.
Into this chiefest thicket of the x>ark.
Thus stands the case : you know our kingj my
' brother,
Is jirisoner to the bishop here, at whose hands
He hath good usage and great liberty.
And, oft^ but attended with weak guard.
Comes hunting this way to disport himself.
I have advertised him by secret means
That if about this hour he make tliis way 10
Under the color of his usual game.
He shall henre find his friends with horse and
men
To set him free from his captivity.
Enter Kino and a Huntsman with
him.
Hunt. This way, my lord ; for this way
lies the game.
K. Edw. Nay, this way, man : see where
< the huntsmen stand. '
Now, brother of Gloucester, Lord Hastings,
and the rest.
Stand you thus close, to steal the bishop's
deer 7 (haste :
Glou. Brotiier, the time and case requireth
Your horse stands ready at the jiark-comer.
K. Edw. But whither shall we then 7
Hast. • To Lynn, my lord, 20
And ship from thence to Flanders. '
Glou. Well guess'd, believe me ; for that
was my meaning.
K. Edw. Stanley, I will re(^ite thy for¬
wardness.
Glou. But wlierefore stay we 7 'tis no time
to talk.
K. Edw. Huntsman, what say'st thou 7
wilt thou go along 7
Hunt. Better do so than tarry and be
liang'd.
Glou. Come then, away ; let's ha' no more
ado.
K. Edw. Bishop, farewell i shield thee from
Warwick's frown ;
And pray that I may repossess the crown.
1 [Exeunt.
Scene'VI. London. The Tower.
Flourish. Enter Ejng Henry, Clarence,
Warwick, Somerset, young Richmond
Oxford, kloNTAaUE, and Lieutenant of'he
Tower.
K. Hen. Master lieutenant, now that Goe'
and friends
Have shaken Edward from the regal seak '
And tuin'd my captive state to liwrty.
My fear to hope, my sorrows unto joys.
At our enlargement what are thy due fees 7
Lieu. Subjects may challenge nothing of
their sovereigns ;
But if an humble prayer may prevail,
1 then crave pardon of your majesty.
E, Hen. For what, lieutenant 7 for well
I using me 7
Nay, be thou sure I'll well requite thy kind¬
ness, 10
For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure ;
Ay, sucli a pleasnre as mcaged birds
Conceive when after many moody thoughts
At last by notes of household harmony
They quite forget their loss of liberty.
But, 'Warwick, after God, tiiou set'st me free,
And chiefly therefore I thank God and thee ;
He was the author, thou the instrument
Tlierefore, that I may conqner fortune's spite
By living iow, where fortune cannot hurt me.
And that the people of this blessed land 21
May not be pnnish'd with my thwarting stars,
Warwick, although my head still wear the
crown, '
I here resign my government to thee.
For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds.
War: Your grace hath still beea famed for
virtuous ;
And now may seem as wise as virtuous,
Bj- spying and avoiding fortune's malice.
For few men rightly temper with the stars :
Yet in this one thing let me blame your grace.
For choosing me when Ciarence is in place. 31
Clar. No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the
sway.
To whom the heavens in thy nativity
Adjudged an olive branch and laurel crown,
As likely to be blest in peace and war ;
And therefore I yield thee my free consent.
War. And I choose Clarence only fo^' pro¬
tector.
K. lien. Warwick and Clarence give me
botii your hands :
Now join your hands, and with your hands
your hearts,
Tluit 110 dissension hinder government i 40
I make j ou both protectors of this land.
While I myself will lead a x>rivate life
214
KINO HENRY 17. PART III.
[Act IV.
And iu devotion spend ray latter days,
To sin's rebuke and ray Creator's praise.
War. ' What answers Clarence to his sov¬
ereign's will ?
€lar. That he consents, if Warwick yield
consent;
For on thy fortune I repose myself.
War. Why, then, though loath, yet must I
be content :
We'll yoke together, like a double shadow
'.ro Henry's body, and supply his place; SO
I mean, in bearing weight of government,
Wliile he enjoys the honor and his ease.
And, Clarence, now then it is more than need-
' fill ' [tor.
Forthwith that Edward be pronounced a trai-
And all his lands and goods be confiscate.
Clar. What else ? and tliat succession be
determined.
' War. Ay, therein Clarence shall not want
his part
K. Hen. But, with the first of all your chief
affairs.
Let me entreat, for 1 command no more.
That Margaret your queen and »iy son Ed¬
ward 60
Be sent for, to return from France with speed ;
For, till I see them here, by doubtful fear
My joy of liberty is half eclipsed. i
Clar. It shall be done, my sovereign, with
all speed.
K. Hen. My Lord of Somerset, what youth
is that.
Of whom you seem to have so tender care 7
Som. My liege, it is young Henry, earl of
Richmond.
K. Hen. Come hither, England's hope.
Uiays his hand on his head] If secret powers
Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts.
This pretty lad will prove our country's bliss.
His looks are full of peaceful majesty, 71
His head by nature framed to wear a crown,
His hand to wield a sceptre, and himself
Likely in time to bless a regal throne.
Make much of him, my lords, for this is he
Must help you more than you are hurt by me.
Entei' a Post.
War. What news, my friend 7
Post. That Edward is escaped from your
brother.
And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy.
War. Unsavory news ! but how made he
escape 7 - 80
Post. He was convqy'd by Richard Duke of
Gloucester
And the Lord Hastings, who attended him
In ^eret ambu^ on the forest side
And from the bishop's huntsmen rescued him ;
For hunting was his daily exercise.
1 TFar. My brother was too careless of his
charge.
But let us hence, my sovereign, to iwoi ido
A salve for any sore that may betide.
[Exeunt all but Somerset, Richmond, and
Or/ord.
Som. My lord, I like not' of this flight of
Edward's89
For doubtless Burgundy will yield him help;
And we shall liave more wars before't belong.
As Henry's late presaging prophecy
Did glad my heart with hope of this young
Richmond,
Bo doth ray heart misgive me, in these con¬
flicts
What nuty befall him, to his harm and ours :
Therefore, Lord Oxford, to prevent the worst.
Forthwith we'll send him hence to Brittany,
Till storms be past of civil enmity.
Oxf. Ay, for if Edward repossess the crown,
'Tis like that Richmond with the rest shall
down. 100
Som. It shall be so ; he shall to Brittany.
Come, thereforei let's abont it speedily.
[Exeunt.
Scene YH. Before York.
Flourish. Enter King Edward, GLOu<3.'.isrER;
Hastings, and Soldiers.
K. Edw. Xow, brother Richard, Lord Las-
tings, and the rest.
Yet thus far fortune maketh ns amends.
And says that once more I shall intercbai^e
My waned state for Henry's regal crown.
Well have we pass'd and now rqiass'd Jhe
seas
And brought desired help from Burgundy.*,
What then remains, we being thus arrived
From Ravenspurgli haven before the gates of
York,
But that we enter, as into our dukedom 7
Glou. The gates made fast! Brother, I
like not this ; 10
For many men that stumble at the threshold
Are welfforetold that danger lurks within.
K. Edw. Tush, man, abodements must not
now affright us :
By fair or foul means we must enter in.
For hither will our friends repair to us.
Hast. My liege, I'll knock once more to
summon them.
Enter, on the walls, the Mayor'of York, and
his Brethren.
May. My lords, we were forewarned of
your coming.
And shut the gates for safety of ourselves ;
For now we owe allegiance unto Henry.
K. Edw. But, master mayor, if Henry be
your king, 20
Yet Edward at the least is Dulie of York.
May. True, my good lord ; 1 know you for
no less.
K. Edw. Why, and I challenge nothing but
my dukedom.
As being well content with tliat alone.
Glou. [Aside] But when the fox hath once
got in his nose.
He'll soon find means to make the body follow.
Host. Why, master mayor, why stand you
in a doubt 7
Open the gates ; we are Kmg Henry's friends.
Scene viii.]
KIJVG HENRY
VI. PART HE
215
May. Ay, say )-ou so ? the gates shall then
be oi)en'd. [.They descemi.
Olau. A wise stout captain, and soon per¬
suaded ! 30
Hast. The good old man would fain that all
were well,
So 'twere not 'long of him ; but being enter'd,
I doubt uot, I, but we shall soon persuade
Both him and all his brothers unto reason.
Enter the Mayor and two Aldermen, below.
K. Edw. So, master mayor : these gates
must not be shut
But in the night or mthe time of war.
What! fear not, man, but yield me up the
keys ; [Takes his keys.
For Edward will defend the town and thee,
And all those friends that deign to follow me.
March. Enter Montgomery, with drum and
soldiers.
Glou. Brother, this is Sir John Montgomery,
Our trusty friend, unless I be deceived. 41
K. Edw. Welcome, Sir John ! But why
come'you in arms 7
Mont. To help King Edward in his time of
storm,' ■
As every loyal sirbject ought to do,
K. Edw. Thanks, good Montgomery ; but
we now forget
Our title to the crown and only claim
Our dukedom till God please to send the rest.
Mordt Then fare you well, for 1 will hence
again :
I came to serve a king and not a duke.
Drummer, strike up, and let us march away.50
[The dnan bey ins to march.
K. Edw. Nay, stay. Sir John, awhile, and
we'll debate
By what safe means the crown may be re-
cover'd.
Mont. What talk you of debating 7 in few
words.
If yo'a'U not here proclaim yourself our king,
I'll leave you to your fortune and be gone
To keep them back that come to succor you ^
Why shall we fight, if j-ou pretend no title ?
Glou. Whyj brother, wherefore stand you on
nice points 7
K. Edw. When we grow stronger, then
we'll make our claim :
Till then, 'tis wisdom to concesil our meaning.
Hast. Away with scrupulous wit! now arms
must rule. 01
Glou. And fearless minds climb soonest
unto crowns.
Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand :
The bruit thereof will bring you many friends.
K. Edw. Then be it as you will; for 'tis my
right.
And Henry but usurps the diade^i.
Mont. Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like
.. himself;
And now will I be Edward's champion.
Hast. Sound trumpet; Edward shall l>e
here proclaim'd : > C9
Come, fellow-.soldier, make thou proclamation.
[Flourish.
Sold. Edward tl\e Fourth, by the grace of
God, king of England and France, and lord of
Ireland, &c.
Mont. And whosoe'er .gainsays King Ed¬
ward's right.
By this I cliallenge him to single fight.
[Throws down his gauntlet.
All. Long live Edward the Fourth !
K Edw. 'riiauks, brave Montgomery : and
thanks unto you all ;
If fortune serve me, I'll requite this kindness.
Now, for this night, let's harbor here in
York ;
And when the morning sun shall raise his car
Above the border of this horizon.
We'll forward towards Warwick and his
mates;
For well I wot that Henry is no soldier.
Ah, froward Clai-euce ! how evil it beseems
thee.
To flatter Hepry and forsake thy brother !
Yet, as we may, we'll meet both thee and
Warwick. ,
Come on, brave soldiers : doubt not of the
day.
And, thiit once gotten, doubt not of large pay.
[Exeunt.
Scene VIH. London. The palace.
Flourish. Enter King Henry, Warwick,
Montague, Clarence, Exeter, and Ox¬
ford.
War. What counsel, lords 7 Edward from
Belgia,
With hasty Germans and blunt Hollanders,
Hath i>ass'd in safety through the narrow seas.
And with his troops doth march amain to Lon¬
don ;
And many giddy peoiile'flock to him.
K. Hen. Let's levy men, and beat him back
again.
Clar. A little fire is quickly trodden out ;
Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench.
War. In Warwickshire I have true-hearted
friends.
Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war; 10
Tliose will I muster up: and tliou, son Clarence,
Shalt stir up ni Suffolk, Norfolk aud in Kent,
The knights and gentlemen to come with tliee:
Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham,
Noitharapton aud in Leicestershire, shalt find
Men well inclined to hear what thou com¬
mand'st :
And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well be-
lov^.
In Oxfordshire shalt muster up thy friends.
My sovereign, with the loving citizens, .
Like to his i.sland girt in with the ocean.
Or mode.st Dian circled with her nymphs.
Shall rest in London till we come to him.
Fair lords, take leave and stand not to reply.
Farewell, my sovereign.
K. Hen. Farewell, my Hector, and my
Troy's true hope.
216
KING HENRY VI. PART III.
(Am y.
Clar. In sign of truth, I kiss your highness'
hand.
K, Hen. Weli-minded Clarence, be thou for¬
tunate !' [leave.
Mont. Comfort, ray lord ; and .so I tiike my
Oxf. And thus I sbal ray truth, and bid
adieu.
K. Hen. Sweet Oxford, and ray loving
Montague, 06
And all at once, once more a happy farewell.
War. Farewell, sweet lords : let's meet at
Coventry. .
[Exeunt til but King Henry and Exeter.
K. Hen. Here at the palace will I rest
awhile.
Cousin of Exeter, What thinks your lordship ?
Methlnks the power that Edward hath hi field
Should not be able to encounter mine.
Exe. The doubt is that he will seduce the
rest. .
K. Hen. That's not ray fear ; my meed
hath got rae fame : ,
I have not stwp'd mine ears to their demands,
Nor jiosted off their suits with slow delays ; 40
My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds,
My mildness hathaliay'd their swelling griefs,'
My mercy dried their water-flowing tears ;
I have not been desirous of their wealth.
Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies.
Nor forward of revenge, though tliey much
err'd : [me ?
Then why should they love Edward more than
No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace :
And when the lion fawns upon the &mb.
The. lamb will never cease to follow him. 50
[Shout within. ' A Lancaster ! A Lancaster!'
Exe. Hark, hark, my lord ! what shouts are
these ?
Enter King Edward, Gixidcester, and
soldiers.
K. Edw. Seize on the shame-faced Henry,
bear him hence ;
And once again proclaim us King of England.
You are the fount that makes small brooks to
flow ;
Now stops thy spring ; my sea shall suck
them dry.
And swell so much the higher by their ebb.
Hence with him to the Tower; let him not
speak. [Exeunt some loith King Henry.
And lords, towards Coventry bend we our
course,
Wliere peremptory Warwick now remains :
The. sun shines hot; and, if we use delay, 60
Cold biting winter mars our hoped-for hay.
Glou. Away betimes, before his forces join,
And take the great-grown traitor unawares :
Brave warriors, march amain towards Coven¬
try. i Exeunt.
ACT V.
Scene I. Coventry.
Enter Warwick, Mayor of Coventry, two
, Messengers, and others upon the walls.
War. Where is the post that came from
valiant Oxford ?
How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow?
Eirst Mess. By this at Dunsmore, marching
hitherward.
War. How far off is our brother Montague?
Where is the post that came from Montague ?
Second J/c.w. By tliis at Daintry, with a
puis.saut troop.
Enter Sir John Somf.bvu.i;,e.
War. S^, Somervilie, what says my loving
sou ?
.A.nd, by thy guess, how nigh is Clarence now?
Som. At Southara Idid leave him with his
forces.
And do e.xiiect him here some two hours hence.
[Drum heardj
War. Tlien Clarence is at hand, I hear his
drum. 11
Som. It is not his, my lord ; here Southam
lies :
The drum your honor hears marcheth from
■Warwick.
War. Who should that be? belike, iinluok''d-
for friends.
Som. They are at hand, and you shall
quickly know.
March; flourish. Enter King Edward,
Gloucester, and soldiers.
K. Edw. Go, trumpet, to the walls, and
sound a parle.
Olou. See how the surly Warwick mans the
wall!
War. O unhid spite I is sportful Edward
come?
Where slept our scouts. Or how are they
seduced,
That we could hear no nevis of his repair ? 20
K. Edw. Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope t'no
city gates
Speak gentle words and humbly bend thy
knee.
Call Edward king and at his hands beg tne'rcy ?
And he shall pardon thee these outrages.
War. Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thv forces
hence,
Confess who set thee- up and pluck'd the«
down.
Call Warwick patron and be penitent ?
And thou shalt still remain the Duke of York.
Olou. 1 thought, at least, he would have said
the king ;
Or did he make the jest against his will ? .TO
War. Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift ?
Glou. Ay, by my faith, for a poor ^rl to
give :
I'll do tliee service for so good a gift.
War. •'Twas I that gave the kingdom to thy
brother.
K. Edw. Wliy then 'tis mine, if but by
Warwick's gift.
War. Thou art no Atlas for 00 great a
weight :
And, weakling, Warwick takes his gift again;
And Henry is my king, Warwick his subject
ScehB
K. Edw. But Warwick's king is Edward's
prisoner :
And, pliant Warwick, do but answer this: 40
Wbatui the body wlien the head is off t
Olov. Alas, that Warwick had no more
forecast, ,
But witiles he thought to steal the single tem
Tlie king was sliiy finger'd from the deck I
You left poor Henry at the Bishop's palace,
And, ten to one, you'll meet him in the Tower.
K. Edw. 'Tiseven so^ yet you are Warwick
still.
OUm. Ciome, Warwick, take the time; kneel
down, kneel down:
Nay, when ? strike now, or else the iron cools.
War. I had rather ciiop this hand off at a
blow, I 50
And with the other fling It at thy face.
Than bear-so iow a saii, to strike to thee.
K. Edw. Sail how thou, canst, have wind
and tide thy friend.
This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black
'hair,' > .
SlitUl, whiles thy head is warm and new cut
off.
Write ill the dust this sentence with thy blood,
' Wind-changing Warwick now can change no
more.'
Enter Oxford, witk drum and colors.
War. O cheerful colors 1 see whe^e Oxford
comes !
Or/.' Oxford, O.tford, for Lancaster !
[He and his forces enter the city.
Glou. The gates are open, let us enter too.
K. Edw. So other foes may set upon our
backs. 61
Stand we in good array ; for they no doubt
Wiil issue out again and bid us battle :
If not, the city being but of smail defence,
tVe'll quickly rouse the traitors in tlie same.
ITor." 0, welcome, Oxford ! for we want
thy nelp.
Enter MoutaottI! with drum and colors.
Stonl. Montague, Montague, for Lancaster !
(he and his forces enter the city.
GUm. Thou and thy brother both shall buy
this treason
Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear.
fC. Edw. The harder mat'>h'd, the greater
victory : 70
My mind presageth happy ^iu and inquest.
Enter Somerset, with drum and colors.
Som. Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster !'
[He and his forces enter the city.
Glod. Two of thy name, both Dukes of
Somerset, '
Have sold theqj^lives unto the house of York';
And thou shai?be the third if this sword hold.
Enter Cviaekce, with drum and colors.
War. And lo, where George of Clarence
■ sweeps along, . '
Of force enougli to bid his brother battle;
With whom an upriglrt zeal to right prevails
2ir
More tlian the nature of a brother's lova;
Come, Clarence, come ; thou wilt, if Warwios
call.
Clar. Father of Warwick, know yoq what
this means ? ,
• [Taking his red rose out of his hxd.
jxibk here, I throw my infamy at thee :
1 will not ruinate my father's house,.
Who gave his blood to lime the stones together.
And set up Lancaster. Why, trow'st thoq,
Warwick,
That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural,
'To bend the fatal instruments of war
Against his brother and his lawful king ?
Perhaps thou wilt object my holy oath i
To keep tliat oath were more impiety 9t>
Than Jephthah's, when he sacrificed his daugh-
: ter.
t am so sorry for my trespass made
That, to deserve well at my brotlier's hands,,
I here irroclaim myself thy mortal foe.
With resolution, whel-esoe'er 1 meet thee—
As I will meet thee, if thou stir abroad—
To plague thee for thy foul misleading me.
And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee.
And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks.
Pardon me, Edward, 1 wiirmake amends : IdO
And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults.
For I will henceforth be no more unconstant.
E. Edw. Now welcome more, and ten times
more beloved.
Than if thou never hadst deserved our hate.
Glou. Welcome, good Clarence; this is
brotherlike. [just!
War. O passing traitor, perjured and un-
K. Edw. What, Warwick, wilt thou leave
the town and fight ?
Or shall we beat tiie stones about thine ears ?
War, Alas- lam not coop'd here for de¬
fence !
I will away towards Barnet presently, 110
And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou darest
K. Edw. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares,
and leads the way.
Lords, to the field ; Saint George and victory!
[Exeunt King Edward and his company.
March. Warwick and his company
follow.
Scene 11. Afield of battle near Bamet. ,
Alarum and excursions. Enter King Ed-
Edward, bringing forth Warwick ivoimded.
K. Edw. So, lie thou there : die thoa, and
die »ur fear ;
For Warwick was a bug that fear'd us all.
Now, Montague, sit fast ; I seek for thee.
That Warwick's bones jnuy keep thine com¬
pany. [Exit.
War. Ah, wlio is nigh ? come ^ jne. friend
or foe.
And tell me who is victor, York or Warwica .
Why ask \ that 7 my mangled body shows.
My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart
shows,
Ifoat I must yield my body to the eaitlt
KING HENRY YJ. FART III.
KING HENRY VI. PART lit.
(Act>.
And, by my fall, the conqiiestto my foe. 10
Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge,
Whose arras gave shelter to the princely eagle,
Under whose shade the ramping lion slept.
Whose top-brauch overpeer'd Jove's spread¬
ing tree [wind.
And kept low shmbs from winter's powerful
These eyes, that now are dimm'd with death's
buifk veil.
Have been as piercing as the mid-day sUn,
To search the secret treasons of the world :
The wrinkles in my brows, now filled with
blood,
Wereliken'd oft to kingly seimlchres ; 20
For who lived king, but 1 could dig his grave ?
And who durst smile when Warwick bent his
brow?
Lo, now my glory smear'd in dust aud blood 1
My parks, my walks, my manors that I had.
Even now forsake me, and of all ny lands
Is nothing left me but my body's length.
Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and
dust ?
And, live we how we can, yet die we must
Enter OxFOKD and Somerset.
(Som. Ah, Warwick, Warwick ! wert thou
as we are.
We might recover all our loss again : 30
The queen from France hath brought a puis¬
sant power ;
Even now we heard the news : ah, could'st
thou fly !
War. Why, then I would not fly. Ah,
klontague.
If thou bo there, sweet brother, take my hand.
And with thy lips keei) in my soul awhile I
Thou lovest me not; for, brother, if thou didst.
Thy tears would wash this cold congealed
blood
That glues my lips and wiU not let me speak.
Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead.
Swn. Ah, Warwick 1 Montague hath
breathed his la.st; 40
And to tlie latest gasp cried out for Warwick,
And said ' Commend me to my valiant bro¬
ther.' [spoke.
And more he would have said, and more he
Which sou,ided like a clamor in a vault.
That mought not be distinguished ; but at last
1 well might hear, delivered with a groan,
' 0, farewell, Warwick!'
War. Sweet rest his soul! Fly, lords, and
save yourselves ;
For Warwick bids you all farewell to meet in
heaven. . [Dies.
Ozf. Away, awaj^ to meet the queen's
great power ! [Here they bear away his
body. Exeunt.
Scene in. Another part of the field.
Flourish. Enter King Edward in triumph;
with. Guodcestee, Clarence, and tite rest.
K. Edw. Thus far our fortune keeps an
vf ward course.
And we are g^cea with WTKiths of victory.
But, in tho midst of this bright-shining day,
I spy a black, suspicious, threatening cloud.
That will encounter with our glorious sun.
Ere he attain his easeful western bed :
I mean, my lords, those powers that the queen
Hath r^ed in G^ia have arrived our coast
And, as we hear, march on to fight with ns.
Clar. A little gale will soo-i disperse that
cloud 10
And blow it to the source from whence it
came :
The very beams wiD dry those vapors up.
For every cloud engenders not a storm.
Olo. The queen is valued thirty thousand
stiong,
And Somerset, with Orfo d, fled to her :
If she h.ave time to breaths be well assured
Her faction will be full as strong as ours.
K. Edw. We are advertised ny our loving
friends ■ [bury
That they do hold their course toward Tewks-
We, having now the best at Bamet field, 2(
Will thither straight, for willingness rids way
And, as we march, our strength will be aug¬
mented
In every county as we go along.
Strike up the drum ; cry ' Coiuage 1' and
away. [Exeunt.
Scene IV. Plains near Tewksbury.
March. Enter Qdeen Maroabet,- Prince
Edward, Somerset, Oxford, and soldiers.
Q. Mar. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and
wail their loss.
But cheerly seek how to redress their harms.
What though the mast be now blown over¬
board.
The cable broke, the holding-anchor lost,
Aud half our sailors swallow'd in the flood ?
Yet lives our pilot still. Is't meet that he
Should leave the helm and like a fearful lad
With tearful eyes add water to the sea
And give more strength to that which hath too
much.
Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock,
Whi'h industry and courage might have
saved ?
Ah, what a shame 1 ah, what a fault were this 1
Say Warwick was our anchor ; wh.at of tliat 'r
And Montague our topmast; what of him ?
Our slaughter'd friends the tackles ; what of
these ?
Why, is not Oxford here another anchor ?
And Somerset another goodly mast ?
The friends of France our shrouds and tack-
lings ?
And; though unskilful, why not Ned aud I
For once allow,'d the skilful pilot's charge ? 20
We wUlnot from the helm to sit and weep.
But keep our course, though the rough wind
say no.
From shelves and rocks that threaten us with
wreck.
As good to chide the waves as speak them
v.] KING HENRY
Aud what is Edwaid biit a rnthless sea ?
What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit ?
Aud Uichaid but a ragged fatal rock 7
All these the enemies to our poor bark.
Say yon can swim : alas, 'tis but a while ! ■
Tread on the sand ; why, there you quickly
sink: 30
Bestride the rock ; the tide will wash yea off.
Or else you famish ; that's a threefold death.
This speak I, lords, to let you understand,
If case some one of you would ily from us,
Thatthere's no hoped-for mercy with the bro¬
thers
Moyethah with ruthless waves, with sands
and rocks.
Why, courage then ! what cannot be avoided
'Twere childish weakness to lament or fear.
Prince. Methinks a woman of this valiant
spirit
Should, if a coward heard her speak ' these
words, ' ■' 40
Infuse his breast with magnanimity
Aud make him, naked, foil a man at arms.
I speak not this as doubting any here ;
For did I but suspect a fearful man
He siiould have leave to go away betimes,
Lest in our need lie might infect another
Aud make him of like spirit to himself.
If any such be here—as God forbid !— '
Let htm depart before we need his help.
Orf. Women and children of so high d
courage, 50
And warriors faint I why, 'tyrere perpetual
shame.
O brave young prince ! thy famous grand-
• father
^th live again in thee : long mayst thou live
to bear his image and renew his glories !
Som. And he that will not fight for such a
hope.
Go home to bed, and like the owl by day.
If he arise, be mock'd aud wouder'd at.
Q. Mar. Thanks, gentle Somerset; sweet
Oxford, thanks.
Prince. And take his thanks that yet hath
nothing else.
Enter a l^essenger.
Mese. Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at
■ml, . 60
Reai', to dght; therefore be resolute,
O /. I thought no less ; it is his jMlicy
To -^astfe thus fast, to find us unprovided.
Horn. But he's deceived ; we are in readi¬
ness.
Q. Mar. This cheers my heart, to see your
forwardness.
Ox/. Here pitch our battle ; henc^ we will
not budge,
Flourish and march. Enter Ki^ro Edward,
giiottcesteb, Clarence, and soldiers.
K. Ed>e. Brave followers, yonder stands
the thorny wood.
Which, by the heavens' assistance and your
strength.
Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night.
VI. PART III. •»§
I need not add more fnel to your fire, 71
For well I wot ye blaze to burn them out
Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords .'
Q. Mar. Lords, knights, aud. gentlemen,
what I should say
My tears gainsay ; for every word I speak.
Ye see, I drink tiie water of mine eyes.
Therefore, no more but this : Henry, your
sovereign.
Is prisoner to the foe ; his state usurp'd.
His realm a slaughter-hhuse, his subjects
slain.
His statutes cancell'd and his treasure spent;
And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil.
You fight in justice : then, in God's name,
lords, 81
Be valiant and give signal to the fight.
[Alarum; Retreat: Excursions. Exeunt.
Scene V. Another part of the field.
Flourish. Enter King Edward, Gloucester,
Clarence, and soldiers; toiih Queen Mar¬
garet, Oxford, and Somerset, prisoners.
. K. Edw. Now here a period of tumultuous
brolLs.
Away with Oxford to Hames Castle' straight:
For ^merset, off with his guilty head,-
Go, bear them hence ; I will not hear them
speak.
Oxf. For my part, I'll not trouble thee with
words.
Som. Nor I, but stoop with patience to my
fortune.
[Exeunt Oxford and Somerset, guarded.
Q. Mar. So part we sadly in this tronblous
world.
To meet with joy in .sweet Jerusalem. •
K. Edw. Is proclamation made, that who
finds Edward
Shall have a high reward, and he his life 7 10
Glou., It is : and lo, where youthful Edward
comes I
Enter soldiers, with Prince , Edward.
K. Edw. Bring forth the gallant, let us
hear him speak.
What! can so youn" a thorn begin to prick ?
Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make
For bearing arras, for Stirling up my subjects.
And all the trouble 'diou hast turn'd me to 7
Pri>ux.. Speak like a subject, proud am¬
bitious York !
Suppose that I am now my father's mouth :
Resign thy chair, and where I stand kneel
thOK, I
Whilst I propose the selfsame words to thee.
Which, traitor, thou wouldst have me answer
to. 21
Q. Mar. Ah, that thy father had been so
resolved !
Glmt. That you might stiU have worn the
petticoat.
And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lan¬
caster.
Prince. Let ASsop fable in a winter's night;
His currish riddles sort not with this pl0.ce.
220
Vr/iV(? HENRY VI. PART III.
/Act y.
Glou. By heaven, brat, I'lliplagueye iot
that word.
Q. Mar. Ay, thon wast born to be a plagae
to men.
Glou. For God's sake, take aWay this cap¬
tive scold.
Prince. Nay, take away this scoldiug crook-
back rattier. 30
K. Edtc. Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm
your tongue. ' •
Ciar. Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert.
Prince. I know my duty ; you are all un-
dutiful:
La.scivious Edward, and thou perjured George,
And thou mis-shapen Dick, I tell ye all
I am your better, traitors as ye are :
And thou usurp'st my father's riglit and mine,
K. Edto. Take that, thou likeness of this
railer here. [i'fads Imm.
Glou. Sprawl'st thou ? take that, to end
thy agony. , [6'ta6.s him.
Clar. -And tnere's for twitting me with per¬
jury. [Stabe him. 40
Q. Mar. C, kill me too !
Glou. Marry, and shall. [Offers to Jcill her.
K- Edw. Hold, Richard, hold ; for we have
done too much.
Glou. Why should she live, to fill th^
world with words ?
K. Edw. Wliat, doth she swoon? use means
for her recovery.
Glou. Clarence, excuse me to the king my
brother;
I'll hence to London on a serious matter :
Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news.
Clar. What ? what ?
Glou. The Tower, the Tower. [Exit. 50
Q. Mar. O Ned, sweet Ned ! speak to thy
mother, boy ! ' [ers!
Canst thou not speak ? O traitors ! murder-
They that stabb'd Ciesar shed no blood at all.
Did not oCend, nor were not worthy blame.
If this foul deed were by to equal it :
He was a man ; this, in respect, a child :
And men ne'er spend their fury on a child.
What's worse than murderer, that I may
name it ?
No, no, my heart will burst, an if I speak :
And I wir. speak, that so my heart may burst,
■Butchers and villains ! bloody cannibals ! 61
How aweeta plant have you untimely cropp'd!
You have no children, butchers ! if you had.
The thought of them would have stirr'd up re¬
morse :
But if you ever chance to have a child.
Look in his youth to have him so cut off
As, deathsmen, you have rid this sweet young
Jrince !
(ho. Away with her; go, bear her
hence perforce.
Q. Mar. Nay, never bear me hence, dis¬
patch me here ;
flere sheathe thy sword, I'll pardon thee my
death: 70
i<hat, wilt thou not ? then, Clarence, do it
thou.
ClcB".- By- heaven, I will not de thee so
muMiease.. . . ,
Q. Mar.. Good Clarence, do i sweet Clar¬
ence, do thon do it
Clar. Didst thou not hear me swear I would
not do it ? , I
Q. Mar. Ay, but thou usest to forswear
. thyself: ,
'Twas sin before, but now 'tis charity.
What, wilt thon «ot ? Where is that devil's
butcher,
Hard-favor'd Richard ? Richard,, wliere aft
thou ?
Thou art not here : murder is thy alms-deed ■;
Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st back'. 80
,K. Edw. Away, I say; I . charge ye, bear
her hence.
Q. Mar. So come to.you and yours, as. to
this prince ! [Exit, led cmt forcibly.
K. Edw,. Where's Richard gone 1
Clar. To London, all in post; and, as k
guess,
To make a bloody supper in the Tower.
K. Edw. He's sudden, if a thing comes i^
his head.
Now march we hence : discharge the common
sort
With pay and thanks, and let's away to Lon¬
don
And see our gentle queen how well she fares :
By this, I hope, she hath a son for me. 90
[Exeunt.
Scene VI. London. The Totcer.
Enter King Henbv and Gloucester, with
the Lieutenant, on the walls.
Glou. Good day, my lord. What, at your
book so hard ?
K. Hen. Ay, my good lord my lord, 1
should say rather ;
'Tis sin to flatter ; 'good' was little better :
' Good Gloucester' and ' good devU' were
alike.
And both preposterous ; therefore, not' good
lord. . I
Glou. SiiTah, leave us to ourselves : we
must confer. [Exit Lieutenant.
, K. Hen. So flies the reckless shephe dtrom
the wolf ; ,
So first the harmless sheep doth yic his
fleece
And next his throat unto the butcher's kiuie.
What scene of death hath Roscius now to act?
Glou. Suspicion always haunts the guilty
mind ; , 11
The thief doth fear each bush an officer.
K. Hen. The bird that h.ath been limed in a
bush.
With trembling wmgs misdoubteth every
bxish ;
.And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird,
Hivve now the fatal object in my eye, ,
Where my poor young was limed, wa's caught
and kill'd.
Glou. Why, what a peevish fool waa that el
Crete, . n
S^EKIi'VlI.]
KTNG HENRY
VT. PART IIL
221
That taught his son the office of a fowl! 19
And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd.
- K. Afen: I, Dxdaliis; my poor boy, learns ;
Thy father, Minos, that denied oui- conrse ;
The sun that scar'd the wings of my sweet hoy
Thy brother Edward, and thyself the sea
Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life. '
Ah, kiil me with thy weapon, not with words !
My breast can better brook thy dagger's point
Than can my ears that tragic history.
But wherefore dost tliou come ? is't for my
life? ■ I 29
Glon. Think'st tliou I am an executioner?
K.' Hen. A persecutor, I am sure, thou art! ■
If murdering innocents be e.xecuting.
Why, then thou art an executioner.
Glou. Thy son I kill'd for his presumption.
K. Hen. Hadst thou been kill'd when first
thou didst presume,
Thou hadst not lived to kiil a son of mine.
And thus I prophesy, that nany a thousand.
Which now mistrust no pa. ~el of my fear.
And many an old man's sigh and many a
widow's, 39
At 1 many an orphan's water-standing eye—
Me a for their sons, wives for their husbands.
An 1 orphans for their parents' timeless deatli—
Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast bom.
The owl shriek'd at thy birth,—an evil sign ;
The night-crow cried, aboduig luckless time;
Dogs nowl'd, and hideous tempest shook
down trees;
The raven rook'd her on the chimney's top.
And chattering pies in dismal discords sung.
Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain.
And yet brought forth less than a motlier's
hope, 50
To wit, an indigested and deformed lump.
Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree.
Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast
bom.
To signify thou camest to bite the world :
And, if the rest be true which 1 have heard.
Thou camest—
Glou. I'll hear no more : die, prophet, in
thy speech : [Nta&s him.
For this, amongst the rest, was 1 ordain'd.
. K. Hen. Ay, and for much more slaughter
after this.
O, God forgive my sins, and pardon thee !
[Z)«es. 60
Glou. What, will the aspiring blood of Lan¬
caster ,
Sink in the ground ? I tliought it would have
mounted.
See how my sword weeps for the poor king's
death!
0, may such purple tears be alway shed
From those that wish the downfall of our
house I 0
If any spark of life he yet remaining,
Pown, down to hell; and say 1 sent thee
thitlier : [A'tubs him again.
1, that have neither pity, love, nor fear,
udeed, 'tis true that Henry told me of ;
For I have often heard my mother say 70
I 'Came into the world with my legs forward :
Had 1 Uf I :;eason, think ye, to make haste.
And seek tlieir ruin that nsurp'd our right ?
Tlie midwife wouder'd and the women cried
' O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth !'
And so I was ; whicii plainly signified
Tlnrt'l ghnuld snarl and bite and play the dog.
Then, since the heavens have shaped my body
■ so, ' '
Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it.
I have no brotheri I am like no htother ; 80
. And thiii word ' love,' which greybeards call
divine.
Be resident in men like one another 1
And not in me : I am myself a' ./ne.
' Clarence, beware ; thou keep'st me from the
light :
But I will sort a pitchy day for thee ;
For I will busi abroad such prophecies
That Edward shall be fearful of his life;
And then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death.
King Henry and the prince his son are gone :
Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest.
Counting myself but bad till I be best. 91
I'll throw thy body in another room
And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom.
[Exit, with the body.
Scene VII. London. The palace.
Plourish. Enter Kino Edward, Queen
Elizabeth, Clarence, Gloucester, Has¬
tings, a Nurse with the young Prince, and
Attendants.
IC. Edio. Once more we sit in England's
royal throne,
Ee-purchiised with the blood of enemies.
What valiant foemen, like to autumn's com.
Have we mow'd down in tops of all their
])ride !
Three Dukes of Somerset, threefold renowu'd;
For har^ and undoubted champions ;
Two Cliffords, as the father and the son.
And two Northumberlands ; two braver men
Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's
sound ;
With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and
Montague,
That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion
And made the forest tremble when they roar'd.
Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat
And made our footstool of security.
Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy.
Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles and myself
Have in our armors watch'd the winter's
night.
Went all afoot in summer's scalding neat.
That thou mightst repossess tho crown in
peace ;
And of our labors thou shalt reap the gain. 20
Glou. [Aside] I'll blast his harvest, if ycvir
head were laid ;
For yet I am not look'd on in the world.
This shoulder was ordain'd so thick to heave;
And heave it shall some weight, or break my
back :
Work thou the way,—and thou shalt executa
222
KING HKNRY VI. PART III.
(Aorr.
K. Edw. Clarence and Gloucester, lore my
lovely queen ;
And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both.
Clar. The duty that I owe unto your ma¬
jesty
I seal upon the lips o£ this sweet babe.
Q. Eliz. Thanks, nobie Clarence ; worthy
brother, tiianks.
Glou. And, that I love the tree from whence
thou sprang'St,
Witness the lovuig kiss I give the fruit.
[Aside} To say the truth, so Judas klss'd his
master.
And cried ' all hail!' when as he meant all
harm.
K Edw. Kow am I seated as my soul de¬
lights
Having my country's peace and brother^
loves.
Clar. What will your grace have done with
Margaret ?
Rei^ier, her father, to the king of France ,
Hath pawn'd tiie Sicils and Jerusalem,
And hither have tlie^ sent it for her ransom.'
K. Edw. Away with her, and waft her hence
to France.
And now what rests but that we spend the
time
With stateiy triumphs, mirthful comic showt
Such as befits the pleasure of the court ?
Sound drums and trumpets ! farewell sour an¬
noy 1
For here, I hope, begins our lasting
Exeunt
KING RICHARD HL
(WRITTEN IN 1593.)
introduction.
nu play, because amons other alleged reasons it exhibits so much smaller a proportion of
tlwme than Richard II., is held by some critics to be the later of the two in chronological order;
but here Shakespeare was working, though not in the pr.eaeiice.Tct under the influence and in tlie
manner of the great master of diaunalicJilaiik verse, MmIowoI Richard III. carries on with the
higiiest energy, and we may suppose, after brief delay on Shalkespeare's part, the subject of the for¬
tune of the house of York from the point when it was dropped in 3 Henry VI. It would hardly bo
possible that Sliakespeare should subsequently continue to write in a manner so Marlowesque as
that of Richard III.; he was not yet in comedy or tragedy delivered from rhyme. What more nat¬
ural than that he should pass in Richard II. to a manner perhaps inferior but more his own, more
varied, more subtle, and marked by finer if less forcible characterization? Richard III. can hardly
be later in date than 15B3. Shakespeare was indebted little, if at all, to the old play The True
Tragedie of Richard III., and certainly not at all to Dr. l.«gge's Latin play upon the same subject.
A highly popular subject with Elizabethan audiences this was—^the fall of the Yorkist usurper, and
the accession of the flret Tudor king as champion of justice. Shakespeare's play was printed in
quarto in seven editions between I.IOT and 1630. His materials the dramatist found in the chronicles
of Holinshed and Hall. The entire pUy.may. besaidJohe-tho exhibition of the one central charac-
ter.of Richard ; all,subordinate persons are created that he may wreak his will upon them. This is
quitgln'thglhanner ot MarloweTLike Marlowe also Is the fierce energy of the central character, un-
temperedby-morsl Tastraintsj-tho h^piua ji{u>f violent deeds, the ab^nce of allreserve or mystery
in the chatacteriz»tion..I.hfl broad and bold touches, the demoniac force and intensity of the whole.
TheSSlomething sublimBjiud tertiWe in so great and fierce a human energy as that of Richard,
concgntrnted within one withered ana distdi^a body. | This is the evil offspring and flower .of the
long andcrnel civil wars—this distorted creature, a hater and scomer of man, an absolute cynic,
loyelesaand^-Blone.-dtsregaidtng alt humau. bonds and human affections, yet., full of hitellect, of
fire, of pwes.—if he-accumulated crimes of civil war are at last atonedfoz, and the evil which culmi-
nateaiOUfihaid.falls w.ith.Rinhar(Lfiomits.bademineuccu . ,
Lu-A-i
DRAMATIS
Kino Edward the Fourth.
Edward, Prince of Wales, after-) .
ward.s King EdwaidV., J
Richard, Duke of York, • )
George, Duke of Clarence, )
Richard, Duke of Gloucester,
afterwards Kiug Richard III.,)
A young son of Clarence.
Henry, Earl of Richmond, afterwards King
Henry VII.
Cardinal Bourchieb, Archbishop of Can¬
terbury.
Thomas Rotherram, Archbishop of York.
John Morton, Bishop of Ely.
Ddke of Buckingham.
Duke op Norfolk.
Earl op Surrey, his son.
Earl Rivers, brother to Elizabeth.
Marquis of Dorset and LqptD Grey, sons
to Elizabeth.
Earl of Oxford.
Lord H.^stinos..
Lord Stanley, called also Earl of Derby.
Lord Lovel.
Sir Thomas Vaughan.
Sm Bicuabo Baicliff.
persona:.
Sir William Catesbt.
Sir James Tyrrel.
Sir James Blount.
Sir Walter Herbert.
Sir Robert Brakenburt, Lieutenant of the
Tower.
Christopher Urswick, a priest. Another
Priest.
Tressel and Berkeley, gentlemen attend¬
ing on the Lady Anne.
Lord Mayor of Loudon. Slieriff of Wiltshire.
Elizabeth, queen to King Edward IV.
Margaret, widow of King Henry VI.
Duchess op York, mother to King Edward
IV.
Lady Anne, widow of Edward Prince of
Wales, son to King Henry VI. ; after¬
wards married to Richard.
A young Daughter of Clarence (Margaret
Plantagenet).
Ghosts of those murdered by Richard 111.,
Lords and otlier Attendants; a Pursuivant,
Scrivener, Citizens, Murderers, Messengers,
Soldiers, &c.
Scene : England.
(223)
224
KING RICHARD III.
[Act i.
ACT I,
ScEKE I_-Xonrfon. A. street. ^ ,
Enter RicHAKD^BuKrioF Glx)irc«:.4rBte,.s(«Hi
Olou. Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious siunmer by this sun of York ;
And aQ the clouds tliat lour'd upon our iiouse'
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious_
wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments ;
Our stem alarums clianged to merry meetings,
Oar dreadful marclies to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smooUi'd his wrinkled
front;
And now, instead of mounting barded steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, XI
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious i)leasmg of a lute.
But 1, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass ;
1, that am rudely stamp'd, and want Jove's
inajesty '
To strut before a wanton .ambling nymph ;
X, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion.
Cheated of feature by dlssembhiig nature.
Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time 20
Into this breathing world, scarce half made
up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by tlient;
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time.
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity ;
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover.
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain 30
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have Plaid, inductions dangerous.
By drunken ijrophecies, libels and dreams.
To set my brother Clarence and tlie king
In deadly hate the one agaiivst the other :
And if King Edward be as true and just
As 1 am subtle, false and treacherous.
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up.
About a prophecy, which says that G
Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be. 40
Dh e, thoughts^ down to my soul ; her^ Clar¬
ence comes.
Entir Clarence, guarded, and brak^^^'i
bury.
Brother, good day ; what means this armed
guard
That waits upon your grace ?
Clar, His majesty.
Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed
This conduct to convey me to the Tower.
Glon. Upon what cause ?
Clar. Because my name is George.
Glm. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of
yours;
H® should, for that, commit your godfathers :
0, belike his majesty hath some intent
That you shall be new-clrristen'd in the Tower.
But what's the matter, Clarence? may I know?
Clar. Yea, Richard, when I know; for I
k i protest 1 ' I I
lU yet 1 do not ■ but, ean leam.
He hearkens after jwophecies and dreams :
And from the cross-row plucks the letter G,
And says a wiaard told him that by G
His issue disinherited should be ;
And, for my name of George begins with G,
It follows in his thought that I am he.
These, as I leam, and such like toys as these 60
pave moved his highness to commit me now.
Glou. Wliy, this it is, when men are ruled
by women : e
'Tis not the king tliat sends you to the Tower;
My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 'tis she
That tempers him to tills extremity.
Was it not she and that good man'of worship,
.Vnthony Woodville, her brother there, .
That made him send Lord Hastings to the
Tower,
From whence this present day he is deli ver'd ?
We are not safe, Clarence ; we are not safe. 70
Clar. By heaven, I think there's no man is
secure
But the queen's kindred and night-walking
heralds
That trudge betwixt the king and Mistress
Shore.
Heard ye not wh.atan humble suppliant
Ivord Hastings was to her for his delivery ?
Glon. Humbly complaining to her d^ty
Got my lord chamberlain his Uberty.
I'll tell you what; I think it is our way.
If we will keep in favor with the king.
To be her men and wear her livery ; 80
The jealous o'erwom widow and herself.
Since that our brother dubb'd them gentle¬
women.
Are mighty gossips in this monarchy.
Brak. I beseech your graces both to pardon
me; ■ !
His majesty hath straitly ^ven in charge
That no man shall have irrivate conference.
Of what degree soever, with his brother.
Glou. Even so ; an't please your Worship,
Brekenbiuy,
You may partake of any thing we say :
We speak no treason, man: we say tire king 9C
Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen
Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous ;
Wc say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,
A cherry lip, a bomiy eye, a passing pleasing
tongue;
And that the queen's kjndred are made gentle¬
folks :
How say you, sir ? can you deny all this ? |
Brak. With this, my lord, myself have
nought to do.'
Glou. Naughtto do with Mistress Shore 1 I
tell thee, fellow.
He that doth naught with her, excepting one, ,
Were best he do it secretly, alonq. lod
Brak. What one, my foi-d ?
Glou. Her husband, kuave : wouldst th(,;n
betray me ?
KING RICHARD III.
225
Rrak. I beseech yout grace to pardon me,
and withal
Forbear your conference with the noble duke.
Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury,
and will obey
Glou. We are the queen'sabjecto, and must
obey.
Brother, mreweU : I will unto the king ;
And whatsoever you will employ me in,
\Vere it to call King Mward's widow sister,
I will perform it to enfranchise you. 110
Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood
Touches me deeper than you can imagine.
Clwr. I know it pleaseth neitlier of us well.
Glou. Well, your unprisoument shall not be
long;
1 will deliver you, or else lie for you :
Meantime, have patience.
Clar. I must perforce. Farewell.
[Exeunt Clarence, Brakenbury, and Guard.
Glou. Go, tread the path that thou shalt
ne'er return, i
Simple, plain Clarence 1 I do love thee so.
That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven,
U heaven will take the present at our hands.
But who comes here ? the new-deliver'd Has¬
tings ?
Enter Jjoveo Hastings.
East. Good time of day unto my gracious
I lord!
Glou. As much unto my good lord cham¬
berlain ! '
Well are you welcome to'the open air.
How hath your lordship brook'd imprison¬
ment ?
Hast, With pati^ee, noble lord, as prison¬
ers must:
But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks
That were the cause of my imprisonment.
Glou. No doubt, no doubt; and so shall
Clarence too ;
For they that were your enemies are his, 130
And have prevail'd as much on him as you. -
Hast. More pity that the . eagle should be
mew'd.
While kites and buzzards prey at liberty.
Glou. What news abroad 1
Hast. No news so bad abroad as this at
home;
The king is sickly, weak and melancholy,
.■Vud his jdrysiciaus fear him mightily.
Glov. Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad
indeed.
0, he hath kwtan evil diet long.
And overmuch consumed his royal person: 140
'Tis very grievous to be thought upon.
What, is he in his bed ?
Hast. He is.
Glou, Go you before, and I wfll follow you.
[Exit Hastinys.
He cannot live, 1 hope ; and must not die
Till George be pack'd with post-horse up to
heaven.
I'll in,'to urge his hatred more to Clarence,
With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments;
And, if 1 fail not in my deep intent,
Clarence hath not another day to live : ISO
Which done, God take King Edward to his
mercy.
And leave the 'world for me to bustle in !
For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest
daughter.
What though I kill'd her husband and her
father'?
The readiest way to make the wench amends
Is to become her husband and her fathei';
The which will I ; not all so much for Ic".-
As for another secret close intent.
By marrying her which 1 must reach vnto.
But yet 1 run before my horse to market: IGO
Clarence still breathes ; Edward stiil lives and
reigns :
When they are gone, then must 1 count my
gains. [ExU.
Scene II. The same. Another street.
Enter the corpse of King Henby the Sixth,
GentXemenwithhalberdsto guard it; Lady
Anne being the mourner.
Anne. Set down, set down your honorable
load,
If honor may be shrouded in a hearse,
Whilst 1 awhile obsequiously lament
The untimely full of virtuous Lancaster.
Poor key-cold figure of a holy king !
Paie ashes of the house of Lancaster!
Thou bloodle.ss remnant of that royal blood 1
Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost;
To hear the lamentations of Poor Anne,
Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son, 10
Stabb'd by the selfsame hand that made these
wounds !
Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life,
I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes.
Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes!
Cursed be the heart that had the heart to do it!
Cursed the blood tliat let this blood from hence!
More direful hap betide that hated wretch.
That makes us wretched by the death of thee.
Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads.
Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives I 20
If ever he have child, abortive be it,
I^odigious, and untimely brought to light.
Whose ugly and unnatural aspect
May fright the hovieful mother at the view ;
And that be heir to his imhappiuess 1
If ever he have wife, let her be made
As miserable by the death of him
^ As I am made by my poor lord and thee ;
Come, now towards Chertsey with your ho»y
load.
Taken from Paul's to be interred there ; 30
And stili, as von are weary of the weight.
Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse.
Enter Gloucestek.
Glou. Stay, you that bear the corse, and set
it down.
Anne. What black magician conjures up
this fiend.
To stop devote'd charitable deeds ?
15
226
KING RICHARD III.
[Act i.
Glou. Villnins, set down the corse ; or, by
Saint Paul,
I'll make a corse of him tlmt disobeys.
Gciit. My lord, stand back, aijd let the coffin
pass.
Glou. Unmanner'd dog ! stand thou, when
I command :
Advance thy halbert higher than my breiist, 10
Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot,
And spuni upon thee, beggar, forthy boldness.
Anne. What, do you "tremble ? are you all
afraid ?
Alas, I blame you not; for you are mortal.
And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.
Avaunt, thou dreadful mini.ster of hell!
Thou hadst but ix)wer over his morfcil body.
His soul thou canst not have ; therefore be
gone^
Glen. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so
curst.
Anne. Foul devil, for God's sake, hence,
and trouble us not; 60
For thou hast made tlie happy earth thy hell,
Fill'd it witli cursing cries and deep exclaims.
If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,.
Behold this pattern of tiiy butcheries.
O, gentlemen, see, see ! dead Henry's wounds
Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh i
Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity ;
For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blc'od
From cold and empty veins, where no blood
dwells ;
Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural, 60
Provokes this deluge most unnatural.
O God, wlrich this blood madest, revenge his
death !
O earth, which this blood drink'st revenge his
death !
Either heaven with lightning stnke the mur¬
derer dead.
Or earth, gape open wide and eat him quick.
As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood,
Which his heil-govem'd arm liath butciiercd !
Glou. Lady, you know no rules of charity.
Which renders good for bad, blessings for
curses.
Anne. Villain, thou know'st no law of God
nor man : 70
No beast so fierce but knows some touch of
pity-
Glou. But I know none, and therefore am
no beast;
Anne. O wonderful, when devils tell the
truth!
Glozt. More wondei-ful, when angels are so
angry.
Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman.
Of these supposed evils, to give me leave.
By circumstance, but to acquit myself.
Anne. Vouchsafe, defused infection of a
man,
For these known evils, but to give me leave,
By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self. 80
Glou. Fairer tiiau tongue can name thee,
let me have
Some patient leisure to eKCJise myself.
Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee,
thou c:inst make
No excuse current, but to hang thyself.
Glou. By such despair, I should accuse
myself.
Anne, And, by destttiiring, shonldst thou
stand excused ;
For doing worthy vengeance on thyself,
Wiiich didst unworthy slaughter u)x>u others.
Glou. Say that I slew them not 1
Anne. Why, then they are not dead :
But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee.
Glow. I did not kill your husband. 91
Anne. Why, then he is alive.
Glow.' Nay, he is dead ; and slain by Ed¬
ward's hand.
Anne. In thy foul throatthou West: Queen
Margaret saw
Tliy murderous falchion smoking in his blood;
'fhe which thou once didst bend against her
breast.
But that thy brothers beat aside the iwint.
Glow. I was provoked by her slanderous
tongue,
Wliich laid their guilt upon my guiltle.ss
shoulders. [mind.
Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody
AVhich never dreamt on aught but butcheries:
Didst thou not kill this king ? 101
Glou. I gmnt ye.
Anne. Dost grant me, hedgehog ? then, God
grant me too
Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed !
O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous !
Glou. The fitter for the King of heaven,
that hath him.
Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt
never come.
Glou. Let iiim thank me, thai help to send
him thither ;
For he was fitter for that place than earth.
Anne. And thou unfit lot any place but
heil.
Glou. Yes, one place else, if you will he.ar
me name it. 110
Anne. Some dungeon.
Glow. Your bed-chamber.
Anne. I'll re.st betide the chamber where
thou liest I
Glou. So will it, madam, till I lie witli you.
Anne. I hope so.
Glou. I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne,
To leave this keen encounter of our wits.
And fall somewhat into a slower method.
Is not the causer of ttie timeless deaths
Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,
As blameful as the executioner ?
Anne. Thou art the cause, and most ac¬
cursed effect. 1^
Glow. Your beauty was the cause of that
effect;
Your beauty, which did haunt me in my sleep
To undertake the death of all the world.
So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.
Anne. If I thought that, I tell thee, homi¬
cide. ' , . .
SCENB II.]
These nnils should rend that beauty from my
cheeks. i
Glou. These eyes could never endure sweet
beauty's wreck ; ■
You should not blemish it, if I stood by:
As all the world is clieered by the sun,
Sol by that; it is my day, niy life. 130
Anne. Black niglit o'ershade thy day, and
death thy life 1
Glou. Curse not thyself, fair creature ; thou
art both.
Anne. I would I were, to be revenged on
tiiee.
Glou. It is a quarrel most unnatural,
To be revenged on him that loveth you.
Anne. It is a quari-el just and reasonable.
To be revenged on him that slew my husband.
Glou. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy hus¬
band, ;
Did it to help thee to a better husband.
Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the
earth. 140
Glou. H^ lives that loves thee better than
he could.
Anne, Name hun. .
Glou. Plantagenet
Anne. Why, that was he.
Glou. The selfsame name, but one of better
nature.
Anne. Where is he 1
Glou. Here. [NAe spitteth at him.]
Why do.st thou spit at me ?
AnTte. Would it were mortal poison, for thy
sake ! . ,
Glou. Never came poison from so. Sweet a
. place.
Anne. Never hung poison on a fouler toad.
Out of my sight! thou dost infect my eyes.
Glou. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have in¬
fected mine. 150
Anil", Would they were basilisks, to strike
thee dead f
Glou. I would they were, tliat I might die
at once ;
For now they kill me with a living deatli. ,
Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt
tears.
Shamed their aspect with store of childish
drops: *
These eyes, which never slied remorseful tear.
No, when my father York and Edward wept.
To hear the piteous moan tliat Rutland made
When black-faced Clifford shook his sword at
him ;
Nor when, thy warlike father, like a child, 160
Told the sad story of my fathers death.
And twenty times macle pause to sob and
weep,
Tjiat ail the standers-by had wet their cheeks.
Like trees bedash'd with rain: iiathat sad time
My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear;
And what tliese sorrows could not thence ex-
hate.
Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with
weeping.
I never sued to friend nor enemy;
227
My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing
I woi-ds;
But, now thy beauty is proposed my fee, 170
My proud heart sues and prompts my tongue
to speak. IShe looks scornfully at him.
' Teach not tJiy lips such scorn, for they were
made
For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
If thy revengeful heait cauuot forgive,
Lo, here 1 lend thee this sharp-pointed sword;
Which if thou please to hide in this true bosom.
And let the soul forth that adoreth thee,
I lay it naked to tlie deadly stroke.
And humbly beg the death upon my knee.
. llJe lays his breast open: she q^ers at it
with fits sword.
, Nay, do not pause ; for I did kill King Hemy,
But 'twas thy beauty that piovoked me. 181
Nay, now dispatch ; 'twas I tliat stabb'd young
Edward,
I But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on.
IHere she lets fall the sword,
Take up the sword again, or take up me.
Anne. Arise, dissembler ; though I wish
thy death,
I will not be the execui ioner.
Glou. Then bid me kill myself, and J will
do it. ' ' '
Anne. I have already.
Glou. . Tush, that was in thy rage :
Speak it again, and, even with the word.
That hand, which, for thy love, did kill tliy
love, 190
Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love ;
To both their deaths thou shalt be accessary.
Annr. I would I knew thy heart
Glou. ■ "fis figured in my tongue.
Anm. I fear me both are false.
Glou. Tlien never man was true.
Anne. Well, well, put up your sword.
Glou. Say, then, my pe.ace is made.
Anne. That shall you know hereafter.
Glou. But shall I live in hope ? 200
Anne. All men, I hope, live so.
Glou. Vouchsaie to wear this ring.
Anne. To take is not to give,
Glou. Look, how this ring eucompasseth
thy finger. , ,
Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart;
Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.
And if thy jioor devoted suppliant may
But beg one favor at thy gracious hand.
Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.
Anne. What is it ? 210
Glou. That it would please thee leave these
sad designs' ' '
To him that hath more cause to be a mourner.
And presently repair to Crosby Place ;
Where, after I have solemnly interr'd
At Chertsey monasteiy this noble kingi
And wet his grave with my repentant tears,
I will with all expedient duty see you :
For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you,
Grant me this boon.
Annei , With all my heart; and much it
joys me too, 220
KIJVG RICHARD IIJ.
228
KING RICHARD III.
[Act 1,
To see yon are become so penitent.
Tres.sel and Berkeley, go along with me.
Glou. Bid me farewell. '
Anne. 'Tis more than yon deserve ;
But since yon teach me how to flatter yon,
Imagine 1 have said farewell already.
[Kxcunt Lady Anne, Tressel, and Berkeley.
Glou. Sirs, tike npthe corse.
Gent. Towards Chertsey, noble lord 7
Glou. No, to White-Friars there attend
my coming. {Kxeunt all but Gloucestm".
Was ever woman in this humor woo'd 7
Was ever woman in this humor won 7
I'll have her; but I will not keep her long. 2.30
What! I, that kilTd her husband and his
lather.
To take her in her heart's extremest hate.
With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,
Tlie bleeding witness of her hatred by;
Having God, her conscience, and these bars
against me,
And I notliing to back my suit at all,
But the plain devil and dissembling looks.
And yet to win her, all the world to nothing !
Ha !
Hath she forgot already that brave prince, 240
Edward, her lord, whom I, some three montlis
since,
Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury ?
A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman,
Framed in the prodigality of nature, i
Young,valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal, 1
The spacious world cannot again afford : j
And will she yet debase her eyes on me, i
That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet |
prince, |
And made her widow to a woful bed 7
On me,whose all not equals Edward's moiety 7
On me, that halt and am unshapen thus 7 251
My dukedom to a beggarly denier,
I do mistake my person all this while :
Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,
Myself to be a marvellous proper man.
I'll be at charges for a looking-glass.
And entertain some score or two of tailors.
To study fashions to adorn my body:
Since I am crept in favor with myself,
I will maintain it with some little cost 260
But first I'll turn yon fellow in his grave ;
And then return lamenting to my love.
Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass,
That I may see my shadow as I pass. [EkU.
Scene HI. The palace.
Enter Queen ELiz.tbeth, Lokd Rivebs, and
LoKD Grey.
Riv. Have patience, madam : there's no
doubt his majesty '
Will soon recover his accustom'd health.
Grey. In that you brook it ill, it makes him
worse :
Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good com'
fort.
And cheer his grace with quick and merry
words. '•
Q. Eliz. If he were dead, wliat would be*.
tide of me 7
Rio. No other harm but loss of such a lord.
Q. Eliz. "The loss of such a lord Includes
all harm. '
Grey. The heavens have bless'd you with a
goodly son.
To be your comforter when he is gone. . 10
Q. Eliz. Oh, he is young, and his minority
Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester,
A man that loves not me, nor none of you.
Riv. Is it concluded he sliall be protector 7
Q. Eliz. It is determined, not cuiieluded
yet:
But so it must be, if the king miscarry.,
Enter Buckingham and DEnny.
Grey. Here come the lords of Buckingham
and Derby.
Buck. Good time of day unto your royal
grace I
Dev. God make your majesty joyful as you
have been!
Q. Eliz. The Coimtess Richmoitf, good my
Lord of Derby, 20
To your good prayers will scarcely say amen.
Yet, Derby, notwithstanding she's your wife.
And loves not me, be you, good lord, assured
I hate not you for her proud arrogance.
Der. I do beseech you, either not believe
The envious slanders of her false accusers ;
Or, if she be accused in true report, '
Bear with her weakness, which, I think, pro¬
ceeds
From wayward sickness, and no grounded
malice.
Riv. Saw you the king to-day, my Lord of
Derby 7 30
Der. But now the Duke of Buckingham
and I
Are come from visiting his majestv.
Q. Eliz. What likelihood of liis amend¬
ment, lords 7
Buck. Madam, good hope; his grace speaks
cheerfully.
Q. Eliz. God grant him health ! Did you
confer with him 7
Buck. Madam, we did : he desires to make
atonement '
Betwixt the Duke of Gloucester and your bro¬
thers.
And betwixt them and my lord chamberlain ;
And sent to warn them to his royal presence.
Q. Eliz. Would all were well! but that
will never be 40
I fear our happiness is at the highest.
Enter Gloucestek, Hastings, and Dobsei.
Glou. They do me wrong, and I will not
endure it:
Who are they that complain unto the king, i
That 1, forsooth, am stern, and love them notf
By holy Paul, they love his gi-aee but lightly
That fill his ears with such dissentious ru¬
mors.
Because I cannot flatter and speak fair,
Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceii-eandcog,
Scene iti.]
Duck with French nods and apish courtesy,
I must be held a rancorous enemy. 50
Cannot a plain man live and think no harm,
But thus his simple truth must he abused
By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks ?
Riv. To whom in all this presence speaks
your grace ? [grace.
Gtmi. To thee, that hast nor honesty nor'
When have I injured thee ? when done" thee
wrong ?
Or thee ? or thee ? or any of your faction ?
A plague upon you all ! His roj-al i>ersoii,-^
Whom God preserve better tlian you would
wish !—
Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while, CO
But you must trouble him with lewd com-'
plaints.
Q. Eliz. Brother of Gloucester, you tnis-
take the matter.
The king, of his own royal disposition,' ' ' ^
And not provoked by any suitor else ;
Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred.
Which in your outward actions shows itself
Against my kindred, brothers, and myself.
Makes him to sejid ; that thereby "he may
gather ' '
The ground of your ill-will', and so remove it.
Gwu. I cannot teU ; the world is grown so
bad, 70
That wrens make iwey where eagles dare not
perch :
Since every Jack Imcame a gentleman, '
There's many a gentle person made a Jack.
Q. Eliz. Come, come, we know your mean'
ing, brother Gloucester ; ■ '
Yon envy my advancement and my friends' :
God grant we never may have need of you !
Glou. Meantime, G<^ grants that we have
need of you :
Our brother is imprison'd by your means) '
Myself disgraced, and the nobility
Held in contempt; whilst many fair promo¬
tions 80
Are dally given'to ennoble those ' '
That scarce, some two days since, were worth
a noble.
Q. Eliz. By Him tliat raised me to this
careful height
From that contented hap which I enjoy'd,
1 never did incense his majesty
Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been '
An earnest advocate to plead for him.
My lord, you do me shameful Injury, '
Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects.
Glou. You may deny that you were not the
cause 90
Of my Lord Hastings' late imprisbnment
Riv. She may, my lord, for—
Glou. She may. Lord Rivers! why, who
knows not so ? « '
She may do more, sir, than denying that i
She may help you to many fair preferments.
And then deny her aiding hand therein.
And lay those honors on your high deserts.
HFhat may she not 1 She may, yea, marry,
may she,—
m
Rio. What, marry, may she ?
Glou. What, ntarry, may she ! marry with
a king, 100
A bachelor, a hand.some tripling too ;
I wis your graudam had a worser match.
Q. Eliz. My Lord of Gloucester, 1 have tod
long borne
Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs;
By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty
With those gross taunts I ofteu ha\ e endured.
I had rather be a country servant-maid
Than a great queen, witii this condition,'
'I'o be thus taunted, scorn'd, and baited at;
Enter Queen MAiiCianET, behind, i ■
Small joy have I in being England's'queen. 110
Q. itar. And lesseu'd be thirt small, God, ^
beseech thee !
Thy honor, state and seat is due to me.
Glou. What! threat you me with telling of
the king P ' ' '
Tell him, and spare not: look, what I have
said ' , ' , 1 .
I will avouch in presence of the king :
I dare adventure to be sent to the To'wer.
'Tis time to speak ; ray pains are quite forgot
Q. Mar. Out, devil I I remember them too
well;
Thou slewest my husband Henry in the Tower,
And Edward, my poor son, at "Tewksbury. 120
Glou. Ere you were queen, yea, or your
husband king,
I was a pack-horse in his great affairs ;
A weeder-out of his proud adversaries,
A liberal rewarder of his friends :
To royalize his blood I spilt mine own.
Q. Mar. Yea, and much better blood than
his or thine. '
Glou. In all which time you and your hus¬
band Grey
Were factions for the house at Lancaster ;
And, Rivers, so were you. Was not you hus¬
band
In Margaret's battle at Saint Alban's slain ?
Let me put in your miuds, if you forget, .131
What you have been ere now, and what you
are ;
Withal, what I hi ve been, and what I am.
Q. Mar. A murderous villain, and so still
thou art.
Glou. PoorClareneb did foiaake his father.
Warwick; [don I—
Yea, and forswore himself,—which Jesu pai>-
Q. Mar. Which God revenge I
Glou. To fight on Edward's party for the
crown ;
And for his meed, poor lord, he is mew'd up.
I would to God my heart were flint, like Ed¬
ward's ; ^ 140
Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like miiie : ■'
I am too childish-foolish for this world.
Q. Mar. Hie thee to hell for sh^ame, and
leave the world.
Thou cacodemon ! there thy kingdom is.'
Riv. My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy
days •" '
KING lit CHARD III.
230
Which here you urge to prove U8 enemies,
We follow'd then out lord, our lawful king :
So should we you, if you should be our khig.
Glou. If.I should be 1 I had rather be a
pedlar :
Far be it from my heart, the thought of it! 150
Q. Eliz. As little joy, my lord, as you sup-
ne
lid enjoy, were you tliis country's
king.
As little joy may you supi>ose in me,
That I enjoy, being the queen thereof.
Q. Mar. A littie joy enjoys the queen there¬
of ;
For I am she, and altogether joyless.
I can no longer hold me patient. [Adcanaing.
Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out
In sharing that which you have pill'd from
me 1
Which of you trembles not that looks ou me ?
If not, that, I being queen, you bow like sub¬
jects, IGl
Vet that, by you deposed, you quake like
rebels 1
O gentle villaiu, do not turn away !
GUni. Foul wrinkled witch, what makest
thou in my sight ?
Q. Mar. But repetition of what thou hasit
marr'd ;
That will I make Wfore 1 let thee go.
GloU. Wert thou not banished on pain of
death ?
Q. Mar.^ I was ; but I do find more pain jii
banishment
Than death can yield me here by my abode.
A husband and a sou thou owest to me ; 170
And thou a kingdom ; all of you allegiance :
The sorrow that I have, by right is youre.
And all the pleasures you usurp are mine.
Glou. The curse my noble father laid on
thee.
When thou didst crowu his warlike brows with
paper
And with thy scorns drew'st riyers from his,
eyes.
And then, to dry tliem, gavesi the duke a
clout
Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Kut-
land,—
His curses, then from bitterness of soul
Denounced against thee, are all fall'n upon
thee; 180
And God, not we, hath plagued thy bloody
deed.
Q. E(iz. So just is God, to right the. inno¬
cent.
Hast. 0, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that
babe, . ,
And the mo.st merciless that e'er was heard of I
Eiv. Tyrants themselves wept when it was
reported.
Dor. No man but prophesied revenge for it.
Buck. Northumberland, then present, wept
to see it.
Q. Mar. Whgt were you snarling all befoye
I came,. '
(Act ».
Ready to catch eadi other by the throat,
And turn you all your .hatred now on nie? 100
Did York's dread curse prevail so jnucli with
heaven.
That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's
death,.
Their kingdom's loss, my woful banishment,
Could all but answer for that peevish brat ?
Can curses pierce the cloud.s and enter heaven ?
Why, then, give way, duil clouds, to my quick
curses I ,
If not by war, by surfeit die your king.
As ours by murder, to make liim a king !
Edward thy son, which now is Prince of
Wales,
For Edward my son, which was Prince of
Wales, 200
Die in his youth by like untimely violence !,
Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen.
Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self !
Long mayst thou live to wail tliy children's
loss;
And see another, as I see tliee now,
Deck'd in thy rights, as ^hou art stall'd in
mine !
Long die tliy happy days before thy death ;
And, after many lengthen'd hours of grief.
Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen!
Rivers and Dorset, you were standers by, 210
And so wast thou. Lord Hastings, when my
son
Was stabb'd with bloody daggers s God, I pray
him.
That none of you may live your natural age^
But by some unlook'd accident cut off!
Glou. Have done thy charm, tlmu hateful'
wither'd hag!
Q. Mar. And leave out thee ? stay, dog, for
thou shalt hear me.
If heaven have any grievous plague in store
Exceeding those tliat 1 can wish ui)oa thee,
O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe.
And then hurl down their indignation 220
On thee, the troubler of tlie poor world's
Xieace!
The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul!
Thy friends suspect for fraitors wliile thou
livest,-
And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends!
No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine.
Unless it be whilst some turmentiug dream
Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils !
Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog.
Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity
The slave of nature and the'son of hell! 230
Thou slander of thy mother's heavy womb '
Thou loathed issue of thy Lather's loins ! )
Thou lag of honor ! thou dete.sted—
Glou. Hargaret. ....
Q. Mar. Richard!
Glou. ■ Ha,!
Q. Mar. , . I call thee not.
Glou. I cry tiiee 'mercy then, for Irhad
thought
That tliQU hadst qall'd me aU these bitter
names.
KTNG RICHARD III.
SCENB III.]
Q. Mar. Wby, so I did ; but look'd for no
reply.
0, let me make the period to my curse 1
OUni.' "Tis done by me, and ends in ' Mar-
toret*'
Q. Mix. Thus have you breathed your curse
' against yonrseii. 240
Q. Mar. Poor painted queen, vain flourish
of my fortune !
Why strew st thou sugar on that bottled spider.
Whose deadly web ensiiareth thee about ?
Fool, fool ! thou whet'St a knife to kill thy¬
self.
The time will come when thou shalt wish for
me
To help thee curse that poisonous bunch-back'd
toad.
Hasft. False-boding woman, end thy frantic
curse,
Lest to thy harm thoU move our patience.
Q. Mar. Foul shame upon yon ! you have
all moved mine.
Rio. Were you well served, yon would be
taught your duty; ' ' 250
Q. Mar. To serve me well, you all should
do me duty.
Teach me to be your queen, and you my sub¬
jects :
O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that
duty t
Dor. Dispute not with her ; she is lunatic.
Q. Mar. Peace, master marquess, you are
malapert:
Your flre-new stamp of honor is- scarce cur¬
rent.
O, that your young nobilily could judge
What 'twere to lose it, and be miserable !
They that stand high have many blasts to
shake them ;
And if they fall, they dash themselves to
pieees. 2fi0
QUm. Good Counsel, marry : leam it, leara
it, marquess.
Dor. It toucheth you, my lord, as much as
me.
Glori. Tea, and much more t but I was
born so high,
Our aery buildeth in the cedar's top.
And dallies with the wind and scorns the sun.
Q. Mar. And turns the sun to shade ; alas !
alas !
Witness my son, now in the shade of death ;
Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy
wrath
Hath in eternal darkness folded up.
Your aery buildeth in our aery's ne.st. 270
O God, that seest it, do not suffer it!
As it was won with blood, lost be it so t
Buck. Have done ! for sh^e, if not for
charity. •
Q. Mar. Urge neither charity nor shame to
me :
Uncharitably with me have you dealt.
And shamefully by you my hopes are butch¬
er'd.
liy charity is outrage, life my shame
231
And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage!
Buck. Have done, have done.
Q. Mar, O minceiy Buckingham, I'll kiss
thy hand, , 280
In sign of league and amity with thee :
Now lair befal thee and thy noble liouse !
Thy ^rments lue not spotted with our blood,
Nor tliou witliin tlie coinit^ss of my ciii-se.
Buck. Nor no one here ; for cuises. never
pass
The lips of tliose that breatlie them in the air.
Q. Mar. I'ii not believe but they ascend
the sky.
And there awake God's gentie-sleeping peace.
0 Buckingham, hike heed of yonder dog !
Look, when he fawns, he bites ; and when he
bites, 21X)
His venom tootli will rankle to the death:
Have not to do witli him, beware of him ;
Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on
him.
And all tlieir mini.sters attend on liim.
Glou. Wliat doth she say, my Lord of
Buckingham 7
Buck. Nothing that T respect, my gracious
lord.
Q. Mar. What, dost tbou scorn me for my
gentle counsel ?
And soothe the devil that I warn thee from 7
0, butremember this another day.
When he shall split tliy very heart with sor¬
row, SOO
And say imor Margaret was a prophetess!
Live each of you the subjects to his hate,
And he to yours, and all of you to God's !
[Exit.
Hast. My hair doth stand on end to hear
her curses. '
Rio. And so doth mine : I muse why she's
at liberty. . ,
Gloti, 1 cannot blame her : by God's holy
mother.
She hath had too much wrong ; and I repent
My i)art thereof that 1 have done to her.
Q. Eliz. I never did her any, to niy knowl¬
edge.
Glou. But you have all the vantage of her
wrong. 310
1 was too hot to do somebody good.
That is too cold in thinking of it now.
Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid ;
He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains :
God pardon them that are the cause of it 1
Riv. A virtuous and a Christian-like con¬
clusion.
To pray for them that have done sciithe to us.
Glou. So do 1 ever : [Aside] being well-
advised.
For had 1 cursed now, I had Cursed myself.
' Enter Caxesby.
I Cafes. Madam, his majesty doth call for
you; 320
And for your grace 5 and you, my noble lords.
Q. Eliz. Catesby, we come. Lords, wUl
you go with us 7
KTNG RICHARL HI.
282
KING RICHARD III.
[Act j.
Riv. Madam, we will attend your grace.
[£xeunt all but Oloucestcr.
Gl(m I do the wrong, and first begin to
brawl.
The secret mischiefs that I set abroach i
I lay nnto the grievous charge of others.
Clarence, whom I, indeed, have laid in dark¬
ness,
I do beweep to many simple gulls i
Namely, to Hastings, Derby, Buckingham ;
And sa^y it is the queen and her ailles ^
That stir the king against the duke my bro¬
ther. '
Now, they believe it; and withal whet me
To be revenged on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey :
But then 1 sigh ; and, with a piece of scrip¬
ture,
Tell them that God bids us do good for evil:
And thus I clothe my naked villaiiy i
With old odd ends stolen out of holy writ;
And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.
Etila- two Murderers.
But, soft! here come my executioners.
How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates!
Are you now going to dispatch this deed ? 341
Fir$t Mitrd. We are, my lord ; and come
to have the warrant,
That we may be admitted where he is.
Glou. Well thought upon ; I have it here
about mo. [Gives the warrani.
When you have done, repair to Crosby Place.
But, sirs, be sudden in the execution.
Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead ;
For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaiis i
May move your hearts to pity if you mark
him.
First Murd. Tush ! 350
Fear not, my lord, we will not stand to prate ;
Talkers are no good doers : be assured
We come to use our hands and nut our
tongues.
Glou. Your eyes drop millstones, when
fools' eyes drop tears:
I like you, lads ; about your business straight;
Go, go, dispatch.
First Murd. We will, my noble lord.
[Exeunt.
Scene IV. London. The Tower.
Enter Clarence and Brakenbury. ^
Brak. Why looks your grace so heavily to¬
day ?
Clar. O, I have pass d a miserable night.
So full of ugly ^hts, of ghastly dreams,
That, as I am a Christian faithful man,
I would not spend another such a night.
Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days,
1^ full of dismal terror was the time !'
Brak. What was your dream ? I long to
hear you tell it.
Clar. Methoughts tliat I had broken from
the Tower,
And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy ; 10
And, in my company, my brother Gloucester;
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk
Upon, the hatches : thence wq lookecl toward
England,
And cited up a tliousand fearful times, <
During tlie wars of York and Liiucaster
That had befall'ii us. As we paced along
UiKm the giddy footing of tlie hatches,
Methought that Gloucester stumbled ; and, in
falling, ,,
Struck me, that thought to stay him, over¬
board.
Into the tumbling billows of the main. 20
Lord, Lord ! methought, what pain it was to
drown 1
What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears 1
What ugly sights of death within mine eyes .'
Methouglit I saw a thousand fearful wrecks ;;
Ten thousand men that fishe,s gnaw'd ui>ou ;
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl.
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels.
All scatter'd in the bottoinof the sea:
Some lay in dead men's skulls ; and, in those
holes 29
Where eyes did once inhabit, tliere were crept,
As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems.
Which woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep,
And mock'd the dead bones tiiat lay scat
ter'd by. .
Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of
deatli ,
To gaze uixm the secrets of the deep 2
Cla»'. Methought I had ; and often did I
.strive
To .yield the ghost: but still the envious flood
Kept in my soul, and would not let it fprth
To seek the empty, vast and wandering air ;
But sinother'd it within my i>anting bulk, 40
Which almost burst to belch it in tlie sea.,
.. Brak. Awaked you not, with Gus sor^
agony ?
Clar. O, no, . my dream was lengtheu'd
after life ;
O, then began the temiiest to my soul,
Who pass'd, methought, the raehuicholy flood.
With that grim ferryman which poets write, of,
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.
The first that tliere did greet my stranger soul.
Was my great father-in-law, renowned War¬
wick : 49
Wiiocried aloud, 'What scouige for iierjury
Can this dork monarchy afford false Clarence?'
And so he vanish'd : tlien came wandering by
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair
Dabbled in blood ; and he sqiieak'd outaloud,
' Clarence is come ; false, fleeting, perjured
Clarence,
That stabb'd me in tlie field by "fewksbury ;
Seize on him. Furies, take him to yoiu "tor¬
ments !'
With tiiat, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends
Environ'd me about, and howled in mine ears
Such hideous cries, tliat with the very noise
I trembling waked, and for a season after 61
Could not believe but that 1 was in hell,
Such teiTible impression made the dream.
Brak. No marvel, m" lord, though, it af¬
frighted you;
SOEN^ IV.]
KING JtTCBARD ITI.
233
.1 promise vo^ I am afraid to hear vou tell k.
' Clar, O Brakenbnry, I have done tho^e
things,
Which now bear evidence against my soul,
For Eidward's sake ; and see how he requites
me!
0 God ! if my deep prayers cannot appease
thee.
But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds, 70
Yet execute thy wrath in me alone,
0, spare my guiltless wife and my poor chil¬
dren !
1 pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me ;
My soul is neavy, and I fain would sleep.
Brak. ' I will, my lord: God ^ve your stuce
good rest! ' [CTorence sleeps.
Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours.
Makes the night morning, and the hoon-tide
night.
Princes nave bnt their titles for their glorieh.
An outward honor for an inward toil ;
And, for unfelt imagination, SP
They often feel a world of restless cares:
So tltat, betwixt their titles and low names,
There's nothing differs bnt the outward fame.
Enter the iioo Murderers.
First. Mvrd. Uo ! who's here ?
BraJc. In Grtl's name what are you, and
how came you hither ? '
First Mxrd. I would spesik with Clarence,
and I came hither on my legs.
BnBc. Yea, are you so brief ?
See. Murd. O sir, it is better to be brief
than tedious. ' Show him our commission;
talk no more. [Brakenhury reads it.
Brak. I am, in this, commanded to deliver
The noble Duke of Clarence to your bauds :
I will not reason what is meant hereby,
Because I will be guUtless^f the meaning.
Here are the keys, there sits the duke asleep :
I'll to the king; and signify to him
Tliat thus I have resign'd my charge to you.
First Murd. Do.so, it is a point of wisdom:
fare you well. [Exit Brakenhury. 100
Sec. Murd. Wliat, shall we stab him as he
sleeps ?
First Murd. No i tlien he vrill say 'twas
done cowardly, when he wakes.
Sec. Murd. When he wakes ! why, fool,
he sliall never wake till the judgment^ay.
First Murd. Why, then he will say we
stabbed him sleeping.
Sec. Murd. The urging of that word ' judg¬
ment' hath bred a kind of remorse hijne. 110
First Murd. Wliat, art thou afraid ?
Sec. Murd. Not to kill him, having a war¬
rant for it; but to be damned for killing him,
from which no warrant can defend us.
First Murd. I thought thoifhadst been res¬
olute.
Sec. Murd. So I am, to let him live. ■
First Murd. Back to the Duke of Glouces¬
ter, tell him so.
Sec. Murd. I pray thee, stay a while ; 1
hope my holy humor will change ; 'twas
wont to hold t e but while one would tell
twenty.
First Murd. How dost thou feel tliyself
now ? ' ' ■
Sec. Murd. 'Faith, some certain dregs of
couscieuue are yet within me.
First Murd. Remember our reward, when
the deed is done.
Sec. Murd. 'Zounds, he dies: I had forgot
the reward. 129
First Murd. 'Wliere is thy conscience now?
Sec. Murd. In tlie Duke of Gloucester',
purse.
First Murd. So when he oi)ens hie purse fe-
give us our reward, thy conscience flies out.
5^. Murd. Let it go ; there's few or none
will entertain it.
First Murd. How if it come to thee again ?
Sec. Murd I'll not meddle with it: it is a
dangerous thing : it makes a man a coward :
a man cannot steal, bnt it accuseth him ; lie
cannot swear, but it checks him ; he cannot
lie with his neighbor's wife, but it detects
him ; 'tis a blushing shnmefast spirit that
mutinies in a man's bosom ; it fills one full of
obstacles it made me once restore a purse of
gold that I found ; it beggars any man that
keeps it; it is turned out of all towns and
cities for a dangerous thing ; and every man
that iTteans to live well endeavors to trust to
himself and to live without it.
First Murd. 'Zounds, it is even now at my
elbow, persuading me not to kill the duke. l.'JO
Sec. Murd. Take the devil in thy mind,
and believe him not: lie would insinuate with
thee but to make thee sigh.
First Murd. Tut, I am strong-framed, he
cannot prevail with me, I warrant thee.
Sec. Murd. Spoke like a tall fellow that
respects his reputation. Come, shall we to
this gear ?
First Murd. Take him over the costard
with the hilts of thy sword, and then we will
chop him in the malmsey-butt in the next
room. 161
■ Sec. Murd. O excellent device! make'a
sop of him.
First Murd. Hark I he stirs ; shall I strike ?
' See. Murd. No, first let's reason with him.
C'far. Where art thou, keeiier ? give me a
cup of wine.
Sec. Murd. You shall have wine enough,
my lord, anon.
Clar. In God's name, what art thou '
Sec. Murd. A man, as you are. 170
Clar. But not, as I am, royal.
Sec. Murd. Nor yon, as we are, loyal.
Clar. Tliy voice is thunder, but thj'looks
are humble.
Sec. Mnrd. My voice is now tlie king's, iny
looks mine own.
Clar. How darkly and how deadly dost
thou speak !
Your eyes do menace me : why look you pale ?
Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you
come? ' '
jS4
Both. To, to, to—
Clar. To murder me ?
Both. Ay, ay.
C?ar. You scarcely have the hearts to teU
me so, ' 180
And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it.
Wherein, my friends, have I offended youi?
First Mum. Offended us yon have not, but
the king.
Clar. I shall bo reconciled to him again.
Sec. Murd. Never, my lord ; therefore pre¬
pare to die. [of men
Clar. Are you 0.11171 forth from out a world
To shiy the innocent ? What is my offence 1
Where are the evidence that do accuse me ?■
What lawful quest h.ave given their verdict up
Unto the frowning judge ? or who pronounced
The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death ?
Before I be convict by course of law,
To' tlireaten me with death is most unlawful,
I charge you, as yon hope to h.ive redemption
By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous
sins.
That you depart and lay no hands on me ;
The deed you midertake is damnable.
First Murd. What we will do, we do upon
command.
Sec. Murd. And he that hath commanded
is the kiug.
Clar. Erroneous vassal 1 the great King of
kings 200
Hath in the tables of his law commanded
That thou shalt do no murder : and wilt thou,
then.
Spurn at his edict and fulfil a man's ?
Take heed ; for he holds vengeance in his
hands,
To hurl upon their heads that break his law.
Stec, Murd. And that same vengeance doth
he hurl on thee,
For false forswearing and for murder too :
Thou didst receive the holy sacrament,
To fight in quarrel of the house of Lancaster.
First Murd. And, like a ti-aitor to the name
of God, 210
Didst break that vow ; and with thy treacher¬
ous blade
Unrip'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son.
Sec. Murd. Whom thou wert sworn to
cherish and defend.
First Murd. How canst thou urge God's
dreadful law to us.
When thou hast broke it in so dear degree ?
Clar. Alas ! for whose sake did I that ill
deed?
For Edward, for my brother, for his sake:
Why, sirs.
He sends ye not to murder me for this ;
For in this sin he is as deep as I. 220
If God will be revenged for this deed, •
O„know you yet, he doth it publicly :
Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm ;
He needs no indirect nor lawless course
To cut off those that have offended him.
iVsf Murd. Who made thea, then, a bloody
minister,
[Act.1.
When gallant-springing brave PUurtMeuet,
That princely novice, was struck dead by thee?
Clar. My brother's love, the devil, and my
rage.
First Murd. Thy brother's love, our puty,
and thy fault, 230
Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee.
Clar. Oh, if you love my brother, hate not
me; , ' ,
I am his brother, and I love him well.
If you be hired for meed, go back again,
And I will send you to my brother Gloucester,
Who shall reward you better for my life
Than Edward will for tidings of my deatn.
Sec. Murd. You are deceived, ypur brother
Gloucester hates you.
Clar.. O, no, he loves me, and he holds me
dear: , ,
Go you to him from me.
Both. Ay, so we will. 240
Clar. Tell him, when that opr princeiv
father York
Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm.
And charged us from his. soul to love each
, other, ^ I
He little thought of this divided friendship : '
Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep.
First Murd. Ay, millstones ; as be lessou'd
US to weep.
Clar. O, do not slander him, for he is kind.
First Murd. Bight,
As snow in harvest. Thou deceivest thyself :
'Tis he that sent us hither now to slaughter
thee. , ,, .
Clar. It cannot be ; for when I x>arted with
him, [sobs.
He hugg'd mq in his arms, and swore, w^itb
That he would labor my delivery,
Sec. Murd. Why, so he doth, now he der
livers thee
From this world's* thraldom to the joys of
heaven.
First Murd. Make peace with God, for you
must die, my lord.
Clar. Hast thou that holy feeling In thy
soul.
To counsel me to make my peace with God,
And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind.
That thou wilt war with God by murdering
, me? ^
Ah, sirs, consider, he that set you on
To do this deed will hate yon for the deed.
Sec. Murd. What shall we dd ?
Clar. Relent, and save your souls.
First Murd. Relent!'tis cowardly and wo¬
manish.
Cfar. Not to relent is beastly, savage, devil¬
ish. ,
Which of you, if you were a prince's son.
Being pent from liberty, as I am now.
If two such murderers as yourselves came to
you.
Would not entreat for life 7 ,
My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks 270
O, if thine eye be not a flatterer,
Come thou im my side, and entreat for me
KING RICHARD III.
SceRB l'.]
KING niCHARD TIL
285
As you would beg, were you in my distress:
A b^Egiug prince what beg^r pities not?
Sec. Mum. Look behiim you, my lord- '
First Murd. Take that, and that! if all
this will not do, [Stabs him.i'
I'll drown yon in the malmsey-butt within.
" ' ■ ■ [E'xit, with the body.
Sic. Murd. A bloody deed, and desperately
dispatch'd !
How fain, like Pilate, would 1 wash my hands
Cf this most grievous guilty murder done !
,, Re-enter First Murderer.
First Murd. liow now ! what mean'st
thou, that thou help'st me not? 281
By heavens, the duke shall know how slack
. thou art i .
Sec. Murd. I would he . knew that 1 had
saved his brother!
Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say ;
For I repent me that the dukei is slain. [Exit.
First Murd. So do not I : go, coward as
' thou art. '
Now must I hide his body in some hole.
Until the duke take; order for his burial:
And when I have my meed, I must away; 289
For this will out, and here I ipust not stay.
ACT It
Scene I. Londont ' The palace.
Flourish. Enter Kino Edwakd sicJc, Queen
Euizabeth, Dorset, Rivers, Hastings,
Buckinouam, Grby, and others.
K. Edw. Why, so : now have I done a good
day's work
Tou peers, continue this united league :
I every day expect an embassage
From my Redeemer to redeem me hence ;
And now in peace my soul shall part to heaven.
Since I have set my friends at peace on earth.
Rivers and Hastings, take each other's hand ;
Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love.
Riv. By heaven, my heart is purged from
nudging hate : . 9
And with my hand I seal my true heart's love.
Hast. So thrive R as I truly swear the like! i
K. Edw, Take heed you dally not before
your king ;
Lest he that is the supreme King of kings
Confound your hidden falsehood, and award
Either of yon to be the other's eadv
Hast. So prosper I, es I swear perfect love !
Riv. And I, as 1 love Hastings > with my
heart 1
K. Edw. Madam, yourself Are not exempt
in this, .. .1
Nor vour son Dorset, Buckingham, nor you ;
You nave been factions one against the other.
Wife, love Lord Hastings,- let him kiss your
hand ■ -21
And what yon do, do it unfelgnedly.
Q. Eliz. Here, Hastings ; I will nevermore
remember-
Our former hatred, so tlirive I and mine
K. Edw. Dorset, embrace him ; Hastings,
love lord mai-quess. [test.
Dor. This intercliange of love, I here pro-
Upon my iiart shall be unviolable.
Hast. And so swear 1, - my lord
[ They embrace.
K. Edw. Now, princely Buckingham, seal
thou this league
With tliy embi-acements to my wife's allies.
And make me happy in your unity. , 31
Buck. Whenever Buckingham doth turn
his hate i - . .
On you or yours [<o f/te.Queen], but with all
duteous love
Doth cherisli yon and yours, God punish me
Witli hate in those where 1 exiiect most love !
When I have most need to employ a friepd.
And most assured that he is a friend.
Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile.
Be he unto me ! this do I beg of God,
When I am cold in zeal to you odours. 40
. . [Tneyembrace.
K. Edw. A pleasing cordial, princely Buck¬
ingham, .
Is this thy vow unto my sickly heart.
There wanteth now our brother Gloucester
here.
To make the perfect period of this peaee.
Buck. And, in good time, here comes the
noble duke.
Enter Gloucester.
Glou. Good morrow to my sovereign king
and queen :
And,* princely peers, a happy time of day !
K. Edw. Happy, indeed, as we have spent
the day.
Brother, we have done deeds of charity ;
Made peace of enmity, lair love of hate, 50
Between these swelling wrqng-inceused peers.
Glou. A blessed labor, my most sovpreigu
liege :
Amongst this princely heap, if any here.
By false intelligence, or wrong surmise,
Hold me a foe
If I unwittingly, or in my rage.
Have aught committed that is hardly borne
By any iu this presence, I desire
To reconcile me to Ids friendly peace :
'Tis death to me to be at enmity ; 60
1 hate it, and desire all good men's love.
First, madam, I «itreat true peace of you.
Which I will purchase with my duteous service;
Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham,
If ever any grudge were lodged between us ;
Of yon. Lord Rivers, aud. Lord Grey, of you ;
That all without desert-have frowii'd on me ;
Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen ; indeed, of s^lh
I do not know that Englishman alive
With whom my -soul is any jot at odds 70
More than the infant tliat is born to-night:
I thank my God for my humility.
Q. Eliz. A holy day shall this be kept here¬
after : [pounded.
I would to God all strifes were well com-
My sovereign liege, I do beseech your majesty
236
KING RICHARD III.
I IAot IIv
To take ottr brother Clarence to yonr grace.
0/oti. Why, madam, have I offer'd love for
this,
To be so flouted in this royal presence ?
Who knows not that the noble duke is dead ?
[They Mstart.
Yon do him injury to scorn his corse. 80
Ric, Who knows not he is dead i who
' Imows he is?
Q. Eliz. All-seeing heaven, what a world
is this ! [rest ?
Bvcic. Look I so pale. Lord Dorset, as the
Dor. Ay, my good lord ; and no one in this
presence
But his red color hath forsook his cheeks.
K. Ectw. Is Clarence dead ? the order was
revereed. •
Glou. But he, poor soul, by your first order
died.
And that a winged Mercury did bear ;
Some tiirdy cripple bore the countermand.
That came too lag to see him buried. 90
God grant that some, less noble and less loyal.
Nearer in bioody thoughts, but not in blood.
Deserve not worse tiian wretched Clarence did,'
And yet go current from suspicion ! <
Enter Derby.
Der. A boon, my sovereign, for my service
done !
K. Edw. I pray thee, peace : my soul is full
of sorrow.
Der. I will not rise, unless your highness
grant.
K. Edw., Then speak at once what is it thou
demand'st. [life ;
Der. The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's
Who slew to-day a righteous gentleman 100
Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk.
K. Edw. Have I a tongue to doom my bro¬
ther's death.
And shall the siime give pardon to a slave ?
My brother slew no man bis fault was
thought.
And yet his punishment was cruel death.
Who sued to me for him ? who, in my rage,
Kneel'd at my feet, and bade me be Mvised ?
Who si>ake of brotherhood? who spake of love?
Who told me how the poor soul did forsake
The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me ?
Who told ihe, in the field by Tewksbury, HI
When Oxford had me down, he rescued me.
And said, ' Dear brother, live, and be a king' ?
AVho told me, when we both lay in tlie field
Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me
Even in his own garments, and gave himself.
All thin and naked, to tlie numb cold night ?
All this from my remembrauee brutish wrath
Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you
Had so much grace to imt it in my mind. 120
But when your carters or your waiting-vassals
Have done a drunken slaughter, and defaced
The precious image of our dear Redeemer,
You straight are on vour knees for pardon,
pards»,
And I unjustly too, must gnnisit yv..
But for my brother not a man would speak,
Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself \
For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all
Have been beholding to him in his life ;
Yet none of you would once plead for his life.
0 God, I fear thy justice will take hold . 1131.
On me, and you, and mine, and yours for this .'
Come, Hastings, help me to my doset. Oh,
poor Clarence !
[Exeunt some with King and Queent
Glou. This is the fruit of rashness 1 Mark'd,
you not
How that the guilty kindred of the queen
Look'd pale when they did hear of Clarence'
death ? '
0, they did urge it still unto the king!
God will revenge it. But come, let us in.
To comfort Edward with our company.
Buck. We wait upon your grace. [Exeunt
i ■ • ' . I
Scene H. ' The palace. ■
• ' 1' ' 4 ,
Enter the Duchess op York, with the two
■ children Clarence. ,
Boy. Tell me, good grandam, is our father
dead ?
Duch. No, boy. ''''
Boy. Why do you wring- your hands, and
beat your breast, ,
And cry ' O Clarbnce, my unhappy son !'
Girl. Why do you look pn and shake
' • your head,
' And call us wretches, orphans, castaways,
■ If that our noble father be alive ?
Duch. My pretty cousins, you mistake me
much; . ' < i'
> I do lament the sickness of the king.
. As loath to lose him, not your father's death i
It were lost sorrow to wail one that's lost. It
Boy. Then, grandam, you conclude that be
is dead.
The king my uncle is to blame for tliis ;
God will revenge it; whom I will importune . i
With daily prayers all to that effect, . 11
Girl. And so will L '
Duch. Peace, children, peace 1 die .king doth
love you well!
Incapable and shallow innocents.
You caunot guess who caused your father's
death. ,
Boy. Grandam, we can ; for my good uncle
! Gloucester . 2(1
Told me, the king, provoked by the queen, ,,
Devised impeachments to imprison him '
And when my uncle told me so, he wept.
And hugg'd me in his arm, and kindly kiss'd
my cheeki < . > ^ i
Bade me rely on him as on my father, i
And he would love me dearly as lus child.
DucA. Oh, that deceit ^ould steal such
gentle shapes, it . i . ,
And with a virtuous vizard hide foul gudle 1
He is my son ; yea, and therein my s^me;
Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit, 30
Son. Think vou my uncle did, dissemble,
grandJui. j , i - ,ii i i , . u 11
ScEKfc ]!.]
Dueh. ■ Ay, boy.
Son. I cannot think it. Hark I what noise
is this f I
Enter Quekx ^ltzabetb, with her hair ahout
her ears; Rivers, and Dorset after her.
Q. Eliz. Oh, who shall hinder me to wail
and weep, I >
To chide my fortune, and torment myself ?
I'll join with black despair against my soul.
And to myself become an enemy.
I Duck. What means this scene of rude ina^
patience ?
Q. Eliz. To make an act of tra^c violence :
Edward, my lord, yonr son, our king, is dead.
Why grow Uie branches now the root is
withcr'd ? 41
Why wither not the leaves the sap being gone?
If you will live, lament; if die, brief.
That our swift-winged souls may cat^ the
king's;
Or, like obedient subjects, follow him
To his new kingdom of perpetual rest.
Duch. Ah, so much interest have I in thy
• sorrow
As I bad title in thy noble husband I
1 have bewept a worthy husband's deatli, <
And lived by looking on his images a 50
But now two mirrors of his princely semblance
Are craek'd in pieces by malignant death.
And I for comfort have but one false glass,
Which grieves me when 1 see my shame in
him.
Thou art a widow ; yet thou art a mother,
And hast ibe comfort of thy children left thee:
But death hath snatch'd my husband from
mine arms, [limbs,
And plnek'd two crutches from my feeble
Edward and Clarence. O, what cause have 1,
Thine being but a moiety of my grief, 60
To overgo 9iy ^daints and drown thy cries !
Boy. Good aunt, you wept not for our fa¬
ther's death;
How can we aid you with our kindred tears?
Girl. Our fatherless distress was left »m-
moan'd ;
Yourwidow-dolor likewise be unwept I
Q. Eliz. Give mo no help in lamentation ;
1 am not barren to bring forth cmnplaiuts :
All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes.
That 1, being govern" d by the watery moon,
May send forth plenteous tears to drown the
world t '70
Oh for my husband, for my dear lord Edward!
Chil. Oh tor our kither, for our dear lord
Clarence !
Duch. Alas for both, both mine, Edward
and Clarence!
Q. Eltzj What stay had I but Edward ? and
he's gone. -
Chil. What stay had we but Clarence ? and
he'sgone.
Duch. What stays had 1 but they ? and they
are gone.
Q. Eliz. Was never widow liad so dear a
loss!
287
Chil. Were never orphans bad so dear a
loss! . . I [loss!
Duch. Was never mother had so dear a
Alas, I am the mother of these moans ! 80
Their woes are parceU'd, mine are general.
She for an Edward weeps, and so do 1;
1 for a Clarence weep, so dotli not she :
These babes for Clarence weep and so do 1
1 for an Edward weep, so do not they :
Alas, you three, on me, threefold distress'd.
Pour all your tears ! I am your sorrow's nurse.
And I wUi pamper it with lamentations.
Dor. Comfort, dear mother ; God is much
d'lspleased
That you take with unthankfulness his doing :
In common worldly things, 'tis call'd ungrate¬
ful.
With dull unwillingness to repay a debt
Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent;
Much more to be thus opposite with heaven.
For it requires the royal debt it lent you.
Biv. Madam, bethink you, like a careful
mother.
Of the young prince your son : send straight
for him ; <
Let him be crown'd ; in him your comfort
lives :
Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's
grave.
And plant your joys in living Edward's throne.
Enter Gloucester, Buckingham, Derbv,
Hastings, and Ratclifp.
Glou. Madam, have comfort: all of ns hai e
cause .161
To wail the dimming of our shining star ;
But. none can cure their harms by wailing
them.
Madam, my mother, I do cry yon mercy ; ,
1 did not see your grace : humbly on my knee
1 crave your blessing.
Duch. God bless thee ; and put meekness
in thy mind, i
Love, charity, obedience, and true duty !
' Glou. [Aside] Amen : and make me die a
good old man I
That is the butt-end of a mother's blessing : ilO
1 marvel why her gmce did leave it out.
Buck. You cloudy princes and heart-sor¬
rowing peers, '
That bear this mutual heavy load of moan,
Now cheer each other in each other's love :
Though we have spent our harvest of this kiP^,'
AVe are to reap the harvest of his son.
The broken rancor of your high-swoln heai-te,
But lately splinter'd, knit, and join'd together.
Must gently be preserved, chensh'd. and kept;
Me seemetii good, that, with some little train.
Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be
fetch'd
Hither to London, to be crown'd our king.
Rio. AVhy with .somq little train, my Lord
, of Buckingham ?
Buck. Marry, my lord, lest, by a multitude.
The new-heal'd wound of malice should breac.
out;
£JNG RICHARD in.
238
KING RICHARD III.
[Act ii.
Which would be so much the more dangerous,
By how much the estate is greeu aud yet uii-
govern'd :
Where every horse bears his commanding rein,
And may direct his course as please iiimseif,
As well the fearof harm, as harm apparent, 130
In my opinion, ought to be prevented.
Olm. I hope tlie iring made peace with all
of us •
And tlie compact is firm and true in me.
Riti. And .so in me ; and .so, I think, in all t
Yet, since it is but green, it should be put
To no apparent likelihood of breach.
Which haply by much company might be
urged :
Therefore I say with noble Buckingham,
That it is meet so few should fetch the prince.
Hast. And so sajr I. 140
(flou. Then be it so ; and go we to de¬
termine
Who they shali be that straight shall post to
Ludlow.
Madam, and you, my mother, will you go
To give your censures in this weighty business?
I liearts. ,
[Rxeunt all but Buckingham and Gloucester.
Buck. My lord, whoever journeys to the
prince.
For God's .sake, let not us two be behind;
For, by the way, I'll sort occasion.
As index to tlie story we late talk'd of.
To part the queen's proud kindred from the
king. LW
Glou. My other self, my counsel's consis¬
tory.
My oracle, my prophet! My dear cousin,
I, like a child, will go by thy direction.
Towards Ludlow then, for we'll not stay be¬
hind. [Exeunt.
ScBlTB III. London. A street.
Enter two Citizens meeting.
Eirst at. Neighbor,, well jnet: whither
away so fast ?
Sec. at. I promise you, I scarcely know
myself :
Hear you the news abroad ?
First at. Ay, that the king is dead.
Sec. at. Bad news, by'r lady ; seldom
comes the better :
I fear, I fear 'twill prove a troublous world. '
Enter another Citizen.
Third Cit. Neighbors, God speed !
First at. ' ~ Give yoh good morrow, sir.
Third Cit. Doth this news hold of good
King Edward's death ?
Sec. Cit. Ay, sir,''it is too true ; God help
the while !
Third Cit. Then, masters, look to see a
troublous world.
First Cit. No, no; by God's good grace
his son shall reign. 10
Hiird Cit. Woe to the land tliat's govem'd
by a child 1
Sec. Cit. In him there is a hope of govern¬
ment.
That iu his nonage council under him,
And in his full and ripen'd years himself,
No doubt, shall then and till then govern
well. [the Sixth
First Cit. So stood the state when Henry
Was crown'd in Paris but at nine months old.
Third Cit. Stood the state so ? No, no,
good friends, God wot;
For then this land was famously enrich'd
With politic grave counsei ; tlien the king 20
Had virtuous uncles to protect his grace.
First Cit. Why, so hath this, Iwth by the
father and mother. [the father.
Third Cit. Better it were they all came by
Or by the father there were none at all;
Fo: emulation now, who shall be nearest.
Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not
O, full of danger is the Duke of Gloucester ! '
Aud the queen's sous and brothers haughtand
proud : ■
And were they to be ruled, aud nbt to rule, .
This sickly laud might solace as befqj-e. 30
First Cit. Come, come, we fear the worst;
all shall be well.
Third CU. When clouds ai>peaT, wise men
put on their cloaks ;
When gi-eat leaves fall, the winter is at hand ;
When the sun sets, who doth not look for
night ?
Untimely storms make men expect a dearth
All may be well ; but, if God sort it so,
'Tis more than we deserve, or I expect •
Sec. Cit. Truly, the souls of men are fnll
of dread :
Ye cannot reason almost with a man
That looks not Iveavily and full of fear. ■ ■ 40
Third Cit. Before the times of change, stiii
is it so :
By a divine instinct men's minds mistrust
Ensuing dangers ; as, by proof, we see >
The waters swell before a boisterous storm.
But leave it all to God. Whither away ?
Sec. Cit. Marry, we were sent for to the
justices.
Third Cit: And so was I : I'll bear yoa
company, ■ [Exeunt.
Scene IV. London. ThepeUace.
Enter the Archbishop of York, the young
Duke op York, Qceen Elizabeth, and
the Dpchess ,of York.
Arch. Last night, I hear, they lay at North¬
ampton ; '
At Stony-Stratford will they be to-night:
To-morfow, or next day, they will be here.
Duch. I long with all my heart to see tiie
prince :
I hopehc is much grown since last I saw him.
Q. Eliz. But 1 hear, no ; they say my son
of York
Il.ath almost overta'en him in his growtli.
York. Ay, mother ; but I would not have
it so.
SCBMB
KING RICHARD III.
231?
Dueh. Why, my young (iongin, It is good
to grow.
York. Grdudam, one night, as we did git
' at supper, 10
My uncle Kivers talk'd how I did grow
More than my brother: ' Ay,' quoui my uncle
Gloucester,
' Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow
apace
And since, methinks, I would Uot grow so fast,
]iecausa sweet flowers are slow and weeds
make haste.
Duck. Good faith, gOod faith, the saying
did not hold
In him that did object the same to thee j
He was the wretched'st thing WheU he was
young.
So long a-growing and so leisurely.
That, if this rule were true, he should be
gracious. 20
Arch. Whv, madam, so, no doubt, he is.
Duch. I hope he is ; but yet let mothers
doubt.
York. Now, by my troth, if I had been
remember'd,
I could have giveu my uncle's grace a flout.
To touch his growth nearer than he toucn'd
mine.
Duch. How, my pretty York ? I pray thee,
let me hear it.
York. Marry, they say.my uncle grew so
fast
That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old :
"Twas fuU two years ere I could get a tooth.,
Grandam, this would have been a biting jest
Duch. I pray thee, pretty York, who told
thee this'? 31
York. Grandam, his nurse.
Duch. His nurse ! why, she was dead ere
thou wert born.
York. If 'twere not she, I cannot tell who
told me.
Q. Rliz. A parlous boy : go to, you are too
shrewd. ,
Arch. Good madam, be not angry with the
child.
Q. Eliz. Pitchers have ears.
Enter « Messenger.
Arch. Here comes a messenger. What
news ?
Mess. Such news, my lord, as grieves me
to unfold.
Q. Eliz. How fares the prince ?
Mess. Well, madam, and in health. 40
Duch. What is thy news then ?
Mess. Lord Rivers and Lord Grey are sent
to Pomfret,
With them Sir Thomas Vaughan, iirisoners.
Duch. Who hath committed them ?
Mess. Tike mighty dukes
Gioncester and Buckingham.
Q. Eliz. ' For what offence ?
Mess. The sum of all I can, I have dis¬
closed ;
Why or for what these nobles were committed
Is all unknown to me, my gracious lady.
Q. Eliz. Ay me, I seethe downfall of our
house!
The tiger now hath seized the gentle hind ; 50
Insulting tyranny begins to jet
Upon the innocent and aweless throne ;
W^elcome, destruction, death, and massacre !
I see, as in a map, the end of all.
Duch. Accursed and unquiet wrangling
days.
How many of you have mine eyes beheld !
My husbaiid lost his life to get the crown
And often up and down my sons were toss'd.
For me to joy and weei> their gain and loss !
And being seated, and domestic broils CD
Olean over-blown, themselves, the conquerors.
Make war upon themselves ; blood against
blood.
Self against self : O, preposterous
And frantic outrage, end thy damned spleen ;
Or let me die, to look on death no more !
Q. Eliz. Come, come, my boy ; we will to'
sanctuary.
Madam, farewell.
Duch. I'll go along with you.
Q. Eliz. You have no cause.
Arch. My gracious lady, go ;
And thitlier bear your treasure and youri
goods.
For my part, I'll resign unto j'our grace 70
The seal I keep: and so betide to me
As well I tender you and all of yours I
Come, I'll conduct you to the sanctuaiw.
{EveurU.
ACT m.
Scene I. London. A street.
The trumpets sound. Enter the young Pbincb,
the Dukes of Gloucester and Buckino-
ham, Cardinal Bourchier, Catesby,
and others.
Buck. Welcome, sweet prince, to London,
to your chamber.
Glou. Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts'
sovereign ;
The weary way hath made you melancholy.
Prince. No, uncle ; but our crosses on the
way
Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy :
1 want more uncles here to welcome me.
Glou. Sweet prince, the untainted virtue of
your years
Hath not yet dived hlto the world's deceit:
Nor more can you distinguish of a man
Than of his outward show ; which, God he
knows, 10
Seldom or never jumpeth with the heart.
Those uncles which you want were dangerous ;
Your grace attended to their sugar'd words,'
But look'd not on the poison of their hearts :■
God keep you from them, and from such false
friends!
Prince. God keep "roe from false friends f
■ but they were none.
240
KING RICHARD m.
[ACT 111,
Glmi, My lord* the mayor of Loudon oomes
to greet you.
Enter Hie Lord Mayor and his train.
May. God bless your grace with health and
happy days!
Prince. I thank you, good my lord ; and
thank you all.
I thought my mother, and my brother York,
Would' long ere this have met us ou the way :
Fie, what a slug Is Hastings, that he comes not
To tell u^ whether they will come or no*!
Enter Lonp Hastings.'
Buck. And, lii good time, here comes the
sweating lord.
Prince. Welcome, my lord : what, will our
mother come ?
Hast. On what occasion, God he knows,
not I,
The queen your mother, and your brother
York,
Have taken sanctuary : the tender prince
Would fain have come with me to meet your
grace.
But by Ills mother was perforce withheld. 30
Back. Fie, what au Indirect and i)eevish
course
Is this of hers ! Lord cardinal, will your grace
Persuade the queen to send the Duke of TTork
Unto his princely brother presently ?
If she deny, Lord Hastings, go with him,
And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce.
Card. My Lord of Buckingham, If my weak
oratory
Can from his motlier win the Duke of York,
Anon expect him here ; but If she be obdurate
To mild entreaties, God In heaven forbid 40
We should Infringe the holy privilege
Of blessed sanctuary ! not for all this land
Would I be guilty of so deep a sin.
Buck. You are too senseless-obstinate, my
lord.
Too ceremonious and traditional:
Weigh It but with the gro.ssness of this age,
You break not .sanctuary In seizing him.
The benefit thereof Is always granted ^
To those whose dealings have deserved the
place. 50
And those who have the wit to claim the
place;
This prince hath neither claim'd it nor deserved
it;
And therefore, In mine opinion, cannot have it:
Then, taking him from thence tliat Is not there.
You break no privilege nor charter there.
Oft have I heard of sanctuary men ;
But sanctuary children ne'er till now.
, Card. My lord, you shall o'er-rule my mind
for once.
Come on. Lord Hastings, will yon go with me ?
Hast. I go, my lord.
Prince. Good lords, makeaU the speedy
haste you may. (iO
[Exezmt Cardinal and Hastinys.
Sot, uncle Gloucester, if our brother come.
Where shall we sojourn till our coronation ?
Glou. Where it seems best unto your roya^
self.
If I may counsel yon, some day or tw o
Your highness shall repose you at the Tower •
Then where yon please, and shall be thouglA
most fit ,
For your best health and recreation. ,
Prince. I do not like the Tower,, of any
place.
Did Julius Csesar build that place, my lord ?
Buck. He did, my gracious lord, begin that
place; 70
Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified
Prince. Is It upon record, or else reported
Successively from age to age, he built it ? ,
Buck. Uwn record, my gracious lord. ^
Prince. But say, my lore, it were not re-
glster'd,
Methlnks the truth should live from ago to age,)
As 'twere retail'd to all posterity.
Even to the general all-ending day. |
Gim. [Asfde] So wise so young, they say,
do never live long.
Prince. What say you, uncle ? . 30
Glou. Z say, without characters, fame lives
long.
Aside] Thus, like the formal vice. Iniquity, p
moralize two meanings In one word.
Prince. That Julius Ctesat was a famous
man ; |
With what his valor did enrich his wit,
His wit set down to make his valor live :
Death makes no conquest of this conqueror;
F'or now he lives In fame, though not In life.
I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham,—
Buck. , What, my gracious lord ?. J>0
Princei An If I live until 1 be a man,
I'll win our ancient right in France again.
Or die a soldier, as 1 lived a king.
Glou. [d.ffde] Short summers lightly haVe
a forward spring. . ,
Enter young Yobk, Hastings, and the
' Cardinal.
Buck. Now, in good time, here comes the
Duke of York.
Pi •voce. Richard of York ! hqw fares our
loving brother ?
York. Well, my dread lord ; so must I call
you now.
Prince. Ay, brother, to our grief, a^ It Is
yours •. ' 1 ■
Too late he died that mlglit have kept that title.
Which by his death hath lost much majesty.,
Glmi. How fares our cousin, noble Lord of
York ? lOl
York. I thank you, gentle uncle, 0, my
lord.
You said that Idle weeds are fast In growth : /
The prince my brother hath outgrown me far.
Glou. He hath, my lord.
York. And therefore is he Idle ?
Glou. O, my fair cousin, I must not say so.
York. Tlien Is he more beholding to you
than 1. [reign :
Glou. He m.ay couuu^d me qs ihy sove^^
SCEHE I;]
KING RICHARD III.
241
But you have power in'me as in a kinsman.
' Yorii. 1 pray you, uncle, give ine this dag¬
ger. . . lio
Giou. My dagger, little cousin ? with aU my
hhart.
Prince. A beggar, brother ?
Ycrk. Ot my kind uncle, that I know will
give ;
And being but a toy, w^hich'is no griet to give.
Glou. A greater ^ft than that I'll give my
cousin. I
York. A greater gift 1 O, that's the sword
to it.
Glou. Ay, gentle eousin, were it light
enough. ' I
Yo7-k. O, then, I see, you will part but with
light gifts; . i
In weightier things you'll say a beggar nay.
Glou...It is too heavy for your grace to wearj
York. I weigh it lightly, were it heavier. 121
Oloxi. What, would youi have my weapon,!
little lord ?
York. 1 would, tliat I might thank you as
you call me.
OUni. How ?
York. Little.
Prince. My I.«rd of York will still be cross
in talk :
Undo, your grace knows how to bear with
him.
York, You mean, to bear me, not to bear
with me :
Uncle, my brother mocks both yon and me ;
Because that I am little, like an ape, 130
Rethinks that yousltould bear me on your
I shoulders.
Buck. With what a sharp-provided wit he
' I reasons! ....
To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle,
He prettily and aptly taunts hinksell';
So cunning and so young is wonderful.
Glou. My lord, will't please you pa.ss along 1
Myself and my good consin Buckingham
WUl to your mother, to entreat of her .
To meet you at the 'Tower and welcome you.
York. What, will you go unto the Tower,!
my lord ? ■ 140
Prince. My lord protector needs will have
itso. ' ' > ■ :
York. 1 shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower.)
Glou. Why, what should you fear ?
York. Marry, my uncle ■ Clarence' angry
gho.st :i
My grandam told me he was mntder'd there.
Prince. 1 fear no uncles dead.
. Glou. Nor none that live, 1 hope. . :
Prince. ■ An if they live, 1 hope I need not
fear. '
But come, my lord ; and with a heavy heart.
Thinking on them, go 1 unto the Tower.. 150
[A Sennet. Rxeunt all^ut Gloucester,
Buckingham and Catesby.
Buck. Think you, my lord, this little pra-*
ting York
Was not hicensed by his subtle mother
taiuit and scorn you thus opprobrionsly 7
Glou. No doubt, no doubt; 0,> 'tis a par-
, lous boy ; .
Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable :
He is all the mother's, from the top to toe.
Buck. Well, let them rest. Come hither,
Catesby.
Thou are sworn as deeply to effect what we
intend '
As closely to conceal what we impart:
Thou knowlst our reasoua urged upon the
way ; 160
What think'st thou 7 is it nac ar 3asy matter
To make William Lord Hastings of our uUnd,
For the instalment of this nobie duke
In the seat royal of this famous isle 7
Cate. He for his father's sake so loves the
, prince.
That he will not be won to aught agauist him,
Buck. What think'st thou, then, of Stan¬
ley 7 what will he 7
Cate. He will do all in all as Hastiugs doth.
Buck. Well, then, no more but this : go,
gentle Catesby,
And, as it were far off, sound thou I^ord Has¬
tings, 17«
How doth he stand affected to our purpose
And snmniun him to-niorrow to the Tower,
To sit about the coronation.
If thou dost find him tractable to ns,
F.ncourage him, and show him all our rea
sons ;
If he be leaden, icy-cold, unwilling.
Be thou so too ; and so oreak off yonr talk.
And give us notice of his inclination :
For we to-morrow hold tiviJed councils.
Wherein thyself shalt highly be employ d. 18tt
Glou. Commend me to Lord William : tell
, him, Catesby,
His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries
To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret-castle ;
And bid my friend, for joy of this good news.
Give mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more. .
Buck. Good Catesby, go, effect this busi¬
ness soundly.
Cate My good lords both, with all the heed
I may.
Glou. Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere'
we sleep 7;,
Cole. You shall, my lord.
Glou. At Crosby Place, there shall you find
us both. {Exit Catesby. 190
■Buck. Now, my lord, wliat sliallwe do, if
we i>erceive
Lord Hiistiiigs will not yield to our oomplots 7
Glou. Chop off his head, man ; somewhat
we will do :
And, look, when I am king, claim thou of me
The earldom of Hereford, and the moveables
Whereof the king my brother stood possess'd:
Buck. I'll claim tliat promise at.your grace's
hands.
Glou. And look to have it yielded with all
willingness. '
Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards .
We may digest our complots in some form. 20C
... [Exeunt.
16
242
KING RICHARD III.
[ACT III.
Scene II. Before Lord Hasting^ house.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. What, ho ! my lord !
Hast. [ Within] WIio knocks at the door ?
Mess. A messenger from tlie Lord Stanley.
.Enter'Lord Hastings.
Hast. What is't o'clock ?
Mess. Upon the stroke of four.
Hast. Cannot thy master sleep these tedious
nights ?
Mess. So it should seem by that I have to
say.
First, he commeuds him to your noble lord¬
ship.
Hast. And then ?
Mess. And then he sends you word 10
He dreamt to-night tlie boar had razed his
helm :
Besides, he says there are two councils held;
And that may be determined at the one
Which may make you and him to rue at the
other.
Therefore he sends to know your lordship's
pleasure.
If presently you will take horse with him.
And with all speed post with him toward the
north,
To shun the danger that his soul divines.
Hast. Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord ;
Bid him not fear the separated councils ; ^
His honor and myself are at the one.
And at the other is my servant Catesby ;
Where nothing can proceed that toucheth us
Whereof I shall not have intelligence.
TeU*him his fears are shallow, wanting in¬
stance :
Aud for his dreams, I wonder he is so fond
To trust the mockery of unquiet slumbers :
To fly the boar before the boar pursues.
Were to incense the boar to follow us
And make pursuit where he did mean no
chase. ^
Go, bid thy ma.ster rise and come to me ;
And we will both together to the Tower,
Where, he shall see, the boar will use us
kiudly.
Mess. My gracious lord, PU tell him what
you say, ' ' [Exit.
Enter Catesby.
date. Many good morrows to my noble
lord !
Hast. Good morrow, Catesby; you are
early stirring:
What news, what news, m this our tottering
state ?
Cate.- It is a reeling world, indeed, my lord ;
And I believe 'twill never stand upright
TiU Richard wear the garland of the realm. 40
Hast. How ! wear the garland 1 dost thou
. mean the crown ?
Cate. Ay, my good lord.
Hast. I'll have this crown of mine cut from
my shoulders
Ere I will see the crown so foul misplaced.
But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it 7
date. Ay, on my life ; and hopes to find
you forward
Upon his party for the gain thereof :
Aud thereupon he sends you this news.
That this same very day your enemies.
The kindred of the queen, must die at Pom-
fret. 5C'
Hast. Indeed, I am no mourner for thai
news.
Because they have been still mine enemies:
But, that I'll give my voice on Richard's side.
To bar my master's heirs in true descent,
God knows I will not do it, to the death. - .
Cate. God keep your lordship in that gra*
cious mind !
Hast. But I shall laugh at this a twelve¬
month hence.
That they who brought me in my master's
hate,
I live to look upon their tragedy.
I tell thee, Catesby,— 60
Cate. What,' my lord 7
Hast. Ere a fortnight make me elder,
I'll send some packing that yet think not on it.
Cate. 'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious
lord, I
When men are unprepared and look not for it.
Hist O monstrous, monstrous I and bo
falls it out
With Rivers,'Vaughan, Grey: and so 'twill do
With some men else, who think themselves a^
safe
As thou and I; who, as thou know'st, are deai
To princely Richard and to Buckingham. 7(
Cate. 'The princes both make high account
of you ; -
[Aside] For they account his head upon thi
bridge.
Hast. I know they do ; and I have well de
served it.
Enter Lord Stanley.
Come on, come on ; where is your boar-spear
-man 7
Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided 7
Stan. My lord, good morrow; good mor
row, Catesby:
You may jest on, but, by the holy rood,-
I do not like these sevet^ councils, Ij
Hast. My lord,
I hold my life as dear as you do yours ; Si
And never in my life, I do protest.
Was it more precious to me than 'tis now:
Think you, but that I know our state secure,
I would be so triumphant as I am 7
Stan. The lords at Pomfret, when they rod!
from London,
Were jocund, and supposed their state wa
sure.
And they indeed had no cause to mistrust;
But yet, you see, how soon the day o'ercast.
This sudden stab of rancor I misdoubt:
Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward I
What, shall we toward the Tower 7 the day 1
spent '6
KING .MOHARD III. . 843
Scene iv.|
Hast. Come, come, h»ve with you. Wot
you what, my lord ?
To-day the lords you talk of are beheaded.
Stan. They, for their truth, might better
wear their heads [hats.
Thau some tliat have accused them wear their
But come, my lord, let us away.
EtUer a Puisuivant.
Hast. Go 9U before; I'll talk with this good
fellow, . [Exeuiti Stanley and Catesby.
How now, sirrah ! how goes the world with
thee ?
Furs. The better that your lordship please
to ask.
Hast. 1 tell thee, man, 'tis better with me
now 100
Than when I met thee last whete.now we
meet:
Then was I going prisoner to the Tower,
By tlie suggestion of tlie queen's allies ;
But now, I tell thee—keep it to thyself—
This day those enemies are put to death,
And I in better state than e'er 1 was.
Purs. God hold it, to your honor's good
content!
Hast. Gramercy, fellow : , there, drink that
forme. [Throxes him his purse.
Purs. God save your lordship ! [Exit.
Enter a Priest.
Priest. Well met, my lord; I am glad to
see your honor. 110
Hast. I thank thee, good Sir John, with all
my heart
I am in your debt for your last exercise ;
Come the next Sabbath, and I will content
you. [He whispers in his ear.
Enter Buckingham.
Buck. What, talking with a priest, lord
chamberlain ?
Tour friends at Pomfret, they do need the
^iest; '
Your honor hath no shriving work in hand.
' Hast. Good faith, and when 1 met this holy
man.
Those men you talk of came into my mind.
What, go you toward the Tower ?
Buck. I do, my lord ; but long I shaU not
stay: 120
I shall return before your lordship thence.
Hast. 'Tis like enough, for I stay diimer
there.
Buck. [Aside'] And supper too, although
thou know St it not.
Come, will you go 1
Hast. I'll wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt.
Scene HI. Pomfret Castle.
Enter Sir Richard Ratclifes«ji<A halberds,
can-yiny Rivers, Grey, and Vadghan to
death.
Bat. Come, bring forth the prisoners.
Biv. Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee
this:
To-day shalt thou behold a subject die
Por truth, for duty, and for loyalty.
Grey. God keep the prince from all the
pack of you ! . , .
A knot you are of damned blood-suckers.
Vaug. You live that shall cry woe for this
hereafter.
Bat. Dispatch ; the limit of your lives.is
out
Biv. O Pomfret, Pomfret! 0 thou bloody
prison,
Fatal and ominous to noble peers ! ' 10
Within the guilty closure of thy walls
lUchard the second here was hack'd to death ;
And, for more slander to thy dismal seat.
We jpve thee up our guiltless blood to drink.
Grey. Now Maigaret's curse is fall'n upon
our heads.
For standing by when Richard stabb'd her son.
Biv. Then cursed she Hastings, then cursed
she Buckingham, <
Then cursed she Richaid. O, remember, God,
To hear her prayers for them, as now for us!
And for my sister and her princely sons, 20
Be satisfied, dear God, with our true blood,
Which, as thou know'st, unjustly must be
spilt.
Bat. Make haste ; the hour at death is ex¬
piate. .
Biv. Come, Grey, come,yaughaa, let Us all
embrace :
And take our leave, until we meet in heaven.
[Exeunt.
Scene IV. The Tower of London.
Enter Buckingham, Derby, Hastings, the
Bishop op Ely, Rvtcuifp, Lovei., tvith
others, and take their seats at a table. ^
Hast. ' My lords, at once : the cause why we
are met "
Is, to determine of the coronation.
In God's name, speak : when is the royal day ?
Buck. Are all things fitting for that royal
time ?
Der. It is, and wants but nomination. '
Ely. To-morrow, then, I judge a happy day.
Buck. Who knows the lord protector s mind
herein?
Who is most inward with the royal duke ?
Ely. Your grace, we think, should soonest
know his mind.
Buck. Who, 1, my lord ! we know each
other's faces, 10
But for our hearts, he knows no more of mine.
Than I of yours ;
Nor I no more of his, than you of mine.
Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love.
Hast. I thank his grace, I know he loves me
well;
But, for his purpose in the coronation,
I hfwe not sounded him, nor lie deliver'd
His gracious pleasure any way therein i
But you, my noble lords, may name the time ;
And in the duke's behalf I'll give my voice, '20
Which, I presume, he'll take in gentle rub
Ui
Enter GuovcssmsBi' \
Ely. Now in good time, hen Comee the
duke himself.
Glou. My noble lords and cousins all, good
morrow.
I have been long a sleeper ; but, I hope.
My absence doth neglect no great designs,
■Which by my presence might have been con¬
cluded.
Buck. Had not you come Upon your cue,
my lord,
William Lord Hastings had pronounced your
part,— ,
1 mean, your voice,—for crowning of the king.
Glou. Than my Lord Hastings no man
might be bolder ; 80
His lordsliip knows me well, and loves me
well.
Hast. I thank your grace.
Glou. My lord of Ely!
Ely. My lord ?
Glou. When I was last in Holbom,
I saw good strawberrie.s in your garden there:
I do bSieech you send for some of them.
Ely. Marry, .and will, ray lord, tvith all my
heart. - [Exit.
Glou. Cousin of Buckingham, a word with
yon. [liratoiny him aside.
Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business.
And finds the testy gentleman so liot.
As he will lose his head ere give consent 40
His master's son, as worshipful he terms it.
Shall lose the royalty of England's throne.
Buck. Withdraw you hence, niy lord, I'll
follow you.
[Exit Gloucester, Buckinr/ham /ollowiny.
Der. We have not yet set down this day of
triumph.
To-morrow, in mine opinion, is too sudden;
For I myself am not so well provided
As else 1 would be, were the d.ay prolong'd.
Re-enter Bishop of Elv. '
Ely. Where is my lord protector 7 I have
sent for these strawberries.
Hast. His grace looks cheerf uUy and smooth
to4ay; , 50
There's some conceit or other likes him well,
■When he doth bid good morrow with such a
spirit
I think there's never a man in Christendom
That can less hide his love or hate than he ;
For by his face straight shall you know his
heart.
Der. What of his heart perceive you in his
face
By any likelihood he show'd to-day 7
Hast. Marry, that with no man here he is
offended";
For, were he, he had shown it in bis looks.
Der. I pray God he be not, I say. 60
Re-enter GLOtrcBSTER and Buckikgham.
Glou. I pray you all, tell me what they de¬
serve
That do conspire my death with devilish plots
Of damned witchcraft, and that have prevail'd
[Act ni.
Upon my body >vith th^ hellish charms 7
Hast. The "tender love I bear your grace,
my lord.
Makes me most forward in this noble presence
-To doom the offenders, whatsoever they be :
1 say, my lord, they have deserved death.
Glou. Then be your eyes the witness of this
ill:
See how I am bewitch'd ; bdiold mine arm 70
Is, like a blasted sapling, wither'd up ;
And this is Edward's wife, that monstrous
witch.
Consorted with that harlot strumjiet Shore,
That by their witchcraft thus have marked me.
Hast. If they have done this thing, my
gracious lord,— [.strumpet,
Glou. If 1 thou protector of this damned
Tellest thou me of ' if.s' 7 Thou art a traitor;
Off with his head ! Xow, by Saint Paul I
swear,
I will not dine until I see the same.
Lovel and Katcliff, look that it be done : 80
The rest, that love me, rise and follow me.
[Exeunt all but Hasting^ Ratclif, and JA>rel.
Hast. Woe, woe for England ! not a whit
for me ;
For I, too fond, might have prevented this.
Stanley did dreaiu the boar did raze his helm;
But I disdain'd it, and did scorn to fly:
Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did
stumble.
And startled, when he look'd npon the Tower,
As loath to bear me to the sLaughter-honse.
O, now I want the priest that spake to me :
I now repent I told the pursnivant, 90
As 'twere triumphing at mine enemies^
How they at Pomfi-et, bloodily were butcher'd.
And I myself secure in grace and favor.
0 Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse
Is lighted on poor Ha.stiugs' wretched head !
Rat. Disp,atch, my lord ; the duke would
be at dinner :
Make a short shrift; he longs to see your head.
Hast- O momentary grace of mortal mem
Which we more hunt for than the grace of
God !
Who builds his hopes in air oi your good
looks, lOO
Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast.
Beady, with every nod. to tumble down
Into the fatal bowels of the deep.
Los. Come, come, dispatch : 'tis bootlesi
to exclaim. [land 1
Hast O bloody Richard 1 miserable Ihig-
1 prophe.sy the fearfull'st time to thee
That ever wretched age hath look'd u]kiu.
Come, lead me to tlie block ; bear him mj
head.
They smile at me that shortly shall be dead.
[Exeunt
Scene Y. The Tower-isalls.
Enter Glodcesteb ami Buckingham, in rot
ten armor, marvellous ill-favored.
Glou. Come, con.«in, canst thou quake, anf
change thy color,
JT/iV^G RICHARD III.
IC. Richard. g '' O bitter consequctiCe,
That Edvfard still should live ! ' T^ue, noble prince /'
Cousin, thou luert not wont to be so dull:
Shall I be plain f I wish the bastards dead.^*
King Richard III., \ . 40*
Scene v.]
KING BICHARD IIL
243
Murder thy breath in the middle of a word,
And tlieu begin again, and stop again,
As it thoii wert distraught and mad with ter¬
ror ?
Buck. Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tra¬
gedian ;
Speak and look back, and pry on every side.
Tremble and start at wagging of a straw,
Intending deep suspicion ; ghastly looks
Are at my service, like enforced smiles ;
And both are ready in their offices, 10
At any time, to grace nfy stratagems.
But what, is Catesby gone ?
Glou. He is ; and, see, he brings the inayor
along.
Enter the Mayor and Catesby.
Buck. Lord mayor,—
Olou. Look to the drawbridge there \
Buck. Hark ! a drum.
Giou, Catesby, o'erlook the walls. ■
Buck. Lord mayor, the reason we have
sent—
Glou. Look back, defend thee, here are
enemies.
Buck. God and our innocency defend and
guard us ! 20
Glou. Be patient, they are friends,, Kat-
cliff and Lovel.
Enter. Lovel. and Ratcliff, with Has¬
tings' head.
Lav. Here is the head of that ignoble trai¬
tor, •
The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings.
Glou. So dear 1 loved the man, that 1 must
weep. ■
I took him for the plainest harmless creature' '
That breathed upon this earth a Christian ;
Made him my book, wherein my soul recorded
The history of all her secret thoughts :
So smooth he daub'd his vice with show of
virtue.
That, his apparent open guilt omitted, 80
1 mean, his conversation with Shore's wife.
He lived from all attainder of suspect.
Buck. Well, well, he was the covert'st
shelter'd traitor
Tltat ever lived.
Would you imagine, or almost believe,
Were't not that, by great preservation.
We live to tell it you, the subtle traitor
This day had plotted, in the council-house
To murder me and ray good Lord of Glouces¬
ter ?
May. What, had he so ? 40
Glou. What, think you we are Turks or in¬
fidels ?
Or that we would, against the form of law.
Proceed thus rashly to the villain's death.
But that the extreme peril of tbp case.
The peace of England and our persons' safety.
Enforced us to this execution ?
May. Now, fair befall you ! he deserved
his death ;
And you my good lords, both have well pro¬
ceeded.
To warn false traitors froir the like attempts.
I never look'd for better at his hands, 50
After he once fell in with Mistress Shore.
Glou. Yet had not we determined he should
die,
Until your lordship came to see his death ;
Which now the loving haste of these our
friends.
Somewhat against our meaning, have pre¬
vented :
Because, my lord, we would have had you
heard •
The traitor speak, and timorously confess
The mamier and the purpose of his treason ;
That you might well have signified the same
Unto the citizens, who haply may 60
Misconstrue us in him and wail his death.
A/ay. But, my good lord, your grace's word
shall serve.
As well as 1 had seen and heard him speak :
And doubt you not, right noble princes both.
But I'll acquaint our duteous citizens
With all your just proceedings in this cause.
Glou. A nd to that end we wish'd your lord¬
ship here,
To avoid the carping censures of the world.
Buck. But since you come too late of our
intents.
Yet witness what you hear we did Intend : 70
And so, my good lord mayor, we bid farewell.
[Exit Mayor.
Glou. Go, after, after, cousin Buckingham.
The mayor towards Guildhall hies him "in all
post :
There, at your meet'st advantage of the time.
Infer the bastardy of Edward's children :
Tell them how Edward put to death a citizen.
Only for saying he would make his .son
Heir to the crown ; meaning indeed his house.
Which, by the si^i thereof, was termed so.
Moreover, urge his hateful luxury, 80'
And bestial appetite in change of lust;
Which stretched to their servants, daughters,
wives,
Even where his lustful eye or savage heart.
Without coutK)l, listed to make his prey.
Nay, for a need, thus far come near my per¬
son : [cliild
Tell them, when that my mother went with
Of that uusatiate Edward, noble York
My princely father then had wars in France ;
And, by just computation of the time,
Found that the issue was not his begot; 90
Which well appeared in his lineaments.
Being nothing like the noble duke my father ;
But touch this sparingly, as 'twere far oft ;
Because you know, my lord, my mother lives.
Buck. Fear not, • iny lord, I'll play the
orator
As if the golden fee for which I plead
Were for myself : and so, my lord, adieu.
Glou. It you thrive well, bring them to
Baynaifi's Castle ;
Where you shall find me well accompanied
With reverend fathers and well-leamed
bishops. 100
246
KING RICHARD III.
[Act iii
Buck. I go: and towards three or tour
o'clock
Look tor the news that the Guildhall atfords.
[A'ajjt.
Glou. Go, Lovel, with all speed to Doctor
Shaw;
[To Gate.] Go thou to Friar Peuker ; bid
them both
Meet me within this hour at Baynard's Castle.
[ExcMnt all but Gloucester.
Now will I iu, to take some privy order,
To draw the brats of Clarence out ot sight;
And to give notice, that no manner of person
At any time have recourse unto the princes.
[Exit.
Scene VI. The same. A street.
Enter a Scrivener, with a paper in his hand.
Scriv. This is the indictment ot the good
Lord Hastings ;
Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd,
That it may be this day read over iu Paul's.
And mark how well the sequel hangs to¬
gether :
Eleven hours I spent to write it over,
For yesternight by Catesby was it brought me;
The precedent was full as long a-doing :
And yet within these five hours lived Lord
Hastings,
Untainted, unexamined, tree, at liberty.
Here's a good world the while ! Why who's
so gross, 10
That seeth not this palpable device?
Yet who's so blind, but says he sees it not?
Bad is the world ; and all will come to nought.
When such bad dealings must be seen in
thought. [Exit.
Scene VII. Baynard's Castle.
Enter Gloucester and Buckingham, at
several doors.
Glou. How now, my lord, what say the
citizens ?
Buck. Now, by the holy mother ot our
Lord,
The citizens are mum and speak not a word.
Glott. Touch'd you the bastardy ot Ed¬
ward's children ?
Buck. I did ; with his contract with Lady
Lucy, I
And his contract by deputy in France ; ,
The insatiate greediness ot his desires.
And his enforcement of the city wives ;
His tyranny for trifles ; his own bastardy.
As being got, your father then in France, 10
And his resemblance, being not like the duke;
Withal I did inter your lineaments.
Being the right idc a ot your father.
Both in your form and nobleness ot mind ;
Laid o|)en all your victories iu Scotlauck
Your discipline in war, wisdom iu peace.
Your bounty, virtue, fair humility ;
Indeed, left nothing fitting for the purpose
Untouch'd, or slightly handled, in discourse ;
And when mine oratory grew to an end, 20
I bid them that did love their country's good
Cry 'God save Richard, England's royal kingr
Glou. Ah ! and did they so ?
Buck. No, so God help me, they spake
not a word ;
But, like dumb statuas or breathing stones.
Gazed each on other, and look'd deadly j>ale.
Which when I saw, I reprehended them ;
And ask'd the mayor what meant this wilful
silence ;
His answer was, the people were not woui
To be spoke to but by the recorder. 30
Then he was urged to tell my tale again,
' Thus saith the duke, thus bath the dul^e in-
terr'd ;'
But nothing spake m warrant from himrelf.
When he had done, some tollowers of mine
own.
At the lower end of the hall, hurl'd up their
caps.
And some ten voices cried 'God save King
Richard!'
And thus 1 took the vantage ot those tew,
' Thanks, gentle citizens and trieud.s,' quoth I;
' This general ap|)lause and loving shout
Argues your wisdoms and your love to
Richard :' 44
And even here brake oft, and came away.
Glou. What tongneless blocks were they!
would not they speak ?
Buck. No, by my troth, my lord.
Gloti. Will not the mayor then and his
brethren come ?
Buck. The mayor is here at hand : intend
some tear;
Be not you spoke with, but by mighty suit1
And look you get a prayer-book in your hand,
And stand betwixt two' churchmen, good mj
lord ;
For on that gromid I'll build a holy descant:
And be not easily won to our request: 50
Play the maid's part, still answer nay, and
take it.
Glou. I go ; and it you plead as well for
them
As I can say nay to thee tor myself.
No doubt we'll bring it to a happy issue.
Buck. Go, go, up to the leads ; the lord
mayor knocks. [Exit Gloucester.
Enter the Mayor and Citizens.
Welcome, my lord ; I dance attendance here;
I think the duke will not be spoke withal.
Enter Catesby.
Here comes his servant: how now, Catesby,
What says he ?
Cate. My lord: he doth entreat your grace ;
To visit him to-morrow or next day : 60
He is within, with two right reverend fathers.
Divinely bent to meditation ;
And in no worldly suit would he be moved.
To draw him from his holy exercise.
Buck. Return, good Catesby, to thy lord
again ;
Tell him, myself, the mayor and citizens.
In deep designs and matters of great momeul^
No less importing than our general good,
Scene Viu]
KING RICHARD III.
247
Are come to have some coDference with his
grace.
Cote. I'il tell him what you say, my lord.
[Exit. 70
Buck. Ah, ha, my lord, this prince is not
ah Edward !
He is not iolling on a lewd day-bed,
But on his knees at meditation ;
Not dailying with a brace of courtezans,
But meditating with two deep divines ;
Nut sieeping, to engross bis idie body.
Bat praying, to enrich his watchful soul;
Happy were England, would this gracious
prince
Take on himself the sovereignty thereof :
But, sure, I fear, we shall ne'er win him to it.
May. Marry, God forbid his grace should
say us nay 1 81
Buck. I fear he will.
Re-enter Catesby.
How now, Catesby, what says your lord ?
Cate. My lord.
He wonders to what end you have assembled
Such troops of citizens to speak with him.
His grace not being warn'd thereof before :
My lord, he fears you mean no good to him.
Buck. Sorry I am my noble cousin should
Suspect me, tliat 1 mean no good to him :
By heaven, I come in perfect love to him ; 90
And so once more return and tell his grace.
[Exit Catesby.
When holy and devont religions men
Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them
thence.
So sweet is zealous contemplation.
Enter Gloucester aloft, between two Bishops.
Catesby returns.
May. See, where be stands between two
cler^meu !
Buck. Two props of virtue for a Christian
prince.
To stay him from the fall of vanity :
And, see, a book of prayer in his hand.
True ornaments to know a holy man.
Famous Plantagenet, most gracious prince, 100
Lend favorable ears to our request;
And pardon us the interruption
Of thy devotion and right Christian zeal.
Glou. My lord, there needs no such apology:
I rather do beseech you pardon me.
Who, earnest in the service of my God,
Neglect the visitation of my friends.
But, leaving this, what is your grace's pleas¬
ure?
Buck. Even that, 1 hope, which pleaseth
God above.
And all good men of this ungovem'd isle. 110
Glou. I do suspect i have done some offence
That seems disgracious in the city's eyes.
And that yon come to reprehend my ignorance.
Buck. You have, my lord : would it might
please your grace.
At our entreaties, to amend that fault 1
Glou. Else wherefore breathe I in a Chri
tian laud ?
Buck. Then know. It is your fault that you
resign
The supreme seat, the throne majestical.
The scepter'd oitice of your ancestors.
Your state of fortune and your due of birth.
The lineal glory of your royal house, 121
To the corruption of a blemish'd stock r
Whilst, in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts.
Which here we waken to our country's good.
This noble hie doth want her proper limbs ;
Her face defaced with scars of infamy.
Her royal .stock graft with ignoble plants.
And almost shoulder'd in the swallowing gulf
Of blind forgetfulness and dark oblivion.
Which to recnre, we heartily solicit 130
Your gracious self to take on you the charge
And kingly government of this your land.
Not as protector, steward, substitute.
Or lowly factor for another's gain ;
But as successively from blood to blood.
Your ri^t of birth, your empery, your own.
For this, consorted with the citizens.
Your very worshipful and loving friends.
And by their vehement instigation.
In this just suit come I to move your grace. 140
Glou. I know not whether to depart in
silence.
Or bitterly to speak in your reproof.
Best Btteth my degree or your condition : '
If not to answer, you might haply think
Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded
To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty.
Which fondly you would here impose on me ;
If to reprove you for this suit of yours.
So season'd with your faithful love to me.
Then, on the other side, 1 check'd my friends.
Therefore, to speak, and to avoid the frnit, 151
And then, in speaking, not to incur the'last.
Definitively thus 1 answer you.
Your love deserves my thanks ; but my desert
Unmeritable shuns your high request.
First, if ail obstacles were cut away.
And that my path were even to the crown.
As my ripe revenue and due by birth ;
Yet so much is my poverty of spirit.
So mighty and so many my delects, 160
As 1 had rather hide nie from my greatness.
Being a bark to brook no mighty sea.
Than in my greatness covet to be hid.
And in the vapor of my glory smother'd.
But, God be thank'd, there's no need of me.
And much I need to help you, if need were ;
The royal tree hath left us royal finit.
Which, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time,
Will well become the seat of majesty,
And make, no doubt, iis happy by his reign.
On him I lay what you would lay on me, 171
'The right and fortune of his happy stars ;
Which God defend that I should wring from
him !
Buck. My lord, this argues conscience in
your grace ;
But the rc.spect8 thereof are nice and trivial.
All circumstances well considered.
You say that Edward is your brother's son :
So say we too, but not by Edward's wife ;
248
KING RICHARD III.
J (Act ir.
For first be was contract to Lady Lucy—
Your mother lives a witness to that vow— 180
And alterward by substitute betroth'd
To Bona, sister to the King of France.
These both put by, a poor petitioner,
A eare-craz^ mother of a many children,
A beauty-waning and distressed widow.
Even in the afternoon of her best days.
Made prize and purchase of his lustful eye.
Seduced the pitch and height of all his thoughts
To base declension and loathed bigamy :
By her, in his unlawful bed, he got *, 190
This Edward, whom our manners term the
priuce.
More bitterly could I expostulate.
Save that, for reverence to some alive,
I give a sparing limit to my tougue,
Then, good my lorcL take to your royal self
This profferid benefit of dignity ;
If not to bless us and the land withal,
Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry
From the corruption of abusing times.
Unto a lineal true-derived course. 200
May. Do, good my lord, your citizens en¬
treat you.
Buck. Refuse not, mighty lord, this pzof-
fer'd love.
Cote. O, make them joyful, grant their law¬
ful suit!
Glou. Alas, why would you heap these
cares on me ?
1 am unfit for state and majesty :
I do beseech you, take it not amiss ;
I cannot nor I will not yield to you.
Buck. If you refuse it,—as, in love and zeal,
Loath to depose the child, your brother's son ;
As well we know your tenderness of heart 210
And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse,
Which we have noted in you to your kin
And egally indeed to all estates,—
Yet whether you accept our suit or no.
Your brother's son shall never reign our king;
But we will plant some other in the throne.
To the disgrace and downfall of your house :
And in this resolution here we leave you.—
Come, citizens : 'zounds ! I'll entreat no more.
Glou. 0, do not swear, my lord of Bucking¬
ham. 220
[Exit Buckinyham with the Citizens.
Cate. Call them again, my lord, and accept
their suit.
Another. Do, good my lord, lest all the 4and
do rue it.
Glou. Would you enforce me to a world of
care?
Well, call them again. I am not made of stone.
But penetrable to your kind entreats.
Albeit against my conscience and my soul.
Re-enter Buckingham and the rest.
Cousin of Buckingham, and you sage, grave
men.
Since you will buckle fortune on my back.
To bear her burthen, whether I will or no,
I must have patience to endure the load : 230
But if black scandal or foul-faced reproach
Attend the sequel of your imposition,
Yonr mere enforcement shall acquittance me
From all the impure blots and stains thereof
For God he knows, and you may partly see.
How far I am from the desire thereof.
May. God bless your grace ! we see it, airi
will say it.
Glou. In saying so, you sliall but say the
truth.
Buck. Then I salute you with this kingly
title :
Long live Richard, England's royal king ! 210
May and Cit. Amen.
Buck. To-morrow will it please you to be
crown'd ?
Glou. Even when you please, since you will
liave it so.
Buck. To-morrow, then, we will attend
your grace :
And so most joyfuUy we take our leave.
Glou. Come, let us to our holy task again.
Farewell, good cousin; farewell, gentle friends.
[Exeunt.
ACT IV.
Scene I. Before the Tower.
Enter, on one side. Queen Elizabeth, Duch¬
ess of York, and Marquess op Dorset ;
on the other, Anne, Duchess of Glouces¬
ter, leading Lady M.argaret Plantag-
enet, Clarence's young Daughter.
Duch. Who meets us here ? my niece Plali-
tagenet
Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Glouce.s-
ter ?
Now, for my life, she's wandering to tin
Tower,
On pure heart's love to greet the tender princes
Daughter, well met.
Anne. God give your graces boti
A happy and a joyful time of day !
Q. Eliz. As much to you, good sister
Whither away ?
Anne. No farther than the Tower ; and, as
I guess.
Upon the like devotion as jrourselves.
To gratulate the gentle princes there. 10
Q. Eliz. Kind sister, thanks ; we'll enter
all together.
Ente:r Brakenbury.
And, iu good time, here the lieutenant comes.
Master lieutenant, pray you, by your leave.
How doth the prince, and my young son of
York ?
Brak. Right well, dear madam. By your
patience,
I may not suffer you to visit them ;
The king hath straitly charged the contrary.
Q. Eliz. The king ! why, who's that ?
Brak. I cry you mercy ; I mean the lord
protector.
Q. Eliz. The Lord protect him from thio
kingly title ! zH
SCSNE II.]
KING RICHARD III.
249
Hath he set bounds betwixt their love and me?
1 am their mother ; who should keep me from
tliem ?
Duch. I am their father's mother ; I will
see them.
Anne. Their auut I am in law, in love their
mother :
Then bring me to their sights ; I'll bear thy
blame
And take thy office from thee, on my peril.
Brak. No, madam, no ; I may not leave
it so : '
\ am bound by oath, and therefore pardou me.
[Exit.
Enter Loed Stanley.
Stan. Let me bat meet you, ladies, one
hour hence, 29
And I'll salute your grace of York as mother,
\ud reverend looker on, of two fair queens.
(To Anne} Come, madam, you must straight
to Westminster,
There to be crowned Richard's royal queen.
Q. Eliz. O, cut my lace in sunder, that ray
pent heart
May have .some scope to beat, or else I swoon
With this dead-killing news !
Anne. Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing
news!
Dor. Be of gobd cheer : mother, how fares
your grace ?
Q. Eliz. O Dorset, speak not to me, get
thee hence!
Death and destruction dog thee at the he els ;
Thy mother's name is ominous to children. 41
If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas.
And live with Richmond, from the reach of
hell :
Go, hie thee, hie thee from this slaughter¬
house.
Lest thou increase the number of the dead ;
And make me die the thrall of Margaret's
curse.
Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted
queen.
Stan. Full of wise care is this your coun¬
sel, madam.
Take all tlie swift advantage of the hours ;
Ifou shall have letters from me to my son 50
10 meet you on the way, and welcome you.
Be not ta'eu tardy by unwise delay.
Duch. O ill-dispersing wind of misery I
0 my accursed womb, the bed of death !
A cockatrice hast thou hatch'd to the world.
Whose unavoided eye is murderous.
Stan. Come, madam, come ; I in all haste
was sent.
Anne. And I in all unwillingness wiU go.
1 would to God that the inclusive verge
Of golden metal that must roqjid my brow 60
Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the bmiu I
Anointed let me be with deadl.y venom.
And die, ere men can say, God save the queen 1
Q. Eliz. Go, go, poor soul, I envy not thy
glory ;
To feed my humor, wish thyself no harm.
Anne. No! why ? When he that is my
husband now
Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse.
When scarce the blood was well wash'd from
his hands
Which issued from my other angel husband
And that de.ad saint which then I weeping fol¬
low'd ; 70
Q, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face,
'This was my wish : ' Be thou,' quoth I, ' ac¬
cursed,
For making me, so young, so old a widow 1
And, when thou wed'st, let sorrow liaunt thy
bed ;
And be thy wife—if any be so mad^
As miserable by the life of thee
As thou hast made me by my dear lord's
death 1'
Ia), ei'e I can repeat this curse again.
Even in so short a space, my woman's heart
Grossly grew captive to his honey words 80
And proved the subject of my own soul's
curse.
Which ever smce hath kept my eyes from rest;
For never yet one hour in his bed
Have I enjoy'd the golden dew of sleep.
But have been waked by his timorous dreams.
Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick ;
And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.
Q. Eliz. Poor heart, adieu! I pity tliy cora-
piaining.
Anne. No more than from my soul I mourn
for yours.
Q. Eliz. Fareweli, tliou woful welcomer of
glory I IK)
Anne. Adieu, poor soul, tliat takest tliy
leave of it I
Duch. [To Dorset} Go thou to Richmond,
and good fortune guide thee 1
[To Anne} Go thou to Richard, and good an¬
gels guard thee 1
[To Queen Eliz.} Go thou to sanctuary, and
good thoughts possess thee !
I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with
me !
Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen.
And each hour's joy wrecked with a week of
teen.
Q. Eliz. Stay, yet look back with me unto
the Tower.
Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes
Whom envy hath immured within your walls !
Rough cradle for such little pretty ones ! 101
Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow
For tender princes, use my babies well !
So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell.
[Exeunt
Scene II. London. The palace.
Sennet. Enter Richabd, in pomp, croicnecj ;
Buckingham, Catesby, a page, and others.
K. Rich. Stand all apart. Cousin of Buck¬
ingham I
Buck. My gracious sovereign ?
K. Rich. Give me thy hand. [Here he as-
2o0
cendeth his throne.] Thus_high, by thy
advice
And thy assistance, is King Richard seated :
But shall we wear these honors for a day ?
Or shall the.y last, and we rejoice in them ?
Buck. Still live they and for ever may they
last!
K. Rich. O Buckingliam, now do I play
the touch.
To try if thou be current gold indeed :
Young Edward lives : think now what I would
say. 10
Buck. Say on, my loving lord.
K. Rich. Why, Buckingham, I say, I would
be king.
Buck. Why, so you are, my thrice re¬
nowned liege. [ward lives.
K. Rich. Ha ! am I king ? 'tis so : but Ed-
Biick. True, noble prince.
K. Rich. O bitter consequence.
That Edward still should live I ' True, noble
prince !'
Cousin, thou wert not wont to be so dull :
Shall I be plain ? I wish the bastards dead ;
And I would have it .suddenly perform'd.
What sayest thou ? speak suddenly ; be brief.
Buck. Your grace may do your pleasure. 21
K. Rich. Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kind¬
ness freeaeth :
Say, have I thy consent that they shall die ?
Buck. Give me some breath, some little
pause, my lord.
Before I positively sp^k herein :
I will resolve your grace immediately. [Exit.
Gate. [Aside to a slander by] The king is
angry : see, be bites the lip.
K. Rich. I will converse with iron-witted
fools
And unrespective boys : none are for me
That look into me with considerate eyes: 30
High-reaching Buckingham grows circum¬
spect. '
Boy !
Bage. My lord ?
K. Rich. Know'St thou not any whom cor¬
rupting gold
Would tempt onto a close exploit of death ?
Page. My lord, I know a discontented gen¬
tleman.
Whose humble means match not his haughty
mind ;
Gold were as good as twenty orators.
And will, no doubt, tempt him to any thing.
K. Rich. What is his name ? 40
Page. His name, my lord, is Tyrrel.
K. Rich. I partly know the man : go, call
him hither. [Exit Page.
The deep-revolving witty Buckingham
Ko more shall be the neighbor to my counsel :
Hath he so long held out with me untired.
And stops he now for breath?
Enter Stanley.
How now 1 what news with you 7
Stan. My lord, I hear the Marquis Doraet's
fled •
[Act ir.
To Richmond, in those parts beyond the sea
Where he abides. [Stands apart.
K. Rich. Catesby!
Gate. My lord ? 50
K. Rich. Rumor it abroad
That Anne, my wife, is sick and like to die;
I will take order for her keeping close.
Inquire me out some mean-bom gentleman.
Whom I will marry straight to Clarence*
daughter ;
The boy is foolish, and I fear not him.
Look, how thou dream'st 1 I say again, give
out
That Anne my wife is sick and like to die :
About it; for it stands me much upon.
To stop all hopes whose growth may damage
me. [Exit Gatesby. 60
I must be married to my brother's daughter.
Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass.
Murder her brothers, and then marry her!
Uncertain way of gain 1 But 1 am in
So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin :
Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.
Re-enter Page, with Tyrkel.
Is thy name Tyrrel ?
Tyr. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient
subject.
K. Rich. Art thou, indeed ?
Tiff. Prove me, my gracious sovereign.
E. Rich. Darest thou resolve to kill a
friend of mine ? 70
Tyr. Ay, my lord ;
But I had rather kill two enemies.
K. Rich. Why, there thou hast it: two
deep enemies.
Foes to my rest and my sweet sleep's dis¬
turbers
Are they that I would have thee deal upon:
Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in tlie Tower.
Tyr. Let me have open means to come to
them.
And soon I'll rid you from the fear of them.
. E. Rich. Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark,
come hither, Tyrrel :
Go, by this token: rise, and lend thine ear: 80
[ Whispers.
There is no more but so: say it is done.
And I will love thee, and prefer thee too.
Tyr. 'Tis done, my gracious lord.
K. Rich. Shall we hear from thee, Tyrrel,
ere we sleep ?
Tyr. Ye shall, my Lord. [ExU. ■
Re-enter Buckikgeam.
Buck. My Lord, I have cousider'd in my
mind
The late demand that you did sound me in.
K.Rich. Well, let that pass. Dorset is fled
to Richmond.
Buck. 1 hear that news, my lord.
K. Rich. Stanley, he is your wife's son :
well, look to it. 90
Buck. My lord, I claim your gift, my due
by promise,
For which your honor and your faith is
pawu'd;
KING MCNARD 111.
Scene hi.]
KING RICHARD III.
251
The earldom ot Hereford and the moveables
The which you promised I should possess.
K. Rich. Stanley, look to your wife ; if she
convey
Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.
Ruck. W hat says your highness to my just
demand ?
K. Rich. As I remember, Henry the Sixth
Did prophesy that Richmond should be king,
When Richmond was a httie peevish boy. 100
A king, perhaps, perhaps,—
Buck. My lord !
K. Rich. How chance the prophet could not
at that time
Have told me, I being by, that I should kill
him ?
Bwk. My lord, your promise for the earl¬
dom,—
K. Rich. Richmond ! When last I was at
Exeter,
The mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle.
And call'd it Rougemont: at which name I
started.
Because a bard of Ireland told me once,
I should not live long after 1 saw Richmond.
Buck. My Lord ! Ill
K. Rich. Ay, what's o'clock ?
Buck. I am thus bold to put your grace in
mind
Of what you promised me.
jr. Rich. Well, but what's o'clock ?
Buck. Upon the stroke of ten.
jr. Rich. Well, let it strike.
Buck. Why let it strike ?
jr. Rich. Because that, like a Jack, thou
keep'st the stroke
Betwixt thy begging and my meditation.
1 am not in the giving vein to-day.
s>uck. Why, then resoive me whether you
will or no. 120
K. Rich. Tut, tut.
Thou troublest me ; I am not in the vein.
[Exeunt all but Buckingham.
Buck. Is it even so ? rewards he my true
service
Wth such deep contempt ? made I him king
for this ?
O, let me think on Hastings, and be gone
To Brecknock, while my fearful head is on !
[Exit.
Scene III. The same.
Enter Tvkrei,.
Tyr. The tyrannous and bloody deed is
done.
The most arch act of piteous massacre
That ever yet this land w>is guilty of.
Dighton and Forrest, whom! did suboni
To do this ruthless piece of butchery.
Although they were flesh'ds villains, bloody
dogs.
Melting with tenderness and kind compassion
Wept like two children in their deaths' sad
stories.
' Lo, thus' quoth Dighton,' lay those tender
babear
"Th is, thus,' quoth Forrest, ' girdling one an¬
other 10
Within their innocent alaba.ster arms :
Their lips were four red roses on a stalk.
Which in their summer beauty kiss'd each
otlier.
A book of prayers on their pillow lay ;
Which once,' quoth Forrest, ' almost changed
my mind ;
But O ! the devil'—there the viljain stopp'd :
Whilst Dighton thus told on : ' We smothered
The most replenished sweet work of nature.
That from the prime creation e'er she framed.
Thus both are gone with conscience and re¬
morse ; 20
They could not speak ; and so I left tiiem
both.
To bring this tidings to the bloody king.
And here he comes.
Enter Kino Richard.
All hail, my sovereign liege !
K. Rich. Kind Tyrrel, am 1 happy in thy
news ?
Tyr. If to have done the thing you gave in
charge
Beget your happiness, be happy then.
For it is done, my lord.
K. Rich. But did.st thou see them dead ?
Tyr. I did, my lord.
K. Rich. And buried, gentle Tyrrel ?
Tyr. The chaplain of the Tower hath
buried them ;
But how or in what place I do not know. 30
K. Rich. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon atafter
supper,
And thou shalt tell the process of their death.
Meantime, but think how I may do thee good.
And be inheritor of thy desire.
Farewell till soon. [Exit Tyrrel.
The son of Clarence have I pent up close ;
His daughter meanly have I matcn'd in mar*
riage ;
The sous of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom.
And Anne my wife hath bid the world good
night. ' 39
Now, for I know the Breton Richmond aims
At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter.
And, by that knot, looks proudly o'er the
crown.
To her I go, a jolly thriving wooer.
Enter Catesby.
Cate. My lord 1
K. Rich. Good news or bad, that thou
come.st in so bluntly ?
Cate. Bad news, my lord : Ely is fled to
Richmond ;
And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy
Welshmen,
Is in tiie field, and still his power increaseth.
K. Rich. Ely with Richmond troubles me
more near 49
Than Buckingham and his rash-levied army.
Come, I have heard that fearful commenting
Is leaden servitor to dull delay ;
Delay leads impotent and suail-^ced beggary:
252
KING RICHARD III.
[Act ir.
Then fiery expedition be my wing,
Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king !
Come, muster men : my counsel is my shield';
We must be brief when traitors brave the
.field. [Exeunt.
Scene rV. Before the palace.
Enter Qceen Margaret.
Q. Mar. So, now prosperity begins to mel¬
low
And drop into the rotten mouth of death.
Here in these confines silly have I lurk'd.
To watch the waning of mine adversaries.
A dire induction am I witness to.
And will to France, hoping the consequence
Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical.
Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret: who
comes here ?
Enter Queen Elizabeth and the Duchess of
York.
Q. Eliz. Ah, my young princes ! ah, my
tender babes!
My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets !
If yet your gentle souls fly in the air 11
And be not fix'd in doom peij)etual.
Hover about me with your airy wings
And hear your mother's lamentation !
Q. Mot ". Hover about her ; say, that right
for right
Hath dimm'd your infant mom to aged night.
Duck. So many miseries have crazed my
voice.
That my woe-wearied tongue is mute and'
dumb,
Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead ?
Q. Mar. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet.
Edward for Edward pays a dying debt. 21
Q. Eliz. Wilt thou, O God, fly from such
gentle lambs.
And throw them in the entrails of the wolf ?
When didst thou sleep when such a deed was
done ?
Q. Mar., 'When holy Harry died, and my
sweet son.
Duch. Blind sight, dead life, poor mortal
living ghost.
Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by
life usurp'd,
Brief abstract and record of tedious days, ,
Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth,
[Sitting down.
Dnlawlully made drunk with innocents' blood!
Q. Eliz. O, that thou wouldst as well afford
a grave 31
As thou canst yield a melancholy seat!
Then would I hide my bones, not rest them
here.
O, who hath any cause to mourn but 1 ?
[Sitting down by her.
Q. Mar. If ancient sorrow be most rever¬
end.
Give mine the benefit of seniory.
And let my woes frown on the upper hard.
II sorrow can admit society, .
[Sitting down with them.
Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine ;
I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him ; 40
1 had a Harry, tiii a Richard kiil'd iiim ;
Thou had.st an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him
Thou hadst a Richard till a Richard kiiled
him;
Duch. I had a Richard too, and thon didst
kiU him ;
I had a Riitiand too, tliou holp'st to kill him.
Q. Mar. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and
Richard kill'd him.
From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept
A liell-houud that doth hunt us ail to death :
That dog, that iiad his teeth before his eyes,
To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood, SO
That foul defacer of God's handiwork.
That excellent grand tyrant of the earth.
That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls,
Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our graves.
0 upright, just, and true-disposing God,
How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur
Preys on the issue of his mother's body.
And makes her pew-feiiow with others'
moau !
Duch. 0 Harry's wife, triumph not in my
woes !
God witness ■with me, I have wept for thine.
Q. Mar. Bear with me; I am hungry for
revenge, 61
And now I cloy me with beholding it.
Thy Edward he is dead, that stabb'd my Ed¬
ward ;
Thy other Edward dead, to quit'my Edward ;
Young Y'ork he is but boot, because both they
Match not the high perfection of my loss ;
Thy Clarence he is dead that kill'd my Ed¬
ward ;
And the beholders of this tragic play.
The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, vaugh'an.
Grey,
Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves. 70
Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer.
Only reserved their factor, to buy souls
Aud send them thither : but at hiand, at hand.
Ensues his piteous and unpitied end :
Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints
pray.
To have him suddenly convey'd away.
Cancel his bond of life, dear "God, I pray.
That I may live to say. The dog is dead !
Q. Eliz. O, thou didst prophesy the time
would come 80
That I should ■wish for thee to help me curse
That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd
toad !
Q. Mar. I caU'd thee then vain flourish of
my fortune ;
1 call'd thee then poor shadow, painted queen ;
The presentation of but what I was ;
The flattering index of a direful pageant;
One heaved a-high, to be huri'd down below ;
A mother only mock'd with two sweet babes;
A dream of what thou wert, a breath, a bubble,
A sign of dignity, a garish flag.
To be the aim of every dangerous shot; 90
A queen in jest, only to fiU the scene.
sceke iv.i
KING RICHARD HI.
253
VThere is thy liusbaud now 1 where be thy
brothers ?
Where are thy children 7 wherein dost tliou
joy?
Who sues to tliee and cries ' God save tiie
queen'7
Where be the beudin;; peers that flatter'd
thee 7 [thee 7
Where be the tlirouging troops that follow'd
Decline all this, and see what now thou art:
For happy wife, a most distressed t\ idow ;
For joyful mother, one that wails the name ;
For queen, a very ciiitiff crown'd with care ;
For one being sued to, one that humbly sues ;
F'or one that scoru'd at me, now scorn'dof me;
For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one ;
For one cumraauding all, obey'd of none.
Tims hath tlie course of justice wheel'd about.
And left thee but a very prey to time ;
Having no more but thought of what thou
we i t,
To torture thee the more, being what thou art.
Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not
Usurp the just proiiortion of my sorrow 7 110
Now thy proud neck bears half my burthen'd
yoke ;
From which even here I slip my weary neck.
And leave the burthen of it all on thee.
Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mis¬
chance : [Fiance.
These English woes will make me smile in
Q. Eliz, O thou well skilTd in curses, stay
awhile.
And teach me how to curse mine enemies I
Q. Mar. Forbear to sleep the nights, and
fast the days ;
Compare dead happiness with living woe ;
Think that thy babes were fairer than they
were, 120
And ho that slew them fouler than he is ;
Lettering thy loss makes the bad causer
worse :
Kcvolving this will teach thee how to curse,
Q. Eliz. My words are dull ; 0, quicken
them with thine !
Q. Mar. Thy woes will make them sharp,
and pierce like mine. [Exit.
Duclu Why should ciilamity be full of
words 7
Q. Eliz. Windy attorneys to their client
woes.
Airy succeeders of intestate joys.
Poor breathing orators of miseries !
Let them have scope : though what they do
impart 130
Help not at all, yet do they ease the heart.
Dueh. If so, then bo not tongue-tied : go
with me,
And in the breath of bitter words let's smother
My damned son, wliich thy^wo sweet sous
smother'd.
I hear his drum : be copious in exclaims.
Enter King Richard, marching, with drums
and trumpets.
K, Rich. W.,'1 intercepts my expedition 7
Duch. 0, she that might have intercepted
thee.
By strangling thee in her accursed womb.
From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou
hast done !
Q. Eliz. Hidest thou that forehead with a
golden crown, 140
Where should be graven, if that right w ere
right.
The slaughter of the prince that owed that
crown.
And the dire death of my two sons and bro¬
thers 7
Tell me, thou villain slave, where are my chil¬
dren 7
Duch. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy
brother Clarence 7
And little Ned Plantagenet, his son 7
Q. Eliz. Where is kind Hastings, Rivers,
Vaughau, Grey 7
K. Rich. A flourish, trumpets! strike alarum,
drums !
Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women
Rail on the Lord's anointed : strike, I say 1
[Flourish. Alarums.
Either be ifatient, and entreat me fair, 15J
Or with the clamorou.s report of war
Thus will I drown your exclamations.
Duch. Art thou" my son 7
K. R'ch. Ay, I thank God, my father, and
yourself.
Duch. Then patiently hear my impatience.
K. Rich. Madam, I have a touch of your
condition.
Which cannot brook the accent of reproof.
Duch. 0, let me speak !
K. Rich. Do then ; but I'll not hear.
Duch. I will be mild and gentle in my
speech. 100
K. Rich. And brief, good mother ; for I am
in haste.
Dtich. Art thou so hasty 7 I have stay'd
for thee,
God knows, in anguish, pain and agony.
K. Rich. And came 1 not at last to comfort
you 7
Duck. No, by the holy rood, thou know'st
it well.
Thou earnest on earth to make the earth my
hell.
A grievous burthen was thy birth to me ;
Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy ;
Thy school-days frightful, desperate, wild,
and furious.
Thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and ven¬
turous, 170
Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, bloody,
treacherous.
More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in
hatred :
What comfoi'table hour canst thou name.
That ever graced me in thy company 7
K. Rich. Faith, none, but Humphrey Eoui;
that call'd your grace
To breakfast once forth of my company.
If I be so disgracious in your sight.
KING RICHARD HI.
[Act it.
254
Let me march on, and not offend your grace.
Strike up the drum.
Ruch. I prithee, hear me speak.
K. Rich. You speak too bitterly.
Dvch. Hear me a word ; 180
For I shall never speak to thee again.
K. Rich. So.
Duch. Either thou wilt die, by God's just
ordinance.
Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror,
Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish
And never look upon thy face again.
Therefore talce with thee my most heavy
curse ;
Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more
Than all the complete armor that thon
wear'st I
My prayers on the adverse party light ; 190
And there the little souls of j^ward's chil¬
dren
Whisper the spirits of thine enemies
And promise them succe.ss and victory.
Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end ;
Shame serves thy life and doth thy death at¬
tend. [Exit.
Q. Eliz. Though far more cause, yet much
less spirit to curse
Abides in me ; I say amen to all.
K. Rich. Stay, madam ; I must speak a
word with you.
Q. Eliz. I have no more sons of the royal
blood
For thee to murder ; for my daughters, Rich¬
ard, 200
They shall be praying nuns, not weeping
queens;
And therefore level not to hit their lives.
K. Rich. You have a daughter call'd Eliza¬
beth,
Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.
Q. Eliz. And must she die for this ? 0, let
her live.
And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her
beauty ;
Slander myself as false to Edward's bed ;
Throw over her tlie veil of infamy :
So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaugh¬
ter,
i will confess she was not Edward's daughter.
K. Rich. Wrong not her birth, she is of
royal blood. 211
Q. Eliz. To siive her life, I'll say she is not
so.
K. Rich. Her life is only safest in her birth.
Q. Eliz. And only in that safety died her
brothers.
jr. Rich. Lo, at their birthf good stars were
opposite.
Q. Eliz. No, to their lives bad friends were
contrary.
K. Rich. All unavoided is the doom of
destiny.
Q. Eliz. "True, when avoided grace makes
destiny :
My babes were destined to a fairer death,
If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life. 220
K. Rich. You speak as if that I had slain
my cousins.
Q. Eliz. Cousins, indeed ; and by their
nncle cozen'd
Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.
Whose hand soever lanced their tender hearts.
Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction ;
No doubt the murderous knife was dull and
blunt
Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart.
To revel in the entrails of my lambs.
But that still use of grief makes wild grief
tame.
My tongue should to thy ears not name my
boys tA
Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine
eyes ;
And I, lu such a desperate bay of death,
Like a (loor bark, of sails and tiickiing reft.
Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.
K. Rick. Madam, so thrive I in my enter¬
prise
And dangerous success of bloodj' wars,
As 1 intend more good to you and yours
Thau ever you or yours were by me wrong'd !
Q. Eliz. What good is cover'd with the face
of heaveu.
To be discover'd, that can do me good ? 240
K. Rich. The advancement of your chil¬
dren, geiitle lady.
Q. Eliz Up to some scaffold, there to lose
their heads ?
K. Rich. No, to the dignity and height of
honor.
The high imperial type of this earth's glory.
Q. Eliz. Flatter my sorrows with report of
it;
Tell me what state, what dignity, what honor.
Canst thou demise to any child of mine ?
K. Rich. Even all I have ; yea, and myself
and all.
Will I withal endow a child of thine ;
So in the Lethe of thy angry soul 250
Thou drown the sad remembrance of those
wrongs
Which thou supposest I have done to thee.
Q. Eliz. Be brief, lest that tlie process of
thy kindness
Last longer telling than thy kindness' date.
K. Rich. Then know, that from my soul I
love thy daughter.
Q. Eliz. My daughter's mother thinks it
with her soul.
K. Rich. What do you think ?
Q. Eliz. That thou dost love my daughter
from thy soul :
So from thy soul's love didst thou love her
brothers ;
And from my heait's love I do thank thee for
it. 260
K. Rich. Be not so hasty to confound my
meaning ; [ter,
I mean, that with my soul I love thy daugh-
And mean to make her queen of England.
Q. Eliz. Say then, who dost thou mean
shall be her king ?
Scene !▼ \
KING RICHARD III.
255
K. Rich. Even he th.it makes her queen :
who should be else ?
Q. Eliz. What, thou ?
K. Rich. I, even I: what think you of it,
madam ?
Q. Eliz. How canst thou woo her ?
K. Rich. That would I learu of you,
As one that are best acquainted with her hu¬
mor.
Q. Eliz. And wilt thou learn of me ?
K. Rich. Madam, with all iny heart. 270
Q. Eliz. Send to her, by the man that slew
her brothers,
A jMiir of bleeding hearts ; thereon engrave
Edward and York ; then haply she will weep:
Therefore present to her,—as sometime Mar¬
garet
Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood,—
A handkerchief ; which, say to her, did drain
The purple sap from her sweet brother's body.
And bid her dry her weeping eyes therewith.
If this inducement force her not to love.
Send her a story of thy noble acts ; 280
Tell her thou madest away her uncle Clar¬
ence, ,
Her uncle Rivers ; yea, and, for her sake,
Madest quick conveyance with her good aunt
Aime.
K. Rich. Come, come, you mock me ; this
is not the way '
To win your daughter,
Q Eliz. There is no other way ;
Unless thou couldst put on some other shape.
And not be Richard that hath done all this.
K. Rich. Say that I did all this for love of
her.
Q. Eliz. Nay, then indeed she cannot
choose but hate thee.
Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.
K. Rich. Look, what is done cannot be now
amended: 291
Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes.
Which after hours give leisure to repent.
If I did take the kingdom from your sons.
To make amends, I'll give it to your daugh¬
ter.
It I have kill'd the issue of your womb.
To quicken your increase, I will beget
Mine is.sue of your blood upon your daughter:
A grandam's name is little less in love
Than is the doting title of a mother ; 300
They are as children but one step below.
Even of your mettle, of your veiy blood ;
Of all one pain, save for a night of groans
Endured of her, for whom you bid like sor¬
row.
Your children were vexation to your youth.
But mine shall be a comfort to your age.
The loss you have is but a son being king.
And by that loss your daughter is made queen.
I cannot make you what amends I would.
Therefore accept such kindness as I can. 310
Dorset your son, that with a fearful soul
Leads discontented steps in foreign soil.
This fair alliance quickly shall call home
To high promotions and great dignity :
The king, that calls your beauteous daughter
wife.
Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother ;
Again shall you be mother to a king.
And all the ruins of distressful times
Repair'd with double riches of content.
What! we have many goodly days to see : 320
The liquid drops of tears that you have shed
Shall come again, traiisform'd to orient pearl.
Advantaging their loan with interest
Of ten times double gain of happiness.
Go, then, my mother, to thy daughter go ;
Make bold her bashful years with your ex¬
perience ;
Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale;
Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame
Of golden sovereignty ; acquaint the princess
With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys :
And when this arm of mine hath chastised331
The petty rebel, duli-brain'd Buckingham,
Bound with triumphant garlands will 1 come
And le.ad thy daughter to a conqueror's bed ;
To whom I will retail my conquest won.
And she shall be sole victress, Cwsar's Csesar.
Q. Eliz. What were I best to say ? her
father's brother
Would be her lord ? or shall I say, her nncle ?
Or, he that slew her brothers and her uncles ?
Under what title shall I woo for thee, 340
That God, the law, my honor and her love.
Can make seem pleasing to her tender years ?
K. Rich. Infer lair England's peace by this
alliance.
Q. Eliz. Which she shall purchase with still
lasting war.
K. Rich. Say that the king, which may
command, entreats.
Q. Eliz. That at her hands which the king's
King forbids.
K. Rich. Say, she shall be a high and
mighty queen.
Q. Eliz. "To wail the title, as her mother
doth.
K. Rich. Say, I will love her everlastingly.
Q. Eliz. But how long shall that title ' ever'
last ? 350
K. Rich. Sweetly in force unto her fair life's
end.
. Q. Eliz. But how long fairly shall her sweet
life last?
K. Rich. So long as heaven and nature
lengthens it. [of it.
Q. Eliz. So long as hell and Richard likes
K. Rich, Say, I, her sovereign, am her sub¬
ject love.
Q. Eliz. But she, your subject, loathes such
sovereignty.
K. Rich. Be eloquent in my behalf to her.
Q. Eliz. An honest tale speeds best being
plainly told.
K. Rich. Then in plain terms tell her my
loving tale.
Q. Eliz. Plain and not honest is too harsh
a style. 360
K. Rich. Your reasons are too shallow and
too quick.
253
1
KING RICHARD III.
^Act ly.
Q. EUz. O no, my reasons are too deep and
dead;
Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their
grave.
K. Rich. Harp not on that string, madam ;
that is past.
Q. Eliz. Harp on it still shall I till heart¬
strings break.
K. Rich, Now. by my George, my garter,
and my crown,—
Q. Eliz. Profaned, dishonor'd, and the
third usui-p'd.
K. Rich. I swear—
Q. Eliz. By nothing ; for this is no oath :
The George, profaned, hath lost his holy honor;
The garter, blemish'd, x>awn'd his knightly
virtue ;
The crown, usurp'd, disgraced his kingly glory.
If something thou wilt swear to be believed.
Swear then by something that thou hast not
wroug'd.
K. Rich. Now, by the world—
Q. EUz. "fis full of thy foul wrongs.
K. Rich. My father's death—
Q. Eliz. Thy life hath that dishonor'd.
K. Rich. Then, by myself—
Q. EUz. Thyself thyself misusest.
Jr. Rich. Why then, by God—
Q. Eliz. God's wrong is most of all.
If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by Him,
The unity the king thy brother made 379
Had not been broken, nor my brotlier slain :
If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by Him,
The imperial metal, circling now thy brow.
Had graced the tender temples of my child.
And both the princes had been breathing here.
Which now, two tender playfellows for dust.
Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms.
What canst thou swear by now ?
K. Rich. The time to come.
Q. Eliz. That thou hast wronged in the
time o'erpast ;
7or I myself have many tears to wash
Hereafter time, for time past wrong'd by thee.
Tlie children live, whose parents thou hast
slaughter'd, 391
Ungovem'd youtii, to wail it in their age ;
■Tlio parents live, whose children thou hast
butcher'd, .
Old wither'd jihants, to wail it with their age.
Swear not by time to come ; for tliat thou hast
Misused ere used, by time misused o'erpast.
K. Rich. As I intend to prosper and repent.
So thrive I in my dangerous attempt
Of hostile arms ! myself myself confound !
Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours 1 400
Day, yield me not thy light; nor, night, thy
rest!
Be opposite all planets of good luck
To my proceedings, if, with pure heart's love,
Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts,
I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter !
In her consists 'my happiness and thine ;
Without her, follows to this land and me.
To tiiee, herself, and many a Christian soul.
Death, desolation, ruin and decay i
It cannot be avoided but by this j 410
It will not be avoided but by this.
Therefore, good mother,—1 must call you so—
Be the attorney of my love to her :
Plead what 1 will be, not what I have been ;
Not my deserts, but wh-it 1 will deserve :
■ Urge the necessity and state of times.
And be not peevish-fond in great designs.
Q. Eliz. Shall I be tempted of the devil
thus ?
K. Rich. Ay, if the devil tempt thee to dc
good.
Q. Eliz. Shall 1 forget myself to be myself ?
K. Rich. Ay, if yourself's remembrance
wrong yourself. 421
Q. Eliz. But thou didst kill my children.
IC. Rich. But iu your daughter's womb
1 bury them :
Where in that nest of spicery they shall breed
Selves of themselves, to your recdmforture.
Q. Eliz. Siiall 1 go win my daughter to thy
wiil ?
K. Rich. And be a happy mother by the
deed.
Q. Eliz. 1 go. Write to me very shortly.
And you shall understand from m'e her mind.
K. Rich. Bear her my true love's kiss; and
so, farewell. [Exit Qiicen Elizabeth, 430
Kelentiug fool, and shallow, changing woman!
Enter Eatclipf ; Catesbvfollowinr/.
How now ! what news ?
Rat. My gracious sovereign, on the western
coast
Hideth a puissant navy ; to the shore
Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends,
Unarm'd, and unresolved to beat them back ;
'Tis thought that Kichmoud is their admiral ;
And there they hull, expecting but the aid
Of Buckingham to welcome tliem ashore.
K. Rich. Some light-foot friend post to the
Duke of Norfolk : 440
Ratcliff, thyself, or Catesby ; where is he ?
Cute. Here, my lord.
K.Rich. Fly to the duke : [To Post
thou to Salisbury :
When thou comest thither,—[Tq Catesby] Dull,
unmindful villain.
Why stand'St thou still, and go'st not to the
duke ?
Cate. First, mighty sovereign, let me know .
your mind.
What from your grace 1 shall deliver to him.
K. Rich. O, true, good Catesby: bid him
levy straight
The greatest strength and power he can make.
And meet me presently at Salisbury. 430
Uate. 1 go. [Exit.
Rat. What is't your highness' pleasure I
shall do at Salisbury 7
, K. Rich, Why, what wouldst thou do there
before 1 go ?
Rat. Your highness told me I should post
before.
K. Rich. My mind is changed, sir, my mind
is changed
SCENF IV.]
E^iter Loed Stanley.
How now, what news with you t
mtan. None good, my lord, to please you
witli the hearing;
Nor npne so bad, but it may well be told.
K Rich. Hoyday, a riddle ! neither good
nor bad ! 460
Why dost thou run so many mile about.
When thou mayst tell thy tale a nearer way ?
Once more, what news ?
Stan. Richmond is on the seas.
K. Rich, There let him sink, and be the
seas on him!
White-liver'd runagate, what doth he there ?
Stan. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by
gue.ss.
K. Rich. Well, sir, as you guess, as you
guess ?
Stan. Stirr'd up by Dorset, Ruckinghana,
and Ely,
lie makes lor England, there to claim the
crown.
K. Rich. Is the chair empty ? is the sword
unsway'd ? 470
Is the king dead ? the empire unpossess'd ?
What heir of York is there alive but we ?
..Vnd who is England's king but great York's
heir ?
Then, tell me, what doth he upon the sea ?
Stan. Unless for that, my liege, I camiot
gue.ss.
K. Rich. Unless for that he comes to be
your liege,
Y'ou cannot guess wherefore the Welsnman
comes.
Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear.
Stan. No, mighty liege ; therefore mistrust
me not. *
K. Rich. Where is thy power, then, to beat
him back ? 480
Where are thy tenants and thy followers ? ,
Are they not now upon the western shore.
Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships ?
Stan. No, my good lord, my friends are in
the north.
K. Rich. Cold friends to Richard : what do
they in the north,
When they should serve their sovereign in the
west?
Stan.. They have not been commanded,
mighty sovereign :
Please it your majesty to give me leave,
I'll muster up my friends, and meet your grace
Where and wliat time your majesty shall
please.
K. Rich. Ay, ay, thou wouldst be gone to
join with Richmond :
I will not trust you, sir.
Stan. Most mighty sovereign.
You have no cause to hold my friendship
doubtful:
I never was nor never will be false.
K. Hieti. Well, 1
Go muster men ; but, hear you, leave behind
Your son, George Stanley • look your faith be
firm,
367
Or else his head's assurance is but fraU. i
Stan. So deal with him as I prove true to
you. [Exit.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. My gracious sovereign, now in Devon¬
shire, 500
As I by friends am well advertised.
Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate
Bishop of Exeter, his brother there.
With many more confederates, are in arms.
Enter another Messenger.
Sec, Mess. My liege, in Kent the Guildfords
are in amis ;
And every hour more competitors
Flock to their aid, and still their power in¬
crease th.
Enter another Messenger.
Third Mess. My lord, the army of the Duke
of Buckingham—
K, Rich. Out on you, owls ! nothing but
songs of death ? [He striketh him.
Take that, until thou bring nie better news. 510
Third Mess. The news I have to tell your
majesty
Is, that by sudden floods and fall of waters,
Buckingham's army is dispersed and scattei-'d;
And he himself wander'd away alone.
No man knows whither.
K.Rich. I cry thee mercy:
There is my purse to cure tha'; blow of thine.
Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd
Reward to him that brings the ti-aitor in ?
Third Mess. Such proclamation hath been
made, my liege.
Enter another Messenger.
Fourth Mess. Sir Thomas Lovel and Lord
Marquis Dorset, 520
'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms,
Yet this good comfort bring I to your grace,
The Breton navy is dispersed by tempest:
Richmond, in Dorsetshire, sent out a boat
Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks
If they were his assistants, yea oi' no ;
Who answer'd hira, they came from Bucking
ham
Upon his party : he, mistrurtlng them.
Hoisted sail and made away wr Brittany.
K. Rich. March on, march on, since we are
up in arras ; _ 530
If not to fight with foreign enemies.
Yet to beat down these rebels here at home.
Re-enter Catesby.
Cate. My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is
*
That is the l»st news : that the Earl of Rich¬
mond
Is with a mighty power landed at Milford,
Is colder tidings, yet they must be told.
Rich. Away towards Salisbury ! while we
reason here,
A royal battle might be won and lost *.
Some one take order Buckingham be brought
17
KING RICHARD lit.
268
KING RICHARD III.
[Ac* V.
To Salisbury ; the rest inarch on with me. 610
[^/ourisA. Exeunt.
Scene V. Lord Derby's house.
Enter Derby and Sir Christopher Urswick.
Der. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this
from me :
That in the sty of this most bloody boar
My sou George Stanley is frauk'd up in hold :
If 1 revolt, off goes young George's bead ;
The fear of that withholds my present aid.
Rut, tell me, where is princely Richmond now?
Chris. At Pembroke, or at Ha'rford-west,
in Wales.
Der. What men of name resort to him ?
Chris. Sir Waiter Herbert, a renowned
soldier ;
Sir Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley ; 10
Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, Sir James Blunt,
And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew ;
And many more of noble fame and worth :
And towards London they do bend their
course.
If by the way they be not fought withal.
Der. Return unto thy lord ; commend me
to him :
Tell him the queen hath heartily consented
He shall espouse Elizabeth her daughter.
These letters will resolve him of my mind.
Farewell. [ETceunt. 20
ACT V.
Scene I. Salisbury. An open place.
Enter the Sheriff, and Buckingham, with
halberds, led to execution.
Buck. Will not King Richard let me speak
with him?
Sher. No, my good lord ; therefore be pa¬
tient.
Buck. Hastings, and Edward's children.
Rivers, Grey,
Holy King Henry, and thy fair son Edward,
Vaughan, and all that have miscarried
By underhand corrupted foul injustice.
If that your moody discontented souls
Do through the clouds behold this presept
hour,
Eren for revenge mock my destruction !
This is All-Souls' day, fellows, is it not ? 10
Sher. It is, my lord.
Buck. Why, then All-Souls' day is my
body's doomsday.
This is the day that, in King FAward's time,
I wish't might fall on me, when I was found
False to his children or his wife's allies ;
This is the day wherein I wish'd to fall
By the false faith of him I trusted most;
This, this All-Souls' day to my fearful soul
Is the determined respite of my wrongs :
That high All-Seer that I dalliefl with 20
Hath turu'd my feigned prayer on my head
And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest.
Tlius doth he force the swords of wicked men
"To turn their own points on their masters' bo¬
soms :
Now Margaret's cnrse is fallen upon my head ;
' When he,' quoth she,' shall split thy heart
with sorrow,
Remember Margaret was a prophetess.'
Come, sirs,, convey me to the block of shame ;
Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of
blame. \Excunt.
Scene II. The camp near Tamworth.
Enter Richmond, Oxford, Blunt, Her¬
bert, and others, with drum and colors.
Rtchm. Fellows in arms, and my most lov¬
ing friends.
Bruised underneath the yoke of tyranny.
Thus far into the bowels of the laud
Have we raarch'd on without impediment;
And here receive we from our father Stanley
Lines of fair comfort and encouragement.
The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar.
That spoil'd your summer tields and fruitful
vines.
Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes
his trough
In your einbowell'd bosoms, this foul swine 10
Lies now even in the centre of this isle,
Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn :
From Tamworth thither is but one day's
march.
In God's name, cheerly on, courageous friends.
To reap the harvest of perpetual peace
By this one bloody trial of sharp war.
Oxf. Every man's conscience is a thousand
swords, a
To fight against that bloody homicide.
Herb. I doubt not but his friends will fly to
us.
Blunt. He hath no friends but who are
friends for fear, 20
Which in his greatest need will shrink from
him.
Jtichm. All for our vantage. Then, in God's
name, march :
True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's
wings :
Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures
kings. [Exeunt
Scene HI. Bosworth Field.
Enter King Richard in arms, with Norfolk,
the Earl of Surrey, and others.
K. Rich. Here pitch our tents, even here in
Bosworth field.
My Lord of Surrey, why look you so sad ?
Sur. My heart is ten times lighter than my
]00lC8>
K. Rich. My Lord of Norfolk,—
Nor. Here, most ^acious liegR
K. Rich. Norfolk, we must have knocw:
ha I must we not ?
Nor. We must both give and take, my gnp
cious lord.
SOtCNlS 111.]
K. Rich. with my tent there I here will
I lie to-night;
But where to-morrow? Well, all's one for
that.
Who hath descried the number of the foe ?
Wor. Six or seven thousand is their utmost
TOwer. 10
K. Rich. Why, our battalion trebles that
account:
Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength,
Which they upon the adverse party want
Up with my tent there ! Valiant gentlemen,
Let us survey the vantage ol the field ;
Call for some men of sound direction :
Let's want no discipline, make no delay ,
For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day. [Exeunt.
Enter, on the other side of the field, Richmond,
Sib William Bbamuon, Oxford, and oth¬
ers. Some of the Soldiers pitch Richmond's
tent.
Richm. The weary sun hath made a golden
set.
And, b.y the bright track of his fiery car, 20
Gives signal of a goodly day to-morrow.
Sir Wiiiiaja Brandon, you shall bear my stand¬
ard.
fiive me some ink and paper in my tent;
I'll draw the form and model of our battle.
Limit eiich leader to his several charge.
And part in just proportion our small strength.
My Lord of Oxford, you. Sir William Bran¬
don,
And you. Sir Walter Herbert, stay with me.
The Earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment:
Good Captain Biunt, bear my good night to
him, 30
And by the second hour iu the morning
Desire the earl to see me in my tent:
Yet one thing more, good Blunt, before thou
go'st.
Where is Ixird Stanley quarter'd, dost thou
know ?
Blunt. Unless I have mista'en his colors
much.
Which well 1 am assured I have not done.
His regiment lies half a mile at least
South from the mighty power of the king.
Richm. If without peril it be possible.
Good Captain Blunt, bear my good-night to
him, 40
And give him from me this most needful scroll.
Blunt. Upon, my life, my lord, I'll mtder-
take it;
And so, God ^ve you quiet rest to-uight!
Richm. Good night, good Captain Blunt.
Come, gentlemen.
Let us consult upon to-morrow's business :
In to our tent; the air is raw and cold.
[They withdraw into the tent.
Enter, to his tent. Kino Richcrd, Norfodk,
Ratclifp, Catbsby, and others.
K. Rich. What is't o'clock ?
Cate. ■ It's supper-time, my lord ;
It's nine o'clock.
£. Rich 1 will not sup to-night
266
Give me some ink and ^per.
What, is my beaver easier than it was ? 60
.^d all my armor laid into my tent ?
Cate. It is, my liege ; and all things are in
readiness.
K. Rich. Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy
charge ;
Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels.
JVbr. I go, my lord.
K. Rich. Stir with the lark to-morrow, gen¬
tle Norfolk.
Nor. I warrant you, my lord. [Exit.
K. Rich. Catesby I
Cate. My lord ?
K. Rich. Send out a pursuivant at arms
To .Stanley's regiment; bid him bring his
power 60
Before snurising, lest his son George fall
Into the blind cave of eternal night.
[Exit Catesby.
Fill me a bowl of wine. Give me a watch.
Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow.
Look that my staves be sound, and not too
heavy.
BatcliS !
Rat. My lord ?
K. Rich. Saw'st thou the melancholy Loru
Northumberland ?
Rat. Thomas tlie Earl of Surrey, and him¬
self.
Much about cock-shut time, from troop to
troop . 70
Went through the army, cheering up the sol¬
diers.
K. Rich. So, I am satisfied. Give me a
bowl of wine :
I have not that alacrity of spirit.
Nor cheer of mind, that I was wont to have.
Set it down. Is ink and paper ready ?
Rat. It is, my lord.
K. Rich, Bid my guard watch ; leave me.
Ratclilf, aboui the mid of night come to my
tent
And help to arm me. Leave me, I say.
[Exeunt Ratcliff and the other Attendants.
Enter Derby to Richmond in his tent, Lords
and others attending.
Der. Fortune and victory-sit on thy helm !
Richm. All comfort that the dark night can
afford 80
Be to thy person, noble father-in-law !
Tell me, how fares our loving mother ?
Der. I, by attorney, bless thee from thy
mother.
Who pi-ays continually for Richmond's good :
So much for that. The silent hours steal on.
And flaky darkness breaks within the east^
bi brief,—for so the season bids us be,—
Prepare thy battle early in the morning.
And put thy fortune to the arbitrement
Of bloody strokes and mortal-staring war. 90
I, as I may—that which I would I cannot,—
With best advantage will deceive the time.
And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms :
But on thy side I may not be too forward.
KING RICHARD III.
260
KING RICHARD III.
[Act V-
Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George,
Be executed in his father's si^it
Fareweli: tlie leisure and tlie fearful time
Cuts off tlie ceremonious vows of love
And ample interchange of sweet discourse.
Which so long sunder'd friends should dwell
upcm: 100
God give us leisure for these rites of love !
Once more, adieu : be valiant, and speed well!
Richm. Good lords, conduct him to his regi¬
ment :
I'll strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a
nap.
Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow.
When I should moiuit with wings of victory:
Once more, good night, kind lords and gentle¬
men. lExnmt all but Richmond.
0 Thou, whose captain I account myself.
Look on my forces with a gracious eye ; 109
Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath.
That they may crush down with a heavy fall
The usurping helmets of our adversaries!
Make us thy ministers of chastisement.
That we may praise thee in the victory !
To thee I do commend my watchful soul.
Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes:
Sieeoing and waking, O, defend me still 1
ISleeps.
Enter the Ghost of PantcE Edwakd, son to
Henbv the Sixth.
Ghost. [To Rkhard] Let me sit heavy on
thy soul to-morfow I
Think, how thou stab'dstme in my prime of
youth
At Tewksbury : despair, therefore, and die !
\_To Richmond] Be cheerful, Richmond ; for
the wronged souls
Of butcher'd princes fight m thy behalf:
King Henry's issue, Richmond, comforts thee.
Enter the Ghost o/Henry the Sixth.
Ghost. \To Richard] When I was mortal,
my anointed body
By thee was punched full of deadly holes:
Think on the Tower and me: desiiair, and die 1
Harry the Si.xth bids thee despair, and die !
[Zb Richmond] Virtuous and holy, be thou
conqueror !
Harry, that prophesied thou shouldst be king.
Doth comfort thee in thy sleep: live, and flour¬
ish 1 j.30
Enter the Ghost o/Clarence.
Ghos'. [To Richard] Let me sit heavy on
thy soul to-morrow 1
I, that was wash'd to death with fulsome wine.
Poor Clarence, by thy guile betrayed to death I
To-morrow in the battle think on me,
And fall thy edgeless sword: despair, and
die !—
[To Richmond] Thou offspring of the house of
Lancaster,
The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee:
Good angels guard thy battle! live, and flour¬
ish I
Enter the Ghosts o/Rivers, Grey, and
Vaughan.
Ghost of R [7b Richard] Let me sit heavy
on thy soul to-morrow.
Rivers, that'died .at Porafret! despair, and die I
Ghost of G. [To Richard] Think upon Grey,
.and let thy soul despair 1 141
Ghost of V. [To Richard] Think- upon
Vaughan, and, with guilty fear.
Let fall thy lance : despair, and die !
All. [To Richmond] Awake, and think our
wrongs in Richard's bosom
Will conquer him ! awake, and win the day !
Entelr the Ghost of Hastings.
Ghost. [To Richard] Bloody and guilty,
guiltily awake.
And in a bloody battle end thy days I
Think on Lord Hastings ; despair, and die i
[To Richmond] Quiet untroubled soul, awake,
awake !
Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England's
sake! 150
Enter the Ghosts of the two young Princes.
Ghosts. [To Richard] Dream on thy cousins
smother'd in the Tower :
Let us be led within thy bosom, Richard,
And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and
death 1
Thy nephews' souls bid thee despair and die !
[2b Richmond] Sleepj Richmond, sleep in
peace, and wake m joy ;
Good angels guard thee from the bo.at's an¬
noy 1
Live, and beget a happy race of kings !
Edward's unhappy sons do bid thee flourish.
Enter the Ghost o/Lady Anne.
Ghost. [ To Richard] Richard, thy wife, that
wretched Anne thy wife.
That never slept a quiet hour with thee, 164
Now fills thy sleep with perturbations :
To-morrow in the battle think on me.
And fall thy edgeless sword : despair, and die!
[To Richmond] Thou quiet soul, sleep thou i
quiet sleep ;
Dream of success and happy victory T
Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee.
Enter the Ghost of Buckingham.
Ghost. [To Richard] The first was I that
helped thee to the crown ;
The last was I that felt thy tyranny ;
O, iu the battle think on Buckingham,
And die in terror of thy guiltiness 1 170
Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and
death :
Fainting, despair; despairing, yield thy breath 1
[To Richmond] I died for nope ere I could
lend thee aid :
But cheer thy heart, and be thou notdismay'd;
God and good angels fight on Richmond's
side;
And Richard falls in height of all his pride.
SCEKE' 111.]
Kim RtCB^BD III.
261
[I7ie Ghosts vanish. King Richard starts
out of his dream.
K. Rich. Give me atiother horse : bind up
my wounds.
Have mercy, Jesu !—Soft! I did but dream.
0 coward conscience, how dost thou afBictme!
Tlie lights burn biue. It is now dead mid¬
night.
Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling
flesh.
What do I fear ? myself ? there's none else
by :
Richard loves Ricliard ; that is, I am I. • .
Is there a murderer here ? No. Yes, I am '.
Then fly. What, from myself ? Great reason
why :
Lest I revenge. What, myself niron myself ?
Alack, I love myself. Wherefore ? for any
good
That I myself have done unto myself ?
O, no ! alas, I rather hate myself >
For hateful deeds committed by myself ! 190
1 am a villain ; yet I lie, I am not.
Fool, of tliyself speak well: fool, do not flatter.
My conscience hath a thousand several
tongues.
And every tongue brings in a several tale.
And every tale condemns me for a villain.
Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree ;
Murder, stem murder, in tlie direst degree ;
All several sins, all used in each degree.
Throng to the bar, crying ail, Guilty ! guilty!'
I shall despair. There is no creature loves me;
And if I die, no soul shall pity me ; 201
Nay, wherefore should they, since that I my¬
self I
Find in myself no pity to myself ?
Methought the souls of all that I had mur-
der'd »
Came to my tent; and ©very one did threat
To-morrow's vengeance on the head of
Richard.
Enter Ratceiff.
at. My lord!
K. Rich. 'Zounds ! who is there 7
Rat. Ratclifi, my lord ; 'tis I. The early
villa ge-cock
aath twice done salutation to the morn ; 210
four friends are up, and buckle on their
armor.
K. Rich. O Ratcliff, I have dream'd a fear¬
ful dream!
What thinkest thou; will our friends prove ail
true?
Rat. No doubt, my lord.
K. R'ch. O Ratcliff, I fear, I fear,—
Rat. Nay, good my lord, be not afmid of
shadows.
K. Rich. By the apostle Paul, shadows to¬
night *
Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard
Than can the substance of teu tiiousand sol¬
diers
Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond,
It is not yet near day. Come, go with me j 22p
Under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper.
To spe if any mean to shrink from me.
tExeunU
Enter the Lords fo RicHMOifD, sitting in his
tenti ■ '
Lords. Good morrow, Richmond !
Riehm. Cry ' mercy, lords and watchful
gentlemen,
That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here.
Lords. How have you slept, my lord ?
Richm. Tiie sweetest sleep, and fairest-
boding dreams
That ever enter'd in a drowsy head,
Have I since your deijartnre had, my lords.
Methought their souls, whose bodies Richard
murder'd, 230
Came to my tent, .and cried oh victory :
I promise you, my soul is very jocund
In the remembrance of so fair a dream.
How far into the morning is it, lords 7
JyOrds. Upon the stroke of four.
Richm. Why, then 'tis time to arm and give
direction.
His oration to his soldiers.
More than I have said, loving countrymen.
The leisure and enforcement of the time
Forbids to dwell upon : yet remember this,
God and our good cause fight upon our side ;
The prayers of lioiy saints and wronged souls.
Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our
faces ;
Richard except, those whom we fight against
H.id rather have us win than him they follow:
For what is he they follow 7 truly, gentlemen,
A bloody tyrant and a homicide ,
One raised in blood, and one in blood estab-
lish'd ; [
One that made means to come by what he
hath.
And slaughteFd those that were the means to
help him ; 249
A base foul stone, made precious by tire foil
Of Eugiand's chair, where he is falsely set;
One that hath ever been God's enemy :
Then, if you, fight against God's enemy,
God will in justice ward you as his soldiers ■
If you do sweat to put a tyraut down.
You sleep in peace, the tyraut being slain ; ,
If you do fight against your country's foes.
Your country's fat shall pay your pains the
hire ; . i
If you do fight in safeguard of your wives.
Your wives shall welcome home the conquer¬
ors ; 260
If you do free your children from the sword.
Your children's children quit it in your age.
Then, in tlie name of God and all these rights.
Advance your standards, draw your willing
swords.
For me, the ransom of my bold attempt
Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold
face ;
But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt
The least of you shall share his part thereot
262
Sound drums and trumpets boldly and cheer¬
fully ; .
God and Saint George! Richmond and vic¬
tory ! [Exeunt. 270
Re-enter King Richard, Ratoliff, Attend¬
ants and Forces.
K. Rich. What said Northumberland as
touching Richmond ?
Rat. That he was never trained up in arms.
K. Rich. He said the truth: and what said
Surrey then ?
Rat. He smiied and said ' The better for
our purpose.'
K. Rich. He was in the right; and so indeed
it is. [Clock striketh.
Tell the clock there. Give me a calendar.
Who saw the sun to-day 7
Rat. Not I, my lord.
K. Rich. Then he disdains to shme ; for by
the book
He should have braved the east an hour ago :
A black day will it be to somebody. 280
Ratclifl !
Rat. My lord 7
K. Rich. The sun will not be seen to-day ;
The sky doth frown and lour iipon our army.
I would these dewy tears were from the
ground.
Not shine to-day ! Why, what is that to me
More than to Richmond 7 the selfsam*
heaven
That frowns on me looks sadly upon him
Enter Norfolk.
Wor. Arm, arm, my lord ; the foe vaunts in
the field.
K. Rich. Come, bustle, bustle ; caparison
my horse
Call up Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power:
I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain, 291
And thus my battle shall be ordered :
My foreward shall be drawn out all in length.
Consisting equally of horse and foot;
Our archers shall be placed in the midst:
John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas-Earl of Surrey,
Shall have the leading of this foot and horse.
I'hey thus directed, we will follow [side
In the main battle, whose puissance on either
Shall be winged with our chiefest horse.
This, and Saim ueorge to boot! What think'st
thou, Norfolk 7 301
Nor. A good direction, warlike sovereign.
This found I on my tent this morning.
[He sheweth him a paper.
K. Rich. [Reads] ' Jockey of Norfolk, be
not too bold.
For Dickon thy master is bought and sold.'
A thing devised by the enemy.
Go, gentleman, every man unto his charge :
Let not our babbling dreams affright our
souls :
Conscience is but a word that cowards use.
Devised at first to keep the strong in awe: 310
Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our
law.
March on, join bravely;, let us tb't pell-mell;
[Act v,
If not to heaven, then hand in hand to heU.
His oration to his Army.
What shall 1 say more than I have inferr'd 7
Remember whom you are to cope withal;
A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways.
A scum of Bretons, and base lackey peasants,
Whom their o'er-cloyed country vomits forth
To desperate veutur^ and assured destruction.
You sleeping safe, they bring to you unrest;
You having lauds, and blest with beauteous
wives, 321
They would restrain the one, distain the other.
And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow,
Long kept in Bretagne at our mother's cost 7
A milk-sop, one that never in his life
Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow 7
Let's whip these stragglers o'ertliese.as again ;
Lash hence these overweening ra";s of France,
These famish'd beg^rs, wea^ of their lives ;
Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit,
For want of means, poor rats, had hang'd them¬
selves : 331
If we be couquer'd, let men conquer us.
And not these bastard Bretons ; whom our
fathers
Have in their own land beaten, bobb'd, anj
thump'd.
And in record, left them the heirs of shame.
Shall these enjoy o*uf lands 7 lie with our
wives 7
Ravish our daughters 7 [Drum afar off.]
Hark ! 1 bear their drum.
•Fight, gentlemen of England 1 fight, bold yoe^
men !
Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head!
Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in
blood; 340
Amaze the welkin with your broken staves I
Enter a Messenger.
What says Lord Stanley 7 will he bring his
power 7
Mess. My lord, he doth deny to come.
K. Rich. OS with his s^u George's head !
Nor. My lord, the enemy is past the marsh:
After the battle let George Stanley die.
K. Rich. A thousand hearts are great
within my bosom :
Advance our standards, setnixm our foes ;
Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint
George,
Inspire us with the spleen A fiery dragons ! 350
Upon them I victory sits on our helms.
[Exeunt.
Scene TV. Another part of the field.
Alarum: excursions. Enter Norfolk and
forces fighting; to him Catesbf.
Cate. Rescue, my Lord of Norfolk, rescue^
rescue!
The king enacts more wonders than a man.
Daring an opposite to every danger :
His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights.
Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death.
Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost 1
KING MCRARD III.
ScENB v.]
KING RICHARD III.
263
Alarums. Enter King Richard.
K. Rich. A horse I a horse I my kingdom
for a horse 1
Cote. Withdraw, my lord ; I'll help you to
a horse.
K. Rich. Slave, I have set my life upon a
cast,
And 1 will stand the hazard of the die : 10
1 think there be six Richraoiids in the field ;
Five have I slain to-day instead of him.
A horse ! a horse ! my kingdom for a horse !
[Exeunt.
Scene V. Another part of the field.
Alarum. Enter Richard and Richmond ;
they fiyhl. Richard is slain. Retreat
and,parish. Re-enler Richmond, Derby
hearing the crown, with divers other Lords.
Richm. God and your arms be praised,
victorious friends;
The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead.
Der. Courageous Richmond, well bast thou
acquit thee.
Ix), here, this long-usurped royalty
From the dead temples of this blo^y wretch
Have I pluck'd off, to grace thy brows withal :
Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it.
Richm. Great God of heaven, say Amen to
all!
But, tell me, is young George Stanley living ?
Der. He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester
town ;
Whither, if it please you, we may now with¬
draw us.
Richm. What men of name are slain on
either side 7
Der. John Duke of Norfolk, Walter Lord
Ferrers,
Sir Robert Brackenbury, and Sir William
Brandon.
Richm. Inter their bodies as becomes their
births :
Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled
That in submission will return to us :
And then, as we have ta'eu the sacrament.
We will unite tlie white rose and the red :
Smile heaven uiwn this fair conjunction, 20
That long have frown'd upon their enmity !
What traitor hears me, and says not amen ?
England hath long been mad, and scarr'd her¬
self;
The brother blindly shed the brother's blood.
The father rashly slaughter'd his own son.
The sou, compell'd, been butcher to the sire :
All this divided York and Lancaster,
Divided in their dire division,
O, now, let Richmond and Elizabeth,
"The true succeeders of each royal house, 30
By God's fair ordinance conjoin together !
And let their heirs, God, if thy will be so,
Euiich the time to come with smooth-faced
peace.
With smiling plenty and-fair iirosperons days !
Abate the edge of traitoys, gracious Lord,
That would reduce these bloody days again.
And make poor England weep in streams of
blood! .
Let them not live to taste this land's increase
That would with treason wound this fair land's
peace!
Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace lives
again :
That she may long live here, God say amen I
[ETseunt.
ROMEO AND JULIET.
(TWO DATES ARE ASSIGNED TO IT, 1591 AND 1596-97.)
IJtTRODUCTION.
The story of the unhappy lovers of Verona, as a supposed historical occurrence, is referred to the
year 1303; but no account of it exists of an earlier date than that of Luigi da Porto, about 1530. The
story quickiy acquired a European celebiity. Published by Bandello in Ills eollection of Italian
novels in 1554, it was translated into French in 1559 by Pierre Bolsteau, and in three years more
touched English soil. Arthur Brooke in 1562 produced his long metrical version, founded upon
Boisteau's novel, and a pure translation of Boisteau's work appeared in Paynter's Palace of Pleas¬
ure in 1537. We have here reacheil Shakespeare's sources : Paynter he probably consulted; in
nearly all essentials he follows the liomeus and Juliet of Brooke. The precise date of Shake¬
speare's play is uncertain. In 1597 it was published in quarto, " as it hath been often (with great
applause) plaid publiquely by the right Honorable the Lord of Hunsdon his servants." Now the
Lord Chamberiain, Henry Lord Hunsdon, died July 22,1596; his son, George Lord Hunsdon, was
appointed Chamberlain in April, 1597. Before July, 1596, or after April, 1597, the theatrical com¬
pany would have been styled by the more honorable designation, *' the Lord Chamberlain's ser¬
vants but during the interval they would liave been described as on the title-page of the quarto.
The Nurse's mention ot the earthquake (Act I , Sc. in., L. 23), " 'Tis since the earthquake now eleven
yeai-s," has been referred to as giving the date 1591, a memorable earthquake, felt in London, hav¬
ing occurred in 1580; but, while professing an infallibly accurate recollection, the old woman blunders
sadly bout her dates, so that even if an actual English earthquake were alluded to, the point of the
jest may have been in the inaccuracy of the reference. The internal evidence favors the opinion that
this tragedy was an early work of the poet, and that it was subsequently revised and enlarged.
There is much rhyme, and much of this is in the f< rm A alternate rhyme; the forced playing upon
words, and the overstrained conceits point to an jarly date. We may perhaps accept the opinion
that the piay was begun, and in part written, as early as 1591, and that it assumed its final form
about 1597. Apart from its intrinsic beauty, Jtomeo and Juliet is ot deep interes*- when viewed as
Shakespeare's tirst tragedy, and as a work which probabiy occupied hio thoughts, from time to time,
during a series of years. It is a young man's tragedy, in which Youth and Love are brought
face to face with Hatred and Death. The scene is essenticlly Italian : the burning noon of
July in the Italian city inflame the blood of the street quarrelers; the voluptuous moonlit nights
are only like a softer dc-y. And the characters are Itaiian, with their lyrical ardor, their south-
em impetuosity of passion, and the southern forms and color of their speech. Romeo's na¬
ture is prone to enthusiastic feeling, and, as it were, vaguely trembling in the direction of love
before he sees Juliet; to meet her gives form and fixity to his vague emotion. To Juliet—a
girl of fourteen—love comes as a thing previously unknown; it is at once terrible and bliss¬
ful ; she rises, through love, and sorrow, and trial, from a child into a heroic woman. After
Shakespeare has exalted their enthusiastic joy and rapture to the highest point, he suddenly casts it
down. Romeo is ot first completely unmanned ; but Juliet exhibits a noble fortitude and self com¬
mand. Mercutio and the Nurse are almost creations of Shakespeare. Brooke had described Mercu-
tio as "a lion among maidens," and speaks of his " ice-cold hand ;" but it was the dramatist who
drew at full length the figure of this brilliant being, who though with wit running beyond what is
becoming, and effervescent animal spirits, yet acts as a guardian of Romeo, and is always a gallant
gentleman. He dies forcing a jest through his bodily anguish, but he dies on Romeo's behalf : the
scene darkens as liis fimire disappears. The action is accelerated by Shakespeare to the utmost, the
four or five months of Brooke's poem being reduced to as many days. On Sunday the lovers meet,
next day they are made one in marriage, on Tuesday morning at dawn they part, and they are finally
re-united in the tomb on the night of Thursday Shakespeare does not close the tragedy with
Juliet's death : as he iias shown in the first scene the hatred of the houses through the comic quar¬
rel of the servants, thereby introducing the causes which produce the tragic issue, so in thb last
scene he shows us the houses sorrowfully reconciled over the dead bodies of a son and daughter.
DRAMATIS PERSON.®.
Esc ALUS, prince of Verona.
Paris, a yonng nobleman, kinsman to the
prince.
Montague, I heads of two houses at variance
Capulet, ( with each othqy.
An old man, cousin to Capulet.
(264)
Romeo, son to Montague.
Mercutio, kinsman to the prince, and friend
to Romeo.
Benvolio, nephew to Montague, and friend
to Romeo.
Tybalt, nephew to Lady Capulet
Scene i.]
ROMEO AND JULIET.
265
Friak Laurence, )
Friar John, j Franciscans.
Baethasar, servant to Romeo. '
S^RY, I servants to Capulet.
Peter, servant to Jnliet's nurse..
Abraham, servant to Montague.
An Apothecary.
Three Musiciana
"age to Paris ; another Page ; an oIBcer.
Lady Montaoue, wife to Montague.
Lady Capulet, wife to Capulet
Juliet, daught-r to Capulet.
Nurse to Juliet
Citizens of Verona; several Men and Women,
relations to bcth houses; Maskers,
Guards, Watchmen, and Attendants.
Chorus.
Scene : VeroTia: Mantua.
PROLOGUE.
Two households, both alike in dignity.
In fair Verona, wliere we lay our ocene.
From ancient grudge break to new matiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A (xiir of star-cross'd lovers take their life;
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows
Uo with their death bury their parents' strife.
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,
. And the continuance of their parents' rage,
Which, but their children's end, nought could
remove, 11
Is now the two hours' traffic of Our stage ;
"he which if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall stiive to
mend.
ACT r.
Scene I. Verona. A public place.
Enter Sampson and Gregory, of the house of
Capulet, armed with swords and bucklers.
Sam. Gregory, o' my word, we'll not carry
coals.
Gre. No, for then we should be colliers.
Sam. I mean, au we be in choler, we'll
draw.
Gi-e. Ay, while you live, draw your neck
Diit o' the collar.
Sam. I strike quickly, being moved.
Gre. But thou art not quickly moved to
strike.
Sam. A dog of the house of Montague
moves me. 10
Gre. To move is to stir; and to be valiant
is to stand : therefore, if thou art moved, thou
runn'st away.
Sam. A dog of that house shall move me
to stand ; I will take the wall of any man or
maid of Montague's.
Gre. That shows thee a weak slave; for the
weake.st goes to the wall. ,«
Sam. True; and therefore women, being
the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall:
therefore I will push Montague's men from
the wall, and thrust his maids to the walk
Gre. The quarrel is between-our masters
and us their men.
Sam. 'Tis all one, I will show my.self a
tyrant: when I hav. fought with the men, I
will be cruel with the maids, and cut off their
heads.
Gre. The heads of the maids ? 29
Sam-. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their
maidenheads ; take it in what sense thou wilt.
Gre. They must take it in sense that feel it.
Sam. Me thev shall feel while I am able to
stand : and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of
fiesh.
Gre. 'Tis well thou art not fish ; if thou
hadst, thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy
tool; here comes two of the house of the Mon¬
tagues.
Sam. My naked weapon is out: quarrel. I
w'll back thee. 40
Gre. How I turn thy back and run ?
Sam. Fear me not.
Gi'e. No, marry; I fear thee !
Sam. Let us take the law of our sides ; let
them begin.
Gre. I will frown as I pass by, and let them
take it as they list.
Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my
thumb at them ; which is a disgrace to them,
if they bear it. 50
Enter Abraham and Balthasar.
Abi\ Do you bite your thumb at us, sir ?
Sam. I do bite my- thumb, sir.
Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir ?
Sam. [Aside to Gre.] Is the law of our side,
if 1 say ay ?
Gre. i^o.
Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb aZ
you, sir, but I bite my thumb, sir.
Gre. Do you quarrel, sir?
Abr. Quarrel, sir ! no, sir. 60
Sam. If you do, sir, 1 am for you ; I serve
as good a man as you.
Abr. No better.
Sam. Well, sir.
Gre. Say ' better ;' here comes one of my
master's kinsmen.
Sam. Yes, better, sir.
Abr. You lie.
Sam. Draw, if yon be men. Gregory, re¬
member thy swashing blow. [Theyfir/ht. 70
Enter Bknvolio.
Ben. Part, fools !
266
Put up your swords ; you know not what you
do. [Bealt di>ujn tlieir swords.
Enter Tybalt.
Tyh. What, art thou drawu among these
heartless hinds ?
Turn thee, Benvollo, look upon thy death.
Ben. I do but keep the peace: put up thy
sword.
Or manage it to i>art these men with me.
Tyh. What, drawn, and talk of peace ! I
hate the word.
As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee :
Have at thee, coward ! [They fiyht.
Enter several of both houses, who join the
fray; then enter Citizens, with clubs.
First at. Clubs, bills, and. partisans!
strike ! beat them down ! 80
Down with the Capulets 1 down with the
Montagues !
Enter Capulet in his gown, and Lady
Capulet.
Cap. What noise is this ? Give me my
long sword, ho 1
La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch 1 why call
you for a sword ?
Cap. My sword, I say ! Old Montague is
come.
And flourishes his blade in spite of me.
Enter Montague and Lady Montague.
Man. Thou villiiiu Capulet,—Hold me not,
let me go.
La. Mon. Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek
a foe.
Enter Pbince, with Attendants.
Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to
peace,
Profaners of this neighbor-stained steel,—
Will they not hear? What, ho! you men,
you beasts, 90
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains issuing from your
veins.
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the
ground.
And hear the sentence of your moved prince.
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets,
And made Verona's ancient citizens
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, 100
"To wield old partisans, in hands as old,
CankePd with peace, to part your canker'd
hate:
If ever you disturb our streets again.
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time, all the re.«t depart away :
You, Capulet, shall go along with me:
And, Montague, come you this afternoon.
To know our further pleasure in this case,
Ta old Free-town, our common judgment-
place. 109
fAoT r.
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.
[Exeunt all but Montague, Jxidy Mori'
tague, and Benvolto,
Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new
abroach ?
Speak, nephew, were you by when it began ?
Ben. Here were the servants of your ad¬
versary.
And yours, close fighting ere I did approach :
I drew to part them : in the instant came
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared.
Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears.
He swung about his head and cut the winds.
Who nothing hurt withal hiss'd him in scorn :
While we were interchanging thrusts and
blows, mo
Came more and more and fought on part and
part.
Till the prince came, who parted either part.
La. Mon. O, where is Romeo ? saw you
him to-day ?
Right glad I am he was not at this fray.
Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd
sun
PeeFd forth the golden window of the east,
A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad ; .
Where, underneath the grove of sycamore
Th.at westward rooteth from the city's side.
So early walking did I see your son : 130
Towards him I made, but he was ware of me
And stole into the covert of the wood :
I, measuring his affections by my own.
That most are busied when they're most alone,
Pursued my humor not pursuing his.
And gladly shunn'd who gladly fied from me.
Mon. idany a morning liatb he there been
seen.
With tears augmenting tlie fresh morning's
dew, [sighs;
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun 140
Should in th^ furthest east begin to draw
The shady curtains from .Aurora's bed.
Away from light steals home my heavy son,
And private in his chamber pens himself.
Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out
And makes himself an artificial night:
Black and portentous must this humor prove.
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.
Ben. My noble uncle, do you know t'ne
cause ?
Mon. I neither know it nor can leam of
him. ISO
Ben. Have you importuned him by any
means ?
Mon. Both by myself and many other
friends:
But he, his own affections' counsellor.
Is to himself—I will not say how true—
But to himself so secret and so close.
So far from sounding and discovery.
As is the bud bit with an envious worm.
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
Could we but leam from whence his sorrows
grow, leo
ROMEO AND JULIET.
SCEMB II.]
nOMEO AND JULIET.
267
We would as williugly give cure as know.
ErUer Romeo.
Ben. See, where he comes ; so please you,
step aside;
I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.
Hon. I would thou wert so happy by thy
To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's
away. [Exeunt Muntayue and Lady.
Ben. Good-morrow, cousin.
Rom. Is the day so young ?
Ben. But new struck nine,
Rom. Ay met sad hours seem long.
Was that my fatlier that went hence so fast ?
Ben. It was. What sadness lengthens
Romeo's hours ?
Rom. Not having that, which, having,
makes them short. 170
Ben. In love ?
Bom. Out—
Ben. Of love ?
Rom. Out of her favor, where I am in
love.
Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view.
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof I
Rom. Alas, ^at love, whose view is muffled
still.
Should, without eyes, see pathways to his
will!
Where shall we dine? O me ! What fray was
here ?
Vet tell me not, for I have heard it all. 180
Here's much to do with hate, but more with
love.
Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate !
O any thing, of notliiug first create !
O heavy lightness ! serious vanity !
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms I
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick
health !
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is !
This love feel I, that feel no love in tliis.
Dost thou not laugh ?
Ben. No, coz, I rather weep.
Rom. €k>od heart, at what ? 190
Ben. At thy good heart's oppression.
Rom. Why, such is love's transgression.
Griefs of mine own lie heavy m my breast.
Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest
With more of thine : tliis love that thou hast
shown
Doth add more grief to too much of wine own.
Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes,;
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears;
Wiiat is it else ? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall and a preserving sweet 200
Farewell, my coz.
Ben. Soft! I will go along ;
An if you leave me so, you dome wrong.
iJoTO. Tut, I have lost myself ; I am not
here;
This is not Romeo, he's some other where.
Ben. Tell me in sadness, who is that you
love.
Rom. What, shall I groan and tell thee ?
Ben. Groan ! why, no.
But sadly tell roe who.
Rom. Bid a sick man ju sadness make his
will:
Ah, word ill urged to one that is so ill!
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. 210
Ben. I aim'd so near, when I snpjxjsed you
loved.
Rom. A right good mark-man ! And she's
fair I love.
Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest
hit.
Rom. Well, in that hit you miss: she'll not
be hit
With Cupid's arrow ; she hath Dian's wit ;
And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd.
From love's weak childish bow she lives un-
harm'd.
She will not stay the siege of loving terms,
Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes.
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold : 220
O, she is rich in beauty, only poor,
That when she dies with beauty dies her store.
Ben. Then she hath sworn that she will
still live cha.stc ?
Rom. She hath, and in that sparmg makes
huge waste,
For beauty starved with her severity
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair.
To merit bliss by making me despair :
She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow
Do I live dead that live to tell it now. 230
Ben. Be ruled by me, forget to think Oi
her.
Rom. O, teach me how I should forget to
think.
Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes ;
Examine other beauties.
Rom. 'Tis the way
To call hers exquisite, in question more :
These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows
Being blapk put us in mind they hide the fair;
He that is strucken blind cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost:
Show me a mistress that is passing fair, 240
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note
Where I may read who pass'd that xiassing
fair?
Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget.
Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in
debt. [Exeunt.
Scene IT. A street.
Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servant.
Cap. But Montague is bound as well as I,
In x>enalty alike ; and 'tis not hard, I think.
For men so old as we to keep the peace.
Par. Of honorable reckoning are you both ;
And pity 'tis you lived at odds so long.
But now, my lord, what say you to my suit ?
Cap. Butsayingo'erwhatl havesaid before:
My child is yet a stranger in the world ;
She hath not seen the change of fourteen
years ;
268
ROMEO AND JULIET.
[Act 1.
Let two more summers wither in their pride,
Kre we may think her ripe to be a bride. 11
Par. Youuger than she are happy mothers
made.
Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early
made.
The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but
she,
She is the hopeful lady of my earth:
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart.
My will to her con.seiit is but a part;
An she agree, within her scope of choice
Lies my consent and fair according voice.
This night I hold an old accustom'd feast, 20
Whereto I liave invited many a guest,
Such as I love ; and you, among the store .
One more, most welcome, makes my number
more.
At my poor house look to behold this night
Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven
light:
Such comfort as do lusty young men feel
When well-apparell'd April on the heel
Of limping winter treads, even such delight
Among fresh female buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house ; hear all, all see, 30
And like her most whose merit most shall be:
t Which on more view, of many mine being
one
Jlay stand in number, though in reckoning
none.
Come, go with me. [To Serv., giving a paper-']
Go, sirrah, trudge about
Through fair Veroua ; find those persons out
Whose names are written there, and to them
say.
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.
[Exeunt Capulet and Paris.
Sent. Find them out whose names are writ¬
ten here I It is written, tliat the shoemaker
should meddle with his yard, and the tailor
with his last, the fisher with his pencil, and
the painter with his nets ; but I am sent to
find those persons whose names are Ijere writ,
and can never find what names the writing
person hath here writ. I must to the learned.
—In good time.
Enter Benvolio and Ro.meo.
Ben. Tut, man, one fire burns out anoth¬
er's burning.
One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish ;
Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turn¬
ing ;
One desperate grief cures with another's
languish :
Take thou some new infection to thy eye, 50
And the rank poison of the old will die.
Bom. Your plamtain-leaf is excellent for
that
Ben. For what, I pray thee ?
Rom. For your broken shin.
Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad ?
Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a
mad-man is ;
Shut up in prison, kept withouPmy food,
Whipp'd and tormented and-<-God-den, good
fellow.
Sent. God gi' god-den. I pray, sir, can you
read ? ■ 59
Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery.
Serv. Perhaps you have learned it without
book : but, I pray, can you, read any thing
you see ?
Rum, Ay, if I know the letters and the laiv
guage.
Sero. Ye say honestly : rest you merry !
Ri>m. Stay, fellow ; 1 can read. [.Reads.
' Signior Martino and his wife and daugh¬
ters ; Count}' Anseline and his beauteous sis¬
ters ; the ladv widow of Vitruvio ; Signior
Placentio and his lovely nieces ; Mercutio and
his brother Valentine ; mine uncle Cajiulet,
his wife, and daughters ; my fa.r niece Rosa¬
line ; Livia ; Signior Valentio and his cousin
Tybalt ; Lucio and the lively Helena.'
A fair assembly : whither should they come ?
Serv. Up.
Rom. Whither 1
Serv. To supper ; to our house.
Rom. Whose house ?
Serv. My master's. 80
Rom. Indeed, I should have ask'd you that
before.
Serv. Now I'U teU you without asking : my
master is the great rich Capulet ; and if you
be not of the house of Montagues, I pray,
come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you
merry ! [Exit.
Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capu¬
let's
Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lovest.
With all the admired beauties of Verona ;
Go thither; and, with uuattainted eye,
Compare her face with some that I shall show,
And I will make thee tliink thy swan a crow.
Rom. When the devout religion of mme eye
Maintains such falsehood, tlien turn tears'to
fires;
And these, who often drown'd could never
die.
Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars !
One fairer than my love ! the all-seeing sun
Ne'er saw her match since first the world .
gun.
Ben. Tut, you saw her fair, none else be.
ing by.
Herself poised with herself in either eye: 100
But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd
Your lady's love against some other maid
That I will show you shining at this feast.
And she shall scant show well that now shows
best.
Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be
shown.
But to rejoice in splendor of mine own.
[Exeunt.
Scene IH. A room in Capulet's house.
Enter Ladv Capulet and Nurse.
La. Cap. Nurse, where's my dauglitert
caU her forth to me..
ROMEQ AND JULIET.
2t>9
SCEHE III.]
Nurse. Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve
year old,
I bade her come. What, lamb! what, lady¬
bird t
God forbid! Where's this girl ? What, Juliet!
Enter Juliet.
Jul. How now 1 who calls ?
Nurse. , Your mother.'
Jul. Madam, I am here.
What is your will ?
La. Cap. Tlrs is the matter :—Nurse, give
leave awhile, /
We must talk iii secret:—nurse, come back
again ;
I have remember'd me, thou's hear our coun¬
sel.
Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age.
Nurse. Faith, I can tell her age unto an
hour. 11
La. Cap. She's not fourteen.
Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,—
And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but
four, —
She is not fourteen. How long is it now
To Lammas-tide ?
Ijo. Cap. A fortnight and odd days.
Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year.
Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be four¬
teen.
Susan and she—God rest all Christian souls!—
Were of an age : well, Susan is with God ,
She was too good for me : but, as I said, 20
On Lammas-eve at night shml she be foui"-
teen ;
Tliat shall slie, marry ; I remember it well.
'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years ;
And she was wean'd,-^-! never shall forget it,--
Of all the days of the year, upon that day :
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,
Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall;
My lord and you were then at Mantua ;—
Nay, I do bear a brain :—but, as I said.
When it did taste the wormwood dn the nip¬
ple 30
Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool.
To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug !
' Shake quotli the« dove-house : 'twas no
need, I trow.
To bid roe trudge
And since that time it is eleven years ;
For then she could stand alone ; nay, by the
rood.
She could have run and waddled all about;
For even the day before, she broke her brow:
And then my husband—God be with his soul!
A' was a merry man—took up the child : 40
'Tea,' quoth he,dost thou fall upon thy,
face ? [wit;
Thou wilt fall backward wheu^mu hast more
Wilt thou not, Jule ?' and, by my holidame.
The pretty wretch left crying and said ' Ay.'
To see, now, how a jest shall come about!
I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,
I never should forget it: ' Wilt thou not,
Jule ?' quoth he ;
And, pretty fool, it stinted and said ' Ay.'
La. Cup. Enough of this ; 1 pray thee, hold
thy peace.
Nurse. Yes, madam : yet I cannot choose
I' but laugh, 50
To think it should leave crying and say ' Ay.'
And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow
A bump as big as a young cockerel's stone ;
A parlous knock ; and it cried bitterly :
' Yea,' quoth my husband, ' fall'st upon thy
face ?
Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to
age ; [' Ay.'
Wilt thou not, Jule ?' it stinted and said
Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse,
say 1.
Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee
to his grace !
Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I
nursed: 60
An I might live to see thee married once,
I have my wish.
La. Cap. Marry, that' marry ' is the very
theme
I came, to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet,
How stands your disposition to be married 7
Jul. It is an honor that I dream not of.
Nurse. An honor ! were not I thine only
nurse,
I would say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from
thy teat.
La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now ;
younger than you.
Here in Verona, ladies of esteem, 70
Are made already mothers : by my count,
I was your mother much ujion these years
That you are now a maid. Thus then in brief:
The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.
Nurse. A man, young lady ! lady, such a
man
As all the world—why, he's a man of wax.
La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such
a flower.
Nurse. Nay, he's a flower ; in faith, a very
flower.
La. Cap. What say you 7 can you love the
' gentleman 7
This night you shall behold him at our feast;
Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face 81
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;
Examine every married lineament
And see how one another lends content.
And what obscured in this fair volume lies
Find written in the inargent of his eyes.
This precious book of love, this unbound
lover.
To beautify him, only lacks a cover :
The fish lives in the sea, and 'tis much pride
For fair without the faJr within to hide : tlO
That book in many's eyes doth share the
glory.
That in gold clasps locks in the golden story ;
So shall you share all that he doth possess.
By having him, making yourself no less.
Nurse. No less ! nay, bigger; women grow
by men.
270
ROMEO AND JULIET.
[Act i.
La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of
Paris' love ?
Jul. I'll look to like, if looking liking move;
But no more deep will I endart mine eye
Than your consent gives strength to make it
fly.
Enter a Servant.
Sew. Madam, the guests are come, supper
served up, you called, my young lady asked
for, the nurse cursed in the jjantry, and every
thing ill extremity. I must hence to wait ; I
beseech you, follow straight.
La. Cap. We follow thee. [Exit Servant.'\
• Juliet, the county stays.
Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy
days. [ExeuM.
Scene IV. A street.
Enter Romeo, Mercotio, Benvomo, with five
or six Maskers, Torch-bearers, and others.
Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for
our excuse ?
Or shall we on without aiiology ?
Ben. The date is out of such prolixity :
We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf.
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath.
Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper ;
Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke
After the prompter, for our entrance :
But let them measure us by what they will;
We'll measure them a measure, and be gone.
Rom. Give me a torch : I am not for this
ambling; 11
Being but heavy, I will bear the light.
Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have
you dance.
Rom. Not I, believe me : you have dancing
shoes
With nimble soles : I have a soul of lead
So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.
Mer. You are a lover; borrow Cupid's
wings.
And soar with them above a common bound.
Rom. I am too sore enpierced with his
shaft
To soar with his light feathers, and so bound,
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: 21
Under love's heavy burden do I sink.
Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burden
love ;
Too great op])ressiou for a tender thing.
Rom. Is love a tender thing? it is too
rough.
Too rude, too boisteroius, and it pricks like
thorn.
Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough
with love;
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love
dowu.
Give me a case to put my visage in:
A visor for a visor ! what care I 30
What curious eye doth quote deformities ?
Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me.
Ben. Come, knock and ejttar ; and no sooner
in,
But every man betake him to his legs.
Ro7n. A torch for me : let wantons light of
heart
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels.
For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase;
I'll be a candle-holder, and look on.
The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done.
,Mer. Tut, dun's the mouse, the constable's
own word: , 40
If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire
Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stick'st
Up to the ears. Come, we bum daylight, ho !
Rom. Nay, that's not so.
Mer. T mean, sir, in delay
We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by
day.
Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits
Five times in that ere once in our five wits.
Rom. And we mean well in going to this
mask ;
But 'tis no wit to go.
Mer. Why, may one ask ?
Rom. I dream'd a dream to-night.
Mer. And so did I. 50
Rom. Well, what was yours ?
Mer. That dreamers often lie.
Rom. In bed asleep, while they do dream
things tme.
Mei\ 0, then, I see Queen Mab hath been
with you.
She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the fore-finger of an aldennan.
Drawn with a team of littie atomies
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep ;
Her wagon-spokes made of long spiders' legs.
The cover of the wings of grasshoppers, 60
The traeeeof the smallest spider's web.
The collars of the moonshine's watery beams.
Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film.
Her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat.
Not half so big as a round little worm
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid ;
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut
Made by the joiner ^uirrel or old grub.
Time out o' mind the fairie.s' coachmakers.
And in this state she gallops night by night 70
Through lovers' brams, and then they dream
of love ;
O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies
straight.
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on
fees.
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream,
AVhich oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
Because tlieir breaths with sweetmeats taints
are :
^ometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose.
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit ;
And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail
Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep, 80
Then dreams he of another benefice :
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck.
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Ofbreaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish'blades.
Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon
Sent** v.]
Drums in bis ear, at which he starts and
wakes,
And being thus frighted swears a prayer or
two
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab
That pl.ats the manes of horses in the night.
And rakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs.
Which once untangled, much misfortune
bodes: 91
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs.
That presses them and learns them first to
bear,
Aiaking them women of oOod carriage :
This is she—
Horn. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace !
Thou talk'st of nothing.
Mer. True, I talk of dreams.
Which are the children of an idle brain.
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy.
Which is as thin of substance as the air
4.nd more inconstant than the wind, who
wooes
Evei^ now the frozen bosom of the north, 101
And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
rurniughis face to the dew-dropping south.
Ben. This wind, you talk of, blows us from
ourselves;
Supper is done, and we shall come too late.
Bom. ' I fear, too early : for my mind mis¬
gives
Borne consequence yet hanging in the stars
Biiall bitterly begin his fearful date
With this night's revels and expire the term
Of a desinsed life closed in my breast 110
By some vile forfeit of untimely death.
But He, that hath the steerage of my course.
Direct my sail! On, lusty gentlemen.
Ben. Strike, drum. [E-xeunt.
Scene V. A hall in Capulet's home.
Musicians VMiting. Enter Servingmen with
napkins.
First Eerv. Where's Potpan, that he helps
not to take away ? He shift a trencher ? he
scrai>e a trencher !
Eec. Serv. When good manners shall lie all
in one or two men's hands and they unwashed
too, 'tis a foul thing.'
First Eerv. Away with the joiiit-stools, re¬
move the court-cupboard, look to the plate.
Good thou, save me a piece of march^ne ;
and, as thou lovest me, let the porter let in
SiLsau Grindstone and Nell. Antony, and Pot-
pan ! 11
Sec. Serv. Ay, hoy, ready.
First Serv. You are looked for and called
for, asked for and sought f.r, in the great
chamber.
Sec. Seiv. We cannot be here and there
too. Cheerly, boys ; be brisk.#while, and the
longer liver take all.
Enter Capulet, with Jctliet and others of
his house, meeting the Guests and Maskers.
Cap. Welcome, gentlemen 1 ladies that have
their toes
271
Unplagued with corns will have a bout with
you.
Ah ha, my mistresses ! which of you all 20
Will now deny to dance 7 she that makes
dainty.
She, I'll swear, hath corns ; am I come near
ye now ?
Welcome, gentlemen ! I have seen the day
That I have worn a visor and could tell
A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear.
Such as would please : 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis
gone:
You are welcome, gentlemen ! come, mu¬
sicians, play.
A hall, a hall! give room I and foot it, girls.
[Music plays, and they dance.
More light, you knaves ; and turn the tables
up.
And quench the fire, the room is grown too
hot. 30
Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes
well.
Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet;
For you and I are past our dancing days ;
How long is't now since last yourself and I
Were in a mask 7
Sec. Cap. By'r lady, thirty years.
Cup. What, man I His not so much, 'tis not
so much.
'Tis since the nuptials of Lucentio,
Come pentecost as quickly as it will.
Some five and twenty years ; and then we
mask'd.
Sec. Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more, his son is
elder, sir ; 40
His son is thirty.
Cap. Will you tell me that 7
His son was but a ward two years ago.
Bom. [To a Servinyman] What lady is that,
which doth enrich the hand
Of yonder knight 7
Serv. I know not, sir.
Bom. O, she doth teach the torches to bum
bright I
.It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear ;
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear I
So shows a snow.v dove trooping with crows.
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. 51
The measure done, I'll watch her place of
stand.
And, touching hers, make blessed my rude
hand.
Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.
Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a. Mon¬
tague.
Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the
slave
Come hither, cover'd with an antic face,
"To fleer and scorn at our solemnity 7
Now, by the stock and honor of my kin, 60
To strike him dead, I ho' d it not a sin.
Cap. Why, how now, kinsman ! wherefore
storm you so 7
Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe.
BOMEO AND JULIET
272
ROMEO AND JULIET.
A villain that is hither come in spite,
To scorn at our solemnity this night.
Cap. Young Romeo is it 1
Tijb. 'Tis he, tliat villain Romeo.
Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him
alone ;
He bears him like a portly gentleman ;
And, to say truth, Verona brags o£ him
To bo a virtuous and well-govern'd youth : 70
I would not for the wealth of all tlie town
Here in my house do him disparagement;
Therefore be patient, take no note of him :
It is my will, tlie which if thou respect.
Show a fair presence and put off these frowns.
An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.
Tyh. It fits, when such a vilhiin is a guest:
I'll not endure him.
Cap. He shall be endui-ed :
What, goodman boy ! I say, he shall: go to ;
Am I t!ie master here, or voii ? go to. 80
You'll not endure him 1 God shall inetid my
soul!
You'll make a mutiny among my guests !
You will set cock-a-hoop ! you'll be the man!
Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.
Cap. Go to, go to ;
You are a saucy boy : is't so, indeed ?
Tliis trick may cliance to scatlie you, I know
what:
You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time.
Well said, my hearts I You are a priucox ; go ;
Re quiet, or—More light, more light! For
shame I
I'U make you quiet. What, cheerly, my
hearts I <)0
Tyb. Patience perforce with wilful choler
meeting
Makes tny flesh tremble in their different
greeting.
I will withdraw : but tliis intrusion shall
Now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall.
[Exit.
Ritn. [TaJtilict} If I profane with my nn-
worthiest hand
This holy sliriue, ttie gentle fine is this :
My lips, two blusluug pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender
kiss.
J id. Good pilgiim, you do wrong your hand
too mnch,
Wliich mannerly devotion shows in this ; 100
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do
touch.
And palm to palm Ls holy palmers' kiss.
Rom. Ha^'e not saints lips, and holy palmers
too ?
Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they mnst use in
prayer.
Rom. O, then, dear saint, let lips do what
hands do ;
They pray, ^ant then, lest faith turn to
despair.
Ju\ Saints do not move, thongh grant for
prayers' sake.
Rom. Then move not, while my prayer's
effect 1 take. p.
[Act ir.
Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is puiged.
Jul. Tlieu have my lips the sin that tiiey
have took, 110
Rom. Sin from thyliijs ? 0 trespass sweetly
urged 1
Give me my sin again.
Jul. You kiss by the book.
Nur$e. Madam, your mother craves a word
with you.
Rom. W hat is her motlier ?
Nurse. Marry, bachelcr.
Her mother is the lady of the Iiouse,
And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous ■
I nursed her daughter, that youtalk'd withal ;
1 tell you, he tliat can lay hold of her
Shall have the chinks.
Rom. Is she a Capulet ?
0 dear account I my Ufe is my foe's debt. 120
Sen. Away, begone ; the sport is at tlie
best.
Rom. Ay, so I fear ; the more is my unrest.
Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be
gone ;
We have a trifling foolish banquet towai%s
Is it e'en so ? why, then, I tliank you all
1 tliank you, honest gentlemen ; good night.
More torches here I Come on then, let's to
bed.
Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late :
I'll to my rest.
[Exeunt all but Juliet and Nurse.
Jul. Come hither, nurse. Wliat is yond
gentleman ? RSO
N rse. The son and heir of old Tiberio.
Jui. Wliat's he that now is going out of
door ?
Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young
Petrucio.
Jid. What's he that follows there, that
would not dance ?
Nurse. I know not.
Jul. Go, ask his name : if he be married.
My grave is like to beany wedding bed.
Nurse. His name is Romeo, and a Monta¬
gue ;
The only son of your great enemy.
Jul. My only love sprung from my only
hate I 140
Too early seen unknown, and known too late!
Prodigious birth of love it is to me.
That I must love a loatlied enemy.
Nurse. What's this ? what's this ?
Jid. A rliyme I learu'd even now
Of one I danced withal. [One calls within
' JuUet.'
Nurse. Anon, anon !
Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone.
[Exetint
, ACT n.
PROLOGUE.
Enter Chorus.
Chor. Now old desire doth in his death-bed
lie,
Scene ii-l
aOMSO AJVD JULIET.
273
And yonng afiection gapea to be his heir; '
That lair for which love groan'd for and would
die,
With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair.
Now Itomeo is beloved and loves again,
Alike betwitched by the charm of looks,
But to bis foe supjxised he must complain.
And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful
hooks :
Being held a foe, he may not have access 9
To breathe such vows as lovem use to swear;
And she as much in love, her means much less
To meet her new-beloved any where :
But x>assion lends them power, time means, to
meet, ,
Tempering extremities with extreme sweet.
{Exit.
Scene L , A lane hy the wall of Ccqnilet's
orchard.
Enter Romeo.
Eom. Can I go forward when my heart is
M here ?
Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.
[lie cHmhs the wall, and leaps down within it.
Enter Benvolio and Mercutio
Ben. Romeo I my cousin Romeo !
Mer. . He is wise;
And, on my life, hath stoTn him home, to bed.
Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this
orchard wall; . ■
Call, good Mercutio.
Mer. Nay, I'll conjure too. .
Romeo ! humors ! madman ! passion! lover !
iVppear thou In the likeness of a sigh:
Siieak but one rhyme, and I am .satisfied ;
Cry but' Ay me !' pixmounce but ' love' and
' dove ;' 10
Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,
One nick-name for her inirblind son and heir.
Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim.
When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid !
He heareth not, he stirrcth net, he nioveth not;
The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.
I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes.
By her high forehead and her scarlet lip,
Bi' her fine foot, straight leg and quivering
thigh
And the demesnes that there adjacent lie, 20
That in thy likeness thou appear to us 1
Ben. And if he hear thee, thou wilt anger
him.
Mer. This cannot anger liim; 'twould anger
him
To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle
Of some stvauge nature, lettin.g it there stand
Till she had laid it and conjured it down j
That were some spite : my invocation
Is fair and hone.st, and in liis^Fiistress' name
I conjure only but to raise up him.
Ben. Come, be hath hid himself among
these trees, 30
To be consorted with the humorous night:
Blind is his love and best befits the dark.
Jlfer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the
mark.
Now will he sit under a medlar tree,
And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit
As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.
O, Romeo, that she were, O, that she were
An open et Cietera, thou a poperin pear !
Romeo, good night: I'll to my truckle-bed ;
This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep : 4C
Come, shall we go ?
Ben. Go, then ; for 'tis in vain
To seek him here that means not to be found.
[Exeunt-
Scene II. Capiulet's orchard.
Enter Romeo.
Bom. He jests at scars that never felt a
wound.
• [Juliet appears above at a window.
But, soft! what light through yonder window
breaks ?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill tiie envious moon.
Who is already sick and pale with grief.
That thou her maid art far more fair tlian she:
Be not her maid, since she is envious ;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.
It is my lady, O, it is my love ! 10
O, that she knew she were I
She speaks, yet she says nothing ; what c-'
that ?
Her eye discourses ;• I will answer it
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks .
Two of the fairest stirs in ail the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return. ,
What if her eyes were there, they in her head 1
The brightness of her cheek would shame
tliose stars. If
As daylight doth a lamp ; her eyes in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so brighl
That birds would sing and think it were ucf
night
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand
O, that I were a glove upon that liaud.
That I might touch that cheek !
Jul. Ay me!
Eom. She speaks :
O, speak again, bright angel ! for thou art
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head
As is a win.ged messenger of heaven
Unto the wliite-uptunied wondering eyes
Of mortils that fall back to gaze on him
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds
And sails upon the bosom of the air ' .
Jul. O Romeo, Romeo ! wherefore art thou
Romeo ?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name ;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my jove.
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.
' Eom. (Vlsidcl Shall 1 hear more, or shall I
speak at this ?
Jul. "Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
18
274
ROMEO AND JVLTET.
(Act It
Wliat 8 Montague ? it is nor hand, nor foot,40
■ Nor arm, nor face, nor any other jiart
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
What's in a name ? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet ;
So Komeo would, were he not Romeo call'd.
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name.
And for that name which is no part of thee
Take all myself.
Rom. I take thee at thy word :
Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized ; 50
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
Jul. What man art thou that thus be-
screen'd in night
So sturablest on my counsel ?
Rom. By a name
I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Becau.se it is an enemy to thee ; '
Had 1 it written, 1 would tear the word.
JIII. My ears have not yet drmik a h undred
words
Of that tongue's utterance, yet 1 know the
sound :
Art thou not Romeo and a Montague ? 60
Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dis¬
like.
Jul. How earnest thou hither, tell me, and
wherefore ?
The orchard walls are high and hard to climb.
And the place death, considering who thou art.
If any of my kiusineu find thee here.
Rom. With love's light wings did I o'er-
perch these walls ;
For stony limits cannot hold love out.
And what love ciin do that dares love attempt;
Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.
Jul. If they do see thee, they will murder
thee. 70
Rom. Alack, there lies more peril in thine
eye
Than twenty of their swords : look thou but
sweet.
And 1 am proof against their enmity.
Jul. 1 would not for the world they saw
thee liere.
Rom. 1 have night's cloak to hide me from
their sight;
And but thou love me, let them find me here:
My life were better ended by their hate.
Than death prorogued, wanting of thy lov«
Jul. By whose direction foiind'st thou out
this place ?
Rom. By love, who first did prompt me to
inquire; 80
Be lent me counsel and I lent him eyes.
I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far
ks that vast shore wash'd wifli the farthest
sea,
Lwonld adventure for such merchandise.
Jtu. Thou know'st the mask of .uigUt is on
my face,
Else would a maiden blush bepaiut my cheek
for that which thou hast heard me speak to¬
night "
Fain wonld I dwell on form, fain, fain deny
What 1 have spoke: but farewell coinplimeiii!
Dost thou love me ? 1 know thou wilt say 'Ay,'
And 1 will take thy word: yet, if thou swea/st.
Thou mayst prove false ; at lovers' perjuries.
Then say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:
Or if thou think'st 1 am too quickly won,
I'll frown and be perverse ana s.\y thee nay.
So thou wilt woo ; but else, not for the world.
In tnith, fair Montague, 1 am too fond,
Aud therefore thou mayst think n.y 'havior
light:
But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true
Than those that have more cunning to 'oe
strange. 101
I should have been more strange, I must con¬
fess,
Bnt that thou overheard'st, ere 1 was ware.
My true love's passion : therefore jiardon me,
And not impute this yielding to light love.
Which the dark night hath so discovered.
Rom. Lady, bv yonder blessed moon 1 swear
That tips witlr silver all these fruit-tree to])s—
^Jul. 0, swear not by the moon, the incon¬
stant moon.
That monthly changes in her circled orb, 110
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.
Rom. What shall 1 swear by ?
Jul. . Do not swear at all;
Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,
which is the god of my idolatry,
And I'll believe thee.
Rom. If my heart's dear love—
Jul. Well, do not swear: althougii I joy in
thee,
1 have no joy of this eontract to-night:
It is t-x) rash, too unadvised, too sudden ;
Too like the lightning, which doth cea.se to be
Ere one can ^y ' It lightens.' Sweet, good
• night! 120
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath.
May prove a beauteous flower when next we
meet.
Good night, good night! as sweet rejiose and
rest
Come to thy heart as that within my breast!
Rom. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied ?
Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have to¬
night ?
Rom. The exchange of thy love's faithful
vow for mine. *
Jul. 1 gave thee mine before thou didst re¬
quest it:
And yet 1 would it were to give again.
Rom. Wouldst thou withdraw it ? for what
purpose, love ? 130
Jul. But to be frank, and give it thee again.
And yet I wish bnt for the thing I have :
My bounty is as boundless as the sea.
My love as deep; the more 1 give to t'nea.
The more 1 have, for both are infinite.
[^Ti/cse calls tcithiii.
I hear some noise within ; dear love, adieu 1
.Anon, good nurse ! Sweet Montague, lie true;
Stay but a little, I will come again. [Exit, above.
ROMEO AND JULIET.
275
Scene hi.]
Rom. O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard,
Being in night, all this is but a dream, 140
Too llattering-sweet to be substuutiaL
Re-enter Juliet, above.
Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good
night indeed.
If that thy bent of love be honorable.
Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-mor¬
row.
By one that I'll procure to come to thee.
Where and what time thou wilt perform the
rite ;
And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay
And follow thee my lord throughout the world.
Nurse. [Ifil/iin] Madam !
Jul. I come, anon—But if thou mean'st
not well, 150
I do beseech thee—
Nurse. [ Withiii\ Madam !.
Jul. By and by, I come :—
To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief :
To-morrow will I send.
Rom. So thrive my soul—
Jul. A thousand times good niglit!
[Exit, above.
Rom. .A tiiousand times the worse, to want
thy light.
Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from
their books.
But love from love, toward school with heavy
looks. [Retirinff.
Re-enter Juliet, above.
Jul. Hist! Romeo, hist! O, for a falconer's
voice.
To lure this tassel-gentle back again !' 160
Bondage is hoarse, and may not sneak aloud ;
Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies.
And make her airy tongue more hoarse than
mine.
With repetition of my Romeo's name.
Rom. It is my soul that calls upon my name:.
How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by
night.
Like softest music to attending ears !
J%d. Romeo !
Rom. My dear ?
Jul. At what o'clock to-morrow
Shall I sendTO thee?
Rom. At the hour of nine.
Jul. I will not fail: 'tis twenty years till
then. 170
I have forgot why I did call thee back.
Rom. Let me stand here till thou remem¬
ber it.
Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand
there.
Remembering how I love thy company.
Rom. And I'll still stay, to have thee still
forget,
Forgetting any other home but this.
Jul. 'Tis almost morning ; I would have
thee gone :
And yet no further than a wanton's bird ;
Who lets it hop a little from her hand,
like a poor prisoner m his twisted gyves. 180
And with a silk thread plucks it back again.
So loving-jealous of his liberty.
Rom. I would I were tliy bird.
Jul. Sweet, so would L
Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.
Good night, good night! parting is such sweet
sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.
. [Exit above.
Rom. Sieep dwell ujxm thine eyes, peace
in tliy breast!
Would I were sleep and peace, so swc et to rest!
Hence will I to ray ghostly father's cell, 189
His lieip to crave, and my dear hap to tell.
[Exit.
Scene III. Friar Laurence's cell.
Enter Friar laxmence, with a basket.
Fri, L. The grey-eyed morn smiles on the
frowning night.
Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of
light.
And flecked darkne.ss like a drunkard reels
From forth day's jjath and Titan's fiery wheels:
Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye.
The day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry,
I must up-fill this osier cage of ours
With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers.
The earth tliat's nature s niotiier is her tomb ;
What is her burying grave that is her womb.
And from her womb children of divers kind 11
We sucking on her natural bosom find.
Many for many virtue.s excellent,
None but for some.and yet all different
O, mickle is the ixowerful grace that lies
In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qual¬
ities :
For nought so vile that on the earth doth live
But to the earth some special good doth give.
Nor aught so good but strain'd from tiiat fair
use
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse :
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied ; 21
And vice sometimes by action dignified.
Within the infant rind of tliis small flower
Poison hath residence and medicine power:
For this, being smelt, with that part cheers
each part;
Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.
Two such op|x>sed kings encamp them still
In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will ;
And where the wonser is predominant.
Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.
Enter Romeo.
Rom. Good morrow, father. 31
Fri. L. Bcnedicite 1
What early tongue so sweet saluteth me ?
Young son, it argues a distenfper'd head
So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed:
Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye.
And wbere care lodges, sleep will never lie ;
But wliere unbruised youth with uustufi'd
brain
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth
'eigu:
276
ROMEO AND JULtET.
Therefore thy earliness doth me assure
Thou art ui)-roused by some distemperature ;
Or if uot so, tlren here I hit it right, 41
Our Romeo hatii not been in bed to night.
Rom. That last is true ; the sweeter rest
was mine.
Vri. L. God pardon sin ! wast thou with
Rosaline ? ■ '
Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father?
no ;
I have forgot that name, and that name's woe.
Fvi. L. That's my good son : but where
hast thou been, then ?
Rjm. I'll tell tliee, ere tlvou ask it me again.
I have been feasting with mine enemy,
Wliere on a sudden one hath wounded me, 50
That's by me wounded ; both our remedies
Within thy help and holy physic lies :
I bear no hatred, bles.sed man, for, lo.
My intercession likewise steads my foe.
Eri. L. Be plain, good son, and homely in
thy drift ;
Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.
Rom. Then plainly know my heart's dear
love is set
On the fair daughter of rich Capulet:
As mine on hers, so hers is set on niine ; ,
And all combined, save what thoii must com¬
bine 60
By holy marriage : when and where and how
We met, we woo'd and made e.xchange of vow,
I'll tell thee as we pass ; but this I pray,
That thou consent to marry us to-day.
Fri. L. Holy Saint Francis, what a change
is here !
Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear.
So soon forsaken ? young men's love then lies
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes,
.lesu Maria, what a deal of brine 69
Hatli wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline !
How much salt water thrown away in waste.
To season love, that of it doth not taste !
The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears,
Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears ;
Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit
Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet:
If e'er thou wast thyself and these woes thine,
Tiiou ,and these woes were .all for Rosaline :
And art thou changed ? pronounce this sen¬
tence tlien.
Women may fall, when there's no strength in
men. 80
Rom. Thou child'st me oft for loving Ro¬
saline.
Fri. L. For doting, not for loving, pupil
mine.
Rom.. And bad'st me bury love.
Fri. L. Not in a grave,'
To lay one in, anbther out to have.
Rom. I pray thee, chide not; she whom I
' love now
Uoth grace for grace and love for love allow;
The other did uot so.
f I!. R. O. she knew well.
Thy love did read by rote and could not spelV
But come, young waverer, come, go with me.
[Act ii.
In one respect I'll thy assistant be ; 90
For tills alliance may so happy prove. '
To turn your holiseholds' rancor to pure love
Rom. O, let us hence ; I stand on suddec
haste.
Fri. L. Wisely and slow ; they stumble
that run fast. [E'Munt.
Scene T\f. A street.
Enter Benvouo and Mercutic.
Mer. 'Where the devil should this Romeo
be ?
Came he not home to-night 7
Ben. Not to his father's ; I spoke with his
man.
Mer. Ah,' that same pale hard-hearted
wench, that Ro.salinc,
Torments him so, that he will sure run mad.
Ben. Tybalt, the kinsman of dd Capulet,
Hath sent a letter to bis father's house.
Mer J, A challenge, on my life.
Ben. Romeo will answer it.
Mer. Any man that can write may answer
a letter. 10
Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's mas¬
ter, how he dares, being dared.
Mer. Alas, poor Romeo ! he is already dead;
stabbed with a white wench's black eye ; shot
through tiie ear with a love-song ; the very pin
of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-
shaft : and is he a man to encounter Tybalt ?
Ben. Why, what is Tybalt 7
Mer. More than prince of cats, I can tell
you. (), he is the courageous captain of com¬
plements. He fights as you sing prick-song,
keeps time, dist;uice, and proportion ; rests me
his minim rest, one, two, and the third in your
bosom : the very butcher of a silk button, a
duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the very
first house, of the first and second cause ; ah,
the immortal passado ! the punto reverse ! the
h.ai !
Ben. The what 7
Mer. The pox of such antic, lisping, affect¬
ing fantasticoes ; these new tuners of accents!
' By Jesu, a very good blade ! a very tall
man ! a very good whore !' Why, is not this
a lamentable thing, grandsire, tlnnit we .should
be thus alBivted witii these strange flies, these
fashion-mongers, these perdona-mi's, who
stand so much on tlie new form, that they
cannot sit at ease on the old bench 7 O, their
bones, their bones !
Enter Romeo.
Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes
Romeo.
Mer. ■ Without his roe, like a dried herring:
O flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified ! Now is
he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in ;
Laura to his lady was but a kitchen-wench j
marry, slie had a better love to be-rhymeher;
Dido a dowdy ; Cleopatra a gipsy ; Helen and
Hero hildings and harlots ; Thisbe a grey eye
or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo,
bon jour 1 there's a Nrench salutation to your
Scene it.]
French slop. You gave us the counterfeit
(airly last night
Som. Good morrow to you both. What
counterfeit did I give you ? 60
Mer. The slip, sir, the slip; can you not
conceive ?
Horn. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business
was great; and in such a case as mine a man
may strain courtesy.
Mer. That's as much as to say, such a case
as yours coustrains a man to bow in tlie hams.
Rom. Meaning, to court'sy.
Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it.
Rom. A most courteous exposition. 60
Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.
Rom, Pink for flower.
Mer. Right.
Rom. Why, then is my pump well flowered.
Mer. Well said: follow me this jest now till
hou hast worn out thy pump, that when the
single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain
after the wearing sole singular. ■ , ■
Rom. O single-soled jest, solely singular
for the singleness I 70
Mer. Come between us, good BenvoUo;
my wits faint
Rom. ■ Switch and spurs, switch and spurs ;
or I'll cry a match.
Mer. Nay, if tliy wits run the wild-goose
chase, I have done, for thou hast more of the
wild-g<mse in one of thy -wits than, I am sure,
I have in my whole five : was I with you there
tor the goose ? 79
Rom. Thou wast never with me for any
ihii^ when thou was not there for the goose.
JMer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest
Rom. Nay, ^ood goose, bite not
Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it
is a most sharp sauce. I
Rom. And is it not well served in to a
sweet goose ?
Mer. O, here's a wit of cheveril, that
stretclies from an inch narrow to an eli broad !
, Rom. I stretch it out for that word ' broad ;'
which added to the goose, proves thee far and
wide a broad goose. ' • 91
Mer. Why, is not this better now than
groaning for love 7 now art thou sociable, now
art thou Romeo ; now art thou wliat thou art,
by art as well as by nature: for this drivelling
love is like a great natural, that runs lolling
np and down to bide his bauble in a hole.
Ben. Stop there, stop there.
Mer. Thou desirest me to stop in my tale
against the hair. 100
Ben. Thou wouldst else have noade thy tale
large.
Mer. • O, thou art deceived ; I would have
made it short: for I was cproe to the whole
depth of my tale; and meant, indeed, to occupy
the argument no longer. #
Rom. Here's goodly gear !
Enter Nurse and Peter.
Mer. A sail, a sail'
Ben. Two, two ; a shirt and a smock
277
Nuree. Peter .'. 110
Peter. Anon!
. Nurse. My fan, Peter.
Mer. Good Peter, to hide her fhce; for her
fan's the fairer face.
Nurse. God ye good morrow, gentlemen.
Mer. God ye good den, fair gentlewoman.
Nurse. Is it good den ?
Mer. 'Tis no less, I tell you, for the bawdy
hand of the dial is now upon the prick of nooii.
Nurse. Out upon you ! what a man are
you! - 120
. Rom. One, gentlewoman, that God liath
made for himself to mar.
Nurse., By my troth, it is well said ; ' for
himself to mar,' quoth a' ? Gentlemen, can
any of you tell me where I may find the young
Romeo ?
Rom. I can tell yon; but young Romeo
will be older when you have found him than
he was when you sought him: I am the young¬
est of that name, for fault of a worse.
Nurse. You say well. 130
Mer. Yea, is the worst well ? very well took,
i' faith ; wisely, wisely.
Nurse. If you be he, sir, I desire some con¬
fidence with you.
Beru She will indite him to some supper.
Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd ! so no !
Bom. What hast thou found ?
Mer. No hare, sir ; unless a hare, sir, in a
lenten pie, that is something stale and hoar
ere it be sjwnt. [A'tnys. 140
An old hare hoar.
And an old hare hoar.
Is very good meat in lent:
But a hare that is hoar
Is too much for a score.
When it boars ere it be spent-
Romeo, will you come to your father's ? we'll
to dinner, thither.
Rom. I will follow you.
Mer. Farewell, ancient lady; farewell,
, [singing] ' lady, lady, lady.' 151
Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio.
. Nurse. Marry, farewell! I pmy you, sir,
what saucy merchant was this, that was so
full of his ropery t.
Rom. A gentleman, nurse, that loves to
hear himself talk, and will speak more in a
minute than he will stand to in a month.
Nurse. An a' speak any thing against me,
I'll take him down, an a' were lustier than he
is, and twenty such Jacks ; and if I cannot, I'll
find those that shall. Scurvy knave ! I am
none of his flirt-giJls ; I am none of his skains-
mates. And thou must stand by too, and suf¬
fer every knave to use me at his pleasure ?
Peter. I saw no man use you at his pleas¬
ure ; if I had, my weapon should quickly have
been out, I warrant you ; I dare draw as soon
as another man, if I see occsvsion in a good
quarrel, and tlie law on my side. 169
Nurse. Now, afore God, I am so vexed,
that every part about me quivers. Scurvy
knave ! Pray you, sir, a word : and as J told
ROMEO AND JULIET.
278
kOMEO ANb JULIET.
(Act h.
you, my young lady bade me inquire you out;
what she bade me say, I will keep to myself :
but first let me tell ye, if ye phoiUd lead her
into fi fool's paradise, as they say; it were a
very gross kind of behavior, as they say :
for the gentlewoman is yonng ; and, therefore,
if you should deal double with her, truly it
we're iiu ill thing to be offered to any gentle¬
woman, and very weak dealing. 181
R'mx. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and
' mistress. I protest unto thee—
Nursn. Good heart, and, i' faith, I will tell
her as much : I.swd, Lord, she will be a joyful
woman.
ifoTO. What wilt thou tell her, nurse ? thou
dost not mark me.
Nurse. 1 Will tell her, sir, that yon do pro¬
test ; which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike
offer. " 190
' ffom. Bid her devise
Some means to come to shrift this afternoon;
And there she .shall at Friar Laurence' cell
Be shrived and married. Here is for thy pains.
Nurse. No, truly, sir ;• not a penny.
Rom. Go to ; I say you shall.
Nurse. This alternooii, sir ? Well, she shall
be there.
Ronu And stay, good nurse,, Ijehind the
abbey wall :
Within this hour my man .shall be with thee.
And bring thee cords made like a tackled
stair; 201
Which to the high top-gallant of my joy
Must be ray convoy in the secret night.
Farewell; be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains:
Farewell ; commend me to thy mistress.
Nurse. Now God in heaven bless thee !
Hark you,, sir.
Rom. Wliat .say'st thoit. my dear nurse ?
Nurse. Is j'our man secret ? Did you ne'er
hear say.
Two may keep counsel, puttiug one away ?
Rom. I warrant thee, >ny man's as true as
steel. 210
Nurse. Well, sir ; my mistress is the sweet¬
est lady—Lord, Lord ! When 'twas a little
prating thing :—O, there , is a nobleman in
town, one Paris, that would faip lay knife
aboard ; but she, good soul, had as lief see a
toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her
sometimes and telr her that Paris is the prop-
erer man ; but, I'll warrant yoii, when f say,
so, she looks as pale as any clout in the versal
world. DJth not rosemary and Romeo begin
both with a letter ? 220
Rom. Ay, narse ; what of that ? both with
an R.
Nurse. Ah, mocker ! tlmt'sthe dog's name';
E is for the— No ; I know it begins with some
other letter :—and she Inlth the prettiest sen¬
tentious of it, of you and rosemary, that it
would do you good to hear it
Rom,. Commend me to Hiv lady.
Nurse. Ay, .a thousand times.
[Exit Romeo.
Peter! * 230
Pet. ' Anon !
Nurse. Peter, take my fan, and go before,
and apace. [Exeunt.
J ' Scene'V. Capulel'^ orchard.
Enter Jvhmr.
Jid. Tlie clock struck nine when I did send
the nurse ;
In haif an hour she promised to return.
Perclianc© she cannot meet him: that's not
so.
O, she ■ is lame ! love's her-alds should be
thoughts.
Which ten times fa.ster glide than the 'Sun's
beams.
Driving l)ack shadows over louring hills '.
Therefore do • .imble-pinion'd doves draw love.
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid
wings. '
Now is the sun upon the highmost hill
Of this day's journey, and from nine till
twelve 10
' Is three long hours, yet she is not come.
Had she affections and warm youthful blood.
She would be as swift in motion as a ball ;■
My words would bandy her to my sweet love.
And his to me :
tBnt old folks, many feign as they were dead ;
Unwieldy, slow, heavy and jrale as lead,
O God, she comes! ■
Enter Nurse and Peter.
O honey nurse, what news ?
Hast thou met with him ? Send thy man
away.
Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate. [Exit Peter.
Jul. Now, good sweetmp'se)—OIx)rd, why
look'st tliou sad ?
Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily ;
If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news
By i>laying it to me with so sour a face.
Nurse. lam a-weary, give me leave awhile :
Fie, how my bones ache 1 what a jaunt have
I had! . •
Jill. I would thou hadst my bones, and I
thy news.
Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; good, good
nurse, si)eak.
■■ Nurse. Jesu, what haste ? can you not stay
awhile ?
Do you not see that I am out of breath ? 30
J III. How art thou out of bi-eath; when thou
hast breath
To say to, me that thou art out of breath ?
The excuse tliat thou dost make iu this delay
Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse.
Is thy news good, or bad ? answer to that;
Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance :
Let me be .satisfied, is't good or bad ?
Nurse. Well, you have made a simple
choice ; you know not how to chose a man :
Romeo I no, uot he ; though his face be bet¬
ter than any man's, yet liis leg excels all
men's; and for a hand, and a foot, and a
body, though they be not to be fcilked on, yet
Scene ti.]
ROMEO^AND JXJLIET.
2Y5
they are pa«t compare j he is not the flower of
courtesy, but, I'll warrant him, as gentle ais a
lamb. 1 Go thy ways, wench; serve God.
What, have you dined at home 7 ■ ' i
Jul. No, no : but all this did I know before.
What says he of our marriage ? what of tliat ?
Nurse. Lord, how my h^d aches ! what a
head have I!
It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. 60
My back o' t' other side,—O, my back, my
back!
Beshrew your heart for sending me about.
To catch my death with jaunting up and
down ! [well,
Jul, I' faith, I am sorry that thou art not
Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says
my love ?
Nurse. Your love says, like an honest gen¬
tleman, and a courteous, and a kmd, and a
handsome, and, 1 warrant, a virtuous,—Where
is your mother 7
Jul. Where is my mother ! why, she is
within ; 60
Where should she be 7 How oddly thou re-
pliest!
' Tour love says, like an lionest gentleman.
Where is your mother 7'
, Nurse, O God's lady dear!
Are you so hot 7 marry, come up, I trow ;
Is this the poultice for my aching bones 7
Henceforward do your messages yourself.
Jul. Here's such a coil 1 come, what salys
' Romeo?
Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift
to-day 7
,Tul. I have.
Nurse, Then hie you hence to Friar Lau¬
rence' cell; 70
There stays a h us ...and to make you a wife :
Now comes the wanton blood up in your
cheeks.
They'll be in scarlet straight at any news.
Hie you to church ; I mu.st another way,
To fetch a ladder, by the which your love
Must climb a bird's nest soon when it is dark :
I am the drudge and toil in your delight.
But you shall bear the burden soon at night..
Go ; I'll to dinner : hie you to the cell.
Jul. Hie to high fortimel Honest nurse,
farewell. . [Ereunt. 80
Scene VI. Fnar Laurence's cell.
Enter Fbiar Lawrence and Romeo.
Fri. L. So smile the heavens upon this
holy act, ' ,
That after hours with sorrow chide us not!
Jiom. Amen, amen 1 but. come what sor¬
row can.
It cannot countervail the exchange of joy
That one short minute gives me ii! her sight:
Do thou but close our Irands with holy words.
Then love-devouring death do what he dare ;
It is enough I may but call her mine.
Fri. L. These violent delights Imve violent
ends , 'I ' ''
And in tlielr triumph die, like Are andpoW-
I der, 1-3
Whicli as they kiss consume : the sweetest
honey
Is loathsome in his own deliciomsness
And in the taste confounds the appetite:
Therefore love moderately ; long love doth
so ;
Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
Enter Juliet.
Here comes the lady : O, so light a foot
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint:
A lover nuiy bestride the gossamer
That idles in the wanton summer air.
And yet not fall ; so light is vanity. 'M
Jul. Good even to my ghostly confessor,
Fri. L. Romeo shall ihank thee, daughter,
lor us both.
' Jul. As mucji to him, else is his thanks too
much.
I .Rom. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy
Be heap'd like mine and that thy skill be
more
To blazon it, then sweeten with thy hreath
This neighbor air, and let rich music's tongue
Unfold tiie imagined happiness that both
Receive in either by this dear encounter.
JuL Conceit, more rich in matter than in
words, SO
Brags of his substance, not of ornament :
, They are but beggars that can count their
worth ;
But my true love is grown to such excess
I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth.
' Fri. L. Come, come with me, and we will
make short work ;
For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone
'X'ill holy church incorporate two in one.
\ExeMnt.
ACT III.
Scene 1. A puhUc place.
Enter Mercutio. Benvolio, Page, and
Servants.
Ben. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's re-
I tire:
The day is hot. the Capulets abroad,
.\nd, if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl;
For now, these hot days, is the mad blood
stirring.
JWcr. Thou art like One of those follows that
when he enters the con&res of .a tavern claps
me his sword upon the tiible .and .siiys 'God
send me n« need of thee!' and by the opera¬
tion of the second cuj) draws it on the drawer,
when indeed there is, no need. 10
Ben. Am I like such a fellow 7
Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in
thy mood as "uy in Italy, and as, soon moved
to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved.
Ben. And what to 7
Mer. Nay,' an there 'Were two such, ive'
should liave none shortly, for one would kill'
280
the other. Thou ! why, thou wilt quarrel with
a man that hath a liair more, or a hair less, in
his beard, than thou hast: thou wilt quarrel
w'th a man for cracking nuts, having no oth¬
er reason but because tliou hast hazel eyes :
what eye but such an eye would spy ut such
a quarrel ? Thy head is as full of qm^rrels as
ar egg is full of meat, and yet thy head hath
beeu beiiteu as addle as an egg for quarrel¬
ling : thou hast quarrelled with a man for
coughing in the street, because he hath wak¬
ened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun ;
didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wear¬
ing his new doublet before Easter ? with an¬
other, for tying his new shoes with old riband ?
ai'd yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling 1
Ben. An 1 were so apt to quarrel as thou
art, any man should buy the fee-simple of my
life for an hour and a quarter.
■ Mer. The fee-simple ! O simple I
Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets.
Met;. By my heel, I care not
Enter Tybalt and others.
Tyh. Eollow me close, lor I will speak to
them. 40
Gentlemen, good den : a word with one pf
you.
Mer. And but one word with one'of us?
couple it with something ; make it a word
and a blow.
Tyb. You shall find me apt enough to that,
sir. an you will give me occasion.
Mer. Could you not take some occasion
without giving ?
Tyb. Mercutio, thou consprt'st with Ro¬
meo,—
Mer. Consort! what, dost thou make us
minstrels ? an thou make minstrels of us, look
to hear nothing but discords : here's my fid¬
dlestick ; here's that shall make you dance.
'Zounds, consort!
Ben. We talk here in the public haunt of
men :
Either withdraw unto some private place.
And reason coldly of your grievances.
Or else depart ; here all eyes gaze on us.
Mer. Men's eyes were made to look, and
•let them gaze ;
I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I.
Enter Romeo.
Tyb. Well, peace be with you, sir: here
comes my man.
Mer. But I'll be hang'd, sir, if hp wear your
livery: 60
Marry, go before to field, he'll be your fol¬
lower ;
Your worship in that sense may call him
' man.'
T^b. Romeo, the hate I bear thee can af¬
ford
No better term than this,—^thou art a villain.
Bom. Tybalt, the reason that 1 have to love
thee
Doth much excuse the appertaining rage
To such a greeting: viUaiu am I none ;
[Act lii.
Therefore farewell; I see thou know'st me
not.
Tyb. Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries
That thou hast dime me ; therefore turn and
draw. 70
Elom. I do prote.st, I never injured thee.
But love thee better than thou canst devise.
Till thou shalt know the reason of my love :
And so, good Capulet,—which name I tender
As dearly aS' my own,—be satisfied.
Mer. 'O calm, dishonorable, vile submis¬
sion !
Alia stoccata carries it away. [Di-aws.
Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk ?
Tyb. What wouldst thou have with me ? 79
Mer. Good king of cats, nothing but one of
your nine lives ; tiiat I mean to make bold
withal, and as you shall use me hereafter,
dry-beat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck
your sword out of his pileher by the ears ?
make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere
it be out.
' Tyb. 1 am for you. [Drawing.
Bom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.
Mer. Come, sir, your passado. [They Jight.
Bom. Draw, Benvoho ; beat down theii
weapons. 89
Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage !.
Tybalt, Mercutio, the prince expressly hath
Forbidden bandying in Verona streets :
Hold, Tybalt! good Mercutio I
[Tybalt under Borneo's arm stabs Mercutio,
and flies with his followers.
Mer. I am hurt.
A plague o' both your houses ! 1 am sped.
Is he gone, and hath nothing ?
Ben. What, art'thou hurt!
Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch ; marry,
'tis enough.
Where is my page ? Go, villain, fetch a sur¬
geon, [Exit Page.
Bom. Courage, man ; the hurt cannot be
much.
Mer. No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so
wide as a church-door ; but 'tis enough, 'twill
serve : ask for me to-morrow, and you shall
find me a giave man. I am peppered, I war¬
rant, for this world. A plague o' botfi your
houses I 'Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a
cat, to scratch a man to death ! a braggart, a
rogue, a villain, that fights by the book oJ
arithmetic I Why the devil came you between
us ? I was hurt under your arm.
Bom. I thought all for the best.
Mer. Help me into some house, Benv6lio,
Or I shall faint A plague o' botti your
houses I 111
They have made worms' meat of me : I have
it.
And soundly too : your houses !
[Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio.
Bom. This gentleman, the prince's near
ally,
My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt
In my behalf ; my reputation stain'd
With Tybalt's slander,—Tybalt, that an hour
ROMEO AND .JULIET.
Scene ii.]
ROMEO AND JULIET.
281
Hath been my kinsman ! O sweet Juliet,
Thy beauty hath made me effeminate
And in my temper soften'd valor's steel! 120
Re-enter Bbnvolio.
Ben. O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's
dead !
That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds,
"Which too untimely here did sconi tlie earth.
Rom. This day's black fate on more days
doth depend ;
This but begins the woe, others must end.
Beru Here comes the furious Tybalt back
again.
Rom. Alive, in triumph ! and Mercutio
slain !
Away to heaven, respective lenity.
And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now !
Re-enter Tybaet.
Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again, 130
That late thou gavest me ; for Mercutio's soul
Is but a little way above our heads.
Staving for thine to keep him com^ny :
Kither thou, or I, or both, must go with him.
Tyb. Thou, wretched boy, that didst con- ,
sort him here,
Shalt with him hence.
Rom. This shall determine that.
[Theyftyhi; Tybalt falls.
Ben. Romeo, away, be goi e !
The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain.
Stand not amazed : the prince will doom thee
death.
If thou art taken ; hence, be gone, away 1 140
Rom. O, I am fortune's fool!
Ben. "Why dost thou stay ?
[Exit Romeo.
Enter Citizens, &c.
First Cit. Which way ran he that kill'd
Mercutio ?
Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he ?
_ Ben. There lies that Tybalt.
I First Cit. Up, sir, go with me ;
I,charge thee in the prince's name, obey.
Enter Prince, attended; Montague, Capu-
joet, their Wives, and others.
Prin. Where are the vile beginners of this
fray?
Ben. 0 noble prince, I can discover all
The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl :
There lies the man, slain by young Romeo,
That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio. 150
La. Cap. Tybalt, my cousin ! 0 my broth¬
er's child !
O prince I O cousin ! husband ! O, the blood
is spilt
O my dear kinsman I Prince, as thou art true.
For blood of ours, shed blood 04 Montague.
O cousin, cousin !
Prin. Benvolio, who began this bloody
fray ? ,
Ben. Tybalt, here slam, whom Romeo's
hand did slay ;
Bomeo that spoke nim fair, bade him bethink
How nice the quarrel was, and urged withal
Your high disjJleasure : all this uttered ICO
With gentle bre.ath, calm look, knees humbly
bow'd.
Could not take truce with the unruly spleen
Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts
With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast.
Who, all as hot, turns deadly imint to point,
And, with a martial scorn, with one hand
beats
Cold death aside, and with the other sends
It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity
Retorts it : Romeo he cries aloud,
' Hold, friends ! friends, part!' and, swifter
than his tongue, 170
His agile arm beats down their fatal points.
And 'twixt them rushes ; underneath whose
arm
An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life
Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled ;
But by and by comes back to Romeo,
Who had but newly entertain'd revenge,
And to't they go like lightning, for, ere I
Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt
slain.
And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly.
This is the truth, or let Benvolio die. 180
Im. Cap. He is a kinsman to the Montague;
Affection makes him false ; he speaks not
true :
Some twenty of them fought in this black
strife.
And all those twenty could but kill one life.
I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must
give ;
Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live,
Prin. Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio ;
Who now the price of his dear blood doth
owe ?
Mon. Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercu.
tie's friend ;
His fault concludes but what the law should
end, 19€
The life of Tybalt.
Prin. And for that offence
Immediately we do exile him hence :
I have an interest in your hate's proceeding,
My blood for your rude brawls doth lis a-
bleeding ;
But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine
That you shall all repent the loss of mine :
I will be deaf to pleading .md excmev •
Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase on
abuses :
Therefore use none: let Romeo hence in h.astc,
Else, when he's found, that hour is his last.200
Bear hence this body and attend our will ;
Mercy but murders, iiardoning those that kill.
\_Exennt
Scene II. Capttlet's orchard.
Enter Juliet.
Jnl. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Toward.s Phoebus' lodging ; such a wagoner
As Phaethoii would whip you to the west,
232
ROMEO AND JUTJET.
[Acrnt.
And bring in cloudy nigllt immediately.
Spread thy close cui'tain, k)ve-per£ormiug
nigllt,
tTliat runaway's eyes may wink, and Romeo
Leap to these arms, unlalk'd of and unseen.
Lovers can see to do tlieir amorous rites
By their own beauties ; or, if love Ije blind.
It best agrees with night. Come, civil night.
Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, 11
And learn me how to lose a winning match,
Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods':
Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks.
With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown
bold.
Think true love acted simple modesty.
Come, night; come, Romeo ; come, thou day
in night;
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
Whiter than new snow on a raven's bade.
Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd
night, > 20
Give me'my Romeo ; and, when he shall die.
Take liim and cut him out in little stars.
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.
0,1 have bought the mansion of a love.
But not possess'd it, and, though 1 am sold.
Not yet enjoy'd : so tclioiis is this day
As is the uight before sonic festival
To an iaiiratient child that hath new robes 30
And may not wear them. O, here comes my
nurse.
And she brings news ; and every tongue that
spea'.cs
But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence.
Enter Nurse, with cords.
Now, nurse, what news ? What hast thou
there ? the cords
That Romeo bid thee fetch ?
Nurse. Ay, ay, the cords.
[Throws them down.
Jul. Ay me! what news ? why dost thou
wring thy hands ?
Nurse. Ah, well-a-day ! he's dead, he's
dead, he's dead !
We are undone, lady, we are undone !
Alack the day 1 he's gone, he's kill'd, he's
dead !
Jul. C.au heaven be so envious ?
Nurse. Romeo can, 40
Though heaven cannot; O Romeo, llomeo !
Who ever would have thought it ? Romeo !
Jul. What devil art thou, that dost torment
me thus ?
This torture should be roar'd in dismal heU.
Hath Romeo slain himself ? say thou but ' 1,'
And that bare vowel' I' shall poison more
Thau the death-darting eye of cockatrice :
1 am not 1, if there be such an 1;
Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer ' I.'
If he be slain, say ' 1'; or if not, no; 50
Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe.
Nurse. 1 saw the wound, Isaw it with mine
eyes,
God save the mark.'—Irere on his manly breast:
A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse ;
Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood.
All in gore-blood ; 1 swounded at the siglit.
Jul. O, break, my heart! poor bankrupt,
break at once !
To prison, eyes, ne'er look on liberty !
Vile earth, to earth resign ; end motion here;
And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier .' 60
Nurse. O Tybalt, 'Tybalt, the best friend 1
had !
O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman!
That ever 1 should live to see thee dead !
Jul. What storm is this that blows so con¬
trary ?
Is Romeo slaughter'd, and is Tybalt dead ?
My dear-loved cousin, and my dearer Iprd ?
Then, dreadful trumpet, sound tlie general
doom !
For who is living, if those two are gone ?
Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished;
Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished. 70
Jul. O God ! did Romeo's hand shed Ty¬
balt's blood ?
Nurse. It did, it did ; alas the day, it did
Jul, O serpent heart, hid with a flowering
face 1
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave 1
Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical!
Dove-feather'draven! wolvish-raveninglamb!
Despised substance of divinest show !
Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st,
A damned saint, an honorable villain !
O nature, what hadst thou to do iu hell, 80
When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend
In moral paradise of such sweet flesh ?
Was ever book containing such vile matter
So fairly bound ? O, that deceit should dwell
In such a gorgeous palace!
Nurse. There's no trust.
No faith, no honesty in men ; all perjured,
All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.
Ah, Where's my man ? give me some aqiva
vitce ;
These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make
me old.
Shame come to Romeo! ,
Jul. Blister.'d be thy tongue 90
For such a wish ! he was nut bom to shame :
Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit ;
For 'tis a throne where honor may be crown'd
Sole monarch of the universal earth.
O, what a beast was 1 to chide at him !
Nurse. Will you speak well of him that
kill'd your cousin ?
Jid. Shall 1 speak ill of him that is my hus¬
band ?
Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth
thy name.
When 1, thy three-hours wife, jiave mangled
it?
But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cou¬
sin ? 100
That villani cousin* would have kill'd my hus¬
band :
i^ack, foolish tears, back to your native spri^;
Scene hi]
ROMEO AND JtJLfET.
283
Your tributary dro^s belong t6 -woe,
Which yon, mistaking, offer up to joy.
My husband lives, that Tybait would have
slain: .
And Tybalt s dead, that would have slain my
husband :
All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then ?
Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's
death,
That murderid me : I would forget it fain ;
But, O, it pres.ses to my memory, 110
Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds:
' Tybalt is de^, and Romeo—banished ;'
That' banished,' that one word ' banished,'
Hath slain ten tliousand Tybalts. Tybalt's
death
Was woe enough, if it had ended there :
Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship
And needly will be rank'd with other griefs.
Why follow'd not, when she said 'Tybalt's
dead,'
Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both.
Which modern lamentations might have
moved ? - 120
But witli a rear-ward following Tybalt's death,
' Romeo is banished,' to speak that word.
Is father, mother, Tybalt, Rom;o, Juliet,
AU slain, ail dead. ' Romeo is banished !'
There is no end, no limit, measure, bound.
In that word's death ; no words can that woe
soimd.
Where is my father, and my mother, nurse ?
Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's
corse ;
Will you go to them ? I will bring you thither.
Jul. Wash tliey his wounds with tears :
mine shall be spent, 130
When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment.
Take up those cords : poor ropes, you are be¬
guiled.
Roth you and I; for Romeo is exiled :
He made you for a highway to my bed ;
But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed.
Come, cords, come, nurse; I'll to my wedding-
bed ;
And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead !
Nurse. Hie to your chamber: I'll find
Romeo '
To comfort you : I wot well where he is.
Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night;
I'll to him ; he is hid at Laurence' cell.
Jul. O, find him ! give this ring to my true
knight,
And bid him come to take his last farewell.
[Exeufd.
Scene III. Friar Zaurence's cell.
Enter Friar Laurence.
Fri. L. Romeo, come forth l come forth,
thou fearful man :
Affliction is enamor'd of thy iiarts.
And thou art wedded "to calamity.
Enter Rombo.
Rom. Father, what news ? what is tlie
prince's doom ?
What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand,
That I yet know not ?
Fri. Ij. Too familiar
Is my dear son with such sour company:
I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom.
Rom. What less than dooms-day is the
prince's doom ?
Fri. L. A gentler judgment vanish'd from
his lips, 10
Not body's death, but body's banishment.
Rom. Ha, banishment! be merciful, say
'death ;' '
For exile liath more terror in his look.
Much more than death : do not say ' banish¬
ment.'
Fri. L. Hence from Verona art thou ban¬
ished ;
Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.
Rom. There is no world without Verona
walls.
But purgatory, torture, hell itself. ,
Heuce-banisiied is banish'd ftom tlie world.
And world's exile is deiith : then banished, 20
Is death mis-term'd: calling death banishment.
Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe.
And smilest upon the stroke that murders me.
Fri. L. 0 deadly sin ! O rude uutliankful-
ness !
Thy fault dur law calls death ; but the kind
prince.
Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law.
And tum'd that black word death to banish
ment:
This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not.
Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven
is heie,
Where Juliet lives ; and every cat and dog 30
And little mouse, every unworthy thing.
Live here in heaven and may look on her ;
But Romeo may not : more validity.
More honorable stiite, more courtship lives
In carrion-tiies than Romeo : tliey may seize
On the wliite wonder of dear Juliet's hand
And steal immortal blessing from her lips.
Who, even in pure and vestal modesty.
Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin ;
But Romeo may not; he is banished : 40
Flies may do this, but I from this mu.st fly:
They are free men, but I am banished.
And say'st thou yet tiiat exile is not death ?
Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground
knife.
No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so
mean.
But' banished' to kill me ?—' banished' 2
O friar, the damned use that word in hell ;
Howlings attend it ; how Jiast thou the heart,
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,
A sin-absolver, and mj- friend profess'd, 50
To mangle me witii that word ' banislied' ?
Fri. Z. Thou fond mad man, hear me but
speak a word.
Rom. O, thou wilt speak again Of banish¬
ment.
Fri. //. I'll give thee armor to keep off that
word ;
384
ROMEO AND JULIET.
[Act iii
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophv,
To comfort thee, thoagn thou art banished.
Rom. Yet ' banished' ? Hang up philos¬
ophy !
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,
Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom.
It helps not, it prevails not: talk no more. 60
Fri. L. O, then I see that madmen have no
ears.
Rom. How should they, when that wise
men have no eyes ?
Frt L. Let me dispute with thee of thy
estate.
Rom. Thou canst not speak of that thou
dost not feel:
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love.
An hour but married, Tybalt murdered.
Doting like me and like me banished.
Then mightst tliou speak, then mightst thou
tear thy hair,
And fall upon the ground, as I do now.
Taking the measure of an unmade grave. 70
[Kmckinf) within.
Fri. L. Arise ; one knocks; good Romeo,
hide thyself.
Rom. Not 1; unless the breath of heart¬
sick groans.
Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes.
[Knocking.
Fri. L. Hark, how they knock ! Who's
there Romeo, arise ;
Thou wilt be taken. Stay awhile ! Stand up ;
[Knocking.
Run to my study. By and by! God's will,
What simpleness is this ! I come, I come !
[Knocking.
Who knocks so hard ? whence come you ?
what's your will ?
Nurse. [ Within] Let me come in, and you
shall know my errand ;
I come from Lady Juliet.
Fri. L. Welcome, then. 80
Enter Nurse.
Nurse. 0 holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar.
Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo ?
Fri. L. There on the ground, with his own
tears made drunk.
Nurse. O, he is even in my mistress' case,
Just in her case ! O woful sympathy I
Piteous predicament ! Even so lies she.
Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubber¬
ing.
Stand up, stand up ; stand, and you be a man :
For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand ;
Why should you fall into so deep an O ? 90
Rom. Nurse!
Nurse. Ah sir! ah sir! Well, death's the
end of all.
Rom. S))akest thou of Juliet ? how is it with
her ?
Doth she not think me an old murderer.
Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy
With blood removed but little from her own ?
Where is she ? and how doth she 7 and what
says
My conceal'd lady to our canceU'dTove 7
Nurse. O, she says nothhig, sir, but weeps
and weeps ; 99
And now falls on her bed ; and then starts ui),
And Tybalt calls ; and then on Romeo cries,
.\nd then down falls again.
Rom. As if that name,
Shot from the deadly level of a gnu.
Did murder her ; as that name's cursed hand
Murder'd her kinsman. O, tell me, friar, tell
me.
In what vile part of this anatomy
Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may saca
The hateful mansion. [Drawing his sword.
Fri. L. Hold thy desperate hand :
Art thou a man 7 thy form cries out thou art:
Thy tears are womanish ; thy wild acts denote
The unreasonable fury of a beast; 111
Unseemly woman in a seeming man!
Or ill-beseeming beast in seeming both I
■Phon hast amazed me : by my holy order,
I thought thy di.sposition better temper'd.
Hast thou slain Tybalt 7 wilt thou slay thyself?
And slay thy lady too that lives in thee,
Bv" doing damued hate uijon thyself 7
Why rail'st thou on thy biith, the heaven, and
earth 7
Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do
meet 120
In thee at once ; which thou at once wouldst
lose.
Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy love, thy
wit ;
Which, like a usurer, abound'st in all,
And usest none in that true use indeed
Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy
wit:
Thy noble shape is but a form of wax.
Digressing from the valor of a man ;
Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury.
Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to
cherish ;
Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love, 13t
Mis-shapen in the conduct of them both.
Like powder in a skilless soldier's flask.
Is set a-fire by thine own ignorance.
And thou dismember'd with thine own defence
What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive.
For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead^
There art thou happy : Tybalt would kill thee
But thou slew'st 'Tybalt; there arc thou happ;
too :
The law that threaten'd death becomes th'
friend
And turns it to exile ; there art thou happy;
pack of blessings lights upon thy back ; 141
Happiness courts thee in her best array ;
But, like a misbehaved and sullen wench.
Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love :
Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable.
Go, get thee lo thy love, as was decreed.
Ascend her chamber, hvtice and comfort her :
But look thou stay not till the watch be set.
For then thou canst not pass to Mantua ; 149
Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time
Td blaze your marriage, reconcile your frieni^
SCSKB T.]
ROMEO AND JULIET^
285
Bej; pardon of the prince, and call thee hack
With twenty hundred thousand times more joy
Than thou went'st forth in lamentation.
Go before, nurse : commend me to thy lady j
And bid her hasten all the house to bed,
Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto :
Romeo is coming.
Nurse. O Lord, I could have stay.'d here
all the night
To hear good counsel : 0, what learning is!
My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come. 161
Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to
chide.
Nurse. Here, sir, a ring she bid me give
you, sir :
Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late.
[Exit.
Rom. How well my comfort is revived by
this t
Fri. L. Go hence ; good night ; and here
stands all your state :
Either be gone before the watch be set,
Or by the break of day disguised from hence:
Sojourn in Mantua ; I'll find out your man,
And he shall signify from time to time 170
Every good hap to you that chances here :
Give me thy hand ; 'tis late : farewell ; good
night.
Rom, But that a joy past joy calls out on
me.
It were a grief, so brief to part with thee :
Farewell. [Exeunt.
Scene TV. A room in Capulet's house.
Enter Capclet, Ladt Capulet, and Paris.
Cap. Things have fall'n out, sir, so unluck¬
ily,
'^hat we have had no time to move our daugh¬
ter :
Look you, she loved her kinsman Tybalt dear¬
ly.
And so did I :—Well, we were born to die.
'Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night;
I promise you, but for your company)
I would have been a-bed an hour ago.
Par. These times of woe afiord no time to
woo.
Madam, good night : commend me to your
daughter.
La Cap. I will, and know her mind early
to-morrow; 10
To-night she is mew'd u^ to her heaviness.
Cap. Sir Paris, 1 will make a desperate
tender
Of my child's love : I think she will be ruled
hi all respects by me ; nay, more, 1 doubt it
not.
Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed ;
Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love ;
And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday
next—
But, soft ! what day is this ?
Par. Monday, my lord.
Cap. Monday ! ha, ha I Well, Wednesday
is too soon,
C Thursday let it be : o' Thursday, tell her.
She shall be married to this noble earl. 21
Will you be ready ? do you like this haste ?
We'll keep no great ado,—a friend or two ;
For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late.
It may be thought we held liiin carelessly.
Being our kinsman, if we revel much :
Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends.
And there an end. But wjiat say you to Thurs¬
day?
Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were
to-morrow.
Cap. Well, get you gone : o'Thursday be
, it, then. 30
Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed,
Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day.
Farewell, my lord. Light to my cliamber, iio
Afore me ! it is so very very late,
That we may call it early by and by.
Good night. [Exeunt.
Scene V. Capulet's orchard.
Enter Romeo and Juliet above, at the window.
Jul. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near
day:
It was the nightingale, and not the lark.
That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear ,
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree :
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the
morn,
No nightingale : look, love, what envious
streaks
Do lace the .severing clouds in yonder east:
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe oiv the misty mountain tops. 10
I roust he gone and live, or stay and die.
Jul. Yon light is not day-light, I know :t, I:
It is some meteor that the sun exhales.
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
And light thee on thy way to Mantua :
Therefore .stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone.
Rom. Let me be ta'eu, let me be xmt to
death ;
I am content, so thou wilt have it so.
I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye,
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow ; 20
Nor that is not the iark, whose notes do beat
■The vaulty heaven so high above our heads :
I have more ciire to stay than will to go :
Come, death, and welcome ! Juliet wills it so.
How is't, my soul ? let's tsilk ; it is not day.
Jut. It is, it is : hie hence, be gone, away !
It is the lark that sings so out of tune.
Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps
Some siiy the lark makes sweet division ;
"This dotii not so, for she divideth ns: , 30
Some say the lark and loathed toad change
eyes ;
O, now I would they had changed voices too I
Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray.
Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day,
O, now be gone; more light and light it grows.
Rom. More Fght and light ; more dark and
dark our woes I
286
ROMEO AND JULIET.
^
[ACT III.
Enter Nurse, to the chamber.
Nurse. Madam!
Jul. Nurse ?
Nurse. Your Lady motiier is coming to your
cliainber:
The day is broke; be wary, look about. [Exit.
Jul. Tlien, window, let day in, and let life
out. 41
Rom. Farewell, farewell ! one kiss, and I'll
descend. [lie noeih down.
Jul. Art thou gone so ? love, lord, a.y,
husband, friend!
I must hear from thee every day in the hour.
For in a minute tliere are many days :
O, by this count I sliall be much in years
Ere i again behold my Komeo I
Rom. Farewell!
I will omit no opimi-tunity
That may couvey my greetings, love, to thee.
Jul. O think'st thou we shall ever meet
again ? 51
Rom. I doubt it not ; and all these woes
shall serve
For sweet discourees in our time to come.
Jul. O God, I have an ill-divming soul
Methinks I see thee, now thou art below.
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb :
Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale.
Rom. And trust me, love, iu my eye so do
you :
Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu I
[Exit.
Jul. O fortune, fortune! all men call thee
fickle : 60
If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him.
That is renown'd for faith ? Be fickle, fortune;
For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long,
But send him back.
La. Cap. [ Within] Ho, daughter! are you up?
Jul. Who is't tlmt calls ? is it my lady
mother ?
Is she not down so late, or up so early ?
What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither?
Ente^- Lady Capupet.
La. Cap. Why, how bow, Juliet!
Jul. Madam, I am not well.
La. Cap. Evermore weeping for your cous¬
in's death ? 70
What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with
tears?
An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him
live ;
Therefore, have donb : some grief shows much
of love ;
But much of ^ef shows still some want of wit.
Jul. Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.
La. Cap So shall you feel the loss, but not
the friend
Which you weep for.
Jul. Feeling so the loss,
I cannot choose bnt ever weep the friend.
La. Cap. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so
much for his death,
As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him.
Jul. What villaiu, madam t 81
La. Cap. That same villain, Romeo*
Jul. [Aside] Villain and he be many miles
asunder. —
God pardon him ! I do, with all my heart ;
And yet no man like he doth grieve my heart.
La. Cap. That is, because the traitor mur¬
derer lives.
Jul. Ay, madam, from the reach of these
my hands :
Would none but I might venge my cousin's
death !
La. Cap. We will have vengeance for it,
fear thou not ;
Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Man¬
tua, 89
Where that same banish'd runagate doth live,
Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram.
That he shall soon keep Tybalt company :
And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied.
Jul. Indeed, I never .shall be satisfied
With Romeo, till 1 behold him—dead^
Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vex'd :
Madam, if .you could find out bnt a man
To bear a poison, I would temper it ;
That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof, 99
Soon sleep in quiet. O, how ray heart abhoi's
To hear him named, and cannot come to him.
To wreak the love I bore 1115* cousin
Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him !
La. Cap. Find thou the m^us, and I'll find
such a man.
But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl.
Jul. And joy comes well in such a needy
time :
What are they, I beseech your ladyship ?
La:Cap. Well, well, thou hast a careful
father, child ;
One who, to put thee from thy heaviness.
Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy, 110
That thou expect'st not nor I look'd not for.
Jul. Madam, in happy time, what day is
that ?
La. Cup. Marry, my child, early next Thurs¬
day mom.
The gallant, young and noble gentlem.an,
The County Paris, at Saint Peter's Church,
Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride.
Jul. Now, by Saint Peter's Church and
Peter too.
He shall not make me there a joyful bride.
I wonder at this haste ; that I must wed
Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo.
I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam,
I will not marry yet; and, when I do, I swear.
It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate,
Rather than Paris. These are news indeed !
La. Cap. Here comes your father ; tell him
so yourself.
And see how he will take it at your hands.
Eivteir Capulet and Nurse.
Cap. When the sun sets, the air doth driz¬
zle dew ;
But for the sunset of my brother's son
It rains downright.
How now ! a conduit, girl ? what, still iu tears?
Scene v.]
ROMEO AND JULIET.
287
Evermore showering 7 In one little hody 131
Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind ;
For still thy eyes, whicli I may call the sea,
Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy
body is,
Sailing in this salt flood ; the winds, tliy sighs;
Who, raging with tliy tears, and they,with
them.
Without a sudden calm, will overset
Thy tempest-tossed body. How now, wife 1
Have you deliver'd to her our decree 7
La. Cap. Ay, sir; but she will none, she
mves you tlianks. 140
I would the fool were married to her grave !
Cap. Soft! hike me with you, take me with
you, wife.
How! will she none 7 doth ghe not give us
thanks 7
Is she not proud 7 doth she not count her blest.
Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought
So worthy a geiitieman to be her bridegroom7
Jul. Not proud, you have ; but thankful,
that you have:
Proud can I never be of what I hate ;
But thankful even for liate, tliat is meant love.
Cap How now, how now, chop-logic!
What is tliis 7 150
' Proud,' and ' I thank you,' and ' I thank you
not;'
And yet' not proud,' mistress minion, you.
Thank me no thankings, nor, proud me no
prouds,
But fettle your flue joints 'gainst Thursday
next.
To go with Paris to Saint Peter's Church,
Or I will drag tiiee on a hurdle thither.
Out, you green-sickness carrion ! out, you bag¬
gage !
You tallow-face! ,
La. Cap. Fie, fie! what, are you mad 7
Jul. Good father, I beseech you on my
knees.
Hear me with patience but to speak a word.
Cap. Hang thee, young baggage ! disobe¬
dient wretch ! 161
I tell thee what: get thee to church o' Thurs¬
day,
Or never after look ihe in the face:
Speak not, reply not, do not answer me ;
My fingers itcn. Wife, we scarce thought us
blest
That God had lent us but this only child ;
But now 1 see this one is one too much.
And that we have a curse in having her :
Out on her, hilding ! '
Nurse. God in heaven bless her !
You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. 170
Cap. And why, my lady wisdom 7 hold your
tongue,
{rood prudence; smatterwith jbur gossips, go.
Nurse. I speak no treason.
Cap. O, God ye god-den.
Nurse. May not one speak 7
Cap. Peace, you mumbling fool 1
Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl •
For here we need it not
La. Cap. You are Jtoo hot.
Cap. tGod's bread !' it makes me mad :
tDay, night, hour, tide, time, work, play.
Alone, in compan3', still my care hath been
To have her match'd : and having now pro¬
vided ISO
A gentleman of noble parentage.
Of fair demesnes, youtliful, and nobly train'd,
Stuif'd, as they say, with honorable parts,
Proirortion'd as one's thought would wish a
man ;
And then to have a wretched puling fool,,
A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender.
To answer ' I'll not wed ; I cannot love,
1 am too young ; I pray you, parcon me.'
But, as vou will not wed, I'll i:ardon you :
Graze where you will, you sluill not house with
me: 1S.0
Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest.
Thursday is near ; lay hand on heart, advise :
An you be mine, 111 give you to my friend ;
And you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the
streets.
For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee.
Nor wiiat is mine shall never do thee good :
Trust to't, bethink you ; Til not be lorsworn.
[Erit.
Jul. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds.
That sees into the bottom of my grief 7
O, sweet my mother, east me not away ! 200
Delay this marriage for a month, a w eek ;
Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed
In that dim monument where Tybalt lies.
La. Cap. Talk not to me, for I'll not spenk
a word :
Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee.
[ixit.
Jul. O God !—O nurse, how shall this be
prevented 7
My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven ;
How shall that faith return again to earth.
Unless that husband send it me from heaven
By leaving earth 7 comfort me, connsei me.
Alack, alack, that heaven sliould practise
stratagems 211
Upon BO soft a subject as myself !
M'hat say'st thou 7 hast tiiou not a word of
joy 7
Some comfort, nurse.
Nurse. Faith, here it is.
Romeo is banish'd ; and all the world to noth-
ing.
That he dares ne'er come back to challenge
you ;
Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth.
Then, since the case so stands as now it doth,
I think it best you married with the county.
O, he's a lovely gentleman ! 220
Romeo's adishclout to him : an eagle, madam,
Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye
As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart,
I think you are happy in this second match.
For it excels your first : or if it did not,
Your first is dead ; or 'twere as good he were,
As living here and you no use of him.
Jul. Speakest thou from thy heart 7
288
Nurse. And fron: my sot'l too ;
Or else beshrew them both.
Jut. Amen!
Nurse. What ?
Jul. Well, thou hast comforted me marvel¬
lous much. 230
Go in : and tell my lady I am gone,
Having displeased my father, to Laurence' cell.
To mahe confession and to be absolved.
Nurse. Marry, I will; and this is wisely
done. [Exit.
Jul. Ancient damnation ! O most wicked
fiend !
<8 it more sin to wish me thus forsworn.
Or to dispraise my lord with th.at same tongue
Which she hath praised him with above com¬
pare
So many thousand times ? Go, counsellor ;
Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain.
I'll to the friar, to know his remedy : 241
If all else fail, myself have power to die.
[Exit.
ACT IV.
Scene I. Friar Laurence's ceil.
Enter Friar Laurence and Paris.
Fri. L. On Thursday, sir ? the time is very
short.
Par. My father Capulet will have it so ;
And I am nothing slow to slack his baste.
Fri. L. You say you do not know the lady's
mind ;
Uneven is the course, I like it not.
Par. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's
death,
.And therefore have 1 little talk'd of love ;
For Venus smiles not in a house of tears.
Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous
That she doth give her sorrow so much sway.
And in his Wisdom hastes our marriage, 11
To stop the inundation of her tears ;
Which, too mush minded by herself alone,
May be put from her by society :
Now do you know the reason of this haste.
Fri. L. [Aside] I would I knew not why it
should be slow'd.
Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell.
Enter Juliet.
Par. Happily met, my lady and my wife !
Jul. That may be, sir, when I may be a
wife.
Par. That may be must be, love, on Thurs¬
day next. 20
Jid. What must be shall be.
Fri. L. That's a certain text.
Par. Come you to make confession to this
father ?
Jul To answer that, I should confess to
you.
Par. Do not deny to him that you love me.
Jiil. I will confess to you that 1 love him.
Par. So will ye, I am sure, that you love
me.
[Act it.
Jitl If I do so, it will be of more price,
Being spoke behind your back, than to your
face.
Par. Poor soul, thy face is much abused
with tears.
Jul. The tears havd got small victory by
that; %
For it was bad enough before their spite.
Par. Tliou wrong'st it, more than tears,
with that report.
Jul That is no slander, sir, which is f
truth ;
And what I spake, I spake it to my face.
Par. Thy face is mine, and thou hast slan-
der'd it.
Jul. It may be so, for it is not mine own.
Are you at leisure, holy father, now ;
Or shall I come to you at evening mass ?
Fri. L. My leisure serves me, pensive
daughter, now.
My lord, we must entreat the time alone. 40
Par- God shield I should disturb devotion !
Juliet, on Thursday early will 1 rouse ye :
"nil then, adieu ; and keep this holy kiss.
[Exit
Jul O, shut the door ! and when thou hast
done so.
Come weep with me ; past hope, past cure,
past nelp!
Fri. L. Ah, Juliet, I already know thy '
grief ;
It strains me past the compass of my wits :
I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue
it.
On Thursday next be married to tins county.
Jul. Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of
this, . 50
Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it:
If; in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help.
Do thou but call my resolution wise,,
And with this knife I'll help it presently.
God joiu'd my heart and Komeo's, thou our
hands;
And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd
Shall be the label to another deed.
Or my true heart with treacherous revolt
'Turn to .mother, this shall slay them both :
Therefore, out of thy long-experienced time.
Give me some present counsel, or, behold, 61
'Twixt ray extremes and me this bloody knife
Shall play the umpire, arbitrating that
Which the commission of thy years and art
Could to no issue of true honor bring.
Be not so long to speak ; I long to die,
If what thou speak'st s|)eak not of remedy.
Fn. L. Hold, daughter ; I do spy a kind of
hope, ,
Which craves as desperate an execution.
As that is desperate which we would prevent.
If, rather than to marry County Paris, 71
Thou hast the streu^h of will to slay thy¬
self.
Then is it likely thou wilt undertake
A thing like death to chide away this shame.
That cbpest with death himself to scape from
it;
ROMEo iND JULIET.
Scene !i.]
R0ME6 AND JULIET.
289
And, if thou darest, I'll give thee remedy.
Jul. O, bid me leap, rather than marry
Paris,
From off the battlements of yonder tower ;
Or walk in tliievish ways ; or bid me lurk
Where serpents are; chain me with roaring
bears; ^
Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house,
O'er-cover'd quite with deiwl meu's rattling
bones.
With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls;
Or bid me go into a new-made crave
And hide me with a dead man m his shroud ;
Things that, to hear them told, have made me
tremble ;
And 1 will do it without fear or doubt.
To live an uurtain'd wife to my sweet love.
FrL L. Hold, then; go home, be merry,
give consent
To marry Paris : Wednesday is to-morrow : 90
To-morrow night look that thou lie alone ;
Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chafn-
ber :
Take thou this vial, being theh in bed.
And this distilled liquor drink thou off ;
When presently through all tliy veins shall
run
V cold and drowsy humor, for no pulse
Shall keep his native progress, but surcease :
Ko warmth, no breath, shall testify thou liv-
est ;
The roses in thy lips and cheeks shaU fade
To paly ashes, thy eyes' windows fall, 100
Like death, when he shuts up the day of life ;
Each part, deprived of supnle government.
Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like
death :
And hi this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death
Thou shalt continue two and forty hours.
And then awake as from a pleasant sleep.
Kow, when the bridegroom in tlie mommg
comes
To rouse thee from thy bed, there art tliou
dead:
Theu, as the manner of our country is.
In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier 110
Thou shalt he home to that same ancient vault
Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie.
In the mean time, against thou shalt awake,
Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift.
And hither shall he come : and he and 1
Will watch thy waking, and that very night
Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua.
And this shall free thee from this present
shame ;
If no inconstant toy, nor womanish fear.
Abate thv valor in the acting it. 120
Jul 6ive me, give me ! O, tell not me of
fear!
Fri. i. Hold ; get you gone, be strong and
prosperous
In this resolve : I'll send a friar with speed
To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord.
Jul. Love give me strength I and strength
shall help afford,
farewell, dear father 1 [Exeunt.
Scene 11. Ball in Capulet's house.
Enter Capulet, Lady Capudet, Nurse, and
two Serviugmen. - '
Cap. So many guests invite as here are writ.
[Exit First Servant.
Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks.
Sec. Serv. You shall have none ill, sir ; for
rU try if they can lick their fingers.
Cap. How canst thou try them so ?
Sec. Serv. Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook tliat
cannot lick his own fingers : therefore he that
cannot lick his fingers goes not with me.
Cap. Go, be gone. [Exit Sec. Servant.
We shall be much unfurnished forthis time. 10
What, is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence?
Nurse. Ay, forsootm
Cap. Well, he may chance to do some good
on her :
A peevish self-wili'd harlotry it is.
Nurse. See where she comes from shrift
with merry look.
Enter Juliet.
Cap. How now, my headstrong ! where
have you been gadding ?
Jul. Where I have learn'd me to repent the
sin
Of disobedient opposition
To you and your behests, aiid am enjoin'd
By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here, 20
And beg your pardon: pardon, 1 beseech you !
Henceforward f am ever ruled by you.
Cap. Send for the county ; go tell him of
this :
I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning.
Jul. 1 met the youthful lord at Laurence'
cell ;
And gave him what becomed love I might.
Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty.
Cap. Why, 1 am glad on't; this is well ;
stand up :
This is as't should be. Let me see the county ;
Ay, marry, go, 1 say, and fetch him hither. 30
Now, afore God! this reverend holy friar.
Our whole city is much bound to him.
Jtd. Nurse, will you go with me into my
, closet,
To help me sort such needful ornaments
As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow ?
La. Cap. No, not till Thursday ; there is
time enough.
Cap. Go, nur^e, go with her : we'll to
church to-morrow.
[Exeunt Juliet and Nurse.
La. Cap. We shall be short in our provis¬
ion :
'Tis now near night.
Cup. Tush, 1 will stir about.
And all tilings shall be well, 1 warrant thee,
wife; 40
Go thou to Juliet, help to deck qp her ;
I'll not to bed to-night; let me alone ;
I'll play the housewife for this once. What,
ho !
They are all forth. Well, 1 will walk myself
19
290
ROMEO AND JULIET.
[Act iv.
To County Paris, to prepare him op
Against to-morrow : my heart is wondrous
light,
Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd.
\Exexmt.
Scene HI. Juliet's charhber.
JEnler Juliet and Nurse.
Jul. Ay, those attires are best: but, gen¬
tle nurse,
I pray thee, leave me to myself to-night;
For I iiave need of many orisons
To move the heavens to smile upon my state,
Whicli, well thou kuow'st. Is cross, and full of
sin. '
Enter Lady Capulet.
La. Gap.. What, are you busy, ho ? need
you my help?
Jul. No, madam; we have cull'd such ne¬
cessaries
As are behovefui for our state to-morrow :
So piease yon, let me now be left alone.
And let the nurse this niglit sit up with you ; 10
For, lain sure, you have your hands full all.
In this so sudden business.
La. Cap. Good night:
Get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need.
[Exexiiit Lady Ccpulet and Nurse.
Jid. Farewell! God knows when we shall
meet again.
I have a faint cold fear thrills through my
veins.
That almost freezes up the heat of life :
I'll call them back again to comfort me :
Nurse ! What should she do here ?
My dismal scene I needs must act aloue.
Come, vial. 20
Wliat if this mixture do not work at all ? i
Shall I be married then to-morrow morning 7
No, no : this shall forbid it : lie thou there.
[Layimj down her dagger.
What if it be a poison, wliich the f.-iar
Subtly hath miuister'd to have me dead.
Lest in this marriage lie should be dishonor'd.
Because he married me before to Romeo ?
I fear it is : and yet, ntetbinks, it should, not.
For he hath still been tried a holy man.
H'lw if, when I am laid into the tomb, 30
1 wake before tlve time that Romeo
Come to redeem me? tliere's a fearful point!
Sliall I not, then, be stifled in tlie vault.
To whose foul mouth n6 healthsome air
breathes in.
And there die .wtiungled ere my Romeo comes ?
Or, if I live, is it not very like,
The horrible conceit of death and night.
Together with the terror of the place,—
As in a vault, au ancient receptacle.
Where, for these many hundred years, *he
bones 40
Of all my buried ancestors are padted :
Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth.
Lies festering in his shroud ; where, as they
say,
At some hours in the night spiiits resort
Alack, alack, is it not like that I,
So early waking, what with loathsome smells,
And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the
eartli,
That living mortals, hearing them, run mad
O, if 1 wake, shall I not be dlstmught.
Environed with all these hideous feai-s ? 50
And madly play with ray forefather's joints ?
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from hie
shroud ? [bone,
And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's
As with a club, dash out my desperate brains ?
0, look I methinks I see my cousin's ghost
Seeking out Romeo, that did ^it his body
Upon a rapier's point : stay, "Tybalt, stay !
Romeo, 1 come 1 this do 1 drink to thee.
[She falls upon her bed, within the curtains.
Scene TV. Hall in Capulet's Jtouse.
Enter Capulet and Nurse.
La. Cap. Hold, take these keys, and fetcb
more spices, nurse. '
Nurse. They call for dates and quinces it
• the pastry.
Enter Capulet.
Cap. Come, stir, stir, stir! the second '.xxk
hath crow'd.
The cnrfew-bell hath rung, 'tis three o'c v.k:
Look to the baked meats, good Angeliof- .-
Spare not. for cost.
Nurse. Go, you cot-quean,
Get you to bed ; faith, you'll be sick , nor-
row
For this night's watching.
Cap. No, not a whit: what! Ibav.,wrtch'd
ere now
All night for lesser cause, and ne'er '/een sick.
La. Cap. Ay, you have been a ny/use-lmnt
in your time ; 11
But I will watch yon from such wat 'hing now.
[Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse.
Cap. A jealous hood, a jealous hood I
Enter three or four Servingmen, tirith spi ,
logs, and bashets.
llow, fel' w,
What's there ?
First Serv. Things for the coe.r, sir ; I .t I
know not what.
Cap. Make haste, make haste.
[E,Ji Firoi ^.erv
Sirrah, fetch drier logs :
Call Peter, he will show thee where tb e / are.
Sec. Serv. I have a head, si:;, ^at vill find
out legs.
And never trouble Peter for the matter. [Exit.
Cap. Mass, and well said ; ^ merry whore¬
son, Iia!
Thou sliait be logger-head. Good fa'th, 'tir
day : 20
The county will be here with music straight.
For so he said he would : I .tset him near.
[J/usic within.
Nurse! Wife! Wliat, h i Trhat, nurse, I
say 1
SCBNB v.]
ROMEO AND JULIET,
291
Re-enter Nurse.
Go wakeu Juliet, go and trim her up ;
I'U go aud chat with Paris : hie, make haste,
Make haste ; the bridegroom he is.oome al¬
ready : ' I
Make haste, I say. [^Exeunt.
ScEKE V. Juliet's chamber.
Enter Nurse.
Nurse. Misti'ess! what, mistress ! Juliet!
fast, 1 warrant her, she :.
Why, lamb ! why, lady ! fie, you slug-a-bed !
Why, love, I say ! madam ! sweet-heart!
why, bride !
What, not a word ? you take your penny¬
worths now; ' ■ ^
Sleep for a week; for the next night, I ^ar¬
rant.
The County Paris hath set up his rest.
That you snail rest but little. God forgive me.
Marry, and amen, how sound is she asleep !
1 must needs wake her. Madam, madam,
madam!
Ay, let the county take you in your bed; 10
HVU fright you up, i' faith. VVill it not be ?
[Undraws the curtains.
What, dress'd I and in your clothes! and'
■ down again !
I must needs wake you ; Lady ! lady ! lady I
Alas, alas ! Help, help ! my lady's dead !
0, well-a-day, that ever I was born I
Some aqua vitse, ho ! My lord! my lady 1
Enter Ladv Capu-pet.
La. Cap. What noise is here ?
, Nurse. O lamentable, day I
La. Cap. What is the matter ?
Nurse. - Look, look ! O heavy day!
La. Cap. O me, O me ! My child, my only
lite.
Revive, look up, or I will die with thee ! 20
Help, help ! Call help.
Enter Capi'UET.
Cap For shame, bring Juliet forth; her
lord is come.
Nurse. She's dead, deceased, she's dead ;
alack the day I
La. Cap. Alack the day, she's dead, she's
dead, she's dead !
Cap. Ha ! let me see her : out, alas I she's
cold ;
Her blood is settled, aud her joints are stiff ;
Life and these lips have long been separated :
Deiith lies on her like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
Nurse. O lamentable day !
La. Cap. O woful time ! 30
Cap. Death, that hath ta'en her hence to
make me wail.
Ties up my tongue, and will n<< let me speak.
Enter Friar LAtrREUCE and Paris, with
Musicians.
Frk L- Come, is the bride ready to go to
dhuroh?
Cap. Ready to go, but never to return.
O son t the night before thy wedding-day
Hath Death lain with thy wife. 'Ihere she
lies, '
Flower as she was, deflowered by him.
Death is my son-in-law. Death is my heir ;
My daughter he hath wedded : I will die.
And leave him all ; life, living, all is Death's.
Par. Have 1 thought long to see this umr-
uing's face, ' 4i
And doth it give me such a sight as this 'I
La. Cap. Accursed, unhappy, wretched,
hateful day 1 ,
Most miserable hour that e'er tinie saw
In lasting labor of his' pilgrimage !
' But one, poor one, one poor and loving child, ,
But one thing to rejoice and solace in.
And cruel di^th hath civtch'd it from my
' sight 1
Nurse. O woe 1 O woful, woful, wofhl day!
Mo.st lamentable day, most wofu 1 day, 50
That ever, ever, I did yet behold 1
O day 1 Q day 1 O day 1 O hateful day }
Never was seen so black a day as this :
O woful day, O woful day 1
Par. Beguiled, divorced, Wiongect, spited.
Slain 1 ,
Most detestable death, by thee beguil'd.
By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown 1
Q love 1 O life 1 not life, but love in death 1
Cap. Despised, distressed, hated, martyr'd,
kill'd 1
Uncomfoitiible time, why earnest thou now CO
To murder, murder our' solemnity ?
O child 1 ■ 0 child 1 my soul, and not my
child 1
Dead ait thou 1 Alack 1 my child is dead ;
And with my child my joys are buried.
Eri. L. Peace, ho, for shame 1 cpnfu.«ion's
cure lives not
In these confusions. Heaven and yohrself
Had part in this fair maid ; now heaven hath
all.
And all the better is it for the maid :
Your part in her you could not keep^ from
death, ' , '
But heaven keeps his' part in eternal life. 70
The most you sought was her promotion ;
For 'twas your heaven she shou.' i be ad-
" vanced
And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced
Above the clouds, as liigh as heaven itsell ?
O, in this love, you love yoiu- child so ill.
That you run mad, seeing that she is well:
Sim's not well married that lives married
long ;
But she's best married that dies married
young.
Dry up your tears; and stick your rosemary
On this lair corse ; and, as the custom is, 8"
In all her best array bear her to church :
For though fond nature bids us all lament,
Y'et nature's tears are reason's i->efriment.
Cap. All things that we orda'ued festival,
Turn from their office to black funeral ;
Our instruments to melancholy bells.
292
ROMEO AND JULIET.
[Acrr.
Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast,,
Our solemn uymus to sullen dirges change,
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse.
And all things change them to the contrary.
Fri, L. Sir, go you in ; and, madam, go
with him j
And go. Sir Pans ; every one prepare
To follow this fair corse unto her grave ;
The heavens do lour upon you for some ill,
Move them no more by crossing tlieir high will.
[Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capulet,
Paris, and Friar.
First Mas. Faith, we may put up our pipes,
and be gone^ [up ;
Nurse. Honest goodfellows, ah, put up, put
For, well you know, this is a pitiful case. 100
[Exit.
First Mas. Ay, by my troth, the case may
be amended.
Enter Peter.
Pet. Musicians, (X musicians, 'Heart's
ease. Heart's ease :' O, an you will have me
live, play ' Heart's ease.'
First Mus. Why'Heart'sease ?'
Pet. O. musicians, because my heart itself
plays ' My heart is full of woe ;' O, play me
some merry dump, to comfort me.
First Mus. Not a dump we ; 'tis no time to
play now. 110
Pet. You will not, then 7
First .tl'i.s. No.
Pet. I will then give it you soundly.
First Mas. What will you give us 7
Pet. No money, on my faith, but the gleek;
I will give you the minstrel.
First Mus. Then will I give you the serv¬
ing-creature.
Pet. Then will I lay the serving-creature's
dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotch¬
ets : I'll re you. I'll fa you ; do you note me 7
First Mus. An you re us and fa us, you
note us.
Sec. Mus. Pray you, put up your dagger,
and put out your wit.
Pet. Then have at you with my wit! I will
dry-beat you with au iron wit, and put up my
iron dagger. Answer me like men ;
' When griping grief the heart doth woimd.
And doleful dumi)s the mind oppress.
Then music with her silver sound — 130
why 'silver sound' 7 why 'music with her
silver sound' 7 What say you, Simon Cat-
ling 7
First Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath
a sweet souud. [beck 7
Pet. Pretty! Wliat say you, Hugh Re-
Sec Mus. I say ' silver sound,' because mu-
si..Maus sound for silver.
Pet. Pretty too! What say you, James
SoiinJpost 7 139
Third Mus. Faith, I know not what to say.
Pet. 0, I cry you mercy ; you are the sing¬
er : I will say for you. It is ' music with her
silver sound,' because musicians have no gold
for sounding:
' Tlien music with her silver sound
With speedy help doth lend redress.'
[ExU.
■ First Mus. What a pestilent knave is this
same!
Sec. Mus. Haug him. Jack! CJome, we'll in.
here ; tarry for the mourners, and stay din¬
ner. (Exeunt.
ACT V.
ScEiTE I. Mantua. A street.
Enter Romeo.
Rom. If I may trust the flattering truth of
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand:
My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne
And all this day au unaccustom'd spirit
Lifts me above the ground with cheerful
thoughts.
1 dreamt my lady came and found ine dead-^
Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave to
think !—
And breathed such life with kisses in my lips.
That I revived, and was an emperor.
Ah ine ! how sweet is love itself possess'd, 10
When but love's shadows are so rich in joy !
Enter Baltbasar, booted.
News from Verona 1—How now, Balthasar!
Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar7
How doth my lady 7 Is my father well 7
How fares my Juliet 7 that I ask again ;
For nothing can be ill, if she be well.
Bal. Then she is well, and nothing can bo
U1:
Her body sleeps in Capel's monument.
And her immortiil part with angels lives.
I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault, 20
And presently took post to tell it yon :
O, pardon me for bringing these ill news.
Since you did leave it for my office, sir.
Rom. Is it even so 7 then I defy you, stars!
Thou know'St my lodging : get me ink and
jiaijer, .
And hire post-horses ; I will hence to-night.
Bal. I do beseech you, sir, have patience :
Your looks are pale and wild, and do import
Some misadventure.
Rom. Tush, thou art deceived :
Leave me, and do the tiling 1 bid thee do. SO
Hast thou no letters to me from the friar?
Bal. No, my good lord.
Rom. No matter : get tliee gone.
And hire those horses ; I'li be with thee
straight. [Exit Balthasar.
Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night.
Let's see for means: O mischief, thou art
swift
To enter in the thoughts of desperate men I
I do remember an apothecary,— • [noted
And hereabouts he dwells,—which late I
In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows.
Culling of simples ; meagre were his looks, 10
scbke hi.]
R0M£0 ANb JULIET.
293
Sliarp misery had worn him to the bones:
And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,
An aili^dtor stuff'd, and other skins
'Of ill-shaped fishes ; and about his shelved'
A t?ggarly account of empty boxes,
Green eartlien pots, bladders and musty
seeds, [roses,
Remnants of packthread and old cakes of
Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a show.
Koting this penury, to myself I said
' An it a man did need a poison now, 60
Whose sale is present death in Mantua,
Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.'
0, this same thought did but forerun my
need ;
And this same needy man must sell it me.
As I remember, this should be the house.
Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut
What, ho ! apothecary 1
Enter Apotliecary.
Ap. 'Who calls so loud ?
Rom. Come hither, man; I see that thou
art ijoor :
Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have
A diam of poison, such soon-speeding gear 60
As will disperse itself through all the veins
That the life-weary taker may fall dead
And that the trunk may be discharged of
breath
As violently as hasty powder fired
Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb.
Ap. Such mortid drugs I have ; but Man¬
tua's law
Is death to any he that uttei-s them. [ness,
Rom. Art thou so bare and full of wretched-
And fear'st to die ? famine is in thy cheeks,
Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes, 70
Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy "back ;
The world is not thy friend nor the world's
law ;
The world affords no law to make thee rich ;
Then be not poor, but break it, and take this.
Ap. My poverty, but not my will, consents.
Rom. I i)ay thy poverty, and not thy will.
Ap. Put this in any iiquid thing you wiil,'
And drink it off ; and, if you had the strength
Of twenty men, it would dispatch yon straight.
Rom. There is thy gold, worse poison to
men's souls, 80
Doing more murders in this loathsome world,
Than these poor compounds that thou mayst
not sell.
I sell thee poison ; thou hast sold me none.
Farewell : buy food, and get thyself in flesh.
Come, cordial and not poison, go with me
"To Juliet's grave ; for there must I use thee.
[Exeunt.
Scene II. Eriar Laurence's cell.
Enter Friar JohnF
Erlar J. Holy Franciscan friar ! brother,
ho!
Enter Friar Laurence.
Fri. L. This same should be the voice of
Friar John.
Welcome from Mantua i what says Romeo 1
Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter.
Fri. J. Going to find a bare-foot brother
Out,
One of our order, to associate me,
Here in this city visiting the sick.
And finding him, the searchers of the town.
Suspecting that we both were in a house
Where the infectious pestilence did reign, 10
Seal'd up the doors, and would not let us forth;
So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd.
Fri. L. Who bare my letter, then, to Romeo?
Fri. J. I could not send it,—here it is again,—
Nor get a messenger to bring it tliee.
So fearful were they of infection.
Fri. L. Unhappy fortune i oy my brother¬
hood.
The letter was not nice but full of charge
Of dear import, and the neglecting it
May do much danger. Friar John, go hence;
Get me an iron crow, and bring it straight 21
Unto my cell.
Fri. J. Brother, I'll go and bring it thee.
[Exit.
Fri. L. Now must I to the monument alone;
Within this three hours will fair Juliet wake;.
She will beshrew me mqch that Romeo
Hath had no notice of these accidents ;
But I will write again to Mantua,
And keep her at my cell till Romeo come ;
Poor living corse, dosed in a dead man's tomb!
[Exit.
Scene in. A churchyard; in it a tomb
belonging to the Capulets.
Enter Paius, and his Page bearing flowers
and a torch.
Par. Give me thy torch, boy: hence, and
stand aloof : ' '
Yet put it out, fol I would not be seen.
Under yond yew-trees lay thee all along.
Holding thine ear ciose to the hollow ground ;
So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread.
Being loose, unflrm,with digging up of graves.
But thou shalt hear it: whistle then to me.
As signal that thou hear'st something approach.
Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go.
Page. [Aside] I am almost afraid to stand
alone 10
Here in the church.yard ; yet I will adventure.
[Retires.
Par. Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal
bed I strew,—
O woe 1 thy canopy is dust and stones ;—
Which with sweet water nightly I wUl dew.
Or, wanting that, with tears distill'd by
moans :
The obsequies that I for thee will keep
Nightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep.
[37ie Page whistles.
The boy gives wanting something doth ap¬
proach.
What cursed foot wanders this way to-night.
To cross my obsequies and true love's rite ? 20
What, with a torch ! muiSe me, night, awhile.
[Retires
294
ROMEO AND JULIET.
[Act v»
Enter Romeo and Balthasar, with a torch,
mattock, &c.
Rom. Give me that mattock and the wrench¬
ing iron.
Hold, take this le'oer; early in the morning
See thou deliver it to my lord and father.
Give me the light: uijou thy life, I charge thee,
Whate'er thou hear'st or Ksest, stand all aloof,
And do not interrupt me in my coui-se.
Why I descend into this bed of death.
Is partly to behold my lady's face ;
Bat cliietly to take tlienoe from her de,ad finger
A jrrecious ring, a ring that I must use 31
In dear employment: therefore hence, begone:
But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry
In what I further shall intend to do.
By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint
And strew this hungry churchyard with tliy
limbs:
The time and my hitents are savage-wild.
More fierce and more memorable far
Than empty tigers or the roaring sea.
Bal. I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you.
Rom. So shalt thou show me friendship.
Take thou that: 41
Live, and be prosperous : and farewell,' good
fellow. [hereabout:
Bal. [Asidc\ For all this same, I'H hide me
His looks I fear, and his iuteuts 1 doubt.
I Ret ires.
Rom. Thou detestable maw, tliou womb of
death.
Gorged with the dearest morsel of the earth.
Thus I enforce thy rotten j.aws to open.
And, ill despite, I'll cram thee with more food!
[Opens the tomb.
Par. This is that banish'd haughty Mon¬
tague,
Tl.at murder'd my love's cousin, with which
grief, 50
It is supiiosed, the fair creature died ;
Aud here is come to do .some villanous shame
To the dead bodies : 1 will apprehend him.
[Comes forward.
Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague 1
Can vengeance be pursued further than death ?
Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee :
Obey, and go with me ; for thou must die. ,
Ronu I must indeed ; and therefore came I
hitlier.
Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man;
Fly hence, and ieave me: think upon tlie.«e
gone; 60
Let them affright thee. I beseech tliee, youth,
Put not another sin uixiu my head.
By urging me to fury: O, be gone !
By heaven, I love tliee better than myself ;
For I come hither ai-m'd against myself :
Stay not, be gone ; live, and hereafter say,
A madman's mercy bade thee run away.
Par. I do defy thy conjurations, •
And apprehend thee for a felon here.
Rom. Wilt thou provoke me ? then have at
thee, boy! [They fight. 70
Page. 0 Lord, they fight! I will go call the
watch. [Exit.
Par. O, I am slain ! lEalh.l If thou be
merciful,
Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet [Dlts.
Rom. lu faith, I will. Let me peruse tl.is
face.
Mercutio's kinsman, noble County Paris [
What said my man, wlien my betossed soul
Did not attend him as we rode ? I think
He told me Paris should have married Juliet:
Said he not so ? or did I dream it so ?
Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, 80
To think it was so ? O, give me thy hand,
One writ with me in .sour misfortune's book.'
I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave ;
A grave ? O, no! a lantern, slaughter'd youth.
For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes
This vault a feasting presence full of light.
Death, lie thou there, by a dead man iuterr'd.
[Laying Paris in the tomb.
How oft when men are at the point of death
Have they been merry ! which their keepers
call
A lightning before deiith; O, how may 1 SO
Call this a lightning ? O my love I my wife !
Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy
breath,
H.ath had no power yet upon thy beauty:
Thou art not couqueV'd ; beauty's ensign yet
Is crimson in tliy lips and in thy cheeks.
And death's pale flag is not advanced there.
Tybalt, liest tliou there in thy bloody sheet ?
O, what more favor can I do to thee.
Than with that liand tliat cut thy youfh in
twain
To sunder his that was tiiine enemy ? 100
Forgi\'« me, cousin 1 All, dear JuUet,
Why art thou yet so fair ? shall 1 beUeve
That unsubstantial death is amorous,
Aud that tlie lean abliorred monster keeps
Thee here in dark to be his paramour?
For fear of that, 1 still will stay with thee ;
And never from tiiis palace of dim night
Dejjart again : here, here will I remain
With worms that are thy clmmber-maids ; O,
here
Will I set up my everlasting rest, 110
And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars
From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look
your Last 1 [you '
Arms, take your last embrace 1 and, lips, O
The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss
A dateless bargain to engrossing death 1
Come, bitter conduct, come, uiusavory guide 1
Thou des|)erate piU t, now at once run on
The dashing rocks thy se.a-sick weary bark 1
Here's to my love 1 [Drinks.] O triie apothe¬
cary 1 119
Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.
[Dies.
Enter, at the other end of thechurchyard,TRiAB
Laukench:, yiith a lantern, crow, apd spade.
Fri. L. Saint Francis be my sxieed 1 how
oft to-night
Have my old feet stumble^ at graves 1 Who's
there ?
Scene in.]
ROMEO AND JULIET,
295
Bal. Here's one, a friend, and one that
knows you well.
Eri. L. Bliss be upon you ! Tell me, good
' iny friend.
What torch Is yond, that vainly lends his light
To grubs and eyeless skulls ? iis 1 discern,
It burneth In tlie Cajiels' monument.
Bal. It doth so, holy sir ; and tliere's my
master.
One that you love.
Fri. L. VTho Is It ?
Sal. Romeo.
Fii. L. How long hath he been there ?
Sal. -Full half an hour. ISO
Fri. L. Go with me to the vault.
Sal. I dare not, sir :
My master knows not but I am gone hence ;
And fearfully did menace tne with death.
If I did stiiy to look on his Intents.
Fri. L. Sbiy, then ; I'll go alone. Fear
comes upon me :
0, much I fear some 111 unlucky thing.
Sat. As I did sleep under this yew-tree
here,
I dreamt my master and another fought,
And that my master slew him.
Fri. L. •Romeo 1
[Advaneet.
Alack, alack, what blood Is this, which stains
The stony entrance of this sepulchre ?
What mean these masterless and gory swords
To lie dlscoloFd by this place of peace ?
[Enters the tomb.
Romeo! 0, pale! Who else ? what, Paris too ?
And steep'd In blood ? Ah, what an unkind
hour '
Is guilty of this lamentable chance!
The lady stirs. [Juliet Wakes.
■Jul. O Co;nfortable friar ! where is my
lord ?
I do remember well lyhere I should be,
And there I am. Where Is my RolheO ? 150
[Xoise within.
Fri. L. I hear some noise. Lady, come
from that nest '
Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep ;
A greater power than we can contradict
Hath t!iwarted our Intents. Come, come away.
Thy. husband In thy bosom there lies dead ;
And Paris too. Come, I'll dispose of thee
Among a sisterhood of holy nuns :
Stay not to question, for the watch is coming;
Come, go, good Juliet [Wotse again], I dare
no longer stay.
Jul., Go, get thee hence, for I will not
away. [Exit Fri. L. 160
What's here ? a cup, closed In my true love's
hand?
Poison. I see. hath been his timeless end :
l; arunk allj and left notfrlendly drop
To help me after ? I will kiss tiiy lips;
Haply some poison yet doth hang on them.
To make me die with a restorative.
[XV'sses him.
Thy Hps are warm. [way ?
First H'atcA. [.Wiihin] Lead, boy: which
Jul. Yea, noise ? then I'll be brief. 0
happy dagger !
[Snatching Romeo's deigger.
'This Is thy sheath [.S'fahs herself] ; there rust,
and let me die. 170
[Falls on Romeo's body, and dies.
.Enter Watch, vrith the Page o/Pahis.
Page. This Is the place ; there, where the
torch doth burn.
First [Vatch. The ground Is bloody ; seariu
about the churchyard :
Go, some of you, wlioe'er you find attach.
Pitiful sight! here lies the county slain ;
And Juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead.
Who here hath lain these two days buried.
Go, tell the prince : run to the Capulets :
Raise up the Montagues: some others search :
We see the ground whereon these woes do lie;
Bpt the true ground of all these piteous woes
We cannot without circumstance descry. 181
Re-enter some of the Watch, with Balthasak.
Sec. Watch. Here's Romeo's man ; we
found him In the churchyard.
First Watch. Hold him ui safety, till the
prince come hither.
Re-enter others of the Watch, with Fkiar
Laurence.
Third Watch. Here Is a friar, that trem¬
bles, sighs and weep.s :
Wetookthls mattock and this spade from him,
As he was coming from this churchyard side.
First Watch.. A great suspicion : stay tlie
friar too.
Entei- the Prince and Attendants.
Prince. What misadventure Is so early up,
That calls our persou from our morning'sWt?
Enter Capulet, Lady Capueet, and others.
Cap. What should It be, that they so shriel,
abroad ? lUO
La. Cap. The people In the street cry
Romeo,
Some Juliet, and some Paris ; and all run.
With open outcry toward our monument.
' Prince. What fear is this which sUirtles in
■ our ears ? ' '
First Watch. Sovereign, here lies the
County Paris slain ;
And Romeo dead ; and Juliet, dead before,
Warm and new kllTd.
Prince. Search, seek, and know how this
foul murder comes.
First Watch. Here Is a friar, and slaugh-
ter'd Romeo's man ;
With Instruments upon them, fit to cpen 200
These dead men's tombs.
Cap. O heavens ! O wife, look how our
daughter bleeds !
This dagger hath mlsta'en—for, lo, his house
Is empty on the back of Montague,—
And it mls-shciithed in my daughter's bosom !
La. Cap. O me ! this sight of death is as
a bell.
That warns my old age to a sepulchre.
296
ROMEO AND JULIET.
[Act T5
ureter Montague anSL others.
Prince. Come, Moutague; lor thou art
early up,
To see thy son and heir more early down.
Man. Alas, my liege, my wile is' dead to¬
night ; 210
Crief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath:
What further woe conspires against mine age?
Prince. Look, and thou shalt see.
, Man. 0 thou untaught 1 what manners is
in this ?
Topress before thy father to a grave ?
Prince. Seal up the mouth of outrage for
a while.
Till we can clear these ambiguities.
And know their spring, their head, their true
descent ;
And then will I be general of your woes,
And lead you even to death: meantime for¬
bear, 2^
And let mischance be slave to patience.
Bring forth the parties of suspicion.
Fri. L. 1 am the greatest, able to do least.
Yet most suspected, as the time and place
Doth make against me of this direful mur¬
der ;
And here I stand, both to impeach and purge
Myself condemns and myself excused.
Prince. Then say at once what thou dost
know in this.
Fri. L. I will be brief, for my short date
of breath
Is not so long as is a tedious tale. 230
Romeo, there dead, was husband to that
Juliet;
And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful
wife :
I married them ; and their stoTn marriage-day
Was Tybalt's dooms-day, whose untimely
death [city,
Bauish'd the new-made bridegroom from the
For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pined.
You, to remove that siege of grief from her,
Betroth'd and would have married her per¬
force
To County Paris ; then comes she to me.
And, with wild looks, bid me devise some mean
To rid her from this second marriage, 241
Or in my cell there would she kill herselL
Then gave I her, so tutor'd by my art,
A sleeping potion ; which so took effect
As 1 intended, for it wrought on her
The form of death: meantime I writ to
Romeo,
That he should hither come as this dire night.
To help to take her from her borrow'd grave.
Being the time the potion's force should cease.
But he which bore my letter. Friar John, 250
Was stay'd by accident, and yesternight
Return'd my letter back. Then all alone
At the prefixed hour of her waking,
Came I to tako her from her kindred's vault;
Meaning to keep her closely at my cell,
nil I conveniently could send to Romeo ;
But when I came, some miiMite ere the time
Of her awaking, here untimely lay
The noble Paris and true Romeo dead.
She wakes ; and I entreated her come forth.
And bear this work of heaven with patience;
But then a noise did scare me from the tomb;
And she, too desperate, would not go with me,
But, as it seems, did violence on herself.
All this I know ; and to the marriage
Her nurse is privy : and, if aught in this
Miscarried by my fault, let my old life
Be sacrificed, some hour before his time,
Unto the rigor of severest law.
Prince. We still have known thee for a holy
man. 270
Where's Romeo's man ? what can he say in
this ? [death ;
Sal. I brought my master news of Juliet's
And then in post he came from Mantua
To this same place, to this same monument.
This letter he early bid me give his fatlter.
And threatened me with death, going in the
vault.
If I depart^ not and left him there.
Prince. Give me the letter ; I will look on
it.
Where is the county's page, tliat raised the
watch ?
Siirah, what made your master in this place?
Prince. He came with fiowers to strew his
lady's grave ; 281
And bid me stand aloof, and so I did :
Anon comes one with light to ope the tomb ;
And by and by my master drew on him ;
And then I ran away to call the watch.
Prince. This letter doth make good the
friar's words.
Their coui-se of love, the tidings of her death :
And here he writes that he did buy a poison
Of a poor 'pothecary, and therewithal
Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet
Where be these enemies ? Capulet! Monta¬
gue ! 291
See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate,
That heaven finds means to kill your joys
with love. I
And I for winking at your discords too
Have lost a brace of kinsmen ; all are pmiisfa'd.
Cap. O brother Montague, give me thy
hand:
This is my daughter's jointure, for no more
Can I demand.
Man, But I can give thee more:
For I will rai.se her statue in pure gold ;
That while Veroi i by that name is known,300
There shall no figure at such rate be set
As that of true and faithful Juliet.
Cap. As rich shall Romeo's by bis lady's
lie ;
Poor sacrifices of our enmity!
Prince. A glooming peace tliis morning
with it brings ; ,
The sun, for sorrow, will not show his bead:
Go hence, to have more talk of these sad
things ;
Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished:
For never was a story of more woe 309
Thau this of Juliet and het Romeo. [.Exeunt.
KING RICHAKD n.
*
' (wkitten about 1594.)
INTRODUCTION.
Xinff Xtchard IT. appeared In quarto in 1597. In 1608 a third edition was puhiished "with new
addittons of the Parliament Scene and the deposing of King Richard," that is to say, with the added
lines 151.^18 in Act IV., Sc. I. It is probable thatuiese lines were written as part of tbe original
play, bat relating as they did to the deposition of a king, had been omitted for fear of giving oSence
at a time when the Pope and tJatholic princes were exhorting her subjects to dethrone Klisabeth.
The date of the play is not ascertained, but it has been assigned, with an appearance of probability,
to the year 1593 or 1594. Whether it preceded or followed jliclutrd 111. is a question in dispute. It
is the inferior scenes which contain most rhymed verse; the dramatist exhibits, as in Borneo and
Juliet, mastery over blank verse, but is not yet free from the tendency to fall back into rhyme.
Upon the whole Richard II. bears closer affinity to King John than to any other of Shakespeare's
plays. Marlowe's genius, however, still exercises an influence over Shakespeare's imagina¬
tion while he was fashioning his Richard II. Having in Richard III. (if it preceded the present
play) brought tbe civil wars of England to an is.^uq and an end, Shakespeare turned back to
the reign of the earlier Richard, whose deposition led the way to the dispute succession and the
eonflicta of half a century later. The interest of the play centres in two connected things—the per¬
sonal contrast between the falling and the rising kings, and the political action of each; the mis-
govemmeut of the one inviting and almost justirylng the usurpation of the other. Richard,
though possessed of a certain regal charm and power of attaching tender natures to himself, is defi¬
cient ill all that is sterling and real in manhood. He is self-indulgent, has much superficial sensitive¬
ness, loves to contemplate in a romantic way whatever is pathetic or passionate in life, possesses a
kind of rhetorical imagination, and has abundant command of delicate and gleaming words. His
will is nerveless, he is incapable of consistency of feeling, incapable of strenuous action. Boling-
broke, on the other hand, who pushes Richard from his throne, is a man framed for such ma¬
terial success as waits on personal ambition. His is a resolute gaze which sees his object far off,
and he has persistency and energy of will to carry him forward without faltering. Bis faculties
are strong and well-knit; he is not cruel, but shiinks from no deed that is needful to his purpose
because the deed is cruel. There is no finer contrast in Shakespeare's historical plays than that be¬
tween the figures of the formidable king of deeds and the romantic king of hectic feelings and bril¬
liant words.
DRAMATIS PERSON.®.
uncles to the King.
Kino Richard the Second.
John of Gaunt, Duke
of Lancaster,
Edmund of Lanolev,
Duke of York,
Henry, snruamed Bolingbroke, Duke of
Hereford, son to John of Gaunt; after¬
wards Kino Henry IV.
Duke of Aumerle, son to the Duke of York.
1'homas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk.
Duke of Surrey.
Earl of Salisbury.
Lord Berkeley.
Bushy, ) «
Baoot, > servants to Khig Richard.
Green, )
Earl of Northumberland.
Henry Percy, surnamed Hotspur, his son.
Lord Ross.
Lord Willoughby.
Lord Fitzwater
Bishop of Carlisle.
Abbot of Westminstec
Lord Marshal,
Sir Stephen Scroop.
Sir Pierce of Exton.
Captain of a baud of Welshmen
Queen to King Richard >
Duchess of York.
Duchess of Gloucester.
Lady attending ou the Queen.
Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, two
Gardeners, Keeper, Messenger,
Groom, and other Attendants.
Scene : England and Wales.
m>
298
KING RICHARD II.
[Act t
-ACT I.
Scene I. London. Kino Richard's
^terKingricharji,,John of Gaunt, wita
other Nobles mid Attendants.
K. Rich. Old John of Gaunt, time-honor'd
Lancaster,
Hast thou, according to thy oath and band.
Brought liither Henry Hereford thy bold son,
Here to uiaUe good tiie boisterous late appeal,
Which then our leisure would not let us hear.
Against the UaUe of Norfolk, Thomas Mow¬
bray ?
Gaunt. I have, my liege.
K. Rich. Tell me, moreover, hast thou
sounded him,
If he appeal tiie duke on ancient malice ;
Or worthily, as a good subject should, 10
On some known ground of treachery In him ?
Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that
argument.
On some apparent danger seen in him
Aim'd at your highne.ss, no inveterate malice.
K. Ricti: Then call them to our presence ;
face to face,
And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will
hear
The accuser and the accused freely speak :
High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire.
In rage deaf as tire sea, hasty as fire.
Enter Bohngbrokf, and, Mowbray,
Boling. Many years of happy days befal 20
Mv gracious sovereign, my most loving liege !
'Moio. Each day still better otlier's happi¬
ness ;
Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap.
Add an iramoital title to your crown !
K. Rich. We thank you both : yet one but
flatters us,
As well appeareth by the cause you come;
Namely, to appeal each other of high treason.
Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mow¬
bray?
Boling. First, heaven be the record to my
speech! 30
In the devotion of a subject's love.
Tendering tlie precious safety of my prince.
And free from other misbegotten hate.
Come I appellant to this princely presence.
Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee.
And mark my greeting well; It what I speak
My body shall make good upon this earth.
Or my divine soul answer it in heaven.
Thou art a traitor and a miscreant,
Too good to be so and too bad to live, 40
Since the more fair and crystal is the sky.
The uglier seem the clouds that in it
Once more, the more to aggravate the note.
With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat ;
And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I move,
What ray tongue speaks ray right drawn
sword may prove.
Mow. Let not my cold vFords here accuse
xas zeal:
'Tis not the trial of a woman's war.
The bitter clamor of two eager tongues.
Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain; SO
The blood is hot that must be cooTd for this ;
jfet can I not of such tame patirnce boast
As to be hush'd and nought at all to say :
First, the fair reverence of your highness
curbs me
From giving reins and spurs to my iree
speech ;
Which else would post until it had return'd
These terms of treason doubled down his
throat.
Setting aside his high blood's ro3'alty.
And let him be no kinsman to ray liege,
I do defy him, and I spit at hira; • 6C
Call him a slandeu us toward and a villain :
Which to maintain I would aUow hira odds,
And meet hira, were I tied to run afoot
Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,
Or any other ground uihabitable.
Where ever Englishman durst set his foot
Mean time let this defend my loj-alty.
By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie.
Boling. Paie trembling coward, there I
throw my gage.
Disclaiming here the kindred of the king, 70
And lay aside my high blood's loy dty.
Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to ex¬
cept.
If guilty dread have left thee so ranch strength
As to take up mine honor's pawn, then stoop :
By that and all the rites of knighthood else.
Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,
What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise.
Mow. I take it up ; and by that sword I
swear
Which gently laid my knighthood on my
shoulder,
I'll answer thee in any fair degree, 80
Or chivalrous design of knightly trial;
And when I mount, alive may I not light.
If I be traitor or unjustly fight!
K. Rich. What doth bur cousin lay to Mow-
braj''s charge ?
It must be great that can inherit us
So much as of a thought of ill hi hira.
Boling. Look, what I speak, my life shall
prove it true ;
That Mowbray hath received eight thousand
nobles' [diers.
In name of tendings for your highness' sol-
The which he hath detain'd for lewd employ¬
ments,.
Like a false traitor and injurious villain. 91
Besides I say and will ill battle prove.
Or here or elsewhere to the furthest verge
That ever was survey'd by English ej-e.
That all the treasons for these eighteen years
Complotted and contrived in this land
Fetch from false Mowbray their first bead and
spring.
Further I say and further will maintain
Upon his bad life to make all this good.
That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's
death, 100
Scbnb. 1.]
KING RICHARD II.
29&
Suggest hU soon>1)elieving adversaries,
And consequently, like a traitor coward,
Sluioed out Ms innocent soul through streams
of blood:
Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, crlesj
Even from the tongueless caverns of the earih.
To me for justice and rough chastisement;
And, by the glorious worth, of my descent,
This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.
K. Rich. How high a pitch his resolution
soars !
Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this ?
Mow. O, let my sovereign turn away his
face 110
And bid his ears a little while be deaf,
Till 1 have told this slander of his blood.
How God and good men hate so foul a liar-.
K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes
and ears :
Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir,
As he is but my father's brother's son.
Now. by my sceptre's awe, I make a vow.
Such neighbor nearness to our sacred blood
Should nothiug privilege him, nor partialize
The unstooping firmness of my upright soul ;
He is our subject, Mowbray ; so art thou :
Free speech and fearless I to thee allow.
Mow. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy
heart.
Through the false passage of thy throat, thou
liest. .
'Ehree parts of that receipt I had for Calais
Disbursed I duly to his highness' soldiers ;
The other iiart reserved I by consent.
For that my sovereign liege was in my debt
Upon remainder of a dear account, 130
Since last I went to Fi-ance to fetch his queen:
Now swallow down that lie. Fer Gloucester's
death,
I slew him not ; but to my own disgrace
Neglected my sworn duty in that case.
For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster,
The honorable father to my foe.
Once did I lay an ambush for your life,
A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul,
But ere I last received the sacrament
I did confess it, and exactly begg'd 140
Your grace's pardon, nnd 1 hope I had it.
This is my fault; as for the rest aitpeal'd.
It issues from the rancor of a villain,
A recreant and mo.st degenerate traitor :
Which in myself 1 boldly will defend ;
And interchangeably hurl down my gage
Upon this overweening traitor's foot.
To prove myself a loyal gentleman
Even' in the best blood chamber'd in his
bosom.
In haste whereof, most heartily 1 pray 150
Your highness to assign our trial day.
K. Rich. Wrath-kindled ^utlemeu, be
ruled by me ; '
Let's purge this choler without letting blood ;
This we prescribe, though no physician ;
Deep malice makes too deep incision ;
Forget, forgive ; conclude and be agreed ;
Our doctors say this is no mouth to bleed.
Good uncle, let this eud where it begun ;
We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your
son.
Oaunt. To be a make-peace shall become
my age : 160
Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's
gage. '
K. Rich. And, NorfoUr, throw down his.
Gaunt. When, Harry, when ?
Obedience bids I should not bid again.
K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down, we bid ;
there is no boot.
Mow. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at
thy foot.
My life thou shalt command, but not my
shame :
The one my duty owes ; but my fair name.
Despite of death that lives upon my grave.
To dark dishonor's use thou shalt not have.
I am disgraced, impeach'd and baffled here.
Pierced to the soul with slander's venom'd
spear, . 171
The which no balm can cure but his heart-
blood
Which breathed this poison.
K. Rich. Rage must be withstood :
Give me his gage : lions make leopards tame.
Mow. Yea, but not change^ his spots : take
but my shame.
And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord.
The purest treasure mortsil times afiord '
Is spotless reputation : that away.
Men are but gilded loam or pauited clay.
A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-np chest 180
Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast.
Mine honor is my life ; botli grow in one ;
Take honor from me, and my life is done :
Then, dear my liege, nune honor let me try ;
In that I live aud for that will 1 die.
K. Rich. Cousin, throw up your gage ; do
you begin.
Boling. O, God defend my soul from such
deep sin !
Shall I seem crest-fall'n in my father's sig'nt ?
Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height
Before this out-dared dastard ? Ere my
tongue lyb
Shall wound my honor with such feeble
wrong.
Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear
The slavish motive of recanting fear.
And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace.
Where shame doth harbor, even in Mowbray's
face. [Exit Gaunt.
K. Rich,. We were not born to sue, but to
command ;
Which since we cannot do to make you friends.
Be ready, as your lives shall answer it.
At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day : 199
There shall your swords and hinces arbitrate
The swelling difference of your settled hate :
Since we cjin not atone you, we shall see
Justice design the victor's chivalry.
Lord marshal, command our officers at arms
Be ready to direct these home alarms,
t \Ezeunt.
300
KING RICHARD II.
[Ac*»
Scene H. The Duke op Lancaster's
palace.
Enter John of Gaunt with the Duchess
OF GliOUCESTER.
Gaunt. Alas, the part I had iu Woodstock's
Wood
Doth more solicit me than your exclaims,
To stir against the butchers of his life !
But siuce correction lieth iu those hands
AVhich made the fault that we cannot correct.
Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven ;
Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth.
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.
Duck. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper
spur ? '
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire ? 10
Edward's seven sous, whereof thyself art one,
Were as seven vials of his sacred blood.
Or seven fair branches springing from one
root :
Some of those seven are dried by nature's
course.
Some of those branches by the Destinies cut;
But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, m^ Glou¬
cester,
One vial full of Edward's sacred blood.
One flourishing branch of his most royal root.
Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt.
Is haqk'd down, and his summer leaves all
faded.
By envy's hand and murder's bloody axe. 21
All, Gaunt, his blood was thine ! that bed, that
womb,
That metal, that self-mould, that fashion'd
thee
Made liim a man ; and though thou livest and
breathest.
Yet art thou slain in him : thou dost consent
In some large measure to thy father's death.
In tliat thou seest thy wretched brother die,
Wiio was the model of thy father's life.
Call it not patience, Gaunt; it is despair : 29
111 snfferingjlius thy brother to be slaughter'd,
Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life.
Teaching .stern murder how to butcher thee :
That wliich in mean men we intitie patience
Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.
What shall I say ? to safeguard thine own life.
The best way is to venge my Gloucester's
death.
Gaunt. God's is the quarrel; for God's
substitute.
His deputy anointed in His sight.
Hath caused his death ; the which if wrong¬
fully,
Let heaven revenge ; for I majr never lift 40
An angry arid against His minister.
Duch. Where then, alas, may I complain
myself ?
Gaunt. To God, the widow's champion and
defence.
Duch. Why, then, I will. Farewell, old
Gaunt.
Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold
Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight:
O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford*!
spear.
That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast!
Or, if misfortune miss the first career.
Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom, 60
That they may break his foaming courser's
back.
And throw the rider headlong iu the lists,
A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford !
Farewell, old Gaunt: thy sometimes brother's
wife
With her companion grief must end her life.
Gaunt. Sister, farewell; I must to Coven¬
try :
As much good stay with thee as go with me !
Duch. Yet one word more : grief boundeth
where it falls,
Hot with the empty hollowness, but weight;
I my leave before I have begun, (iO
For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done.
Commend me to thy brother, Edmund York.
Lo, this is all:—^nay, yet depart not so ;
Though this be all, do not so quickly go ;
I shall remember more. Bid him—^ah, wliat?—
With all good speed at Plashy visit me.
Alack, and wl.at shall good old York there see
But empty lodcings and unfurnish'd walls.
Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones ?
And what hear there for welcome but my
groans ? 70
Therefore commend me; let him not come
there, «
To seek out sorrow that dwells every where.
Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die :
The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.
[Exeunt
Scene III. The lists at Coventry.
Enter the Lord Marshal and the Duke of
Aumerle.
Mar. My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford
arm'd ?
Auth. Yea, at all points ; and longs to enter
in.
Mar. The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully
and bold.
Stays but th-^ summons of tlie appellant's
trumpet.
Aum. Why, then, the champions are pre¬
pared, and stay
For nothing but his majesty's approach.
The trumpets sound, and the King enters tcith
his nobles, Gaunt, Bushy, Bagot, Green,
and others. When they are set, enter Mow¬
bray in ..rms, defendant, with a Herald.
K. Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder cham¬
pion
The cause of his arrival here in arms :
Ask him his name and orderly proceed
To swear him iu the justice of his cause. 10
Mar. In God's name and the king's, say
who thou art
And why thou comest thus knightly clad io
arms.
Scene iii.|
KING RICHARD II.
801
Agaiust what man thou comest, and what thy
quarrel :
Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thy
oath;
As so defend thee heaven and thy valor!
Mote. My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke
of Norfolk ;
Who hither come en^ged by my oatl»—
Which God defend alcuigbt should violate !—
Both to defrad my loyalty and truth
To God, my king and my succeeding issue, 20
Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals
me;
And, by the grace of God and this mine arm.
To prove him, in defending of myself,
A traitor to my God, my king, and me:
And as I truly fight, defend me heaven !
The trumpets sound. 1^/ifer Bolingbroke,
appellant, in armor, with a Herald.
K. Rich. Marshal, ask yonder knight in
arms,
Both who he is and why he cometh hither
Thus plated in habiliments of war.
And formally, according to our law.
Depose him in the -justice of his cause. 30
Mar. What is tny name ? and wherefore
comest thou hithei:,
Before King Richard in his royal lists ?
Against whom comest thou ? and what's thy
quarrel?
$peak like a true knight, so defend thee
heaven!
Bolinff. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and
Derby
Am I; wh^ ready here do stand in arms.
To prove, by God's grace and my body's
valor.
In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Nor¬
folk,
That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous.
To God of heaven. King Richard and to me ;
And as I truly fight, defend me heaven ! 41
Har. On pam of death, no person be so
bold
Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists,
Except the marshal and such officers ,
Apiwinted to direct these fair designs.
Soling. Lord marshal, let me kiss my sove¬
reign's hand.
And bow my knee before his majesty :
For Mowbray and myself are like two men
That vow a long and weary pilgrimage ;
Then let us take a ceremoni-us leave 50
And loving farewell of our several friends.
Mar. The appeUant in all duty greets your
highness.
And craves to kiss your hand and take his
leave.
K. Rich. We will descend and fold -nim in
our armi *
Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is ngm.
So be thy fortune in this royal fight!
Farewell, my blood; which if to day thou
shed.
Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.
Soling. O, let no.noble eye profane a tear
For me, if I be gored withMowbray's spear : 60
As confident as is the falcon's flight
Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.
My loving lord, I take my leave of you ;
Of you, my noble cousin. Lord Aumerle ;
Not sick, although I have to do witli death,
-But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.
Lo as at English feasts, so I regreet
Tiio daintiest last, to make the end niostsweet:
O thou, the earthly author of my blood.
Whose youthful spirit, in me regeneiate, 70
Doth with a twofold vigor lift me up
To reach at victory above my head.
Add proof unto mine armor with thy prayers:
And with thy blessings steel my lance s point,
That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat,
Aud'furbish new the name' of John a Gaunt,
Even in the lusty havior of bis son.
Oavnt. God in thy good cause make thee
pi-osperous !
Be swift like lightning in the execution ;
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled, 80
Fail like amazing thunder on the casque
Of thy adverse pernicious enemy :
Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and
live.
Soling. Mine innoc^cy and Saint George
to thrive 1
Mow. However God or fortune cast my
lot.
There lives or dies, true co King Richard's
throne,
A loyal, just and upright gentleman
Never did captive with a frem- heart
Cast off his chains of bondage and embrace
His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement, 90
More than my dancing soul doth celebrate
This feast of battle with mine adversary.
Most mighty liege, and ray companion peers.
Take fi-om my mouth the wish of happy
years :
As gentle and as jocund as to jest
Go I to fight: truth liath a quiet breast.
K. Rich. Farewell, my lord; securely I
espy
Virtue with valor couched in thine eye.
Qrder the trial, marshal, and begin.
Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and
Derby, 100
Receive thy lance ; and God defend the right!
BMng. Strong as a tow er in hope, I cry
amen.
Mar. Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke
of Norfolk.
First Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster
and Derby,
Stands here for God, his sovereign and him¬
self.
On pain to be found false and recreant.
To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mow¬
bray,
A traitor to his God, his king and him ;
And dares him to set forward to the fight.
Sec. Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray,
Duke of Norfolk, 1)0
302
KING RIOnARD II.
[Act i.
I )ii mill to be found false and recreant,
Botfito defend himself and to approve
Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
To Gk)d, his sovereign and to him disloyal ;
Courageously and with a free desire
Attending but the signal to begin.
Mar. Sound, trumpets ; and set foi-ward,
combatants. [A chrirr/e sounded'
Stay, the king hath thrown his warder do-'u.
K. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets
and their spears.
And both return back to their chairs again :
IVithdraw with us : and let the trumpets
sound 121
While we return these dukes what we decree.
[A long flourish.
Draw near.
And list what with our council we have done.
For that our kingdom's earth should not be
soiTd
With that dear blood which it hath fostered ;
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect
Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbors'
sword ;
And for we think the eagle-winged pride
Of sky-aspiiing and ambitions thoughts, 130
With rival-hating envy, set on you
To wake our peace, which in our eomitry's
cradle
Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep ;
Which so roused up with boisterous untuned
drums.
With harsh resounding tmmpets' dreadful
bray.
And grating shock of wrathful iron arms.
Might from our quiet confines fright fair
peace
.\jid make us wade even in our kindred's
blood ;
Therefore, we banish you our territories :
You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life, 140
Till twice five summers have enrich'd our
fields
Shall not regreet our fair dominions.
But tread the stranger paths of banishment.
Boling. Your will be done : this must my
comfort be.
That sun that warms you here shall shine on
me ;
And those his golden beams to you here lent
Shall point ou me and gild my banishment.
K. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a
heavier doom.
Which I with some unwillingness pronounce ;
The sly slow hours shall not determinate 150
The dateless limit of thy dear exile ;
The hopeless word of ' never to return '
Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.
Moio. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign
liege,
And all unlook'd for from your highness'
mouth:
A dearer merit, not so deep a maim
As to be cast forth in the common air.
Have I deserved at your highness' hands.
The language I have learu'd these forty years,
My native English, now I must forego : 160
And now my tongue's use is to ine no more
Than an unstringed viol or a harp.
Or like a cunning instrument cased up.
Or, being open, put into his hands
That Icnows no touch to tune the harmony :
Within my mouth you have engaol'd my
tongue.
Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips ;
And dull unfeeling barren ignorance
Is made my gaoler to attend on me.
I am too old to fawn npon a nurse, 170
Too far in years to be a pupil now :
What is thy sentence then but speechless
death.
Which robs my tongue from breathing native
breath ?'
K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compas¬
sionate ;
After our sentence plaining comes too late.
Mow. Then thus I turn me from my coun¬
try's light.
To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.
K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath
with thee.
Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands ;
Swear by the duty that you owe to God— 180
Our part therein we banish with yourselves—
To keep the oath that we administer ;
You never shall, so help you truth and God !
Embrace each other's love in banishment;
Nor nex'er look nixsn eadi other's face ;
Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile
This louring temiiest of your home-bred hate ;
Nor never by advised purpose meet
To plot, contrive, or complot any ill
'Gainst us, our state, our subjecte, or our land.
Boling. I swear. 191
Mow. And I, to keep all this.
Boling. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy:—
By this time, had the king permitted us,
One of our sonls had waiider'd in the air,
Banish'd this frail se|>ulchre of our flesh.
As now our flesh is banish'd from this land :
Confe.ss thy treasons ere thou fly the realm ;
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along
Tiie clogging burthen of a guilty soul. 200
Mow. No, Bolingbroke : if ever I were
traitor,
My name be blotted from the book of life.
And I from heaven banish'd as fiom hraice !
But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know;
-And all too soon, I fear, tlie king shall rue.
Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray ;
Save back to England, all the world'smy way.
[Exit.
K. Rich. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine
eyes
I see thy grieved heart : thy sad aspect
Hath from the number of his banish'd years
Pluck'd four away. [To Boling.'\ Six frozen
winters spent, 211
Return with welcome home from banishment.
Boling. How long a time lies in one little
word !
Four laggins winters and four wanton springs
Scene ' iv.]
End in a word : such is the breath of kings.
GatmU 1 thank my liege, that in regard of
ra©
He shortens four years of my son's exile i
Hut little vantage shall I reap tliereby ;
For, ere the six years that he hatli to spend
Can cliange their moons and bring their times
about, 220
My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light
Shall be extinct with age and endless night;
My inch of taper will be burnt and done.
And blindfold death not let me see my son.
K. Rich. Why, uncle, tliou liast many years
to live.
Gaunt. But not a minute, king, that thou
canst give :
Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow.
And pluck nights from me, but not lend a
morrow ;
Thou canst help time to furrow me with age,
But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage ; 230
Thy word is current with him for my death.
But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.
if. iJicA. Thy son is banish'd upon good
advice.
Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave ;
Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lour?
Cfaunt. "Things sweet to taste prove in di¬
gestion sour.
Yon urged me as a judge ; but I had rather
You would have bid me argue like a father.
O, had it been a stranger, not my chUd,
To smooth his fault I should have been more
mild: 240
A partial slander sought I to avoid.
And in the sentence my own life destroy'd.
Alas, I look'd when some of you should say,
I wiis too strict to make mine own away ;
But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue
Against my will to do myself tliis wrong.
K. Rich. Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid
him so :
Six years we banish him, and he shall go.
[Flowish. Exeunt King Richard and train.
Aum. Cousin, farewell: what presence must
not know.
From where you do remain let paper show. 250
MTor. My lord, no leave take I; for I wiU
ride, '
As far as land will let me, by your side.
Gaunt. O, to what pur^se dost thou hoard
thy words.
That thou retum'st no greeting to thy friends?
Baling. I have too few to take my leave of
you,
When the tongue's office should be prodigal
To breathe the abundant dolor of the heart.
Gaunt. Thy grief is but thy absence for a
time. [time.
Baling. Joy absent, grief is present for that
Gaurit. What is six wint^ ? they are
quickly gone. 260
Baling. To men in joy ; but grief makes
one hour ten.
Gaunt. Call it a travel that thou takest for
j^easute.
803
Baling. My heart will sigh when I miscall
it so.
Which finds it an inforced pilgrimage.
Gaunt. The sullen passage of thy weary
steps
Esteem as foil wherein tliou art to set
The precious jewel of thy home return.
Balimj. Nay, rather, every tedious stride 1
make
Will but remember me what a deal of world
I wander from the jewels that 1 love. 270
Must 1 not serve a longapprenticehood
To foreign passages, and in the end.
Having my freedom, boast of nothing else
But that I was a journeyman to grief ?
Gaunt. All places tliat the eye of lieaven
visits
Are to a wise man ports and happy heavens.
Teach thy necessity to reason thus ;
There is no virtue like necessity.
Think nut the king did banish thee.
But thou the king. Woe doth the heavier sit.
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. 281
Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honor
And not the king exiled thee ; or suppose
Devouring pestilence hangs in our air
And thou art fiyingto a fresher clime :
Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it
To lie tliat way thou go'st, not whence thou
comest:
Suppose the singing birds musicians.
The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence
strew'd.
The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more
Than a delightful measure or a dance ;
For giiarling sorrow hath less power to bite
The man that mocks at it and sets it light.
Baling. O, who can hold a fire in his hand
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus ?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite
By bare imagination of a feast ?
Or wallow naked in December snow
By thinking on fantastic summer's heat ?
O, no ! the apprehension of tlie good 300
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse :
Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more
Thau when he bites, but lanceth not the sore.
Gaunt. Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee
on thy way :
Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay.
Baling. Then, England's ground, farewell;
sweet soil, adieu ;
My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet .
Where'er I wander, boast of this 1 can,
Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman.
{Exeunt
Scene IV. Thecaurt.
Enter the King, with Bagot and Gbeen at ane
door; and the Duke op Aumeele at another-.
K. Rich. We did observe.; Cousin Aumerle,
How far brought you high Hereford on his
way ?
Aum. I brought high Hereford, if you call
him so,
KING RICHARD II.
804
KING RICHARD II.
[Act ii.
But to the next highway, and there I left him.
K. Rich. And say, what store of parting
tears were shed 1
Awn. Faith, none for me ; except the north¬
east wind,
Which then blew bitterly against our faces,
AwaUed the sleeping rheum, and so by chance
Did giace our hollow parting with a tear.
K. Rich. What said our cousin when you
parted with him ? 10
Aum. ' Farewell :'
And, for my heart disdained tliat my tongue
Should so profane the word, that taught me
craft
To counterfeit oppression of such grief
That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's
grave.
Marry, would the word ' farewell' have
lengthen'd hours
And added years to his short banishment.
He should have had a volume of farewells ;
But since it would not, he had none of me.
K. Rich. He is our cousin, cousin ; but 'tis
doubt, • 20
When time shall call him home from banish¬
ment,
Whether our kinsman come to see his friends.
Ourself and Bushy, Bagot here and Green
Observed his courtship to the common people;
How he did seem to dive into tlmir hearts
With humble and familiar couitesy.
What reverence he did ttirow away on slaves.
Wooing poor craftsmen with tiie craft Of smiles
And patient underbearing of ids fortune,
As 'twere to banish their affects with him. 30
Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench ;
A brace of draymen bid God speed him well
And had the tribute of his supple knee.
With 'Thanks, my countrymen, my loving
friends ;'
As were our England in reversion his.
And he our subjects' next degree in hope.
Green. Well, he is gone ; and with him go
these thoughts. [land.
Now for the rebels which stand out in Ire-
Expedient manage must be made, my liege.
Ere further leisure yield tliem furtlier means
For their advantage and your highness' loss.
K. Rich. We will ourself m person to this
war:
And; for our coffers, with too great a court
And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light.
We are inforced to farm our royal realm ;
The revenue whereof shall furnish us
For our affairs in hand : if that come short.
Our substitutes at home shall have blank
charters ;
Whereto, when they shall know what men are
rich.
They shall subscribe them for large sums of
gold
And send them after to supply our wants ; 61
For we will make for Ireland presently.
Enter Bushy.
Bushy, what news ?
Bushy. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick,
my lord.
Suddenly tiikeu ; and hath sent post haste
To entreat your majesty to visit him.
K. Rich. Where lies he ?
Bushy. At Ely House.
K. Rich. Now put it, God, in the physi¬
cian's mind
To help him to his grave immediately ! fiO
The lining of his coffers shall make coats
To deck our soldiers for these Irisli wars.
Come, gentlemen, let's ail go visit him :
Pray God we may make haste, and come too
late !
All. Amen. [Ezeunt.
ACT. II.
Scene I. Ely House.
Enter John of Gaunt sick, with the Duke
of Yokk, &c.
Gaunt. Will the king come, that I may
breathe my last
In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth ?
York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not witli
your breath;
For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.
Gaunt. O, but they say the tongues of dying
men
Enforce attention like deep harniuny ;
Where words are scarce; they are seldom spent
in vain.
For they breathe truth that breathe their words
in pain.
He that no more must say is listen'd more
Than tliey whom youth and ease have taught
to glose : 10
More are men s ends mark'd than their lives
before :
The setting sun, and music at the close.
As tl)e last taste of sweets, is sweetest last.
Writ in remembrance more than things long
rst:
Richard my life's counsel would not
hear,
My death's sad ttvle may yet uudeaf his ear.
York. No I it is stopp d with other flatter¬
ing sounds.
As praises, of whose taste the wise are fond.
Lascivious metres, to wiiose venom sound '
The open ear of youth dotlr always listen ; 20
Report of fashions in proud Italy,
Whose manners still our tardy apish nation
Limps after in base imitation.
Where doth the world tiimst forth a vanity—
So it be new, tliere's no respect how vile—
That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears ?
Then all too late comes counsel to be heard,
Wliere will doth mutiny witli wit's regard.
Direct not him whose way himself will choose;
'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt
thou lose, 30
Gaunt. Methmks I am a prophet new in¬
spired
SCBXI I.]
KING RICHARD II.
805
Anj tiiuB expiring do foretell of him :
His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last,
For violent fires soon bum out themselves ;
Small showers last long, but sudden storms
are short;
He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes ;
With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder:
Light vanity, insatiate cormorant.
Consuming means, soon preys upon itself;
This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle.
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, 41
This other Eden, demi-pamdise.
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war.
This happy breed of men, this little world.
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Whiclv serves it in the office of a wall
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands,
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this
England, 50
This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,
Fear'd by their breed and famous by their
birth.
Renowned for their deeds as far from home.
For Christian service and true chivalry.
As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry,
Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son,
This land of such dear souls, this dear dear
land.
Dear for her reputation through the world.
Is now leased out, I die pronouncing it.
Like to a tenement or pelting farm : 60
England, bound in with the triumphant sea.
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious
siege
Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with
shame.
With inky blots and rotten jgirchment bonds ;
That England, that was wont to conquer others,
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.
Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life.
How happy then were my ensuing death !
Enter King Richard and Queen, Aumerle,
Bushv, Green, Bagot, Ross, and Viiin
lodghby.
York. The king is come ; deal mildly with
his youth ;
For young hot colts bemg traged do rage the
more. - ' ' 70
Queen. How fares our noble unde, Lan¬
caster?
K.Rich. What comfort, man? how is't
with aged Gaunt?
Gaunt. O, how that name befits my com¬
position ! <
Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old ;
Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast
And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt?
For sleeping England long time^ave I watch'd;
Watching breeds leanness,leannes8 is all gaunt;
The pleasure that some fathers feed upon, 79
Is my strict fast; I mean, my children s looks;
And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt;
Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave,
Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones.
K. Rich. Can sick men play so nicely with
their names ?
Gaunt. No, misery makes sport to mock
itself :
Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me,
I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee.
K. Rich. Should dying men flatter with
those that live ?
Gaunt. No, no, men iiving flatter those that
die.
K. Rich. Thou, now a-dying, say'st thou
flatterest me. 90
Gaunt. O, no 1 thou diest, though I the
sicker be.
K. Rich. I am iu health, I breathe, and see
the ill.
Gaunt. Now He that made me knows I see
thee ill ;
111 in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill.
Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land
Wherein thou liest in reputation sick ;
And thou, too careless patient as thou art.
Commit'St thy anointed body to the cure
Of those physicians that first wounded thee:
A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown, 100
Whose compass is no bigger than tliy head ;
And yet, incaged in so small a verge.
The waste is no whit le.sser than thy land.
O, had thy grandsire with a prophet's eye
Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons.
From forth thy reach he would have laid thy
shame.
Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd.
Which art jmssess'd now to depose thyself.
Why, cousin, we;-t thou regent of the world,
It were a shame to L t this land by lease ; 110
But for thy world .enjoying but this land,
Is it not more than shame to shame it so ?
Landlord of England art thou now, not king :
Thy state of law is bondslave to the law ; ■
And thou—
K. Rich. A lunatic lean-witted fool.
Presuming on an ague's privilege,
Darest with thy frozen admonition
Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood
\Vith fury from his native residence.
Now, by my seat's right royal majesty, 120
Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son.
This tongue that tuns so roundly in thy head
Should run thy head from thy unrevereut
shoulders.
Gaunt. 0, spare me not, my brother Ed¬
ward's son.
For that I was his father Edward's son ;
That blood already, like the pelican,
Hastthou fctpp'd out and drunkenly caroused:
My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning
soul,.
Whom fair befal in heaven 'mongst happy
souls! ■
May be a precedent and witness good 130
That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's
blood :
Join with the present sickness that I have ;
And thy unkiudness be like crooked age,
20
S06
To crop at onoo a too long vithfr'd flower.
Live ill tliy sliaiue, but die uot shame with
thee! .
These words hereaitcr thy tormentors be 1
Convey mo to my bed, tli'en to my giuve :
Love they to live that love and iionor have.
borne offbi/ his Attendants.
K. Rich. And let them die tliat age and su!-
lens have ;
For both hast thou, and both become the grave.
York. I do beseech your majesty, impute
Ills words 141
To wayward sickliness and age in him :
He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear
As Harry'Duke cf Hereford, were he here.
K. Rich. Right, you say true: ns Hereford's
love, so his
As theirs, so mine ; andali be as it is.
Enter Northumberland.
North. My liege, old Gaunt commends hiiQ
to your majesty.
K. Rich. What says he 7
North. Nay, nothing ; all is said:
His tongue is now a 6tringle.ss instrument ;
Words, life and all, old Lancaster hath spent.
York. Be York the next that must be bank¬
rupt so 1 151
Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.
K. Rich. The ripest fruit first falls, and so
doth he ;
His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be.
So much for that. Now for our Irish wars :
We must supplant those rough rug-headed
kerns.
Which U\ e like venom where no venom else
But only they have privilege to live.
And for these great affairs do ask some charge,
Towards our assistance we do seize to us ItiO
The plate, coin, revenues and moveables.
Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand po.ssess'd.
York. How long shall I be patient ? ah,
how long
Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong ?
Not Gloucester's death, nor Hereford's teinish-
ment.
Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private
wrongs.
Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke
About his marriage, nor my own disgrace.
Have ever made me sour my patient cheek,
Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face.
I am t!io last of noble Edward's sons, 171
Of whom thy father. Prince of Wales, was
first:
In war was never lion raged more fierce.
In peace was never gentle lamb more mild.
Than was that young and princely gentleman.
His face thou hast, for even .'■o look'd he,
Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours ;
But when hefrown'd, it was against the French
And not against his friends; his noble hand
Did win what he did spend and spent not that
Which his triumphant father's hand had won ;
His hands were guUty of no kindred blood.
But bloody with the enemies o|,hi£ kin.
[Act in
O Richard 1 York is too far gone witli grief.
Or else he never would compare between.
K. Rich,. Why, uncle, wliat's the matter f
York. 1 O my liege.
Pardon me, if you please ; if not, I, pleased
Nut to be fiardou'd, am content withal.
Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands
The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford?
Is not Gaunt dead, iuiddoth not Hereford live?
Was not Gaunt just, and is not Harry true ?
Did not the one deserve to have on heir ?
Is not his heir a well-deserving son ?
Take Hereford's rights away, and take froH'
Time ,
His charters and his customary rights ;
Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day ;
Be not thyself ; for how art thou a king
But by fair sequence and succession ?
Now, afore God—God forbid I say true !—200
If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights,
Call in the letters patent that he hath
B.y his attorneys-general to sue
His livery, and deny his offor'd homage.
You pluck a thousiind dangers on your head.
You lose -a thousand well-dispo.«ed hearts
And prick my tender patience to those thoughts
Which honor and allegiance cannot think.
K. Rich. Think what you wiU, we seize
into our hands
His plate, his goods, his money and his lands.
York. I'll not be by tlie while : my liege,
farewell; 211
What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell;
But by bad courses may be under.stood
That their events can never fall ontgood.[Ea:i<.
K. Rich. Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire
straight;
Bid him repair to us to Ely House
To see this business. To-morrow next
AVe will for Ireland ; and 'tis time, I trow :
And we create, in absence of ourself.
Our uncle Y'ork lord governor of England; 220
For he is just and always loved us well.
Come on, our queen : to-morrow must we
part;
Be merry, for our time of stay is short.
[Flourish. Exeunt King, Queen, Aumerie,
Bushy, Green, and Bagoi.
North. Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster
is dead.
Ross. And living too ; for now his son is
duke.
Willo. Barely in title, not in revenue.
North. Richly in both, if justice had her
right. ,
Ross. My heart is great j biit if must break
with silence,
Ere't be disbuiden'd with a liberal tongue.
North. N.ay, speak tliy mind ; and let him
ne'er speak, more ' 2-30
That speaks thy words again to do thee harm t
Willo. Tends that thou wouldst speak to the
Duke of Hereford ? '
If it be so, out with it boldly, man ;
Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him.
Ross. No good <at all that I can do for him ;
KING RICHARD II.
scenb ii.]
KIN9 RICHARD II.
807
Unless you call It good to pity him,
Berel t and gelded of his patrimony.
NoHh. Now, afore Uod, 'tis shamo such
wrongs are borne ■ '
In him. a royal prince, and many moe
Of noble blood in thi.s det bning land. ' 240
The king is not himself, but basely led
By flatterers'; and wbatthey will inform^
Merely in hate, 'gainst any of iis all, v
That will the king severely prosecute '
'Gainst lis, our lives, our children, and our
' ' heirs. i
Ross. The commons hath he piU'd with
grieieus taxes,
f And quite lost their hearts ; the nobles hath
he fined
Forancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.
WiUo. And daily new exactions are devised,
.Vs blanks, benevoiences, and f wot not what:
But what, o' God's name, doth become of
this ? ■ ^ 251
North. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd
he hath not, ,
But basely yielded nixm compromise
That which his noble ancestors achieved with
blows :
More hath he spent in peace than they in wars.
Rosa. The Elarl of Wiltshire hath the realm
in farm.
Wilto. ' The king's grown bankrupt, like a
broken man.
North. Reproach and dissolution hangeth
over him.
Ross. He hath not money for these Irish
wars.
His burthenoiis taxations notwithstanding, 200
But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. '
North. His noble kinsman : most degene¬
rate king !
But, lords, we bear this fearful tempest sing,
Yet see no shelter to avoid the Storm ;
We see the wind sit sore upon our sails.
And yet we strike not, but securely perish.
Ross. We see the very wreck that we must
suffer;
.4.nd unavoided is the danger now, '
Vorsuffering so the causes of our wreck.
North. Not so ; even through the hollow
eyes of deiith 270
I spy life peering; but I dare not s<ay
How near the tidings of our comfort is.
WiUo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as
tlmu dost ours.
Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumber¬
land : i
We three are but thyself; and, speaking so,
iThy words are but as thoughts ; therefore, be
bold. , ,
North. Then tiius : I havq from Port le ,
Blauo, a bay
In Brittany, received intelligewce ,
That Harrv Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord I
Cohham, '
t 280
"That late broke from tlie Duko of F.xeter,
His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury.
Sir Tlioraas Erpingham, Sir John Raraston,
Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton and
Francis Quoint,
All these well furnish'd by the Duke of Bre
tague
With eight tall ships, three thousand men of
war, ^
Are making hither with all due expedience
And sliortiy mean to touch our northern shore:
Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay
The first departing of the king for Ireland. 200
If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke,
Imp out our drooping country's broken wing.
Redeem from broking pawn the bleniish'd
crown,
Wip® off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt
And make higii majesty look like it.self,
Away 'B'ith me in post to Ravenspurgh ;
But if you faint, as fearing to do so,
Stay and be secret, and myself will go.
Ross. To horse, to horse I urge doubts to
them that fear.
Willo. Hold out my horse, and I will first
be there. [Exmtnt. 300
Scene II. The palace. ,
Enter Queen, Bushy, and Bagot.
Bushy. Madam, 3-our majesty is too much
sad :
You promised, when you parted with the king,
To lay aside life-harming heavine.'s
And entertain a cheerful disposition.
Queen. To please the king I did; to please
myself
I cannot do it; yet I know no cause
Why 1 should welcome such a guest as grief.
Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest
As my sweet Richard ; yet again, methinks.
Some unlvirn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb.
Is coming towards me, and my inward soid 11
With nothing trembles : at some thing it
grieves.
More than with yiarting from my lord the
king.
Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath
twenty shadows.
Which shows like grief itself, but is not so;
For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears.
Divides one thing entire to many objects;
Like i)er.spectives, which rightly gazed upon
Show nothing but confusion, eyed awry
Distinguish form : so your sweet majestj^. 20
Looking awry upon your lord's departure.
Find shapes of grief, more than himself, to
wail ;
Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but
shadows
Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen
More than your lord's departure weep not:
raore's not seen ;
Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye,
Which for thingstruewcejis things ima.ginary.
Q irrn. It may be so ; but yet my inwaiu
seal
Persuades me it ia otlierwise ; bowe'er it be,
80^
KING RICHARD II.
[Act «.
I cannot bitt be sad; so heavy sad 30
As, though on thinking on no thought I think.
Makes me with heavy nothing faint ana
shrink.
Bushy. 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gra¬
cious lady.
Queen. 'Tis nothing less ; conceit is still
derived
From some forefather grief; mine is not so.
For nothing had begot my something grief ;
Or sometliing hath the nothing that I grieve :
'Tis in reversion that I do possess;
But what it is, tliat is not yet known; what
1 cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot. 40
Enter Gkeen.
Green. God save yoiu; maje.sty ! and well
met, gentlemen:
I hope the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland.
Queen. Why hopest thou so ? 'tis better
hope he is ;
For his designs crave haste, his haste good
hope :
Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not
sliipp'd ?
Green, That he, our hope, might have re¬
tired his power.
And driven into despair an enemy's hope,
Who strongly hath set footing in this land :
The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself,
And with uplifted arms is safe arrived 50
At Eavenspurgh.
Queen. Now God in heaven forbid !
Green. Ah, madam,.'tis too true: and tliat
is worse,
The Lord Northurabeiland, his son young
Henry Percy,
The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willough-
hy.
With all their powerful friends, are fled to
him.
Bushy. Why have you not jwoclaim'd North¬
umberland y
And all tiie rest revolted faction traitors ?
Breen. We have : whereuix)n the Earl of
Worcester
Hath broke his staff, resign'd his steward¬
ship,
And all the household servants fled witli
him 60
To Bolingbroke.
Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife to
my woe.
And Bolmgbroke my sorrow's dismal heir :
Now hath my soul brought fortli her prodigy,
And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother,
Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd.
Bushy. Despair not, madam.
Queen. Who shall hinder me?
i will despair, and be at enmity
With cozening hope; he is a flatterer,
A parasite, a keejier back of death, 70
who gently would dissolve the bands of life,
VFhich false hope lingers in extremity.
Enter Yore.
Green. Here comes the Duke of York.
Queen. With signs of war about his aged
neck:
O, full of careful business are his looks 1
Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable
words.
York. Should I do sO| I should belie my
thoughts :
Comfort's in heaven;, and we are on the earth,
Where notliing lives but crosses, cares and
grief.
Your husband, he is gone to save far off, 80
Whilst othei-s come to make him lose at home .
Here am I left to underprop his land,
Wlio, weak with age, cannot support myself :
Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made;
Now shall he try his friends thatflatter'd him.
Enter a Servant
Serv. My lord, your son was gone before I
came.
York. He was ? Why, so ! go all which
way it will!
The nobles they are fled, the commotis they
are cold.
And Will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side.
Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Glou¬
cester ; 90
Bid her send me presently a thousand pound :
Hold, take ray ring.
Serv. My lord, I had forgot to tell your
lordship.
To-day, as 1 ca-.ae by, I called there ;
But 1 shall grieve yon to report the rest
York. What is't, knave ?
Serv. An hoiu- before 1 came, the duchess
died.
York. God for his mercy ! what a tide of
woes
Comes rushing on this woeful land at once !
1 know not what to do: 1 would to God, 100
So my untruth had not provoked him to it.
The king had out off my head with my
brother's.
What, are tiiere no posts dispatch'd for Ire¬
land ?
How shall we do for money for these wars?
Come, sister,—cousin, I would say,—pray,
pardon me.
Go, fellow get thee home, provide some caits
And bring away the armor that is there.
{Exit Servant.
Gentlemen, will you go muster men?
tlf I know how or which way to order these
affairs
Tlius thrust di.sorderly into my hands, 110
Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen:
Tlie one is my sovereign, whom both my oath
And duty bids defend; the other again
Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd.
Whom conscience and my kindred bids to
right
Well, somewhat we must do. Come, oonsiit
1*11
Dispose of yon.
Gentlemen, go, muster up your men,
And meet me presently at 'Berkeley,
ScEN* m.]
KING mCHARD IL
309
I should to Plashy too ; i ■ i t ' 120
But time will not permit; all is uneven,
And every thing is left at six and sevens
\_Eiteunt York and Queen.
Bits/i;/. The wind sits fair for news to go to
Ireland,
But none returns. For us to levy power
Proix)rtionable to the enemy
Is all unpossible.
Green. Besides, our nearness to the king in
love
Is near the liate of those love not the king.
Bagot. And that's the wavering commons:
for their love 129
Lies in their purses, and whoso empties them
By so much tills their hearts with deadly hate.
Bushg. Wherein the king stands'generally
condemn'd.
Bagot. If judgement lie in them, then so
do we.
Because we ever have been near the king.
Green. Well, I will for refuge straight to
Bristol castle : ' .
Hie Earl of Wiltshire is already there..
Buahp. Thither will I with you ; for little
office
The hateful commons will perform for us,
Except like curs to tear us all to pieces.
Will you go along with us 7 ■ 140
Bagot. No; I will to Ireland to his majesty. ■
Farewell: if heart's presages be not vain,
We three here part that ne'er shall raeutagain.
Bushy. That's as York thrives to beat back
Bolingbroke.
Green. Alas, poor duke! the task he under¬
takes
Is numbering sands and drinking oceans drj' :
Where one on his side fights, thousands will
fly. 1
Farewell at once, for once, for all, and ever., ,
Bushy. Well, we m^ meet again.
Bagot. L fear me, never. 150
[Exeunt.
Scene III. Wilds in Gloucestershire.
Enter Bolingbroke and Northumberland,
voith Forces.
Boling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley
now? I
North. Believe me, noble lord,
I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire.: .
These high wild hills and rough uneven ways
Draws out our miles, and makes them weari¬
some;
And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar.
Making tlie hard way sweet and delectable.
But I bethink me what a weary way
From Ravenspuigh to Cotswold will be found
In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your com¬
pany, ♦ 10
Which, I protest, hath very much beguiled
The tediousness and process of my travel:
But theirs is sweetened with the nope to have
The present benefit which I pos.sess;
And nope to joy is Ijttle less in joy
Than hope enjoy'd: by this the we'ry lords,
Shall make their way iseem short, as mine hatl)
done
By sight of what I have, your noble company.
Baling. . Of much less value is my, company
Than your good words. But who comes here?
Enter Henry Percyi
North. It is my son, young Harry Percy, 21
Sent from my brother Worcester, whenceso*
ever.
Harry, how fares your uncle?
Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have
learn'd his health of you.
North. Why, is he not with tlie queen ?
Percy. No, my good l^rd; hq hath forsook
the court.
Broken his staff of office and dispersed
The household of the king.
North. What was his reason ?
He was not so resolved when last we spake
together.
Percy. Because your lordship was pro¬
claimed traitor. '30
But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh,
To offer service to ttie Duke of Hereford,,
And sent me over by Berkeley, to discover
What power the Duke of York had levied
tiiere ;
Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurgh.
North. Have you foigot the Duke.of Here¬
ford, boy ?
Percy. No, my good lord, for that is not
forgot
Which noer I did remember : to my knowl¬
edge,
I never in my life did look on him.
North. Tlieu learn tp know him now ; this
is the duke. 40
Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my
service.
Such as it is, beingtender, raw and young ;
Which elder days shall ripen and confirm
To more approved service and desert.
Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy} and be
sure
I count myself in nothing else so happy
As in a soul remembering my good friends ;
And, as my fortune ripens with thy love,
It shall be still thy true love's recompense :
My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus
seals it. ■ 50
North. Ho w far is it to Berkeley ? and what
stir
Keeps good old York there with his men at
war ?
Percy. There stands the castle, by yon tuft
of trees, '
Manu'd with three hundred men, as I have
heard ; ' •
And in it are the Lords of York, Berkeley, and
Seymour ;
None else of name and noble estimate.
£!n<er Boss and Willoughby.
North. Here come the Lords of Ross and
Willoughby,
310
Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.
Baling. Welcome, my lords. I wot your'
love pursues
A hanlsh'd traitor: all my treasury 60
Is yet but uufelt thanks, which more enrlch'd
Shall be your love and labor's recompense.
Boss. Your presence makes us rich, most
noble lord.
WiUo. And far surmounts our labor to at- ,
tain it.
Baling. Evermore thanks, the exchequer
of the poor;
Which, till my infant fortune comes to years,
Stands for my bounty. But who comes here ?
Enter Berkeley.
North. It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I
guess.
Berk. My Lord of Hereford, my message
is to you.
Baling. My lord, my answer is—to Lancas¬
ter ; 70
And I am come to seek that name in Eng¬
land ;
And I must find that title in your tongue,
Before I make reply to aught you say.
Berk. Mistake me not, my lord ; 'tis not
my meaning
To raze one title of your honor out:
To you, my lord, I come, wh.at lord you will.
From the most gracious regent of this land.
The Duke of York, to know what pricks you
on
To take advantage of the absent time
And fright our native peace with self-born
arms. 80
Enter York attended.
Baling. I shall not need transport my words
by you ;
Here comes his grace in person.
My noble uncle ! [Kneels.
York. Show me thy humble heart, and not
thy knee.
Whose duty is deceiveable and false.
Baling. My. gracious uncle—
YarkI Tut, tut!
Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle :
I am no traitor's uncle; and that word ' grace'
In an ungracious mouth is but pi-ofane. 89
Why have those bauish'd and forbidden legs
Dared once to touch a dust of England's
ground ?
But then more ' why ?' why have they dared
to march
So many miles upon her peaceful bosom.
Frighting her pale-faced villages with war
And ostentation of despised arms ?
Comest thou because the anointed king is
hence ?
Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind,
And, in my loyal bosom lies his power.
Were I but now the lord of such hot youth
As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself
Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of
men, 101
[Acti il
From forth the ranks of many thousand
French,
O, then how quickly should this arm of mine,'
Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee
And minister correction to thy fault!
Baling. My gracious uncle, let me know
my fault:
On what condition stands it and wherein ?
York. Even in condition of the worst de¬
gree, '
In gross rebellion and detested treason :
Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come
Before the expiration of thy time. 111
In braving arms against thy sovereign.
Baling. As 1 was banish'd, I was bauish'd
Hereford ;
But as 1 come, 1 come for Lancaster.
Ajid, noble uncle, I beseech your grace
Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye ;
You are my father, for methiuks in yon
I see old Gamit alive ; O, then, my father.
Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd
A wandering vagabond ; my rights and roy¬
alties 1'^
Pluck'd from my arms perforce and given
away
To upstart unthrifts ? Wherefore was I born 7
If that my cou.sin king be King of England,
It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster.
You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin ;
Had you first died, and he been thus trod
down.
He shonld have found his uncle Gaunt a fa¬
ther, [bay.
To rouse his wrongs and chase them to the
I am denied to sue my livery here.
And yet my letters-patents give me leave: 130
My father's goods are all distrain'd and sold.
And these and all are all amiss eiiiploy'd.
What would you have me do ? I am a sub¬
ject.
And I challenge law : attorneys are denied
me ;
And therefore personally I lay my claim
To my inheritiince oi free descent.
North. The noble duke hath been too much
abused.
Bass. It stands your grace upon to do him
right.
Willo. Base men by his endowments are
made great.
York. My lords of England, let me teU you
this : . 140
I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs
And labored all I could to do him right;
But in this kind to come, in braving arms.
Be his own carver and cut out his way.
To find out right with wrong, it may not be ;
And you that do abet him in this kind
Cherish rebellion and are rebels alL
North. The noble duke hath sworn his
eoming is
But for his own ; and for the right of that
We all have strongly sworn to give him aid ;
And let him ne'er see joy that breaks that
oath! 151
KING RICHARD II.
I , , ,
Scene ii.]
York. "Well, -well, I see the issue of these
arms :
[ cannot mend it, I must needs confess,
Because my iwwer is weak and all ill left:
But if I could, by Him that g-ave me life,
I would attach ^ou all and make yon stoop
Unto the sovereign mercy of the king ;
But since I cannot, be it known to you
1 do remain as neuter. So, fare you well ;
Unless you please to enter in the castle 160
And there repose you for this night. [oept:
Boling An offer, uncle, that we will ac-
But we must win your grace to go with us
To Bristol castle, which they say is held
By Bushy, Bagot and their complices,
The caterpillars of the commonwealth.
Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.
York. It may be I will go with you ; but
yet I'll pause;
For I am loath to break our country's laws.
Nor friends nor foes, to me welcome you are :
Things past redress are now with me past
care. [Exeunt. 171
Scene TV. A camp in Wales.
Enter Salisbury and a Welsh Captain.
Cap. My lord of Salisbury, we have stay'd
ten days,
And hardly kept our countrymen together.
And yet we hear no tidings from the king ;
Therefore we will disperse ourselves : fare¬
well. [Welshman:
Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trusty
Tlie king reposeth all his confidence in thee.
Cap. 'Tis thought the king is dead ; we
will not stay.
The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd
And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven ;
The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the
earth 10
And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful
change; [leap.
Rich men look sad and ruffians dance and
The one in fear to lose what they enjoy,
The other to enjoy by rage and war :
These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.
Farewell: our countrymen are gone and fled.
As well assured Richard their king is dead.
[Exit.
Sal. Ah, Richard, with the eyes of heavy
mind
I see thy glory like a shooting star
Fall to the base earth from the firmament. 20
Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west,
Witnes.sing storms to come, woe and unrest:
Thy friends are fled to wait upon thy foes,
And crossly to thy good all fortune goes.
• [Exit.
ACT III. »
Scene I. Bristol. Before the castle.
Enter Bolingbroke, York, Northumber¬
land, Ross, Percy, Willoughby, with
Bushy and Green, vrisoners.
811
Boling. Bring forth these men.
Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls—
Since presently your souls hiust part your
bodies—
With too much urging your pernicious lives,
For 'twere no charity ; yet, to wash your
blood
From off my hands, here in the view of men
I will unfold some causes of your deaths.
You have misled a prince, a royal king,
A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments.
By you nuhappied and disfigured clean : 10
You have in manner with your sinful hours
Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him.
Broke the possession of a royal bed
And stain d the beauty of a fair queen's
cheeks
With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul
wrongs.
Myself, a prince by fortune of my birth,
Near to the king in blood, and near in love
Till you did make him misinterpret me.
Have sloop'd my neck under your injuries,
And siglvd my English breath in foreign
clouds, 20
Eating the bitter bread of banishment;
Whilst you have fed upon ray signories,
Dispark'd my parks and fell'd my forest
woods.
From my own windows torn my household
coat.
Razed out my imprese, leaving me no sign,
Save men's opinions and my living blood.
To show the world I am a gentleman.
This and much more, much more than twice
all this,
Condemns you to the death. See them deliv-
er'd over
To execution and the hand of de.ath. 30
Bushy. More welcome is the stroke of death
to me [well.
Than Bolingbroke to England. Lords, fare-
Green. My comfort is that heaven will tike
our souls
And plague injustice with the pains of helL
Boliny. My Lord Northumberland, see
them disp.Ttch'd.
[Exeunt Northumherland and others,
with the prisoners.
Uncle, you say the queen is at your bouse ;
For God's sake, fairly let her be entreated :
Tell her I send to her my kind commends ;
Take special care my greetings be deliver'd.
York. A gentleman of mine I have dls-
patch'd 40
With letters of your love to her at large.
Boling. Thanks, gentle uncle. Come, lords,
away, .
To fight with Glendower and his complices:
Awhile to work, and after holiday. [Exeunt.
Scene II. The coast of Wales. A castle in
view.
Drums; flourish and colors. Enter Kino
Richard, the btshob of Carlisle, Au-
merle, and Soldiers.
KING RICHARD II.
312
KING RICBAttD 11.
[Act lit
\
K. Rich. Biirklooghly castle call they this
at hand ?
Aum. Yea, my lord. How brooks your
grace the air,
After your late tossiug on the breaking seas ?
K. Rich. Needs must I like it well: I weep
for joy
To stand upon my kingdom once again.
Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand.
Though rebels wound thee with their horses'
hoofs :
As a long-parted mother with her child
Plays fondly with her tears apd smiles in
meeting.
So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth,
And do thee favors with my roj-al hands. 11
Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth,
JJor with thy sweets conifort his ravenous
sense ;
But let thy spiders,*that suck up thy venom.
And heavy-gaited toads lie in tiveir way,
Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet
Whicli with usurping steps do tnonrple thee ;
Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies ;
And when they from thy bosom pluck a flow¬
er.
Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder 20
Whose double tongue may witli a mortal
touch
Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies.
Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords ;
This earth shall have a feeling and these
stones
Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king
Shall ialter under foul rebellion's arms.
Car. Fear not, my lord: that Power that
made you king
Hath power to keep you king in spite of all.
The means that heaven yields must be em¬
braced,
And not neglected ; else, if heaven would, 30
And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse,
The proffer'd means of succor and redress.
Aum. He me.ans, my -lord, that we are too
remiss ;
Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security.
Grows strong and great in substance ^nd in
power.
K. Rich. Discomfortable cousin ! know'st
thou not
That when the searchmg eye of heaven is hid.
Behind the globe, that lights the lower world,
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen
In murders and in outrage, boldly here ; 40
But when from under this terrestrial ball
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines
And darts his light through every guilty hole,
Then murders, treasons, and detested sins.
The clonk of night being pluck'd from off their
backs.
Stand bare and naked, trembling at them¬
selves ?
So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke,
Who all this while hath revell'd in the night
Whilst we were wandering with the antipodes.
Shall see us rising in our throne, the east, 50
' His treasons will sit lAushing in his face.
Not able to endure the sight of day.
But self-affrighted tremble at his sin.
Not all the water in the rough rude sea
Can wash the balm off from an anointed king;
The breath of worldly men cannot depose
The deputy elected by the Loi-d :
For every man tliat Bolingbroke hath press'd
To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown,
God for his Richard Imth in heavenly pay 60
A glorious angel: then, if angels fight.
Weak men must fall, for heaven still guards
the right.
' Enter SAi-isBeKT.
Welcome, my lord : how far oft lies your
power?
Sal Nor near nor farther off, my gracious
lord.
Than this weak arm : discomfort guides my
tongue
And bids m? speak of nothing but despair.
One day too late, I fear me, noble lord.
Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth :
O, call back yesterday, bid time return,
And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting
men I 70
To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late,
O'erthrows tliy joys, friends, fortune and thy
state:
For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead.
Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispersed and fled :
Aum. Comfort, my liege ; why looks your
grace so pale ?
K. Rich. But now the blood of twenty thou¬
sand men r
Did triumph in my lace, and they are fled ;
And, till so much blood tliither come arain.
Have I not reason to look pale and dead ?
All souls that will be safe fly from my side, 80
For time hath set a blot upon my pride.
Aum. Comfort, my liege ; remember who
you are.
K, Rich. I had forgot myself; am I not
king ?
Awake, thou coward majesty ! thou sleepest.
Is not tlie king's name twenty thousand
names ?
Arm, arm, my name ! a puny subject strikes
At thy great glory. Look not to the ground.
Ye favorites of a king : are wo not high ?
High be our thoughts : I know my uncle York
Hath power enough to serve our turn. But
who comes here 7 90
Enter Scroop.
Scroop. More health and happiness betide
my liege
Than can my care-tnned tongue deliver him !
K. Rich. Mine ear is open and my heart
prepared ;
The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold.
Say, is my kingdom lost ? why, 'twas my care;
And What loss is it to be rid of care ?
Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we ?
Greater he shall not be : if he serve God,
We'll serve Him too ana be his fellow so : 99
ScEKB II.]
KING RICHARD 11.
813
Revolt our subjects ? that we cannot mend ;
They break their faith to God as well as us ;
Cry woe, destruction, ruin and decay :
The worst is death, and death will have his
day.
Scroop. Glad am I that your highness is so
arm'd
To bear the tidings of calamity.
Like an unseasonable stormy day.
Which makes the silver rivers drown their
shores.
As if the world were all dissolved to tears.
So high above his limits swells the rage
Of Bolingbroke, covering vour fearful landllO
With hard bright steel and hearts harder than
steel.
White-beards have arm'd their thin and hair¬
less scalps
Against thy majesty ; boys, with women's
voices.
Strive to speak big and clap their female
joints
In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown :
The very beadsmen learn to bend their bows
Of double-fatal yew agahist thy state ;
Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills
Against thy seat: both young and old rebel.
And all goes worse than I have power to tell.
K. Rich. Too well, too well thou tell'st a
tale so ill. 121
Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? where is
■ Bagot ? - I
What is become of Bushy ? where is Green ?
That they have let the dangerous enemy
Measnreour confines with such iieacef ul steps?
If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it:
1 warrant they have made peace with Boling¬
broke.
Scroop, Peace have they made with him
indeed, my lord.
K. Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without
redemption !
Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man 1 130
Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting
my heart I
Three Judases, each one thrice worse than
Judas! [war
Would they make peace ? terrible hell make
Uixm their spotted souls for this offence I
Scroop. Sweet love, I see, changing his
property.
Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate :
Again uncurse their souls ; their peace is miide
With heads, and not with hands ; those whom
you curse
Have felt the worst of death's destroying
wound
And lie full low, graved in tlie hollow ground.
Aum. Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of
Wiltshire dead ? 141
Scroop. Ay, all of them at Bigstol lost their
heads.
Aum. Where is the duke my father with
his power ?
K. Rich. No matter where ; of comfort no
man speak:
Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;
Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.
Let's choose executors and talk of wills :
And yet not so, for what can we bequeath
Save our deposed bodies to the ground ? IfiO
Our lands, our lives and all are Bolingbroke's,
And nothing can we call our own but death
And that small model of the barren earth
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
For God's Sake, let us sit upon the ground
And teU sad stories of the deiith of kings ;
How some have been deposed ; some slain in
war;
Some haunted by the ghosts they have de¬
posed ;
Some poison d by their wives : sonle sleeping
Idll'd ;
All murder'd ! for within the hollow crown
That rounds the mortal temples of a king 161
Keeps Death his court and there the antic sits,
Scolfiiig his state and grinning at his pomp.
Allowing him a breath, a little scene.
To monarchize, be fear'd and kill with looks.
Infusing him with self and vain conceit.
As if this fiesh which walls about our ife.
Were brass impregnable, and humor'd thus
Comes at the last and with a little pin
Bores through his castle wall, and farewell
king! 170
Cover your heads and mock not flesh and
blood
With solemn reverence : throw away resiiect,
Tradition, form and ceremonious duty.
For you have but mistook me all this while :
tl live with bread like you, feel want,
'Taste grief, need friends : subjected thus,
How can you say to me, I am a king ?
Car. My lord, wjse men ne'er sit and wail
their woes.
But presently prevent the ways to wail. 179
To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength.
Gives in your weakness strength unto your
foe.
And so your follies fight against yourself. i
Fear and be slain ; no worse can come to.fight:
And fight and die is death destroying death ;
Where fearing dying pays death servile breath.
Aum. My father hath a power ; inquire of
him.
And leam to make a body of a limb.
K. Rich. Thou chidest me well: proud
Bolingbrolve, I come
To change blows with thee for our day of
doom.
This ague fit of fear is over-blown ; 190
An easy task it is to win our own.
Say, Scroop, whore lies our uncle with bis
power ? , ... ■
Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be
sour.
Scroop. Men judge by the complexion of the
sky
Tlie state and inclination of the day:
So may you by my dull and heavy eye,
My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say.
C14
KING lilCITARD II.
[Act hi.
I pl.ay tlie torturer, by small and small
To leuijthen out the worst that must be
spoken:
Tour uncle York is join'd with Bolingbroke,
And all your northern castles yielded up,
And all your southern gentlemen in arms
Upon his party.
, K. Rich. Thou has said enough.
Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me
forth [To Aumerle.
Of that sweet way I was in to despair ! [now?
What say you now ? what comiort have we
By heaven, I'll liate him everlastingly
That bids me be of comfort any more.
Go to Flint castle : there I'll pine away ;
A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey.210
That power I have, discharge ; and let them
go
To ear the land that hath some hope to grow,
For I have nope : let no man speak again
To alter this, for counsel is but vain.
Aiim. Jly liege, one word.
K. Rich. He does me double wrong
That wounds me with the flatteries of his
tongue.
Discharge ray followers; let them hence away.
From Richard's night to Bolingbroke's fair
day. [Exevnt.
Scene III. TFafes. Before Flint castle.
Enter, with drum and colors, Bolingbroke,
York, Northumberland, Attendants, and
forces.
Bohny. So that by this intelligence we
learn
Tlie Welshmen are dispersed, and Salisbury
Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed
With some few private friends upon this coast.
North. The news is very fair and good, my
lord :
Richard not far from hence hath hid his head.
York. It would beseem the Lord Northum¬
berland
To say ' King Richard ;' alack the heavy day
When such a sacred king should hide his head.
North. Your grace mistakes ; only to be
brief.
Left I his title out.
York. The time hath been, 10
Would you have been so brief with him, he
would
Have been so brief with you, to shorten you.
For taking so the head, youi- whole head's
length. [you should.
Baling. Mistake not, uncle, further than
York. Take not, good cousin, further than
you should. '
Lest you mistake the heavens are o'er our
beads.«
Doling. I know it, uncle, and oppose not
Against their will. But who comes here? 19
Enter Percy.
Welcome, Harry: what, will not this castle
yield ? [lord,
Percy. The castle royally is mann'd, my
Against thy entrance.
Boling. Royally I
Why, it contams no king ?
Percy. Yes, my good lord.
It doth contain a king ; King Richard lies
Within the limits of yon lime and stone :
And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord
Salisbury,
Sir Stephen Scroop, besides a clergyman
Of holy reverence ; who, 1 cannot leani.
North. O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle.
Boliny. Noble lords, 31
Go to tlie rude ribs of that ancient castle ;
Through brazen trumpet send the breath of
parley
Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver :
Henry Bolingbroke
On both his knees doth kiss King Ricliard's
hand
And sends allegiance and true faitli of heart
To his most royal person, hither come
Even at his feet to lay my arms and power.
Provided tli.at my banishnient repeal'd 40
And lands restored again be freely granted :
If not, I'll use the advauhige of my ix)wer
And lay the summer's dust with showers of
blood [lishmen:
Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Eng-
The which, how far off from the mind of Bo¬
lingbroke
It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench
The fresh green lap of fair King Richard's
land,
My stooping duty tenderly shall show.
Go, signify as much, while here we march
Upon the grassy carpet of this plain. .50
Let's march without the noise of tlireatunhig
drum.
That from this castle's tatter'd battlements
Our fair appointments may be well peruseil.
Methinks King Richard and myself should
meet
With no less terror than the elements
Of fire and water, when their thundering
shock
At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven.
Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water ;
The r.age be his, whilst oi" the earth 1 rain
My waters ; on th? earth, and no on him. (">0
March on, and mark King Richard how he
looks.
Parle.loithout, and answer laithin. Then a
flourish. Enter on the walls. King Rick--
ard, the Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle,
Scroop, and Salisbury.
See, see. King Richard doth himself apiiear.
As doth the bliLshing discontented siui
From out the fiery jmrtal of the e.ast,
When h: perceives the envious clouds are bent
To dim his glory and to stain the track
Of his bright passage to the Occident
York. Yet looks he like a king : behold, his
eye.
As brigiit as is the eagle's, lightens forth
Controlling majesty : alack, alack, for woe, 70
SldBITE III.]
KING RICHARD II.
S15
1*11:11 any harm should stain so fair a show I
K, Rkh. We are amazed ; and thus long
have we stood
To watch the fearful bending of thy knee,
[jfb North.
Because we thought onrself thy lawful king :
And if we be, how dare thy joints forget
To pay their awful duty to our presence ?
If we be not, show us the hand of God
That hath dismiss'd us from our stewardship ;
For well we know, no hand of blood and bone
Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre, 80
Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp.
And though you think that all, as you have
done,
Havetoru their souls by turning them from us,
And we are barren and bereft of friends ;
Yet know, my master, God omnipotent.
Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf
Armies of pestilence ; and they shall strike
Your children yet unborn and unbegot.
That lift your vassal hands against my head
And threat tlie glory of my precious crown. 90
Tell Boliugbroke—for yond niethiuks he
stands—
That every stride he makes ujxm my land
Is dangerous treason : he is come to open
The purple testament of bleeding war ;
But ere the crown he looks for live in peace.
Ten thou.saud bloody crowns of mothers' sons
Shall ill become the flower of England's face.
Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace
To scarlet indignation and bedew
Her pastures' grass with faithful English blood.
North. The king of heaven forbid our lord
the king 101
Should so with civil and uncivil arms
Be rush'd upon ! Thy thrice noble cousin
Harry Boliugbroke doth humbly kiss thy
hand :
And by the honorable tomb he swears.
That stands upon your royal grandsire's bones.
And by the royalties of both your bloods.
Currents that spring from one most gracious
head.
And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt,
And by the worth and honor of himself, 110
Comprising all that may be sworn or said.
His coming hither hath no further scope
Than for his lineal royalties :ind to beg
Enfrahchisement immediate on his knees :
Which on thy royal party granted once.
His glittering arms he will commend to rust.
His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart
To faithful service of your majesty.
This swears he, as he is a prince, is just
And, as 1 am a gentleman, 1 credit him. 120
K. Rich. Northumberland, say thus the
king returns :
His noble cousin is right welcome hither ;
And all the number of his fair demands
Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction ;
With all the gracious utterance thou hast
Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends.
yfe do debase ourselves, cousin, do we not,
[To Aumerle.
To look so poorly and to speak so fair ?
Shall we call back Northumberland, and send
Defiance to the traitor, and so die ? 130
Atim. No, good my lord ; let's fight with
gentle words
Till time lend friends and friends their helpful
swords.
K. Rich. O God, O God ! that e'er this
tongue of mine.
That laid the sentence of dread banishment
On you proud man, should take it off again
With words of sooth 1 O that I were as great
As is my grief, or lesser than my name 1
Or that 1 could forget what 1 have been.
Or not remember what I must be now I
Swell'st thou, proud heart? I'll give thee scope
to beat, 140
Since lues have 8C0|)C to beat both thee and me.
Aam. Northumberland comes back from
Boliugbroke.
K. Rich. What must the king do now ?
must he submit ?
The king shall do it : must he be deposed ?
The king shall be contented : must he lose
The name of king ? o' God's name, let it go :
I'll give my jewels for a set of beads.
My gorgeous palace for a hermitage,
Hy apparel for an almsman's gown.
My figure goblets for a dish of wood, 150
My sceptre for a palmer's walking staff,
My subjects for a pair of carved saints
And my large kingdom for a little grave,
A little Uttle grave, an obscure grave ;
Or I'll be buried in the king's highway.
Some way of common trade, where subjects'
feet
May hourly trample on their sovereign's headf
For on my heart they tread rrow whust I live;
And buried once, why not upon my head ?
Aumerle, thou weep'st, my terrder-hearted
cousin 1 100
We'll make foul weather with despised tears;
Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer
corn,
Aird make a dearth in this revolting laird.
Or shall we play the wantons with our woes,
Arrd make some pretty mutch with shedding
tears ?
As thus, to drop them still upon one place.
Till they have fretted us a pair of graves
Within the earth ; arrd, therein laid,—there
lies
Two kinsmen digg'd their graves with weep¬
ing eyes.
Would not this ill do well ? Well, well, I see
1 fcilk but idly, and you laugh at me. 171
Most mighty prince, my lord Northumber-
larrd.
What says King Boliugbroke ? vrill his maj¬
esty
Give Richard leave to live till Richard die ?
You make a leg, and Boliugbroke says a.y.
North. My lord, in the base court he doth
attend
To speak with you ; may it please you to come
dowu.
816
K. Rich. Down, down I come ; like glis-
'teriug Phaethon,
Wanting the manage of unruly jades.
In the l^e court ? Base court, where kings
grow base, 180
To come at traitors' calls and do them grace,
lu the hase court? Come down? Down,
court! down, king!
For night-owls shriek where mounting larks
would sing. [Exeunt from above
Baling, What says his majesty ?
' North. Sorrow and grief of heart
Makes him speak fondiy, like a frantic mim :
Yet he is come.
Enter King Richard and his attendants below.
Baling. Stand all amrt,
And show lair duty to his majesty.
[He kneels down.
Mygyacious lord,—
K7 Rich. Fair cousin, you debase your
princely knee 190
To make the base earth proud with kissing it:
Me rather had my heart might feel your love
Tlian my unpleased eye see your courtesy.
Up, cousin, up ; your heart is up, I know,
Thus high at least, although your knee be low.
Baling. My gracious lord, I come but for
mine own.
K. Rich. Your own is yours, and I am"
yours, and all.
Baling. So far be mine, my most redoubted
lord,
As my true service shall deserve your love.
K. Rich. Well you deserve : they well de¬
serve to have, 200
That kuow the strong'st and surest way to get.
Uncle, give me your hands : nay, dry your
eyes ;
Tears show their love, but want their reme¬
dies.
Cousin, I am too young to be your father,
Though you are old enough to bo niy heir.
What you will have, I'll give, and willing too *,
For do we must what force will have us do.
Set on towards London, cousin, is it so ?
Baling. Yea, my good lord.
K. Rich. Then I must not say no. 210
[Flourish. Exeunt.
Scene IV. Langley. The Duke of York's
garden.
Enter the Qceen and two Ladies.
Queen. What sport r,hall we devise here in
this garden.
To drive away the heavy thought of care ?
Lady. Madam, we'll play at bowls.
Queen. 'Twill make me think the world is
full of rubs.
And that my fortune runs against the bias.
Lady. Madam, we'll dance.
Qneen. My legs can keep no measure in de¬
light.
When my poor heart no measure keeps in
griM:
Therefore, no dancing, girl; some other sport.
[Aar m.
Lady. Madam, we'll tell tales. 10
Queen.. Of sorrow or of joy ?
Lady. 'of either, madam.
Queen. Of neitlier, girl:
For If of joy, being altogether v. caitiug,
It doth remember me the more of sorrow;
Or If of grief, being altogether had,
It adds more sorrow to my want of joy ;
For what I have I need not to repeat;
And what I want it boots not to complain.
Lady. Madam, I'll sing.
Queen. 'Tis well that thou hast cause ;
But thou shouldst please me better, would.st
thou weep. 20
Lady. I could weep, madam, would it do
you good. [me good.
Queen. And I could sing, would weeping do
And never borrow any tear of thee.
Enter a Gardener, and two Servants.
But stay, here come the gardeners ;
Let's step into the shadow of these trees.
My wretchedness unto a row of pins.
They'll talk of state ; for every one doth so
Aga nst a change ; woe is forerun with woe.
[Queen and Ladies retire.
Gard. Go, bind thou up you dangling aprir
cocks.
Which, like unruly children, make their sire 30
Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight;
Give some supportauce to the bending twigs.
Go thou, and like an executioner,
Cut off the heads of too fast growing sprays,
That look too lofty in our comraonwcalth :
All must be even in our goveniroent
You thus eraploy'd, 1 will go root away
The noisome weeds, which without profit suck
The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers.
Serv. Why should we in fhe compass of a
pale 40
Keep law and form and due proportion.
Showing, as in a model, our firm estate.
When our sea-walled garden, the whole land,.
Is full of weeds, her fairest flowers choked up,
Her fruit-trees all upturned, her hedges ruln'd,
Her knots dlsorder'd and her wholesome herbs
Swarming with caterpillars ?
Gard. Hold thy peace i
He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring
Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf :
The weeds which his broad-spreading leaves
did shelter, 50
That seem'd in eating him to hold him up.
Are pluck'd up root and all by Bolingbroke,
I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green.
Hen. What, are they dead ?
Gard. They are ; and Bolingbroke
Hath .seized the wasteful king. O, what ))ity
is it ' [land
That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his
As we this garden ! We at time of year
Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-
trees,
Lest, being over-proud in sap and blood,
With too much riches it confound Itself : 60
Had he done so to great and growing men,
KING RIOHARD JL
Scene i.]
They mi^ht have lived to bear and he to taste
Their fruits of duty ; superfluous branches
We lop away, that bearing boughs may live :
Had he done so, himself had borne the crown,
Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown
down. ' [be deposed ?
Serv. What, think you then the king shall
Qard. Uepress'd he is already, and deposed
'Tis doubt he will be : letters came last night
To a dear friend of the good Duke of York's,
That tell black tidings. 71
Queen. O, I am presS'd to death through
want of speaking ! [Comlnc/forward.
i'hou, old Adam's likeness, set to dress this
garden.
How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this
unpleasing news ?
Wliat Eve, what serpent, hath suggested thee
To make a second fall of cursed man ?
Why dost thou say King Richard is deposed ?
Darest thou, thou little better thing than earth.
Divine his downfall ? Say, where, when, ana
how,
Camest thou by this ill tidings ? speak, thou
wretch. 80
Gard. Pardon me, madam: little joy }iave I
To breathe this news ; yet what I say is true.
King Richard, he is in the mighty hold
Of Bolingbroke: their fortunes both are
weigh'd :
In your lord's scale is nothing but himself.
And some few vanities that make him light;
But in the balance of great Bolingbroke,
Besides himself, are all the English peers,
And with that odds he weighs King Richard
down.
Post you to London, and yon will find it so ;
I speak no more than every one doth know. 91
Queen. Nimble mischance, that art so light
of foot.
Doth not thy embassage belong to me.
And am I last that knows it ? O, thou think'st
To serve me last, that I may longest keep
Thy .'jorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, go,
To meet at London London's king in woe.
What, was I born to this, that my sad look
Sliould grace the triumph of great Boling¬
broke? ■' i©
Gardener, for telling me these news of woe.
Pray God the plants thou graft'st may never
grow. [Exeunt Queen and Ladies.
Gard. Poor queen ! so that thy state might
be no worse,
I would my skill were subject to thy curse.
Here did she fall a tear ; here in this place
I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace :
Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen,
In the remembrance of a weeping queen.
[Exeunt.
*
ACT IV.
Scene I. Westminster Hall.
Enter, as to the Parliament, Bolingbroke,
aumerlb, Northumberland. Pekcv,
817
Fitewater, Surrey, the Bishoe of Car¬
lisle, the Abbot op Westminster, and
another Loi-d, Herald, Oflicers, and Bagot.
Boling. Call forth Bagot.
Now, Bagot, freely s]>eak thy'mind ;
What thou dost know of noble Gloucestei-'s
death.
Who wrought it with the king, and who per-
form'd
Tlie bloody office of his timeless end.
Bagot. Then set before my face the Lord
Auraerle.
Boling. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon
that man. ''
Bagot. My Lord Aumerle, I know youT
daring tongue
Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd.
In tliatdead time when Gloucester's death was
plotted, 10
I heard you say, ' Is not my arm of length.
That reacheth from tlie restful F.nglish court
As far as Calais, to mine uncle's head ?'
Amongst much other talk, that very time,
I heard you s.ay that you had rather refuse
The offer of an hundred thousand crowns
Than Bolingbroke's return to England ;
Adduig withal, how blest this land would be
In this your cousin's death.
A um. Princes and noble lords.
What answer shall I make to this base man ?
Shall I so much dishonor my fair stars, 21
On equal terms to give him chastisement ?
Either I must, or have mine honor soil'd
With the attainder of his slanderous lips.
There is my gage, the manual seal of death,
That marks thee out for hell : I say, thou
liest.
And wil) maintain what thou hast said is false
In thy heart-blood, though being all too base
To stain the temper of my knightly sword.
Boling. Bagot, forbear ; thou shalt not
take it up. ' ' 30
Aum. Exceptmg one, I would he were the
best
In all this presence that hath moved me so.
Fitz. If that thy valor stand on sympathy.
There is ray gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine :
By that fair sun which shows me where thou
stand'st,
I heard thee say, and vaimtingly thou spakest
it.
That thou wert cause of noble Gloucester's
death.
If thou deuy'st it twenty times, thou liest ;
And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart.
Where it was forged, with my rapier's point.
Aum. Thou darest not, coward, lite to see
that day. 41
Fitz. Now, by my soul, I would it were
this hour.
Aum. Fitz water, thou art damn'd to hell
for this.
Percy. Aumerle, thou liest; his honor is
as true
In this appeal as thou art all unjust;
And that thou art so. there I throw my gagb.
KING RICHARD 11.
818
KING niCBARD 11.
tAct IV.
To prove it on thee to the extremest point
Of mortal breathing : seize it, if tlioii darest.
Aum. An if 1 do not, may my hand.srotoff
And never brandish more revengeful steel 50
Over the glittering helmet of ray foe !
Another Lord. I task the earth to the like,
forsworn Aumerle;
And spur thee on with full as many lies
As may be holloa'd in thy treacherous ear
From sun to sun : there is my honor's i)awn ;
Engage it to tlie trial, if thou darest.
Aum. Who sets me else ? by heaven, I'll
throw at all :
I have a thousand spirits in one breast.
To answer twenty thousand such as you.
Surrey. My Lord Fitzwater, I do remember
well GO
The very time Aumerle and you did talk.
Fitz. 'Tis very true : you were in presence
then ;
And you can witness with me this is true.
Surrey. As false, by heaven, as heaven it¬
self is true.
Fitz. Surrey, thou liest.
Surrey. Dishonorable boy !
That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword,
That it shall render vengeance and revenge
Till thou the lie-giver and that lie do lie
In earth as quiet as thy father's skull :
In jiroof wliereof, there is ray honor's pawn ;
Eng.^e it to the trial, if thou darest. 71
Fitz. How fondly dost thou spur a forward
horse !
If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live,
I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness.
And spit upon him, whilst I say he lies.
And lies, and lies : there is my bond of faith.
To tie thee to my strong correction.
As I intend to thrive in this new world,
Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal:
Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say 80
That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy
men
To execute the noble duke at Calais.
Aum. Some honest Christian trust me with
a gage.
That Norfolk lies : here do I throw down this.
If he may be repeal'd, to try his honor.
Boliny. These differences shall all rest
under gage
Till Norfolk be repeal'd : repeal'd he shall be.
And, though mine enemy, restored again
To all his lands and signories : when he's
return'd,
Against Auinei-le we will enforce his trial. 90
Car. That honorable day shall ne'er be
seen.
Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought
For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian Held,
Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross
Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens :
And toil'd with works of war, retired himself
To Italy ; and there at Venice gave
His body to that jileasant country's earth.
And his pure soul unto his captain Christ,
Under wliose colors he had foi^ht so long. 100
Boliny. Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead ?
Car. As surely as I live, my lord.
Boliny. Sweet peace conduct his sweet
soul to the bosom
Of good old Abraham ! Lords appellants.
Your differences shall all rertainder gage
Till we assign you to your days of trial
Fnter York, attended.
York. Gre.at Duke of Lancaster, I come to
thee
From plume-pluck'd Richard ; who with will¬
ing soul
Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields
To tlie possession of thy royal hand : 110
Ascend his throne, descending now from him ;
And long live Henry, fourth of tliat name !
Boliny. In God's name, I'll ascend the regal
thi-one.
Car. Marry, God forbid !
Worst in this royal presence may I speak.
Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth.
Would God that any in this noble presence
Were enough noble to be upright judge
Of noble Richard ! then true noblesse would
Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong.
Whafkubject can give sentence on his king ?
And who sits here that is not Richard's sub¬
ject?
Thieves are not judged but they are by to
hear.
Although apparent guilt be seen in them •
And shall the figure of God's majesty.
His captain, steward, deputy-elect.
Anointed, crowned, planted many years.
Be judged by subject and inferior breath.
And he himself not present ? O, forfend it,
God,
That in a Christian climate souls refined 130
Should show so heinous, black, obscene a
deed !
I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks,
Stirr'd up by God, thus boldly for his king.
My Lord of Hereford here, whom you call
king.
Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king :
And if you crown him, let me prophesy:
The blood of English shall manure the ground.
And future ages groan for this foul act;
Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels,
And in this seat of peace tumultunus wars 140
Shall kin with kin and kind with kind con¬
found ;
Disorder, horror, fear and mutiny
Sliall here inhabit, and this land be eall'd
The field of G >lgotha and dead men's skulls.
O, if you raise this house against this house.
It will the woefullest division prove
That ever fell uixm this cursed earth.
Prevent it, resist it, let it not be so.
Lest child, child's children, cry against you
' woe !'
North. Well have you argued, sir ; and,
for your pains, IM
Of capital treason we arrest you here.
My Lord of Westminster, be" it your charge
Sgenb i.]
RING RICHARD II.
819
To keep liim safely till his day of trial.
May it please you, lords, to grant the com-
nious' suit , [mon view
Boliiig. Fetch hither Richard, that in com-
He may surrender; so we shall proceed
Without susx>icion.
York. I will he his conduct. [Exit,
lioling. Lords, you that here are onder our
arrest.
Procure your sureties for your days of answer.
Little are we beholding to your love, UK)
And little look'd for at your helping hands.
Se-entur York, with Richard, and Officers
bearing the regalia.
K. Rich. Alack, why am I sent for to a
king.
Before I have shook off the regal thoughts
Wiierewith I reigu'd? I hardly yet have
learn'd
To insinuate, flatter, how, and bend my limbs:
Give .sorrow leave awliile to tutor me
To tids submission. Y'et I well remember
The favors of tliese men : were tliey not mine?
Did they not sometime cry, 'allhail!' to me?
So Judas did to Christ: but he, in twelve, 170
Found truth in all but one : 1, in twelve thou¬
sand, none.
God save the king ! Will no man say amen ?
Am I botli priest and clerk ? well then, amen.
God save the king I altiiough 1 be not he ;
And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me.
To do what service am I sent for hither ?
York. To do tliat office of thine own good
will
Which tired majesty did make thee offer,
The resignation of thy state and crown
To Henry Boliugbroke. 180
K. Rich. Give me the crown. Here, cousin,
seize the crown ;
Here cousin :
On this side my hand, and on that side yours.
Now is this golden crown like a deep well
That owes two buckets, fliliiig one another,
The emptier ever diiucing in tlie air.
The other down, unseen and full of water :
That bucket down and full of tears am I,
Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on
high.
Baling. I thought you had been willing to
resign. 190
K. Rich. My crown I am ; but still my
griefs are mine:
You may my glories and my state depose.
But not my griefs ; still am I king of those.
Baling. Part of your cares you give me
with your crown.
K. Rich. Y'our cares set up do not pluck my
cares down.
My care is loss of care, by old c(#e done ;
Your care is gain of care, by new care won :
The cares I give I have, though given away ;
They tend the crown, yet still with me they
stay.
Baling. Are you contented to resign the
crown 7 200
K. Rich. Ay, no; no, ay; fmr I must
nothing be;
Therefore no no, for I resign to thee.
Now mark me, how I will undo myself;
I give this heavy weight from off my head
And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand.
The pride of kingly sway from out my heart;
With mine own tears I wash away my balm.
With mine own hands I give away my crown.
With mine own tongue deny my sacred state.
With mine own breath release all duty's rites;
All pomp and majesty I do forswear; 211
My manors, rents, revenues I forego;
My acts, decrees, and statutes I deny;
God pardon all oaths that are broke to me!
God keep all vows unbroke that swear to
thee!
Make me, that nothing have, with nothing
grieved.
And {hou with all pleased, that hast all
achieved !
Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit.
And soon lie Riciiard in au earthly pit! 219
God save King Harry, unking'd Richard says.
And send Iiim many years dl suushiue days !
Wliat more remains ?
North. No more, but tliat you read
These accusations and tiie.se grievous crimes
Committed by your person and your followers
Against tiie state and profit of this land ;
Tiiat, by confessing them, tiie souls of men
May deem that you are worthily deposed.
K. Rich. Must 1 do so ? and must 1 ravel
out
My weaved-up folly? Gentle Northumberland,
If tliy offences were .upon record, 2^
Would it not shame tliee in so fair a troop
To read a lecture of them ? If tliou wouldst,
'There shouldst thou find oue heinous article,
Containing tiie deposmg of a king
And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,
Mark'd with a blot, damu'd in tlie book of
heaven :
Nay, all of you that stand and look upon.
Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself.
Though some of you with Pilate wash your
hands
Showing an outward pity ; yet you Pilates 240
Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross.
And water cannot wash away your sin.
North. My lord, dispatch ; read o'er these
articles.
K. Rich. Mine eyes are fuU of tears, I can¬
not see:
And yet salt water blinds them not so much
But they can see a sort of traitoi-s here.
Nay, If I turn mine eyes uixm myself,
I find myself a traitor with tiie re.st;
For I have given here my .soul's consent ■
To undeck 3ie pompous body of a king ; 250
Made glory base and sovereignty a slave.
Proud majesty a subject, state a peasant.
North. My lord,—
K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou bought in¬
sulting man.
Nor no man's lord ; I have no name, no title,
No, not that name was given me at the font^
320
KING RICHARD II.
[Act vj
But'tis usurp'd : alack the heavy day,
That I have woni so many winters out,
And know not now what name to call myself !
O that f were a mockery king of snow,, 260
Standing before the sun of Boliugbroke,
To melt myself away in water-drops !
Good king, great king, and yet not greatly
good,
An if my word he sterlhig yet in England,
Let it command a mirror hither straight,
Tliat it may show me what a face I have.
Since it is bankrupt of his majesty.
Boling. Go some of yon and fetch a look¬
ing-glass. [Exit an attendant.
North.. Read o'er this paper while the glass
doth come.
K. Rich. Fiend, thou torment'st me ere I
come to hell! 270
Baling. Urge it no more, my Lord North¬
umberland.
North. The commons will not then be sat¬
isfied.
K. Rich. They ghall be satisfied : I'll read
enough.
When I do see the very book indeed
Where all my sins are writ, and that's myself.
Re-enter Attendant, with a glass.
Give me the glass, and therein will I read.
No deeper wrinldes yet ? hath sorrow struck
So many blows upon this face of mine,
And made no deeper wounds ? O flattering
glass.
Like to my followers in prosperity, 280
Thou dost beguile me ! VVas this face the face
That every day under his household roof
Did keep ten thousand men ? was this the face
That, like the sun, did make beholders wink ?
Was this the face that faced so many follies,
And was at last out-faced by Bolingbroke ?
A brittle glory shineth in this face :
As brittle as the glory is the face :
[Dashes the glass against the ground.
For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers.
Mark, silent Iring, the moral of this sport, 290
How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face.
Baling. 'The shadow of your sorrow hath
destroy'd
The shadow of your face.
K. Rich. Say that again.
The shadow of ray sorrow ! ha I let's see :
'Tis very true, my grief lies all withm ;
And these external manners of laments
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief
That swells with silence in the tortured soul;
There lies the substance : and I thank thee,
king.
For thy great bounty, that not only glvest 300
Me cause to wail but teachest me the way
How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon, '
And then be gone and trouble you no more.
Shall I obtain it ?
Baling. Name it, fair cousin.
K. Rich. ' Fair cousin' ? I am greater than
a king : *
For when I tyas a king, my flatterers
Were then but subjects ; being now a subject^
I liave a king here to my flatterer.
Being so great, I have no need to beg.
Bming. Yet ask.
K. Ri(^ And shall I have ?
Baling. You shall. 310
K. Rich. Then give me leave to go.
Baling. Whither ?
K. Rich. Whitlier you will, so I were from
your sights.
Baling. Go, some of yon convey him to the
Tower.
K. Rich. O, good ! convey ? conveyers are
you all.
That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall.
[Exxunt King Richard, some Lards,
and a Guard.
Baling. On Wednesday next we solemnly
set down
Our coronation : lords, prepare yourselves.
[Exeunt all except the Bishop of Carlisle, the
Abbot of Westminster, and Aumerk.
Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here be¬
held. 321
Car. The woe's to come ; the children yet
unborn.
Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.
Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot
To rid the realm of this pernicious blot ?
Abbot. My lord.
Before I freely speiik my mind herein.
You shall not only take the sacrament
To bury mine intents, but also to effect
Whatever I shall happen to devise. 330
I see your brows are full of discontent.
Your hearts of sorrow and your eyes of tears ;
Come home with me to supper ; and I'll lay
A plot shall show us all a merry day. [Exeunt.
ACT V.
Scene I. London. A street leading to the
Tower.
, Enter Queen and Ladies.
Queen. This way the king wiU come ; this
is the way
To Julius Caesar's ill-erected tower.
To whose flint bosom my condemned lord
Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Boliugbroke :
Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth
Have any resting for her true king's queen.
Enter Ricuabd and Guard.
But soft, but see, or rather do not see.
My fair rose wither : yet look up, behold.
That you in pity may dissolve to dew, 9
And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.
Ah, thou, the model where old Troy didstand.
Thou map of honor, thou King Richard's tomb.
And not King Richard ; thou most beauteous
inn,
Why should hard-favor" d grief be lodged in
thee,
SCBNB ii.]
When triumph is become an alehonse gnest ?
K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman,
do not so, '
To make my end too sudden : learn; good soUl,
To tliink our former state a happy dream ;,
From which awak^, tlie truth of what we are
Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet,
To grim Necessity, and lie and I 21
Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to
France
And cloister thee in some religious house :
Our holy lives must win a new world's crown.
Which our profane hours here have stricken
down.
Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape
a ad mind
Transform'd andweaken'd ? bath Bolingbroke
deposed
Thine intellect ? hath he been in thy heart ?
The lion dying thrusteth forth his paw.
And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with
rage 30
To be o'erpower'd ; and wilt thou, pupil-like.
Take thy correction mildly, kiss the rod.
And fawn on rage with base humility.
Which art a lion and a king of beasts ?
K. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed ; if aught
but beasts,
I had been still a happy king of men.
Good sometime queen, prepare thee heuce for
France :
Think 1 am dead and tliat even here thou
takest,
As from my death-bed, thy last living leave.
In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire 40
With good old folks and let them tell thee
tales '
Of woeful ages long ago betid ;
And ere thou bid good night, to quit their
griefs.
Tell thou the lamentable tale of me
And send the hearers weeping to their beds :
For why, the senseless brands will sympathize
The heavy accent of thy moving tongue
And in oompassiou weep the fire out;
And some wiU mourn in ashes, some coal-
black.
For the deposing of a rightful kingi 50
Enter Nokthumbekland and others.
l^orth. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is
change :
You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower.
And, madam, there is order ta'en for you ;
With all swift speed you must away to France.
K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder
wherewithal
The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne.
The time shall nof be many honrs of age
More than it is ere foul sin gaitteriug head
Shalt break into corruption : thou slialt think,
'Though he divide tlie realm and give thee
half, 60
It is too little, helping him to all;
And be shall think that thon, which know'st
the way
321
To plant nnrigfatfnl kings, wilt know again.
Being ne'er so little iiiged, another way
To pluck him headlong from the usurped
thrcne. ■ ,
The love of wicked men converts tUfear ;
That fear to hate, and liate turns one or both
To worthy danger and deserved death.
Rorth.' My guilt be on my head, and there
an end.
Take leave and part ; for you must part forth¬
with, I ' 70
K. Rich. Doubly divorced ! Bad men, yon
violate
A twofold marriage,' 'twixt my crown and mo;
And theii betwixt me and my nmrried wife.
Let me uukiss the oath 'twixt tliee and me ;
And yet not so, for witli a kiss 'twas made.
Part ns, Northnmberiaud; 1 towards Uie
north.
Where shivering cold and sickness pines the
clime ;
My wife to France : from whence, set forth In
pomp.
She came adorned hither like sweet May,
Sent back like Hallowmas or short'st of day,
Queen. And must we be divided ? must
we part ? 81
K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love,
and heart from heart.
Queen. Banish us both and send the king
with me.
North. That were some love but little
policy.
Queen. 'Then whither he goes, tltither let me
go.
K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make
one woe.
Weep then for me in France, I for thee here ;
Better far off than near, be ne'er the near.
Go, count thy way with sighs ; 1 mine with
groans.
Queen. So longest way shall have tlie long¬
est moans. 90
K. Rich.- Twice for one step I'll groan, the
way being short,
And piece the way out with a heavy heart.
Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief.
Since, wedding it, tliere is such length in grief ;
One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly
part ;
Thus give I mine, and tlms take I thy heart
Queen. Give me mine own again ; 'twere
no good part
To take on me to keep and kill thy heart.
So, now I have mine own ^ain, be gone,
That I might strive to kill it with a groan. 100
K. Rich. We make woe wanton with this
fond delay :
Once more, adieu ; the rest let soreow say.
[Exewvt.
Scene II. The Dcke of York's palace.
Enter York and his Duchess.
Duch. My lord, you told'hie you would toll
the rest,
• KING RICHARD II.
S22
KING RICHARD II..
When weeping madej'on break the story off,
Of our two cousins coming into London.
York. Where did I leave ?
Duch. At that sad stop, my lord.
Where rude misgovem'd hands from win¬
dows' tops
Threw dust and rubbish on Kiug Richard's
head.
Toi-A'. Tlieii, as I said, the duke, great
Roliiigbrolce,
Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed
Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know.
With slow but stiitely pace kept on his course.
Whilst all tongues cried ' God save thee, Bol-
ingbroke !' 11
You would have thought the very windows
8i)ake,
So many greedy looks of young and old
Through casements darted their desiruig eyes
U|)on his visage, and th.'it all the walls
With painted imagery had said at once
' Jesu preserve thee ! welcome, Bolingbroke 1'
Whilst he, from the one side to the other
turning,
Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's
neck,
Bespake them thus : ' I thank you, country¬
men :' 20
And thus still doing, thus he pass'd akmg.
Duch. Alack, poor Richard ! where rode
he the whilst ?
York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men.
After a well-graced actor leaves the stage.
Are idly bent on him that enters next.
Thinking his prattle to be tedious ;
Even so, or with much more contempt, men's
eyes
Did scowl on gentle Richard ; no man cried
' God save him i'
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home;
But dust was thrown upon his sacred head;
Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off.
His face still combating with tears and smiles,
The badges of his grief and patience,
'i liat had not God, for some strong purpose,
steel'd
The hearts of men, they must perforce have
melted
And barbarism itself have pitied him.
But heaven hath a hand in these events.
To whose high wiU we boimd our calm cois-
tents.
To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,
Wliose state and honor I for aye allow. 40
Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle.
York. Aumerle that was ;
But that is lost for being Richard's friend.
And, madam, you mimt call him Rutland now;
I am in parliament pledge for his truth
And lasting fealty to the new-made king.
Rnter Aumerle.
Duch. Welcome, my son : who are the
violets now
That strew the green lap of the new come
spring ?
[Act t.
Aum. Madam, I know not, nor 1 greatly
care not:
God knows I had as lief be none as one.
York. Well, bear you well in this new
spring of time, 50
Left you be cropp'd before you come to prime.
What news from Oxford ? hold those justs and
triumphs ?
Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do.
York. You will be there, 1 know.
Aum. If God prevent not, I purpose so.
York. What seal is that, that liangs with¬
out thy bosom ?
Yea, look'st thou pale ? let me see the wri¬
ting.
Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing.
York. No matter, tlieu, who see it ;
I will bo satisfied ; let me see the writing.
Aum. 1 do beseech your grace to pardon
me: 60
It is a matter of small consequence.
Which for some reasons 1 would not have
seen.
York. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean
to see.
I fear, I fear,—
Duch. What should yon fear ?
'Tis nothing but some bond, that he is en¬
ter'd into
For gay apparel 'gainst the triumph day.
York. Bound to himself ! what doth he
with a bond
That he is bound to ? Wife, thou art a fool.
Boy, let me .see the writing.
Au7n. I do beseech you, pardon me ; I may
not show it. 70
York. I will be satisfied ; let me see it, I
say.
[He plucks it out of his bosom and reads it.
Treason ! foul treason ! Villain ! traitor !
slave !
Duch. What is the matter, my lord ?
York. Ho ! who is within there ?
Enter a Servant.
Saddle ray horse.
God for his mercy, wliat treacliery is here !
Duch. Why, what is it, my lord ?
YorA. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my
horse. [Exit Hervanl.
Now, by mine honor, by my life, by my troth,
I will appeach tlie villain.
Duch. What is the matter ?
York. Peace, foolish woman. 80
Duch. I will not peace. What is the mat¬
ter, Aumerle,
Aum. Good mother, be content; it is no
more
Than my poor life must answer.
Duch. Thy life answer 1
York. Bring me my boots : I will unto
the king.
Re-enter Servant with boots.
Dtich. Strike him, Aumerle. Poor 'boy,
thou art ama2ed.
Hence, vUlaiu I never more come in my sight
Scene in.]
KING RICHARD 11.
323
Yorh. Give me my boots, I say.
Ditch. Why, York, what wilt thou do 7
Wilt thou not hide the tre8i)ass of thiue own 7
Have we more sons 7 or are we like to have 7
Is not my teeming date drunk up with time 7
And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine
age.
And rob me of a happy mother's name ?
Is he not like thee 7 is he not thine own 7
York. Thou fond mad woman.
Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy 7
A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacra¬
ment, .
And interchangeably set down their hands.
To kill the king at Oxford.
Duch. He shall be none ;
We'll keep him here : then what is that to
him 7 100
York. Away, fond woman 1 were he
twenty times my son,
I would appeach him.
Duch. Hadst thou groan'd for him
As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful.
But now 1 know thy mind ; thou dost suspect
That I have been disloyal to thy bed.
And that he is a bastard, not thy son ;
Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that
mind :
He is as like thee as a man may be,
Not like to me, or any of my kin.
And yet I love him.
York. Make way, unruly woman ! 110
[Exit.
Duch. After, Aumerle ! mount thee upon
his horse ;
Spur post, and get before him to the king.
And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee.
I'll not be long behind ; though I be old,
I doubt not but to ride as fast as York :
And never will I rise up from the ground
Till Bolliugbroke have pardon'd thee. Away,
be gone! [Exeunt.
Scene III. A royal palace.
Enter Bolingbroke, Percy, and other Lords.
Doling. Can no miui tell me of my unthrifty
son 7
"Tis full three months since I did see him
last';
If any plague hang over us, 'tis he.
I would to God, my lords, he might be found :
Inquire at London, 'mougst the taverns there,
For there, they say, he daily doth frequent.
With unrestrained loose comjianions.
Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes.
And beat our watch, and rob our p.assengers ;
'^l^^ich he, young wanton and effeminate boy.
Takes on the point of honor tp support 11
So dissolute a crew. «
Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw
the prince.
And told hnn of those triumphs held at Oxford.
Doling. And what said the gallant7
Percy. His answer was, he would unto the
stews,
And from the common'st creature pluck a
glove.
And wear it as a favor ; and with that
He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.
Doling. As dissolute as desperate; yet
through both , 20
I see some sparks of better hope, which eldet
years
May happily bring forth. But who comes
here 7
Enter Aumerle.
Aum. Where is the king 7
Doling. What means our cousin,' that he
stares and looks
So wildly 7
Aum. God save your grace ! I do beseech
your majesty.
To have some conference with your grace
alojie.
Doling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave
us here alone. [Exeunt Percy and Lords.
What is the matter with our cousin now 7
Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the
earth, 3C
My tongue cleave to my roof within my
mouth.
Unless a ixirdon ere I rise or speak.
Doling. Intended or committed was this
fault 7
If on the first, how heinous e'er it be.
To win thy after-love I pardon thee.
Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn
the key.
That no man enter till my tale be done.
Doling. Have thy desire.
York. (WUhiiil My liege, beware: look to
thyself ;
Thou hast a-traitor in thy presence there. 40
Doling. Villain, I'll make thee safe.
[Drawing.
Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand ; thou hast
no cause to fear.
Yoi-k. [ Within'] Open the door, secure, fool¬
hardy king:
Shall I for love speak treason to thy face 7
Open the door, or I will break it open.
Enter York.
Doling. What is the matter, uncle 7 speak,
Recover breath ; tell us how near is danger.
That we may arm us to encounter it.
York. Peruse this writing here, and thou
shalt know
The treason that ray haste forbids me show.50
Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy
promise pass'd;
I do repent me ; read not my name there ;
My heart is not confederate with my hand.
York. It was, villain, ere thy hand did set
it down.
I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king ;
Fear, and not love, begets his penitence:
Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove
A serpent that will sting thee to the heart.
Doling. O heinous, strong and bold con¬
spiracy !
S24
KING RICHARD II.
[Act v.
0 loyal father of a treacherous son ! 60
Thou sheer, iminaculate and silver fountain.
From whence this stream through muddy pas¬
sages
Hath held his current and defiled himself !
Thy overflow of good converts to bad,
And thy abundant goodness shall excuse
This deadly blot in thy digressing son.
York. So shall my virtue be his vice's
bawd ;
And he shall spend mine honor with his shame.
As thriftless sons their sctaiiing fathers' gold.
Mine honor lives when his dishonor dies, , TO
Or my shamed life in his dishonor lies :
Thou kill'st me in his life ; giving him breatli,
The traitor lives, the true man's put.to death.
Duck. [WithM What ho, my liege I for
God's sake, let me in.
JSoling. What shrill-voiced suppliant makes
this eager cry ?
Ducli. A woman, and thy amit, great king;
'tis I.
Speak with me, pity me, open tlie door;
A bdggar begs that never begg'd before,
Jioling. Our scene is alter'd from a serious
thing,
And now changed to 'The Beggar and the
King.' 80
My dangerous cousin, let your mother in :
1 know she is come to pray for your foul sin<
York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray.
More sins for this foi'giveness prosper may.
This fester'd joint cut oft, the rest rest sound;
This let alone will ail the rest confound.
Enter Duchess.
Duch. O king, believe not this hard-hearted
man 1 .
Love loving not itself none other can.
York. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou
make here ?
Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear ?
Duch. Sweet York, be patient. Hear ipe,
gentle liege. \Kueds. 91
Boling. Bise up, good aunt
Duch. Not j-et, I thee beseech :
For ever will I walk upon my knees.
And never see day that the happy sees.
Till thoii give joy; until thou bid me joy.
By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy.
Aum. Unto my mother's prayers I bend
my knee.
York. Against them both my true joints
bended be.
Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace!
Duch. Pleads he in earnest ? look upon his
face ; 100
His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in
jest;
His words come from his mouth, ours from our
breast:
He prays but faintly and would be denied ;
We pray with heart and soul and all beside;
His weary joints would gladly rise, I know;
Our knees shall kneel till to th^ ground they
grow;
His prayers are full of false hyirocrisy;
Ours of true zeal and deep integritj'.
Our prayers do out-pray his ; then let them
have
Tliat mercy which true prayer ought to have.
Doling.^ Good aunt, stand up. Ill
Duch. Nay, do not say, ' stand up ;'
Say ' jKirdon' first, and afterwards ' stand up.'
Aiid if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach,
' Pardon' sliould be the first word of thy
speech,
I never long"*! to hear a word till now;
Say ' pardon,' king ; let pity teach thee how:
The word is short, but not so short as sweet;
No word like ' pardon' for kings' mouths so
meet.
York. Si>eak it in French, king ; say, ' par-
donne moi.'
Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to
destroy ? 120
,\h, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord.
That set'st the word itself against the word I
Speak ' pardon' as 'tis current in our land ;
The chopping French we do not understand.
Thine eye &gins to speak ; set thy tongue
there ;
Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear ;
That hearing how our plaints and prayers do
pieree.
Pity may move thee ' pardon' to rehearse.
Doling. Good aunt, stand up.
Dueh. 1 do not sue to stand ;
Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. 130
Doling. I pardon him, as God shall x)ardon
me.
Duch. O happy vantage of a kneeUng knee!
Yet am I sick for fear : speak it again ;
Twice saying ' pardon' doth not pardon twain,
But makes one pardon strong.
Doling. With all my heart
I pardon him.
Duch. A god on earth thou art.
Doling. But for our trusty brother-in-law
and the abbot.
With all the rest of that consorted crew.
Destruction straight shall dog them at the
heels.
Good uncle, help to order several powers 140
To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are :
They shall not live within this world, 1 swear.
But I will have them, if I once know where.
Uncle, farewell : and, cousin too, adieu :
Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you
true.
Duch. Come, my old son: I pray God make
thee new. {Exeunt.
SCEHB IV. The tame.
Enter Exton and Servant.
Exton. Didst thou not mark the king, what
words he spake,
' Have I no friend will rid me of this living
fear ?' . '
Was it not so ? i . .
Her. These were his very words.
ScESE v.)
k'lNG klCffARD II.
328
, , Exton. ' Have I no friend ?' qnoth he : he
spake it twice,
And urged it twice together; did he not ?
Serv. He did.
Exton. And speaking it, he wistly look'd on
me;
And who shoutd say,' I would thou wert the
man > , > , ' v
That would divorce this terror from my heart;'
Meaning tire king lat Pom fret.. Come, let's go:
I am tire king's friend, and will rid his foei.. 11
1 [Exeunt.
I ' I
ScEKE V. Pomfret castle.
Eriter KinG RichAkd. ' ■
K. Rich. 1 have been studying hoiw I may
compare
This prison where I live unto the world :
And foe because the world is populous .
And here is r. t a creature but myself,
I canuot do it; yet Til liammer it out
My brain Til prove the female to my soul, ,
My soul tiie father; and these two beget
A generation of still-breediug.tlioughts.
And these same tiioughts people, tliis little
world.
In humors like the people of this world, 10
For no thought is oouteuted. The better sort,
As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'd
With scruples and do set the word itself
Against the word:
As thus, 'Come, little ones,' and tbeniagain,\
' It is as hard to come as for a camel
To thread the postern of a small needle's eye.'
Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot
Unlikely wonders ; how these vain weak nails
May tear a passage through the flinty ribs ^
Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls.
And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.
Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves
That tliey are not the first of fortune's slaves.
Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars
Who sitting in the stocks refuge tfieir shame.
That many have and others must sit there ;
And in this thought they find a kind of ease.
Bearing their own misfortunes on the back
Of such as have betore endured the like. 30
Huis play I in one person many people.
And none'contented : sometimes am I king ;
Then (reasons make me wish myself a beggar,
And so I am : then crushing penary
Persuades me I was better when a king ;
Then am I king'd again : and by and by
Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke,
And straight am nothing': but wh.nte'er I be.
Nor I nor any man that but man is '
With nothing shall be pleased, till he be eased
AVith being nothing. Music do I hear ? 41
- [Jfusic.
Ha, ha. 1 keep time : how sour weet ftjusic is,
When time is broke and no proportion kept I
So is it in the music of men s lives.
And here have I the daintiness of ear
To check time broke in a disorder'd string ;
But for the concord of my state and time
Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me ;
For now hath time made me his numbering
.1 clock 50
My thoughts are minutes ; and with sigjis they
jar
Their watches on unto imue eyes, the outward
watch.
Whereto my finger, like a dial's point,
Is (Kiiuting still, in cleansing them.from tears.
Now sir, the somid that teits what hour it i.s
Are clamorous groans, which strike upon inj
heart.
Which is the bell ; so sighs and tears and
groans
Show minutes, times, and hours : but my time
Runs posting on m Bolingbroke's proud joy.
While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' the
clock, 60
This music mads me; let it .sound no more;
For though it have holp madmeil to their wits.
In me it seems it will make wise men mad.
Yet bles.sing on his heart that gives it me !
For 'tis a sign of love ; and love to Richard
Is a strange brooch in tliis all-hating world.
Enter a Groom of the Stable.
GrooVn. Hail, royal prince !
K. Rich. Thanks, noble peer ;
The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.
What art thou ? and how comest thou hither.
Where no man never comes biit that sad dog
That brings me food to make misfortune live?
Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable,
king, ■
AVhen thou wert king ; who, travelling towards
York, '
With much ado at length have gotten leave
To'look upon my sometimes royal master's
face. ■ ' , '
O, how it yearn'd my heart when I beheld
In London streets, that coronation-day.
When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary,
That horse that thou so often hast bestrid,
That horse that I so carefully have dress'd 1 80
K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary ? Tell me,
gentle friend.
How went he under him ? '
Groom. So proudly as if he disdain'd the
ground.
K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was
on his back !
That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand;
This hand hath made him proud with clapping
' him.
Would he not stumble? would he.not fall
down, ,
Since pride must have a fall, and break the
neck
Of that proud man that did usurp his back'?
Forgiveness, horse I why do I rail on thee, 90
Since thou, created to be awed by man, '
Wast born to bear ?' I was not made a horse;
And yet I bear a burthen like an ass,
Spurr'd, galTd and tired by jauncing Boling¬
broke.
826
Enter Keeper, with a dish.
Keep. Fellow, give place ; here is no longer
stay.
K. Rich. If thou love me, tis time thou
wert away.
Groom. What my tongue dares not, that
my heart shall say. [Exit.
Keep. My loixi, will't please you to fall to ?
K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont
to do. 99
Keep. My lord, I dare not : Sir Pierce of
Exton, who lately came from the king,
commands the contrary.
K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancas¬
ter and thee !
Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.
[Beats the keeper.
Keep. Help, help, help !
Enter Exxoxarad Servants, armed.
K. Rick. How now ! what means death in
this rude as.saiilt ?
Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instru¬
ment
[Snatching an axe from a Servant and kill¬
ing him
Go thou, and fill another room in hell.
[He kills another. Then Exton strikes him
down.
Th.at hand shall burn in never-quenching fire
That staggers thus my person. Extoii, thy
fierce hand 110
Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's
own land.
Mount, mount, my soul ! thy seat is up on
high ;
Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here
to die. [Dies.
Exton. As full of valor as of royal blood :
Both have I spill'd ; O would the deed were
good !
For now the devil, that told me I did well.
Says that this deed is chronicled in hell.
This dead king to the living king I'll bear :
Take hence the rest, and give them burial
here. [Exeunt.
Scene VI. Windsor castle.
Flourish. Enter Bolingbboke, Yobk, with
other Lords, and Attendants.
Baling. Kind uncle York, the latest news
we hear
Is that the rebels have consumed with fire
Our town of Cicester in Gloucestershire ;
But whether they be ta'eu or slain we hear
not.
Enter Nobthcmbebband.
Welcome, my lord : what is the news ?
Korth. First, to thy ^cred state wish I all
happiue.s8.
The next news is, I have to London sent
The heads of Oxford, Salisbury, Blunt, and
Kent:
(Act v.
The manner of their taking may appear
At large discoursed in this paper here. 10
Baling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for
thy pains:
And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.
Enter Fitzwateb.
Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to
Loudon
The heads of Brocas and Sir Beiinet Seely,
Two of the dangerous consorted traitors
That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.
Baling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be
forgot;
Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.
Enter Pebcy, and the Bishop op Cablisle.
Perci/. The grand conspirator. Abbot of
Westminster,
With clog of conscience and sour melancholy
Hath yielded up his body to the ^ve ; 21
But here is Carlisle living, to abide
Thy kingly doom and sentence of his pride.
Baling. Carlisle, this is your doom:
Choose out some secret place, some reverend
room.
More than thou hast, and with it joy thy
life ;
So as thou livest in peace, die tree from strife :
For though mine enemy thou hast ever been.
High sparks of honor in thee have I seen.
Enter Exton, with persons hearing a coffin.
Exton. Great king, within this coffin I pre-
seut 30
Thy buried fear: herein all breathless lies
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,
Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought.
Baling. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou
hast wrought
A deed of slander with thy fatal hand
Upon my head and all this famous laud.
Exton. From your own mouth, my lord,
did I this deed.
Baling. They love not poison that do poison
need.
Nor do I thee ; though I did wish him dead,
I hate the murderer, love him murdered. 40
The guilt of conscience take thou for thy
labor.
But neither my good word nor princely favor :
With Cain go wander, through shades of
night.
And never show thy head by day nor light.
Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe,
Tha.. blood should sprinkle me to make me
gr.-ow :
Como, mourn with me for that 1 do lament.
And put on sullen black incontinent:
I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land, 49
To wash this blood off from my guilty hand :
March sadly after ; grace my mournings here;
In weeping after this untimely bier, [Exeunt
KING RICHARD II.
KING JOHN.
(WRITTEN ABOUT 1595.)
INTRODUCTION.
King John departs farther from the facts of history than any other of Shakespeare's hlstoricai
plays. He here follows for the most part not HolinshM, but an old play which appeared in 1591 en¬
titled The Troublesome Jiaigne of King John of England. He follows it, however, not in the close
way in which he had previously worked when writing 2 and3 Htnry VI.; the main incidents are the
same, hut Shakespeare elevates and almost recreates the characters ; for the most eloquent and
^tical passages no original is to be found in the old play. The character of the king grows more
darkly treacherous in Shakespeare's; barely a hint ot the earlier author suggested the scene, so
powerful and so subtle, in which John insinuates to Hubert his murderous desires; the boyish in¬
nocence of Arthur and the pathos of his life become real and living as they are dealt with by the
imagination of Shakespeare ; (Jonstance is no longer a tierce and ambitious virago, but a passionate,
sorrowing mother; Faulconbridge isennobled by a manly tenderness and a purer patriotism. Shake¬
speare depicts, with true English spirit, the faithlessness, the ambition, the political greed, and the
sophistry of the court of Rome; but he wholly omits a ribald scene of the old play, in which the
licentiousness of monasteries is exposed to ridicule. As to the date of King John all that ran be as¬
serted with contidenceis that it lies somewhere between the early histories {Henry VI. with Richard
III.) and the group of later histories, the trilogy consisting of 1 and 2 Henry IV. and Henry V. Thus
in the historical series it is brought close to Richard II. Neither play contains prose, but the treat¬
ment of Faulconbridge's part shows more approach to the alliance of a humorous or comic element
with history (which becomes complete in Henry IV.) than does anything in the play of Richard II.
King John and Richard II. have the common characteristic of containing venr inferior dramatic work
side by side with work of a high and dilticult kind. The chief point of difference with respect to
form is that Richard 11, contains a much larger proportion of rhymed verse, and on the whole we
shall perhaps not err In regarding Richard II. as the earlier of the two.
DRAMATIS
Kino John.
Prince Henry, son to the king.
Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, nephew to the
king.
The Earl of Pembroke.
The Earl of Essex.
The Earl of SALisBtntr.
The Lord Bigot.
Hitbbrt de Burgh.
Robert Paulconbrioob, son to Sir Robert
Faulconbridge.
Philip the Bastard, his half-brother.
ilames Gurney, servant to Lady Faulcon¬
bridge.
Peter of Pomfret, a prophet
Philip, King of France.
«
ACT I.
Scene I. Kino John's paiace.
Enter Kino John, Queen Elinor, Pem¬
broke, Essex, Sausbury, and others, with
Chatillon.
PERSON.®.
Lewis, the Dauphin.
Lymooes, Duke of Austria.
Cardinal Pandulph, the Pope's legate.
Melun, a French Lord.
Chatillon, ambassador from France to King
John.
Queen Elinor, mother to King John.
Instance, motlier to Arthur.
Blanch of Spain, niece to King John.
Lady Faulconbridoe.
Lords, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds,
Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other
Attendants.
Scene : Partly in England, and partly in
France.
K. John. Now, say, Chatillon, what would
France with us?
Chat. Thus, after greeting, speaks the King
of France
In my behavior to the majesty.
The borrow'd majesty, of England here.
a28
KING
JOHN.
[Act 1.
Eli, A strange beginning : ' borrow'd ma¬
jesty! '
K. John. Silence, good jnotben-; bear the
embassy. ' ^ j 5 t } (.
Chat Pliilip of France, In right and true
behalf
Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's, son, • ,
Arthur Plautageiiet, lays most lawful claim
To this fair island and the territories, 10
To Iroland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine,
Desiring thee to lay aside the sword
Which sways nsurpingly these sevpraf titles,
And put the same into young Arthur's hand,
Th V nephew and right royal sovereign.
jC John. What follows if we disallow of this?
Chat. 'Hie proud control of fierce and bloody
war.
To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld.
K, John. Here liave we war lor war and
blood for blood,
Controlment for coutrolment :■ so answer
•France. ' 20
Chat. Then take my king's defiance from
my mouth.
The farthest limit of my embassy.
K. John. Bear mine to him, and so depart
in peace ;
Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France ;
For ere thou canst report I will be there,
The thunder of my cannon shall be heard:
So hence 1 Be thou the trumpet of our wrath
And sullen presage of your own decay-
An honorable conduct let him have
Pembroke, look to't. Farewell, Chatililun. 30
[Exeunt Chatillon and Pembroke.
Eli. What now, my son 1 have I not ever
said
How that ambitious Constance would not
cease ,
Till she had kindled France and all the world.
Upon the right and party of her son ?, -
This might have been prevented and made
whole I 1 •
With very easy arguments of love.
Which now the manage of two kingdoms must
With fearful bloody issue arbitrate.
K. John. . Our. strong possession ftnd our
right for us.
Eli. Your strong possession much more
than your right, 40
Or else it must go wrong With you and m'e :
So much ray conscience whispers in your ear.
Which none but heaven and you, and ,I shall
hear.
Enter a Sheriff.
Essex. My liege, here is the strailgest con¬
troversy '
Come from the coimtry to be judged by you
That e'er I heard : shall I produce the men ?
K. John. Let them approacii.
Our abbeys and our priories shall pay
This expedition's charge.
£nferRoBEKT Faulcoitbeidoe and . Philip
his bastard brother. , ,
What men are you?
Bast. Your faithful subject I, a gentleman
Boni in Northamptonshire and eldest son, 31
As 1 «ippose, te Robest Faulcoubridge,
A soldiery by tlje hpftor-giving hand
Of CoeurAle-lion knighted in the field.
K. John. What art thou ?
Bob. The son and heir to that same Faul¬
coubridge.
K. John. Is that the elder, and art thou the
heir ?
You came not of one mother then, it seems.
Bast. Most certain of one mother, mighty
khig ;
That is well known; and, as I think, one
father: 60
But for the certain knowledge of that truth
I put you o'er to heaven and to my mother :
Of that I doubt, as all men's children may.
Eli. Out on tliee, rude man 1 thou dos^
shame tliy mother
And wound her honor with this dilfidence.
Bast. I, madam ? no, 1 have no reason for
it;
That is my brother s plea and none of muie ;
The which if he can prove, a' pops me out
At least from fair five hundred pound a year:
Heaven guard my mother's honor and my
land 1 ' 10
JST. John. ' A good blunt fellow. Why, being
younger born.
Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance 7
Bast. I know not why, except to get the
land.
But once he slander'd me with bastardy :
But whether 1 be as true begot or no.
That still I lay upon my mother's head.
But that I am as well begot, my liege,—
Fair fall the bones that took the p^ins for
me I— (
Compare our faces and be judge yourself.
If old sir Robert did beget us boih 60
And were our fatlier and this sn. like him, (
0 old sir Robert, father, on my knee
1 give heaven thanks I was not like to tiiee !
K. John. Why, what a madcap hath heaven
lent us here 1
Eli. He hath a trick of Cceur-de-Iion's
face ; i
The accent of his tongue affecteth him.
Do yon not read some tokens of my son • '
In the large composition of this man ?
K. John. Mine eye hath well examined his
paits
And finds tliem perfect Richard. Sirrah,
speak, I 90
AVhat doth move you to claim your brother's
land ? ' ■ I .
Bast. Because he hath a half-face, like my
father.
With half that face would he have all my
land;
A half-faced groat five hundred pound a
year 1
StJ). My gracious liege, when that mjl
father lived.
Your brother did employ my father much,—
Scene i.]
Ba$t. Well, sir, by this you cannot get my
land;
Your tale mast be how he employ'd my
mother.
Bob. And once dlspatch'd him in an em*
bassy
To Germany, there with the emperor 100
To treat of high affairs touching that time.
The ad^'antage of his absence took the king
And in the mean time soioum'd at my fath¬
er's ; ' '
Where how he did prevail I shame to speak,
But truth is truth : large lengths cf seas and
shores ' '
Between my father and my mother lay;
As 1 have heard my father speak himself,
When this same lusty gentleman was got.
Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd
His lands to me, and took it on his death 110
That this my mother's son was none of his ;
And if he were, he came into the world
Full fourteen weeks before the course of time.
Then, good my li^e, let me have what is
mine.
My father's land, as was my father's will.
K. John. Sirrah, your brother is legiti¬
mate ;
Your father's wife did after wedlock bear
him.
And if she did play false, the fault was hers ;
Which fault lies on the hazards of all hus¬
bands
That marry wives. TeU me, how if my broth¬
er, 120
Who, as you say, took pains to get this son,
Had of your faUier claim'd this son for his ?
In sooth, good friend, your father might have
kept ' '
This call bred from his cow from all the
world;
In sooth he might; then, if he were my
brother's.
My brother might not claim him $ nor your
father, ' " '
Being none of his, refuse him; this concludes;
My mother's son did get your father's heir ; •
Your father's heir must have your father's
land.
Bob. Sliall then my father's will be of no
force 130
To dispossess that child which is not his ?
Bast. Of no- more force to dispossess me,
sir.
Than was his will to get me, as I think.
BU. Whether hadst thou rather be a Faul-
conbridge
And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land,
Or the reputed son of Ooeur-de-lion,
Lord of thy presence and no land beside ?
Bast. Madam, an if my brother had my
shape, ^ •
And I had his, sir Robert's his, like him ;
And if my legs were two such riding-rods, 140
My arm su<m eel-skins stufC'd, my face so
thin 1
That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose
32&
Lest men should say 'Look, where three-t
farthings goes!'
And, to his shape, were h^ir to all this land.
Would I might never stir from ofi this place,
I would give it every foot to have this lace ;
1 would not be sir Nob in any case.
Eli. I like thee well: wilt thou forsake thy
fortune, '
Bequeath thy laud to him and follow me ?
1 am a soldier and now bonud to France. 160
Bast. Brother, take you my land, I'll take
my chance.
Your face hath got five hundred pound a
year.
Yet sell your face for five pence and 'tis dear.
Madam, I'll follow you unto the death.
Eli. Nay, I would have you go before me
thither.
Bast. Our coimtry manners give our betters
way.
K. John. What is thy name ?
Bast. Philip, my liege, so is my name be¬
gun ;
Philip, good old sir "Robert's wife s eldest son.
K. John. From henceforth bear his name
whose form thou bear'st: ItiO'
Kneel thou down Philip, but rise more great.
Arise sir Rieliard and Plantagenet.
Bast. Brother by the mother's side, give
me }'our hand :
My father gave me honor, yours gave land.
Now blessed be the hour, by night or day.
When 1 was got, sir Robert was away !
Eli. The very Spirit of Plantagenet!
I am thy grandam, Richard ; call me so.
Bast. Madam, by chance but not by truth -,
what though ?
Something about, a little from the right, 170
In at tlie window, or else o'er the batch :
Who dares not stir by day must walk by
-night,
. And have is have, however men do catch :
Near or far off, well won is still well shot.
And I am I, howe'er I was begot.
' K. John. Go, Faulconbridge : now hast
thou thy desire ;
A landless knight makes thee a landed squire.
Come, madam, and come, Richard, we must
speed
For France, for France, for it is more than
need.
Bast. Brother, adieu : good fortune come
to thee! 180
For thou wast got i' the way of honesty.
[Exeunt all but Bastard.
A foot of honor better than I was ;
But many a many foot of land the worse.
Well, now can I make any Joan a lady.
' Good den, sir Richard !'—' God-a-mercy, fel¬
low !'—
And if his name be George, I'll call him
Peter;
For new-made honor doth forget men's
names;
Tis too respective ^d too sociable
For your conversion. Now your traveller, 189
KING JOHN.
He and his toothpick at my worship's mess,
And when my knightly stomach is sufficed,
Why then I suck my teeth and catechize
My picked man of countries : ' My dear sir,'
Thus, leaning on mine elbow, I begin,
' I shall beseech you '—^that is question now ;
And then comes answer like an Absey book :
' O sir,' says answer, ' at your best command;
At your employment; at your service, sir :'
' No, sir,' says question, ' I, sweet sir, at
yours:'
And so, ere answer knows what question
would, 200
Saving in dialogue of compliment.
And talking of the Alps and Apeimiues,
The Pyreneau and the river Po,
It diaws toward supper in conclusion so.
But this is worshipful society
A.nd fits tlie mounting spirit'like myself.
For he is but a bastard to the time
That doth not smach of observation ;
And so am I, whether I smack or no ;
And not alone m habit and device, 210
Exterior form, outward accoutrement.
But from the inward motion to deliver
Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's
tooth :
Which, though I wiil not practise to deceive,
Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn ;
For it shall strew tlie footsteps of my rising.
But who comes in such haste in riding-robes ?
What woman-post is this ? hath she no hus¬
band
That will take pains to blow a horn before
_/• her?
Entei' Laov Factlcokbbidge and James
Gi'itNEr.
O me ! it is my mother. How now, good
lady! 220
What brings you here to court so hastily ?
iMdy F. Where is that slave, thy brother ?
where is he.
That holds in chase mine honor up and
down ? [son ?
Bast. My brother Robert ? old sir Robert's
Colbrand the giant, tiiat same mighty man ?
Is it sir Robert's son that you seek so ?
Lady F. Sir Robert's son ! Ay, thou un-
reverend boy.
Sir Robert's son : why scorn'st thou at sir
Robert ?
He is sir Robert's son, and so art thou.
Bast. James Gurney, wilt thou give us
leave awhile ? 230
Gur. Good leave, good Philip.
Bast. Philip! sparrow : James,
There's toys abroad : anon I'll tell thee more.
[Exit Gurney.
Madam, I was not old sir Robert's son :
Sir Robert might have eat his part in me
Upon Good-Friday and ne'er broke his fast:
Sir Robert could do well : marry, to confess,
Ckmld he get me ? Sir Robert could not do it;
We knew his handiwork : therefore, good
mother,
[Act ir.
To whom am 1 beholding for these limbs ?
Sir Robert never holp to make this leg. 240
Lady F. Hast thou conspired with thy bro¬
ther too.
That for thine own gain shouldst defend miue
honor ?
. What means this scorn, tliou most untoward
knave ?
Bast. Knight, knight, good mother, Basil-
isco-like.
Wliat! 1 am dubb'd ! I have it on my shoul¬
der.
But, mother, I am not sir Robert's son ;
I have disciaim'd sir Robert and my laiid ;
Legitimation, name and all is gone :
Then, good my mother, let me know my
father ;
Some proper man, I hope ; who was it,
mother ? 250
Lady F. Hast thou denied thyself a Faul-
coubridge ?
Bast. As faithfully as 1 deny the devil.
Lady F. King Richard Cccur-de-lion was
thy father :
By long and vehement suit I was seduced
To make room for him iu my husband's bed :
Heaven lay not my transgression to my
charge !
Thou art the issue of my dear offence.
Which was so strongly urged past my de¬
fence.
Hast. Now, by this light, were I to get
again.
Madam, I would not wisn a better father. 2G0
Some sins do bear their privilege on earth,
knd so doth yours ; your fault was not your
I folly:
Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose.
Subjected tribute to commanding love.
Against whose fury and unmatched force
The aweless lion could not wage the fight.
Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's
hand.
He that perforce robs lions of their hearts
May easiiy win a woman's. Ay, my mother.
With all my heart 1 thank thee for my fath¬
er ! 270
Who lives and dares but say thou didst not
well
When I was got, I'll send his soul to hell.
Come, lady, 1 will show thee to my kin ;
And they shall say, when Richard me be¬
got.
If thou hadst said him nay,-it had been sin :
Who says it was, be lies ; 1 say 'twas not.
[Exeunt
ACT H.
Scene L France. Before Anglers.
Enter Acstbia and forces, drums, etc. on one
side: on the other Kino Phiuip ofFirance
and his power; Lewis, Abthus, Con¬
stance and attendants.
KING JOHN.
SCEKB I.J
KING
JOHN.
m
Lew. Before Augiers veil met, brave Au¬
stria.
Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood,
Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart
And fought tlie holy wars in Palestine, ■
By this brave duke came etirly to hi,s grave :
And for amends to his posterity.
At our importance hither is he come,
To spread liis colors, boy, in thy behalf.
And to rebuke the usurjiation
Of thy unnatur.il uncle, English John : 10
Embrace him, love him, give him welcome
■ hither.
Arth. God shall forgive you Cceur-de-lion's
death
The rather that you give hi.s offspring life,
Sliadowing their right under your wings of
war :
I give you welcome with a powerless hand.
But with a heart full of unstained love :
Welcome before tlie gates of Anglers, duke.
Leto. A noble boy ! Who would not do
thee right ?
Aust. UiHin thy cheek lay I this zealous
kiss,
As seal to this indenture of my love, 20
Tliat to my home I will no more return.
Till Anglers and tlie right thou hast in France,
Together with that pale, that white-faced
shore.
Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring
tides
And coops from other lands her islanders.
Even till that England, hedged in witli the
main.
That water-walled bulwark, still secure
And conftdeut from foreign pur^ses.
Even till tliat utmost corner of the west
Salute thee for her king ; till then, fair boy,30
Will I not think of home, but follow arms.
Const. O, take his mother's thanks, a wid¬
ow's thanks.
Till your strong hand shall help to give him
strength
To make a more requita,l to your love!
Aust. The peace of heaven is theirs that
lift their swords
In such a just and charitable war.
K. Phi. Well then, to work : our cannon
shall be bent
Against tlie brows of this resisting town.
Call for our chiefest men of discipline.
To cull the plots of best advantages: 40
We'll lay before tiiis town our royal bones.
Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's
blood,
But we will make it subject to this boy.
Const. Stay for an answer to your em¬
bassy.
Lest unadvised you stain your swords with
blood : .
My Lord Chatillon may from England bring,
'Tliat right in peace which here we urge in
war.
And then we shall repent each drop of blood
That hot rash haste so indirectly
Enter CHATI1.1.ON.
K. Phi. A wonder, lady ! lo, upon thy
wish, 50
Our messenger Chatillon is arrived !
What England says, say briefly, gentle lord ;
We coldly pause for thee ; Chatillon, speak.
CImt. Then turn your forces from this
paltry siege
And stir them up against a mightier ta.sk.
England, impatient of your just demands,
llath put himself in arms : theadver.se winds,
Whose leisure I have stay'd, have given him
time
To land his legions all as soon as I;
His marclies are expedient to this town, 60
His forces strong, his soldiers confident.
With him along is come the mother-queen.
An Ate, stirring him to blood and strife ;
With her her niece, the Lady Blanch of Spain;
With tliem a bastard of tiie king's deceased ;
And all tlie^niisettled humors of the land.
Rash, inconslHerafe, fiery voluntaries,
Wttli ladies' fvices and fiume dragons' spleens.
Have sold their fortunes at their native homes,
Bearing their birthrights proudly on their
backs, 70
To make a hazard of new fortunes here :
In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits
Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er
Did nearer float uixm the swelling tide.
To do offence and scath in Christendom.
[Drum heats.
The interruption of their churlish drums
Cuts off more circumstance : they are at hand.
To mrley or to fight; therefore prepare.
K. Phi. How much unlook'd for is this
expedition !
Aust. By how much unexpected, by so
much 80
We must awake endeavor for defence ;
For courage mounteth with occasion :
Let them be welcome then : we are prepared.
Enter King John, Elinor, Blanch, the
Bastard, Lords, and forces.
K. John. Peace be to France, if France in
jieace permit
Our ju.st and lineal entrance to our own ;
If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to
heaven.
Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct
Their proud contempt that beats His pe.ace to
heaven.
K. Phi. Peace be to England, if that war
return 89
From France to England, there to live in peace.
England we love ; and for that England's sake
With burden of our armor here we sweat.
This toil of ours should be a work of thine ;
But thou from loving England art so far.
That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king
Cut off the sequence of posterity.
Out-faced infant state and done a Vape
Uixni the maiden virtue of the crown.
Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face ;
832
KING
JOHN.
tAct 11.
These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of
his: 100
This little abstract dotli contain that large
Whicli died in Geffrey, and tlie hand of time
Shall draw this brief into as huge a vointne.
That Geffrey was thy elder brother bom.
And tills his son; England was Geffrey's
right
And this is Geffrey's : in the name of God
How comes it tlien that tliou art call'd a king,
Wlien living blood doth in tliese temples beat.
Which owe the crown that tliou o'ermaster-
est ?
K. John. From whom hast thou this great
commission, France, 110
To draw my answer from thy articles ?
K. Phi. From that supernal judge, that
stirs good thoughts
In any breast of strong authority.
To look into tiie blots and stains of right:
That judge hath made me guardian to this
bo y :
Under whose warrant I imxieach thy wrong
And by whose help I mean to chastise it.
K. John. Alack, thou dost usurp authority.
K. Phi. Excuse ; it is to beat usurping
down.
Eli. Wiio is it thou dost Call usurper,
France ?
Const. Let me make answer ; thy usurping
son.
Eli. Out, insolent! thy bastard shall be
king.
That tliou mayst be a queen, and check the
world !
Const. My bed was ever to thy son as true
As thine was to tliy husband ; and this boy
Liker in feature to his fatiier Geffrey
Than thou and John in manners ; being as
like
As rain to water, or devil to his dam.
My boy a bastard ! By my sou), I tliink
His father never was so true begot: 130
It cannot be, an if tliou wert his mother.
Eli. There's a good mother, boy, that blots
thy fatiier.
Const. There's a good grandam, boy, that
would blot thee.
Aust. Peace !
Bast. Hear the crier.
Anst. What the devil art thou ?
Bast. One that will play tlie devil, sir,
with you.
An a' may catch your hide and you alone :
You are tlie hare of whom tiie proverb goes.
Whose vaior ijiucks dead lions by the beard;
I'll smoke your skin-coat, an I catch you.
right;
Sirrah, look to't; i' faith, I will, i' faith. 140
Blanch. 0, well did he become that lion's
robe
That did disrobe the lion of that robe !
Bast. It lies as sightly on the back of him
As great Alcides' shows iipon an ass;
But, ass. I'll take that burthen from your
ba(^.
Or lay on that shall make your shoulders
crack.
Aust. What craker is this same that deafs
our ears
AVith tills abundance of superfluous breath 7
K. Phi. Lewis, determine what we shall do
straight.
Lew. Women and fools, break off your
conference. 150
King John, tills is the very sum of all ;
England and Ireland, Aujon, Touraine, Maine,
In right of Arthur do I claim of thee :
Wilt thou resign them and lay down thy arms?
K. John. My life as soon : I do defy tiice,
France.
Arthur of Bretagne, yield thee to my hand ;
And out of my dear love I'll give thee more
Than e'er the coward hand of France can win:
Submit thee, boy.
Eli. Come to thy grandam, child
Const. Do, child, go to it grandam, child :
Give grandam kingdom, and it grandam will
Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig :
There's a good grandam.
Arth. Good my mother, peace !
I would that I were low laid in my grave :
I am not woitli this coil that's made for me.
Eli. His mother shames him so, poor boy,
he weeijs.
Const. Now shame upon you, whethe' she
does or no ! , [shames.
His grandani's wrongs, and not his mother's
Draws those heaven-moving pearls from his
poof eyes.
Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee ;
Ay, with these crystal beads heaven sliall be
bribed 171
To do liim justice and revenge on you.
Eli. Tliou monstrous slanderer of heaven
and earth ! [and, earth !
Const. Thou monstrous injnrer of heaven
Call not me slanderer ; tliou and thine usurp
The dominations, royalties and rights
Of this opirressed boy : this is thy eld'st son's
son, <
Infortunate in nothing but in thee :
Thy sins are visited in tliis u-or child ;
Tiie canon of the law is laid on him, 180
Being but the second genemtion
Removed from thy sin-conceiving womb.
K. John. Bedlam, have done.
Const. I have but this to say.
That he is not only plagued for her sin.
But God hath made uer sin and her the plague
On this removed issue, plagued for her
And with her plague ; her sin his injury.
Her injury tiie beadle to her sin.
All punish'd in the person of this child.
And all for her ; a plague upon her 1 190
Eli. Thou unadvised scold, I can produce
A will that bars the title of thy son.
Const. Ay, who doubts that 7 a will! a
wicked will;
A woman's will; a canker'd grandam's will!
K. Phi. Peace, lady 1 pause, or be more
temperate : .'
SCENB' I.I
KING JOHN.
833
It ill beseems this presence to cry aim '
To these ill-tuned repetitious.
Some trumpet summon liitlier to tne walls
These men of Anglers : let ns he»r them speak
Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's.
Trumpet sounds. Enter certain Citizen's upon
the walls.,
First Cit. Who is it that hath wam'd us to
the walls 9 201
K. Phi. 'Tis France, for England.
K. John. England, for itself.
You men of Anglers, and my loving sub¬
jects,—
K. Phi. ■ You loving men of Anglers,
Arthur's subjects.
Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle jmrle—
K. John. For our advantage ; therefore
hear us fiist
These flags of France, tlmt are advanced here
Before the eye and prospect of your town.
Have hither march'd to your endamagement;
The cannons have their bowels full of wiath.
And ready mounted are they to spit forth 211
Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls :
All preiiaration for a bloody siege
And merciless proceeding by these French
Confronts your city's eyes, your winkmg
gates}
And but for our> approach those sleeping
stones.
That as a waist doth girdle yon about.
By the compulsion of their ordinance
By this time from their fixed beds of lime 219
Had been dlshabited, and wide havoc made
For bloody power to rush uixm your peace.
But on the sight of ns your lawful king.
Who painfully with much expedient march
Have brought a countercheck before your
. gates.
To save unscratch'd your city's threatened
^ cheeks.
Behold, the French amazed vouchsafe a parle;
And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd In fire.
To make a shaking fever in your walls.
They shoot but calm words folded up in smoke.
To make a faithless error in vour ears : 230
Which trnst accordingly kind citizens.
And let us in, your king, whose labor'd spirits,
Forwearied in this action of swift sjieed.
Crave harborage within your city walis.
K. Phi. When I have said, make answer
to ns both.
Lo, in this right hand, whose protection
Is most divinely vow'd upon the right
Of him it holds, stands young Plautagenet,
Son to the elder brother of this man.
And king o'er him and all that he enjoys : 210
For this down-trodden equity, we tread
In warlike march these greens before your
town, >
Being no further enemy to you
Than the constraint of hospitable zeal
In the relief of this oppressed child
Religiously provokes. Be pleased then
To pay that duty which you truly owe
To hhn that owes it, namely this young prince;
And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear.
Save in aspect, hath all ofl'euce seal'd up ; 250
Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent
Against tlie invulnerable clouds of heaven ;
And with a blessed and Unvex'd retire.
With unhack'd swords and helmets all un-
bndsed.
We will bear home that lusty blood again
Which here we came to spout against your
town.
And leave your children, wives and you in
peace. ,
But if you fondly pass our profleFd offer,
'Tis not the rouudure of your old-faced walls
Can liide you from our messengers of war, 260
Though all these English and their discipline
AVere harbor'd in their rude circumference.
Then teU us, shall your city call us lord.
In that behalf which we have challenged it ?
Or shall we give the signal to our rage
And stalk in blood to our possession ?
First Cit. In brief, we are the king of Eng¬
land's subjects :
For him, and in his right, we hold this town.
K. John.' Acknowledge then the king, and
let. me in.
First Cit. That can we not; but he that
proves the king, 270
To him will we prove loyal : till that time
^ave we ramin'd up our gates against the
world. '
K. John. Doth not the crown of England
prove tlie king ?
And if not that, I bring you witnesses.
Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's
breed,—
Bast. Bastards, and else.
K. John. To verify our title with their
lives.
K. Phi. As many and as well-born bloods
as those,— ,
Bast. Some bastards toa
K. Phi. Stand in his face to contradict his
claim. 260
First Cit. Till you compound whose right
is worthiest.
We for tlie worthiest hold the right from both.
1^. John. Then God forgive tlie sin of all
those souls
That to their everlasting residence.
Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet.
In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king !
K. Phi.. Amen, amen ! Mount, cheva¬
liers ! to arms !
Bast. Saint George, that swinged the drag¬
on, and e'er since
Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door,
■Teach us some fence ! [To Avst.] Sirrah,
were 1 at home, 290
At your den, sirrah, with your lioness,
I would set an ox-head to your lion's hide.
And make a monster of you.
Aust. Peace ! no more.
I Bast. 0 tremble, for you hear the lion
* roar.
834
KING JOHN.
[Act It.
K. John. Up higher to the plain; where
we'll set forth
In best appointment all our regiments.
Bast, Speed then, to take advantage of the
field.
K. Phi. It shall he so and at the other
hill
Command the re.st to stand. God and our
right! [Exeunt
Here after excursions, enter the Herald of
France, loith trumpets, to the yates.
F. Her. You men of Anglers, open wide
your gates, 300
And let young Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, in,
Wlio by the hand of France this day hath
made
Much worlf for tears in many an English
mother.
Whose sons lie scattered on the bleeding
ground ;
Many a widow's husband grovelling lies,
Coldljr embracing the discolor'd earth ;
And victory, with little loss, doth play
Upon the dancing banners of the French,
Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd,
To enter conquerors and to proclaim 310
Arthur of Bretagne England's king and j'ours.
Enter English Herald, with trumpet.
E. Her. Rejoice, you men of Anglers, ring
your beUs :
King John, your kuig and England's doth ap¬
proach,
Commander of this hot malicious'day :
Their armors, that march'd hence so silver-
bright.
Hither i-eturu all gilt with Frenchmen's blood ;
'There stuck iio plume in any English crest
'That is removed by a staff of France ;
Our colors do return hi those same hands
That did display them when we first march'd
, forth ; 320
And, like a jolly troop of huntsmen, come
Our iusty Euglisb, all with purpled hands.
Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes :
Open your gates and give the victors way.
First Cit. Heralds, from off our towers we
might behold.
From first to last, the onset and retire
Of both your armies ; whose equality
By our best eyes cannot be censured:
Blood hath bought blood and blows have an-
swer'd blows ;
Strength match'd with strength, and power
confronted power ; 380
Both are alike ; and both alike we liko.
Oue must prove greatest: while they weigh
so even.
We hold our town for neither, yet for both.
Re-enter the two Kings, with their powers,
severally.
K. John. France, hast thou yet more blood
to cast away ?
Say, shall the current of our right run on ?
Whose jiassage, veif'd with thy impediment,
Shall leave his native channel and o'ersweU
With course disturb'd even thy confining
shores,
Unless tho'i let his silver water keep
A peaceful progress to the ocean, 340
K. Phi. England, thon hast not saved one
drop of blood.
In this hot trial, more than we of France ;
Rather, lost more. And by this hand I swear.
That sways the earth this climate overlooks.
Before we will lay down our just-bome arms,
We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms
we bear,
Or add a royal number to the dead.
Gracing the scroll that tells of this war's loss
With slaughter coupled to the name of kings.
Bast. Ha, majesty ! how high tliy glory
towers, 3o"0
When the rich blood of kings is set on fire !
p/ now doth Death line his dead chaps with
* steel;
The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs;
And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men,
In undetermined differences of kings.
Why stand these i-oyal fronts amazed thus ?
Cry, ' havoc !' kings; back to the stained
field.
You equal jwtents, fiery kindled spirits !
Then let confusion of one part confirm
The other's peace : till then, blows, blood and
death! 360
K. John. Whose party do the townsmen
yet admit ?
K. Phi. Speak, citizens, for England; who's
your king?
First Cit. The king of England; when we
know the king.
K. Phi. Know him in us, that here hold up
his right.
K. John. In us, that are our owu great
deputy.
And bear possession of our person here.
Lord of our pre.sence. Anglers, and of yon.
First Cit. A greater power than we denies
all this ;
And till it be undoubted, we do lock 369
Our former scruple in our strong-'mry'd gates ;
King'd of our fears, until our resolved.
Be by some certain king purged and deposed.
Bast. By heaven, these scroyles of Anglers
flout you, kings,
And stand securely on their battlements,
As in a theatre, whence they gape and iwiut
At your industrious scenes and acts of death
Your royal presences be ruled by me :
Do like the miitines of Jerusalem,
Be friends awhile and both conjointly bend
Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town :
By east and west let France and England
mount 3gi
Their battering cannon charged to the mouths.
Till their soul-fearing clamors have brawl'd
down
The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city :
I'ld play'u»ce.ssantly upon these jades.
Even till nnfenced desolation
Scene i.]
KING JOHN.
m
Leave them as naked as the valgar air.
That done, dissever your united strengths,
And part your mingled colors once again ; 389
Turn face to lace and bloody point to point;
Then, in a moment. Fortune shall cull forth
Out of one side her hapny minion.
To whom in favor she snail give the day,
And kiss him with a glorious victory.
How like you this wild counsel, mighty states ?
Smacks it not something of the policy ?
K. John. Now, by the sky that hangs above
our heads,
1 like it well. France, shall we knit our pow¬
ers
And lay this Angiers even with the ground ;
Then after Aght who shall be king of it ? 400
Bast. An if thou hast the mettle of a king,
Bemg wronged as we are by this peevish
town.
Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery.
As we will ours, against these saucy walls ;
And when that we have dash'd them to the
ground.
Why then defy each other, and pell-mell
Make work upon ourselves, fur heaven or hell.
K. Phi. Let it be so. ^y, where will you
assault ?
K. John. We from the west will send de¬
struction
Into this city's bosom. ' 410
Aust. I from the north.
K. Phi. Our tbimder from the south
Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town.
Bast. O prudent discipline 1 From north
to south :
Austria and Friuicc shoot in each other's
mouth:
I'll stir them to it. Come, away, away 1
First at. Hear us, great kin^ : vouchsafe
awhile to stay,
And I shall show you peace and fair-faced
league ;
Win yon this city without stroke or wound ;
Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds.
That here come sacrittces for the field : 420
Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings.
K. John. Si)eak on with favor; we are
bent to hear.
First at. That daughter there of Spain,
the Lady Blanch,
Is niece to England : look upon the years
Of Lewis tl>e Dauphin and that lovely maid :
If lusty love should go in quest of beauty.
Where shnnlri liefiH i.. nip.,..!, o
Wh^jTs^mfid^^nd RjMJifinii^in Blanch ?
If ltu:e.aua>lHous.a6ugbLa^^ hirth. 430
Whose veins bound..»cbeiU)tooiLJthaiLJLady
Blanch ?
Such as she is. in beaiity». v!itufi,,hirth,
Is the yoitng Dauphin, every wav complete :
If not comp'ete of, say'he is tot she ;
Audsha again wants uothingr'twimiBO want,
If want it. he not that »hp is not he •
He IS the half rnrt nf h'ffined innn,
fAfj^fini^ed bv such as she.:
AniLaJie a fair divided, excellence,
Who.«ie flllnws Una i|j },ini, 440
O, two such silver curients, when they join,"
Do glorify the banks that bound them in ;
And two such shores to two such streams made
one,
Two such controlling bounds shall you be,
kings.
To these two princes, if you marry them.
This union shall do more than battery can
To our fast-closed gates ; for at this match,
With swifter spleen than powder can enforce,
The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope,
And give yon entrance : but without this
match, 450
The sea enraged is not half so deaf.
Lions more confident, mountains and rocks
More free from motion, no, not Death himself '
In moral fury half so peremptory.
As we to keep this city.
Bast. Here's a stay
That shakes the rotten carcass of old Death
Out of his rags ! Here's a large mouth, indeed.
That spits forth death and mountains, rocks
and seas.
Talks as familiarly of roaring lions
As maids oOllirteen do of puppy-dogs ! 460
What cannoneer begdlHCIIIs luslij! hioud. 7
He speaks plain cannon fire, and smoke and
bounce;
He gives the bastinado with his tongue :
Our ears are cudgeli'd ; not a word of his
But buffets b tter than a fist of France ;
I I nrnn h^thump'fl wjth wocds
Since 1 firsteall'd my bsother^-fHther dad.
£li. Sou, list to this conjunction, make this
match ;
Give with our niece a dowry large enough :
For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie 470
Thy-now-tmsH«ed assuranee to. the crown.
That yon green boy-slmll have no eon to ripe
The bloom that promiseth a mighty .firnit.
I see a yieldiug lu tbe-leeke-of France ;
Mark, how they whisper : urge them while
their souls
Are capable of this ambition.
Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath
Of soft petitions, pity and remorse.
Cool and congeal again to what it was.
First at. Why answer not the double majes¬
ties 480
This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town?
K. Phi. Speak England first, tliat bath been
forward first
To speak unto this city : what siiy you ?
K. John. If that the Dauphin there, thy
princely son,
Can in this book of beauty read ' I love,'
Her dowry shall weigh equai with a queen :
For Anjou and fair Tonraine, Maine, Poictiers,
And all that we upon this side the sea.
Except this city now by us besieged.
Find liable to our crown and dignity, 490
Shall gild her bridal bed and make her rich
Irr titles, honors and promotions.
As she in beauty, education, blood.
S3C
RING JOHN.
[Act h
Holds hand with any princess of the world.
K. Phi, Whatsayst thou, boy? look in the
lady's face.
Lew. I do, my lord ; and in her eye I find
A wonder, or a wondrous miracle,
The^aliadow of myself formed in ^luejce :
Which ^)eing but the sluuiaSLaf ymuHu^n,
Beeotnes a sun and uiake&your san.a shadow:
'I do protest I never loved myself 501
Till now infixed I beheld myself
Drawn in tlie flattering table of her eye.
[ Whispers with Blanch.
Bast. I^wn in the flattering table of her eye!
Haug'onl the I'lowniug wxinkto«f-her brow 1
And quartex,'iJ.ia ]iej:lieart-Uhfi.doth,jBspy
HixasfilOaselsJiiaitor : ihis is pity now.
That hang'd and drawn and quarter'd, there
' should be
In such a love so vile a lout as he.
Blanch. My uncle's will in this respect is
mine: 510
If he see aught in you that makes him like.
That any thing he sees, which moves his liking,
I can with ease translate it to my will;
Or if you will, to speak more properly,
I will enforce it easily to my love.
Further I will not flatter yon, my lord.
That all I see in you is worthy love.
Than this ; that nothing do I see in yOu, i
Though churlish thoughts themselves should
be your judge,
That I can find should merit any hate. 520
K. John. What .say these young ones ?
What say you, my niece ?
Blanch. That she is bound in honor still to
do
What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say.
K. John. Speak then, ijrince Dauphin ; can
you love this lady ?
Leio. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love;
For I do love her'nM>st>«mrfetgnedly.
K. John. Then do I give Volquessen, Toir-
raine, Maine,
Poictiers and Anjou, these five provinces'.
With her to thee ; and this addition more.
Full thirty thousand marks of English coin.
Philip of France, if tHoi\ be pleased withal,
Command thy son and daughter to join hands.
K. Phi. It likes us well ; young princes,
close your hands<
Aust. And your lips too ; for I am well
assured
That lAid so when I was first assured.
K. Phi. Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your
gates.
Let in that amity which you have made ;
For at Saint Mary's chapel presently
The rites of marriage shall be solemnized.
Is not the Lady Constance in this troop ? 540
I know she is not, for this match made up
Her presence would have interrupted much :
Where is she and her son? tell me, who knows.
I Lew. She is sad and passionate at your
highness' tent.
K. Phi. Aud, by my faith, this league that
we have made
Will give her sadness very little cure.
Brother of England, how may we content
This widow lady ? In her right we came ;
Which we, God knows, have tum'd another
way.
To our own vantage.
K. John. We will heal up all ; 550
For we'll create young Arthur Duke of Bre-
tagne
And Earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town
We make him lord of. Call the Lady Con¬
stance ;
Some speedy messenger bid her repair
To our solemnity : I trust we shall.
If not fill up the'measure of her wUl,
Yet in some measure satisfy her so
Tliat we^hall stop her exclamation.
Go we, as well as haste will suffer us.
To this unlook'd for, unprepared pomp. 560
[Exeunt all but the Bastard.
Bast. Mad world J mad kings 1 mad compo¬
sition I
John,'to stop Arthur's title in the whole,
Hath willingly departed with a part.
And France, whose armor conscience buckled
on.
Whom zeal and charity brought to the field
As God's own soldier, rounded in the ear
With that same purpose-changer, that sly
■ devil.
That broker, that still breaks the pate of faith.
That daily break-vow, he that wins of all.
Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men,
maids, ■ 570
Who, having no external thing to lose
But the woi^ ' maid,' cheats the poor maid of
that,
That smooth-faced.gentlemau, tickUngXiom-
modity,
CommodHyTthe bias of the world.
The world, who of itself is peised well.
Made to run even upon even ground.
Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias.
This sway of motion, this Commodity,
Makes it take head from all indifferency.
From all direction, purpose, course, intent:
And this same bias, this Commodity, 581
This bawd, this broker, thisall-chan^ng word,
Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France,
Hath drawn him from his own determined
aid.
From a resolved and honorable war.
To a most base and vile-concluded peace.
' And why rail I on this Commodity ?
But for because he hath not woo'd mwyet ;
Not that I have the power to clutch my hand,
,When his fair angels would salute my palm ;
But for my hand, as unattempted yet, 591
Like a jwor beggar, raileth on the rich.
Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail
And sayAliere isno'Siivbuttadiaiich ;
Aydjreing rich, my virtue then shall be
To say there is nO vice but beggaryT"
Since kings break faith upon oommoditv,.
Gain, be my lord, for I will wmwhipttieel
[Exit.
Scbkb i.]
KING JOHN.
m
ACT in.
Scene I. The French Kma's pavilion. '
Enter Constance, Arthub, and Sausbcrt.
Const. Crone to be married ! gone to swear
a peace i
False blood to false blood ioiu'd f gone to bb
friends I ' ' '
Shall Lewis have Blanch, and Blanch those
provinces ?
It is not so ; thou hast misspoke, misheard ; ^
Be well advised, tell o'er thy tale again ;
It cannot be ; thou dost but say 'tis so :
I trust I may not trust thee ; for thy word
Is but the vain breath of a common man :
Believe me, I do not believe thee, man ; '
I have a king's oath to the contrary. * 10
Thou shalt be punish'd for'thus frighting me.
For I am sick and capable of fears, ' '
Oppress'd with wrongs and therefore full of
fears, '
A widow, husbandless, subject to fears,
A woman, naturally bom to fears ;
And though thou now confess thoO didst buj;
jest,
With my vex'd spirits! cannot take a truCe,
But they will quake and tremble all this day.'
What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head?
Why dost thou look so sadly on my son ? 20
What means that h.and ujion that breast of
thine ?
Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum.
Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds?
Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words ?
Then speak again ; not all thy former tale.
But this one word, whether thy tale be true.
Sal. As true as I believe you think them
false
That give you cause to prove my saying true.
Const. O, if thoij teach me to believe this
sorrow.
Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die,
4nd let belief and life encounter so 31
As doth the fury of two desperate mep '
Which in the very meeting fall and die.
Lewis marry Blanch ! O boy, then where art
thou ? . [me ?
France friend with England, what becomes of
Fellow, be gone : I eannot brook thy sight:
This news hath made thee a most ugly man.
Sal. What other harm have I, good ladv,
done.
But spoke the harm that is by others done ?
Const. Which harm within itself so heinous
is '40
As it makes harmful all that speak of it.
Arth. I do beseech you, madam, be content.
Const. If thou, that bid'st me be content,
wert grim, ,
Ugly and slanderous to tliy mother's womb,
Full of unpleasing blots arid sigirtless stains,
J.ame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious,
Patch'd with foul moles and eye-oftendlng
marks,
I would not care, I then would be content.
For then I should not love thee, no, nor thou
Become thy great birth nor deserve a crown.
But thou art fair, and at thy birth, dear boy.
Nature and Fortune join'd to make thee great;
Of Nature's gifts Wiou mayst with lilies boast.
And with the half-blown rose. But Fortune, O,
She is corrupted, changed and won from thee;
She adulterates hourly with thine uncle John,
And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on
France
TO tread down fair resjiect of sovereignty.
And made his majesty the bawd to theirs. 69
France is a bawd to Fortuno and King John,
That strumpet Fortune, that usurping John !
Tell me, thou fellowj is not France'foisworn ?
Envenom him with words, or get thee gone
And leave those woes alone which I alone
Am bound to under-bear.
S(U. Pardon me, madam,
I may not'go without you to the kings.
Const. Thou inayst, thou -slialt ; I will not
go with thee;
I will instruct my sorrows to be proud ;
For grief is proud and makes his owner stoop.
To me and to the state of my great grief 70
Let kings assemble ; for my grief's so great
That no supporter but the huge firm earth
Can hold it up: here I .and sorrows sit;
Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.
[Seats herself on the ground.
Enter King John,. Kcng Philip, Lewis,
Blanch, Elinor, the Bastard, Austria,
and Attendants.
K. Phi. 'Tis true, fair daughter ; and this
blessed day
Ever in France shall be kept festival:
To solemnize this day the glorious sun
Stays in his course and plays the alchemist.
Turning with splendor of his precious eye
The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold : 80
The yearly course that brings this day about
Shall never see it but a holidayi'
Const. A wicked day, and noi a holy day !
[Rising.
■What hath this day deserved f what hath it
done.
That it in golden letters should be set
Among the high tides in the calendar ?
Nay, rather turn this day but of the week.
This day of shame, oppression, pei-jury.
Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child
Pray that their burthens may not fall this day.
Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd :
But on this day let seamen fear no wreck ;
No bargains break that are not this day made;
This day. all things begun come to ill end.
Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change!
K. Phi. By heaven, lady, you shall have
no cause
To cur.se the fair proceedings of this day:
Have I hot pawn'd to you my majesC - ?
Const. Youjiave beguiled me with a count¬
erfeit
Resembling majesty, which, being touch'd and
" "" tried, 100
22
ooq
o'jo
Proves valneless: you are forswoiu, forsworn;
Yon earaom arras to spill mine enemies' blood,
But now in arms you strengthen it with yours:
The grappling vigor and rough frown of war
Is col4 in amity and painted peace,
And our oppression hath made up this league.
Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjured
kings!
A widow cries; be husband to me, heavens!
Let not the hours of this ungodly day 109
Wear out the day in peace ; but, ere sunset.
Set armed discora 'twixt these perjured kings!
Hear me, O, hear me!
Amt. Lady Constance, peace!
Const. War! war ! no peace ! peace is to
me a war.
0 Lymoges! O Austria! thou dost shame
That bloody spoil : thou slave, thou wretch,
thou coward !
Thou little valiant,..groat in villany !
Tliou ever strong upon the stronger side !
Tliou Fortune's champion that dost never fight
But when her humorous ladyship is by
To teach thee safety ! thou art perjured too.
And soothest up greatness. What a fool art
thou, 121
A ramping'fool, to brag and stamp and sw^r
Upon my party! Thou cold-blooded slave,"
Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side,
Been sworn my soldier, bidding me depend
Upon thy stars, thy fortune and thy strength.
And dost thou now fall over to my foes?
Tj^u wear a lion's hide ! doff it for shame,
Anctliiiilg it etlPs-skin on those recreant limbs.
Aust O; that -a man should speak those
words to me ! 130
Bast. And hang a calf s-slun. tUU those
recreant limbs.
Aust. Thou darest not say so, villain, for
thy life.
Jiast. And hang a calf's-ski»-en-4liose
recreant Umhs. [thyself.
K.John. We. like not this; thou dost fpjget
Enter P.^irorLPH.
JET. Phi. Here comes the holy legate of the
PnreJ.''&ail, you anointed deputies of heaven!
To thee. King John, my iioly errand is.
1 Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal.
And from Pope Innocent the legate here,
Do in his name religiously demand 140
Why thou against the church,our holy mother,
So wilfully dost spurn ; and force perforce
Keep Stephen Langton, chosen archbishop
Of Canterbury, from that holy see ?
■This, in our foresaid holy father's name.
Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee.
K. John. What eaxthy name to interroga¬
tories
Can task the free breath of a sacred king ?
Thou canst not, cardinal, devise a name
So slight, unworthy and ridiculous, 150
To charge me to an answer, as the pope.
Tell him this tale ; and from the mouth of
England
[Act 111.
Add thus much more, that no Italian priest
Shall tithe or toll in our dominions ;
But as we, under iieaven, are supreme head.
So under Him that great supremacy.
Where we do reign, we will alone uphold.
Without the assistance of a mortal hand :
So tell the impe, all reverence set apart
To him and his usurp'd authority. IfiO
K. Phi. Brother of England, you blaspheme
' in tills.
K. John. Though you and all the kings of
Christendom
Are led so grossly by this meddling priest,
Dreiiding the curse that money may buy out ;
And by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust,
Purchase corrupted pardon of a man.
Who in that sale sells iiardon from himself.
Though you and all the rest so grossly led
This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish
Yet I alone, alone do me opixise 170
Against the pope and count his friends my foes.
Pand. Then, by the lawful power that I
have.
Thou shalt stand cursed and excommunicate.
And blessed shall he be that doth revolt
From his allegiance to an heretic;
And meritorious shall that hand be rall'd.
Canonized and worshipped as a saint.
That takes away by any secret course
Tiiy hateful life.
Const. O, lawful let it be .
That I have room with Rome to curse awhile !
Good father cardinal, cry thou amen 181
To my keen curses ; for without my wrong
There is no tougue hath power to curse him
right.
Pand. There's law and warrant, lady, for
my curse.
Const. And for mme too : when law can
do no right.
Let it be lawful that law bar no wrong:
l..aw cannot give my child his kingdom here.
For he that holds his kingdom holdsjjie law ;
Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong.
How can the law forbid my tongue to curse ?
Pand. Philip of France, on peril of a curse,
Let go the hand of tliat arch-heretic:
And raise the power of France u|)on his heiid.
Unless he do submit himself to Rome.
Eli. Look'st thou pale, France? do not let
go thy hand.
Const. Look to that, devil; lest that France
repent.
And by disjoining hands, hell lose a .soul.
Aust. King Philip, listen to the cardinal.
Bast. And liang a calf's-skin on his recreant
. limbs.
Aust. Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these
wrongs, 200
Because—
B<ist. Your breeches be.st may carry them.
K. John. Philip, what say'st thou to the
cardinal ?
Const. What should he say, but as the
cardinal? [ence
Lew. Bethink you, father; for the differ-
KING JOHN.
SCENF 1.]
KING
JOHN.
389
Is pnrchafe of a heavy ciirse from Rome,
Or the light loss of Engiand for a friend :
Forego the easier.
Blanch. That's the cnrse of Rome.
Const. O Lewis, stand fast I the devil tempts
thee here
In likeness of a new nntrimmed bride.
Blanch. The I.ady Constance speaks not
from her faith, 210
But from her need.
Const. O, if thou grant niy need,
Which only lives but by the death of faith.
That need must needs infer this principle.
That faith would live again by death of need.
0 then, tread down my need, and faith
mounts np ;
Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down !
K- John. The king is moved, and answers
not to this.
Const. O, be removed from him, and answer
well !
Atist. Do so. King Philip; hang no more in
doubt.
Bast. H.ang nothing but a calPs-skiii, most
sweet lout 220
K. Phi. ! am perjdex'd, and know not what
to say.
Pand. What canst thon say but will per¬
plex thee nrore.
If thon stand excommunicjite and cursed ?
K. Phi. Good reverend father, make my
person yours.
And tell me how you would bestow yourself.
This royal haud and mine arc newly knit,
And the conjunction of our inward souls
Married in league, coupled and linked together
With all religious strength of sacred vows;
The latest breath that gave the sound of words
Was deei>swom faith, peace, amity, true love
Between our kingdoms and our royal selves.
And even before this truce, but new before.
No longer than we well could wash our hands
To cUp this royal bargain up of peace.
Heaven knows, they were besmear'd and over-
stain'd
With slaughter's pencil, where revenge did
paint
The fearful difference of incensed kings ;
And shall these hands, so lately purged of
blood.
So newly ioin'd in love, so strong in both, 240
Unyoke this seizure and this kind regreet?
Play fast and loose with faith ? so jest with
heaven,
Makosuch llnf^/^nat.a■nt.illhil^^ww of mil'wlgga^
As now again to snatch our palm from palm,
Unswear faith sworn, and on the marriage-
bed
Of smiling peace to march a bloody host,
And make a riot on the gentle brow
Of true sincerity ? O, holy sin
My reverend t-ither, let it not Be so !
"^ut of your grace. devisOr-ordainrWhpose 250
Some gentle order ;_aud then -we-ahall be
blest
to do jozT pleasure and coutiutt&iriends.
Pand. -All form is formless, turder order-
Jess,
Save what is opix>site to England's love.
Therefore to arms! be champioji of our church,
Or let the church, our mother, .breathe her
curse,.
A mother's curse, on her revolting sou.
France, thou mayst hold a serpent by the
^ tongue,
A chafed lioii,^- thg mortal paw,
A fasting tiger safer by the tooth, • 260
Thau keep in peace that hand which-thou dost
hold.
K. Phi. I may disjoin my haud, but not
my faith. [faith;
Pand. So makest thou faith an enemy to
And like a civil war set'st oath to oath.
Thy tongue against thy tongue, O, let tliy
vow
First made to heaven, first be to heaven jier-
forra'd,
That is, tube the champion of our church!
What since thou sworest is swoni against thy¬
self
And may not be performed by thyself.
For that which thon hast sworn to do amiss
Is not amiss when it is truly done, 271
And being not done, where doing tends to ill,
The truth is then most done not doing it:
The better act of jiuqioses mistook
Is to mistake again ; though indirect.
Yet indirection thereby grows direct,
And falsehood falsehood cures, as fire cools
fire
Within the scorched veins of one new-burn'd.
It is religion that doth make vows kept;
But tlion hast sworn against religion, 280
By what thon swear'st against the thing thou
swear'st.
And makest an oath the surety for thy truth
Against an oath: t the truth thou ait unsure
To swear, swears ouly not to be forsworn ;
Else what a mockery should it be to swear !
But thou dost swear only to be forsworn ;
And most forsworn, to keejj what thou dost
swear.
Therefore thy later vows against thy first
Is in thyself rebellion to thyself; 28!)
And better conquest never canst thou make
Than arm thy constant and thy nobler paits
Against these giddy loose suggestions :
Upon which better ]>art our pi-ayers come in.
If thou vouchsafe them. But if not, then know
The peril of our curses light on thee
So heavy as thou shalt not shake them off,
But in desiiair die under their black weight,
Aust. Rebellion, flat rebellion!
Bast. Will't not be ?
Will not a calf's-skin stop that mouth of thine?
Lew. Father, to arms !
Blanch. Ujxm thy wedding-day ? COO
Against the blood that thou hast married ?
What, shall our feast be kept with slaughter'd
men ?
Shall braying trumx>ets and loud churlish
omms,
KINa
JOHN.
[Aci ill.
Clamors of hell, be measures to our pomp?
0 husband, bear me! av, alack, how new
Is husband in my mouth ! even for that name,
Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pro*
nounce,
Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms
Against mine uncle.
Const. 0, upon my knee, 309
Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee,
Thon virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom
Forethought by heaven I
f Blanch. Now shall I see thy love: what
motive may
■Be stronger with thee than the name of wife ?
Const. That which upholdeth him that thee
upholds,
His honor : O, thine honor, Lewis, tiiine honor!
Lew. I muse your majesty dotli seem so
cold.
When such profound respects do pull you on.
Band. I will denounce a curse upon his
head.
K. Phi. Thou shalt not need. England, I
will fall from thee. 320
Const. O fair return of banish'd majesty 1
Mi. O foul revolt of French inconstancy !
K. John. France, thou shalt rue this hour
within this hour.
Bast. Old Time the clock-setter, that bald
sexton Time, I
It is as he will ? well then, France shall rue.
- Blanch. The.gunlsJX'ercast with blood ffair
day, adieu! ■ . '
Wiiich is tlie side that I mijst go witlial ?
1 am with both : eacii army hath a hand ;
And in tlieir rage", I having hold of both.
They wiiirl asunder and dismembetjne. , 330|
Husband, I ciinnot pray that thou mayst win ; ^
Uncle, I needs mn.st pray tliat thou mayst lose;
Fatiier, I may not wish the fortune tiiine ;
Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes tlirive :
Whoever wins, on that side shall I.Jose ;
Assured loss before the match be'pla.j'ji.
Lew. Lady, with me, with me tlfy fortune
lies.
Blanch. There where my fortune lives,
there my life dies.
K. John. Cousin, go draw our puissance
together. [Exit Bastard.
France, I am buru'd up with inflaming wrath;
A rage whose heat hath this condition, 311
That nothing can ailay, nothing but blood.
The blood, and dearest-valued blood, of France.
K. Phi. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and
thou siialt turn
To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire;
Look tafhysel(,j;hou.,aJtin jeopardy.
K. John. No more than he that threats.
To arms let's hie ! [Exeunt.
Scene IL The same. Plains near Angiers.
Alarums, excursions. Enter the Bast.v.hi>,
with Austria's head.
Bast. Now, by my life, this day grows
wondrous hot,
Some airy devil hovers iMXhasky ,
And pours down mischief, Austria's head lie
there,
WhUe Piiilip breatlies.
Enter Kino John, Arthur, and Hubert.
K. John. Hubert, keep this boy. Philip,
make up :
My mother is assailed m our tent,'
And ta'en, I fear.
Ba.st. My lord, I rescued her ;
Her highness is in safety, fear you not:
But on, my liege ; for very little pains
Will bring this labor to an happy end.
[Exeunt.
Scene IH. The same.
Alarums, excursions, retreat. Enter Kino
John, Elinor, Arthur, the Bastarp, Hu¬
bert, and Lords.
K. John. [To Elinor"] So shall it be ; your
grace shall stay behind
So strongly guarded. [To Arthur] Cousin, look
not sad : <
Thy grandam loves thee ; and thy uncle will
As dear be to thee as f! .y fa-her was.
Arth. O, this will maae my mother die with
grief !
K. John. [To the Bastard] Cousin, away
for England ! haste before:
And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags
Of hoarding abbots : imprisoned angels
Set at liberty ; theJiat nh8A>{ pe^fe
Must by the hungry now be ;ed upon.: IQ
j^se hiR.-jtniOKt {ei'Ce.
Bast. Bell, book, and candle shall not diive
^ me back, ~
'When gold and silver Jjccks me to come.pn.
I leave your highne.ss. Grandam, I wUl.piuy,
If ever I remember to be holy,
For your fair safety ; so, I kiss your hand.
Eli. Farewell, gentle cousin.
K. John. ■ Cos, farewell. [Exit Bastard.
Eli. Come hither, little kinsman ; hark, a
word.
jr. John. Come hither, Hubert. O my
gentle Hubert,
We owe thee much !■ within this wall of fle.sh
There is a soul counts thee her creditor 21
And with advantage means to pity thy love :
And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath
Lives in tins bosom, dearly cherished.
Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say.
But I will fit it with some better time.
By heiiven, Hubert, I am almost ashiimed
To say what good respect I have of thee.
7/1(5. I am mticii bounden to your majesty.
K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause
to say so yet, 30
But thou shalt hare ; end creep time ne'er so
slow.
Yet it sh.all come from me to do thee good.
I had a thing to say, but let it go
Attended witlLthe plea^res of the woiU, '
Is al^ too wanton and too full of gawdis
SCKNB IV.]
To give me andience : if the midnight bell
Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth,
tSound on into the drowsy race of night; 39
If this same were a churchyard where we stand.
And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs.
Or if that surly spirit, meianclioly,
Had baked thy blood aud made it heavy-thick,
W liich else runs tickling up and down the veins.
Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes
And etrain their Aeeke-to idle merriment,
A fusion hateful to my purposes,
Qr if that thou couldst see me without eyes,
H^r me without thine ears,' and make reply
WiflRmt'trtoiigue, using conceit alone, 50
Without eyes, ears and harmful sound of
words ;
Then, in despite of brooded watchful day,
I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts :
But, ah, I will not! yet I love thee wdl ;
And, by my trotli, I think thou lovest me well.
Hah. So well, that what you bid me under¬
take.
Though that my death were adjunct to my act,
By heaven, I would do it.
jr. John. Do not I know thou wouldst ?
Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine
eye
On yon young boy: I'll tell thee what, my
friend, 60
He is a very serpent in my way ;
And whereso'er this foot of mine doth tread,
He lies before me: dost thou understand me ?
Thou art his keeper.
Huh. . And I'll keep him so.
That he shall not offend your majesty.
K. John. Death.
Huh. My lord ?
K. John. A grave.
Huh. He shall not live.
K. John. Enough.
I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee ;
Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee :
Remember. Madam, fare yon well:
I'll send those powers o'er to your majesty. 70
Eli. My blessing go with thee !
K. John. For England, cousin, go :
Hubert shall be your man, attend on you
With all true duty. On toward Calais, ho !
* [Exeunt.
Scene IV. The same. The French Kino's
tent.
Enter Kino Philip, Lewis, Pandulph, and
Attendants.
K. Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on the
flood,
A whole armado of convicted sail
Is scatter'd and disjoin'd from fellowship.
Pand. Courage and comfort! all shall yet
go well. *
K. Phi. What can go well^_when we have
«uusoiJl.X ■"
Are we not Beaten ? Is not Anglers lost ?
Arthur ta'en prisoner 7 divers dear friends
slain 7
341
And bloody England into Faiglaud gone,
O'erbearing iuterruptiou, spite of France 7
Lew. what he hath won, that hath he for¬
tified : 10
So hot a speed with such advice disposed.
Such temiierate order in so fierce a cause.
Doth want example : who hath read or heard
Of any kindred action like to this 7
K. Phi. Well could I bear that England
had this praise.
So we could find some pattern of our shame.
Enter Constance.
Look, who comes here ! a grave unto a soul;
Holding the etenial spirit against her will,
la the vile piisouof afflicted breath.
I prithee, lady, go away with me. 20
Const. Lo, now 1 now see the issue of your
^ce.
K, Phi. Patience, good lady! comfort,
gentle Constance !
Const. No, I defy all counsel, all redress.
But that which ends all counsel, true redress.
Death, death ; O amiable lovely death 1
Thou odoriferous .stench ! sound rottenness 1
Arise forth from the couch of lasting night.
Thou hate and terror to prosperity.
And I will kiss thy detestable bones
Aud put my eyetMlls in thy vanity brows 30
Aud ring these fingers with thy household
worms
And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust
Aud be a carrion monster like thyself :
Come, grin on me, and I will think thou
smiiest
Aud buss thee as thy wife. Misery's love,
O, come to me !
K. Phi. 0 fair affliction, peace !
Const. No, no, I will not, having breath to
cry: [mouth!
0, tliat my tongue were in the thunder's
Then with a passion would I shake the world;
And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy 40
Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice.
Which scorns a modem invocation.
Pond. T.fiHjr, ynn nftor mo/lriAaa, anH not
sowew.
Const. Thou art not holy to belie me so ;
I am not mad : this hair I tear is mine ;
My name is Constance ; 1 was Geffrey's wife ;
Young Arthur is mxapPi and_he is lostT
1.am Iinl^nrad ; T wonld to|ieavenT"were !
Forl;lien.~'ti8 like [^should fomet myself :
O, iTTcouTd, what griel shdnld I forget! 50
Preach some philosophy to make me mad.
And thou shalt be canonized, cardinal ;
For being not mad but sensible of grief.
My reasonable part produces reason
How I may be deliver'd of these wo^,
And teaches me to kill or hang myself :
If I were mad, I should forget my son.
Or madly think a babe of clouts were he :
1 am not mad ; too well, too well I feel
The different plague of each calamity. 60
K. Phi. Bind up those tresses. O, what
love I note
KING JOHN.
342
In the lair multitude of thoM her hairs !
Where but by chance a silver drop liath fallen,
Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends
Do glue themselves in sociable grief,
Like true, inseparable, faithfnl loves,
Sticking together in calamity.
Oomt. To England, if you will.
K. Phi. Bind up your hairs.
Const. Yes, that I will; and wherefore will
I do it ? 69
I tore them from tlieir bonds and cried aloud
' O that these hands could so redeem my son.
As they have given these hairs their liberty !'
But now I envy at their liberty.
And will again commit them to their bonds.
Because my poor child is a prisoner.
And, father cardinal, 1 have heard you say
That we shall see and know our friends in
heaven :
If that be trne, I shall see my boy again ;
For since the birth of Cain, the first male child,
To him that did but yesterday suspire, 80
There was not such a gracious creature bom.
But now will canker-sorrow eat my bud •
And chase tltgyrative beauty fignrlils cheek
And he will look as hollow as a ghost, '
As dim and meagre as an ague's fi,t,
And so he'll die ; and, rising so again.
When I shah meet htrii in the eouit'of heaven
[ shall not know him : therefore never, never
afOst'tljehtild my pretty Arthur more.
Pand. You bold too heinous a respect of
grief. 90
Const. Ha talks,ln.me.thatJieveihada son.
K. Phi. You are as fond of griefji&£tf-your
child. -
Const. Grief fills the room up of my absent
child.
Lies in his bed, walks np and down with me.
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
Uemembers me of all his gracious parts,
Stuffs out bis vacant garments with his form ;
Then, have I reason to be fond of grief ?
Fare you well: had you such a loss as I,
I could give better comfort than you do. ' 100
I will not keep this form upon my head.
When there is such disorder in niy wit
O Lord 1 my boy, my Arthur, my fair son !
My life, my joy, ray food, my all the world !
My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure !
[Exit.
K. Phi. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow
her. [Exit.
Lew. There's nothing in this world can
make me joy :
Life is as tedious Hs-atwie»-teld4ale
Vexing thftdull ear of a drowsy man ;
An(i._bitter shame^ hath spiil'd the sweet
world's taste, 110
That it yields nought but shame and bitter¬
ness.
Pand. Before the curing of a strong dis¬
ease.
Even in tlie instant of r^tair and health,
The fit is strongest; evils that take leave.
On their departure most of all show evil;
[ACT III.
What have you lost by losing of this day ?
Lew. All days of glory, joy and happiness.,
Pand. If you had won it, certainly yon
had.
No, no ; when Fortune means to men most
>- good,
She looks upon them with a threatening eye.
'Tis strange to think how much King John
f hath lost 121
tn this which he accounts so clearly won :
Are not you grieved that Arthur is his pris¬
oner?
Lew.. As heartily as he is glad he hath him.
Pand. Your mind is all as youthful as your
blood. "
Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit;
For even the breath of what I mean to speak
Shaii blow each dust, each straw, each little
rub.
Out of tiie path which shall directly lead
Thy foot to England's throne ; and therefore
mark. 130
John hath seized Arthur; and it cannot be
That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's
veins.
The misplaced John should entertain an honr,
' One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest.
A sceptre snatch'd with an unruly hand
Must be as boisterously luaiutain'd as gaiu'd ;
And he that stands upon a slippery place
Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him np :
That John may stand, then Arthur needs must
fall;
So be it, for it cannot be but so. 140
Lew. Bat what shall I gain by young Ar¬
thur's fall ?
Pand. You, in the right of Lady Blanch
your wife.
May then make all the claim that Arthur did.
Lew. And lose it, life and aU, as Arthur
did.
Pand. How green you are and fresh in t'nis
old world !
John lays you plots ; the times conspire with
you ;
For he that steeps his safety in true blood
Shall find but bloody safety and untrue.
This act so evilly born shall cool the hearts
Of all his people and freeze up their zeal, 150
That none so small advantage shall step forth
To check his reign, but they will cheri^ it ;■
No natural exhalation in the sky.
No scope of natnre, no distempm-'d day.
No common wind, no customed event.
But they will pluck away his natural cause
And call them meteors, prodigies and signs.
Abortives, presages and tongues of heaven.
Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John.
Lew. May be he will not touch young Ar
thur's life, lOT
But hold himself safe in his prisonment.
Pand. O, sir, when be shall hear of your
approach.
If that young Arthur be not gone already.
Even at that neWs he dies ; and then the
i "^earts
KING JOHN.
Scene I.]
KING
JOHN.
O all his people shall revolt from him
Aud kiss the lips of unacquaiuted chauge
And pick strong matter of revolt and wrath
Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John,
Methiuks I see this hurly all on foot:
Aud, O, what better matter breeds for you 170
Thau I have uamed 1 The bastard Faulcou-
bridge
Is now in England, ransackiug-the church,
OfTeiiding chailty : if but a dozen French
Were there in arms, they would be as a call
To train ten thousand Englisb. to their side,
litaa a little safii^iJujrobiei. about,
Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Jlauphiu,
Gojritb nie to the king : 'tis wonderful
What may be'wrought out of their discontent,
Now that their souls are topful of offence. 180
For England go : I will whet on the king.
Lew. Strong reasons nurke strong actions :
let us go: '
ff yon say ay, the king will not say no.
[Exeunt.
ACT IV.
Scene I. A room in a castle.
Enter Hubert and Executioners.
Hub. Heat me the.se irons hot; and look
thou staud
Within the arras : when I strike my foot
Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth,
Aud bind the boy which you sliall find with
me [watcli.
Fast to the chair : be heedful: hence, and
First Exec. I hope your warrant will bear
out the deed.
Hub. Uncleanly scruples! fear not you :
look to't. [Exeunt Executioners.
/oung lad, come forth ; 1 have to say with
vou.
Enter Arthur.
Arth. Good morrow, Hubert.
Hub. Good morrow, little prince.
Arih. As little prince, having so great a
title 10
To be more prince, as may be. You are sad.
Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier.
Arth. ' """ """ Mercy on me!
Methinks no body should be sad but I:
Yet, I remember, when I was in France,
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night.
Only for wantonness By my Christendom,
So I were' oiit of prison aiid kept sheep, '
I should be as merry as the day is long ;
And so I would be here, but that I doubt
My uncle practises more harm to me : 20
H&is-afimd.oJ me and rof_him :
U it_mv fault that I was Geffrey's son ?
No, indaed^iklnot^andX wou^toLheaven
I Jiere^ouiuion,_sq_jrou would love me^ Hii-
Hub. [Aside] If I talk to him, with hU in¬
nocent prate
He will awake my mercy which lies dead :
Therefore I will be suddeu and dispatch.
Ai'th. Are you sick, Hubert ? you look pale
to-day ;
In sooth, I would you were a little sick.
That I might sit all night and watch with yon;
I warrant I love you more than you do me. ."tl
Hub. [Aside] His words do take possession
of my bosom.
Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paiter.
[Aside] How now, foolish rheum 1
Turning dis{>iteous torture out of door !
i must be brief, lest resolution drop
Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears.
Can you not read it ? is it not fair writ ?
Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect;
Must you with hot irons bum out both mine
eyes ?
Hub. Young boy, I must.
Arth. And will you ?
Hub. And I will. 40
Arth. Have you the heart? When your
head did but ache,
I knit my handkercher about your brows.
The best I had, a princess wrought it me.
And I did never ask it you again ;
And with my hand at midnight held your
head.
And like the watchful minutes to the hour,
Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time.
Saying, ' What lack you 1' and ' Where lies
your grief ?'
Or ' What good love may I perform for you ?'
Many a poor man's son would have lien
still 50
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to yOu ;
But you at your sick service had a prince.
Nay, you may think my love was crafty love
And call it cunning : do, an if you will:
If heaven be pleased that you must use me ill.
Why then you must. Will vou put out mine
eyes-2
XJiMe ev^Jbat never, did npy pever shall
So m'tich as frown onj-ou.
HifT).""* ' Iliave sworn to do it ;
And with hot irons must I burn them out.
Arth. Ah, none but in this iron age would
do it 1 (iO
The iron of itself, though heat red-hot.
Approaching near these eyes, would drink my
tears
And quench his fiery indignation
Even m the matter of mine innocence ;
Nay,~after that, consume away in rust
But for containing fire to harm mine eye.
Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd
iron ?
An if an angel should have come to me
And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes,
I. would-net bavcnjeliev^-BlBii~iwXoiigue
but Hubert's. 70
Hub. Come forth. jui [Stamps.
Re-enter Executioners, with a cord, irons, Ac.
Do as I bid you do.
Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me 1 my
eyes are out
344
KING JOHN.
(Act IV.
Even with the fierce looks of these bloody
men.
Huht Give me the iron, I say, and bind
liim here.
Arth. Alas, what need you be so boister¬
ous-rough 1
I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still.
For heaven sake, Hubert, let me not be boiuid!
Nay, hear me, Hubert, drive these men away,
And I will sit as quiet as a lamb^- 80
I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word.
Nor look upon the iron angerly :
Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive
you.
Whatever torment you do put me to.
Hwb. Go, stand withm; let me alone with
him.
First Exec. I am best pleased to be from
such a deed. \Exeunt Executioiers.
Arth. Alas, I then have chid away my
friend I
TTfe-hnth a " geutle Iie^it;
Let him come back, that ids fompassion may
ffiva Ifite la ybhfs.
Huh. Come, boy, prepare yourself. 90
Arth. Is there no remedy ?
Huh. None, but to lose your eyes.
Arth. O heaven, that there were but a mote
in yours,
A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair.
Any annoyance in that precious sense !
Then feeling what small things are boisterous
there.
Tour vile intent must needs seem horrible.
Huh. Is this your promise ? go to, hold your
tongue.
Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of
tongues
Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes :
Let me not hold my tongue, let me not, Hu¬
bert ; 100
Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue.
So I may keep mine eyes : O, spare mine eyes.
Though^tojio use but stULtaJooESff^u!
Lo, by 4ny truth, the histromeutig.cpld
And would not harm me.
HUtr. I can heiit it, boy.
Arth. No, in good sooth : the fire is dead
with grief, .
Being create for comfort, to be used
In undeserved extremes : see else yourself ;
There is no malice in this burning coal:
The breath of heaven has blown his spirit out
And strew'd repenteut ashes on his head. Ill
Huh. But with my breath I can revive it,
boy.
Arth. An if you do, you will but make it
blush
And glow with shame of your proceedings,
Hubert:
Nay, it perchance will simrkle in your eyes
And like a dog that is compell'd to fight.
Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on.
All things that you should use to do me wrong
Deny their office : only you do lack
That mercy which fierce fire and iron extends.
Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses. 121
Huh. Well, see to live; I will not touch
thine eye
For all the treasure that thine uncle owes :
Yet am I sworn and I did purpose, boy.
With this same very iron to bum them out.
Arth. O, now you look like Hubert! all
this while
You were disgpised.
Huh. Peace ; no more. Adieu.
Your uncle must not know but you are dead ;
I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports :
And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and se¬
cure, 130
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world.
Will not offend thee.
Arth. ■ O heaven ! 1 thank y"",
Huh. Silence ; no more : go closely in with
me r ~
Much danger do I undergo for thee.
- ^ [Exeunt.
Scene H. Kino John's palace.
Enter King John, Pembboke, Salisbuby,
and other Lords.
K. John. Here once again we sit, once again
crown'd.
And looked upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes.
Pern. This 'once again,' but that your high¬
ness pleased.
Was once superfluous : you were crown'd be¬
fore.
And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off.
The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt;
Fresh expectation troubled not the land
With any loiig'd-for change or better state.
Sal. Therefore, to be possess'd with double
pomp.
To guard a title that was rich before, 10
To gild refined gold, to iiaint the lily.
To throw a perfume on the violet.
To smooth the ice, or add another hue
Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light
'fo seek the beauteous eye of heaven to gar¬
nish.
Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.
Pern. IJiit that your royal pleasure must
be done.
This act is as an ancient tale new told.
And in the last repeating troublesome.
Being urged at a time unseasonable. 20
Sal. In this the antique and well noted
face
Of plain old form is much disfigured ;
And, like a shifted wind onto a sail.
It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about.
Startles and frights consideration.
Makes sound opinion Sick and truth suspected,
For putting on so new a fashion'd robe.
' Pern. When workmen strive to do better
than well.
They do confound their skill in covetousness ;
And oftentimes excusing of a fault 30
Doth make the fault the woi-se by the excuse,
As patches set upon a little breach
SCENB H.]
KING JOHN.
845
Discredit more in hiding ot the fault
Than did the fault before it was so patch'd.
Self. To this effect, before you were new
crown'd,
We breathed our counsel : but it pleased your
To overbear it, aud we are all well pleased.
Since all and every part of what we would
Doth make a stand at what your highness will.
K. John. Some reasons of tlris double coro¬
nation 40
I have possess'd you with and think them
strong ; '
And more, more strong, theu lesser is my
fear,
I shail indue you with : meantime but ask
What you would have reform'd that is not
well.
And well shall yon perceive how willingly
I will both hear aud grant you your requests.
Pern. Tlieu 1, as one that am the tongue of
these
To sound the purposes of all their hearts.
Both for myseif and tiiem, but, chief of aU,
Your safety, for the which myself and them
Bend their best studies, heartily request 51
The enfranchisement of Arthnr; whose re¬
straint
Doth move tlie murmuring lips of discontent
To break into this dangerous argument,—
If what in rest yon have in right you hold.
Why then your fears, which, as they say,
attend
The steps of wrong, should move you to mew
up
Your tender kinsman and to choke his days
With biirbarous ignorance aud deny his youth
Tiie rich advantage of good exercise? 60
That the time's enemies may not have this
To grace occasions, let it be our suit
That you have bid us ask his liberty ;
Which for our goods we do no further ask
Than whereupon our Veal, on you depending.
Counts it your weal he have his liberty.
, Enter Hubekt.
K. .Mm. Let it be so ; I do commit his
youth
To your direction. Hubert, what news with
yon ? [Taking him apart.
Pern. This is. the man should do the bloody
deed;
He show'd his warrant to a friend of mine; 70
The image of a wicked heinous fault
Lives in his eye ; that close aspect of his
Dues show the mood of a much troubled
breast ;
And I do fearfullv believe 'tis done.
What we so fear'd he had a charge to do.
Sal. The color of t,)ip wimo and
»
Between his purpose aud his conscience.
Like heralds twBct-twe dreadful- battles-set:
His passion is so ripe, it needs must break.
Pern. And wiien it breaks, I fear will issue
thence 80
The foul corruption of a sweet child's death.
K. John. We cannot hold mortality's strong
hand:
Good lords, although ray will to give is living,
'The suit which you demand is gone and dead:
He tells us Arthur is deceased to-night.
Sal. Indeed we fear'd his sickness was past
cure.
Pern. Indeed we heard how near his death
he was
Before the child himself felt he was sick :
This must be answer'd either here or hence,
if. John. Why do you bend sucli solemu
brows on me ? 90
iThiuk you I bear the shears of destiny ?
Have I comjnandment on the pulse of life ?
' Sal. U.J8. a.ih"»reu£jQuCnlia' L- and ^'tis
shame
That ' 11
Pern. Stay yet, I«rd Salisbury ; I'll go with
thee,
And find tlie iuberitaucaai.tlus.pooc.£hild,
HiaJittJe kingfltnttgif^igised gfave.
That blood which owed the breadth of all this
isle.
Three foot of it doth hold : bad world the
while! 100
This must not be thus borne : this will break
out
To all our sorrows, and ere long I doubt.
[Exeunt Lords.
K. John. Thay hin-ii in inHi^nntion 1
tepmit:
There jsno^uxeiniuidatinasetuau-blood,
KcLcerta'in life achieved by "them'.death.
Enter a Messenger.
A fearful eye thou hast : where is that blood
That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks ?
So foul a sky clears not without a storm :
Pour down thy weather : how goes all in
France ?
Mess. From France to England. Never
such a power 110
For any foreign preparation
Was levied in the body of a land.
The copy of your speed is learn'd by them ;
For when you sliould be told they do prepare.
The tidings comes that they are all arrived.
K. John. O, where hath our intelligence
been drunk ?
Where hath it slept ? Where is my mother's
That such an army could he drawn in France.
Mess. My licgCj her e.ar 119
Is stopp'd with-dusk^- tine nisi. oLA^'il died
Your nohla-mother ; and, as 1 hear, my.lprd.
The Lady Constance in a frenzy died
Trifeer-days' before ; but' tliis from rumor's
I idly. hMifd,.if true.or false I know not.
K. John. Withhold fhy speed, dreadful oi
casion !
O, make a league with me, till 1 have pleased
316
KING JOHN.
[Act ly.
My disc9i)1;ented p^rs ! What! mother dead !
How wildly then walks my%state in France T
Under whose conduct came those powers of
France
That thou for truth gi vest out are landed here?
Mess. Under the Dauphin. 130
K. John. Thou hast made me giddy
With these iU MUtSSs
Enter the Bastaed and Peter of Pomfret.
Now, what says the world
To your proceedings ? do not seek to stuff
My head with more ill news, for it is full.
Bast. But if you be afeard to hear the
worst.
Then let the worst unheard fall on your head.
K. John. Bear with me consin, for I was
amazed
Under the tide : but now 1 breathe again
Aloft the flood, and can give audience
To any tongue, speak it of what it will. 140
Bast. How I nave sxjed among the clergy¬
men,
The sums I have collected shall express.
But as I travell'd hither through the land,
I find the people strangely fantasied ;
Possess'd'with rumors, full of idle dreams.
Not Jrnowing what they fear, but full of fear :
And here's a prophet, th.at I brought with me
From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I
found
With many hundreds treading on his heels ;
To whom he sung, in rude harsh-sounding
rhymes, 150
That, ere the next Ascension-day at noon.
Your highness should deliver up your crown.
K. John. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore
didst thou so ?
Peter. Foreknowing that the truth will fall
out so.
K. John. Hubert, away with him ; im¬
prison him ;
And on that day at noon whereon he says
I sliall yield up my crown, let him be hang'd.
Deliver him to safety ; and return.
For I must use thee.
[Exeunt Hubert with Peter,
0 my gentle cousin,
Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are ar¬
rived ? KiO
Bast. The French, my lord; men's mouths
are full of it :
Besides, I met Lord Bigot and Lord Salisbury,
With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire.
And others more, going to seek the grave
Of Arthur, whom they say is kill'd to-night
Ou your suggestion.
K. John. Gentle kinsman, go.
And thrust thyself into their companies :
1 have a way to wiu,their,loyes.,again ;
Bring them before me.
Bast. I will seek them out.
K. John. Nay, but make haste ; the better
foot before. 170
0, let me have no subject enemies.
When adverse foreigners affright my towns
With dreadful pomp bf stout invasion !
Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels.
And fly like thought from them to me again.
Bast. The spirit of the time shall ^ch* me
weed. '{Exit.
K. John." Spoke like a sprightful noble gen¬
tleman.
Go after him ; for he perhaps shall need
Some messenger betwixt me and the peers ;
And be thou he.
Mess. With all my heart, my liege. 180
[Exit.
K. John. My mother dead 1
Re-enter Hubert.
Huh. My lord, they say five moons were
seen to-night ;
Four fixed, and the fifth did whirl about
The other four in wondrous motion.
K. John. Five moons 1
Hub. Old men and beldams in the streetl
Do prophecy upon it dangerously ;
Young Arthur s death is common in their
mouths :
And when they talk of him, they shake their
heads
And whisper one another in the ear ;
And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's
wrist, 190
Whilst he that hears makes fearful action.
With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling
eyes.
I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus.
The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool.
With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news ;
Who, with his shears and measure in his hand.
Standing on slippers, which his nimble haste
Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet.
Told of a many thousand warlike French
That were embattailed and rank'd in Kent: 200
Another lean unwash'd artificer
Cuts off his tale and talks of Arthur's death.
K. John. Why seek'st thou to possess me
with these fears ?
AVliy urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death?
Thy hand Itath mjiydsi^d him : IhadaJNighty
cause
To wish hifii dead, but thou Iiad.stiiQnfi.to kill
had, my lord ! why, did you not
provoke me ?
K. John. It is the curse of kings to be at¬
tended
By slaves tlmt take their humors for a warrant
To break within the bloody house of life, 210
And ou the winking of authority
To understond ■ to k»©YrrAfi=»eaaing
frowns
More upon humor than iidvised wgpool-
Huh. Here is your hand and seal for what
Idid.
K. John. O, when the last account 'twixt
heaven and earth
Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal
Witness against us to damnation 1
SCBNB III.]
KING JOHN.
84;
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds
Make deeds ili done! Hadst not thou been by,
A feliow by the hand of nature mark'd, 2*jl
Quoted and sign'd to do a deed of siiame,
This murder bad not come into my mind :
But taking note of tiiy abhorr'd aspect,
Finding tnee fit for bloody viliany.
Apt, liable to be empioy'd in danger,
1 faintly broke with tliee of Arthnr's death ;
And thou, to be endeared to^aJdng,
MaHc tfTfiestroy a prince.
Hub. My lord,— 230
K. John. Hadst thou but shook tliy bead
or made a pause
When I spake darkly what I purposed.
Or tum'd an eye of doubt upon my face.
As bid me tell my tale in express words.
Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me
break off.
And those thy fears might have wrought fears
in me :
But thou didst understand me by my signs
And didst in signs again parley with sin ;
Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent.
And consequently tliy rude hand to act '240
The deed, wliich both our tongues held vile to
name.
Out of my sight, and never see me more!
My nobles leave me ; and my state is braved,
I Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers:
Nay, in the body of this lieshiy land.
This kingdom, tliis confine of blood and breath.
Hostility and civil tumult reigns
Between my conscience and my cousin's death.
Hub. Arm you against your other enemies.
Til makea peace between your soul and you.
Yoimg Arthur is alive : this hand of mine 251
Is yet a maiden hud au inuocent hand.
Not painted with the crimson spots of blood.
Within this bosom never enter'd yet
The dreadful motion of a murderous thought;
And you have slander'd nature in my form,
l'"""mprpr rude exteriorly.
Is yet the cover of a fairer mind
Than to beJhutrher nf iiii inn irrnt rhild
K. John. Doth Arthur live ? O, haste thee
to the peers, 260
Throw this report on their incensed rage.
And nmke^them^teme^ito th^^^ ! ^
Upw-thy feate'e ; for my rage was blind.
And foul imaginary eyes of blood
Presented thee more hideous than thou art.
O, answer not, but to my closet bring
The angry lords with all expedient baste.
I conjure thee but slowly ; run more fast.
[Exeunt.
Scene III. Before the castle.
Enter Arthuk, on tJw walls.
Arth. The wall is high, ana yet will I leap
down :
Oood ground, be intitul and hurt me not!
There's few or none do know nie : if tliey did.
This ship-boy's semblance hath disguised me
quite.
I am afraid ; and yet I'll venture ib
If I get down, and do not break my ILmbs,
I'll find a thousand shifts to get away:
As good to die and go, as die and stay.
[Jjcups down.
O me! ray uncle's spirit is in these stones :
Heaven, take my soul^ and England keep ray
b9aesJ " [Vies. !«■
Enter Pembroke, Salisbury, and Bioot.
Sal. Lords, I will meet him at Saint Ed-
mundsbury :
It is our .safety, and we must embrace
This gentle oner of tlie perilous time.
Pern. AVho brought that letter from the
cardinal ?
Sal. The Count Melun, a noble lord of
Fiance ;
Whose private with me of the Dauphin's love
Is much more general than these Uues im¬
port.
Big. To-morrow morning let us meet him
then.
Sal. Or rather then set forward ; for 'twill
be
Two long days' journey, lords, or ere we meet ■'
Enter the Bastard.
Bast. Once more to-day well met, disterop-
er'd lords! 21
The king by me requests your presence straight
Sal. The king hath disijossess'd himself of
us :
We wiiyiojyinAhia tluu hestained cloak
With our pure hQUora».uo]: attend theJoot
Tliatlejives the print of blood where'er it walks.
Return and tell him so : we know the worst.
Bast. Whate'er you think, good words, I
think, were best.
Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, rea¬
son now. . 2!)
Bast. B lit there is little reason in your grief;
Therefore'twere reason you had maimers now.
Pern.. Sir, sir, imiiatience hath his privilege.
Past. 'Tis true, to hurt his master, no man
else.
Sal. This is the prison. What is he lies
here ? [Seeing Arthur.
Pern. O death, made proud with pure and
princely beauty !
The earth had not a hole to hide this deed.
Sal. Murder, as hating what himself hath
done.
Doth lay it open to urge on revenge.
Big. Or, when he dooin'd this beauty to a
grave.
Found it too precious-princely for a grave. 40
Sal. Sir Richard, what think you ? have
you beheld.
Or have you read or heard ? or could you
think ?
Or do you almost think, although you see,
That you do see ? could thought, without this
object.
Form such another ? This is the very top.
The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest,
348
KING JOHN.
[Act IV.
Of murder's arms: this is the bloodiest
shame,
The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke,
That ever wall-eyed wrath or staring rage
Presented to the tears of soft remorse. 50
Pern. All murders jiast do stand excused in
this ;
And this, so sole and so unmatchable.
Shall give a holiness, a purity.
To the yet unbegotten sin of'times ;
And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest,
Exampled by this heinous spectacle.
Bast. It is a damned and a bloody work ;
The graceless action of a hea\'7 hand.
If that it be the work of any hand.
Sal. If that it be the work of any hand ! 60
We had a kind of light w.iat would ensue :
It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand ;
The practice and the purpose of the king ;
From whose obedience I forbid my soul.
Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life.
And breathing to his breathless excellence
The incense of a vow, a holy vow.
Never to taste the pleasures of the world.
Never to be infected with delight,
Nor conversant with ease and idleness, 70
Till I have set a glory to this hand.
By giving it the worship of revenge.
Pern, i Our souls religiously confirm thy
Big. ) words.
Enter Hubebt.
Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking
you :
Arthur doth live ; the king hath sent for you.
Sal. O, he is bold and blushes not at death.
Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone !
Hub. I am no villain.
Sal. Must I rob the law ?
[Drawing his sword.
Bast. Your sword is bright, sir ; put it up
again.
Sal. Not till I sheathe it in a murderer's
skin. 80
Hub. Stand back. Lord Salisbury, stand
back, I say;
By heaven, I tiiiuk my sword's as sharp as
yours :
I would not have yon, lord, forget yourself.
Nor tempt the danger of my true defence ;
Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget
Your worth, your greatness and nobility.
Big. Out, dunghill I darest thou brave a
nobleman ?
Hub Not for my life : but yet I dare de¬
fend
My innocent life against an emperor.
Sal. Thou art a murderer.
Hub. Do not prove me so ; 90
Yet I am none : wliose tongue soe'er speaks
false, —
Not truly speaks ; who speaksjiot truly, lies.
Pern. Cut him to pieces.
Bast. Keep the peac.e, I say.
^ Sal. Stand by, or I shaU gall ypu,, Faulco'n-
'' bridge.
Bast. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salis¬
bury:
If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot.
Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame,
I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime ;
Or I'll so maul you and your toasting-iron,
That you shall think the devil is come from
hell. IfW
Big. What wilt thou do,'renowned Faulcon-
bridge ?
Second a villain and a murderer ?
Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none.
Big. Who kill'd this prince ?
Hub. 'Tis not an hour since 1 left him well:
I honor'd him, I loved him, and will weep
My date of life out for his sweet life's loss.
Sal. Trust not those^unuing waters of his
eyes, '
For villany Is not without such rheum ;
And he, long traded in it, makes it seem
Like rivers of remorse and innocency. 110
Away with me, all you whose souls abhor
The uncleanly savors of a slaughter-house;
ForXam stifled with this-smell of sin.
Big. Away toward Bury, to the Dauphin
there I
Pent. There tell the king he may inquire us
out. [Exeunt Ijords.
Bast. Here's a good world ! Knew you of
this fair work 7
Beyond the infinite and boundless reach
Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death,
Art thou damn'd, Hubert
Hub. Do but hear me, sir.
Bast. Ha ! I'll tell thee what; 120
Thou'rt damn'd as black—nay, nothing is so
black ;
Thou art more deep damn'd than Prince l.uci-
fer:
There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell
As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child.
Hub. Upon my soul—
JEbist. If thou didst but consent
To this most cruel act, do but despair ;
And if thou want'sta cord, tliesmallesttbfead
That ever spider twisted from hei-womb
WULserve to strangle thee, a .rush wiU be a
beam " — - _
Tp.tan'gXlre^o^^r wouldst thoojlraKulby-
-selfp " 130
Put but auttle water in a spoon,
Ahd^ sh^I^be as'aill tlieocea«.
Enough "to'stifle such a villain, up.
I do suspect thee very grievously.
Hub.' If I in act, consent, or sin of thought.
Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath
Which was ejnbounded in this beauteous clay.
Let hell want pains enough to torture me.
I left him well.
Bast. Go, bear him in thine arms.
I am amased, inethinks. and lose my way 140
Among the thorns and dangere of this world.
How easy dost thou take all England up I
From forth this morsel of dead royalty.
The life, the right and truth of ail this realm
Is fled to heaven ; and England rrow is left
Scene ii.J
KING
JOHN.
d4d
To tug and scamble and to part by the teeth
The unowed interest ot proud-swelling state.
Nowfor.thebare-pick'd bone of majesty
Doth dogged war brfefTe'Tiigaiigiwcrest
And snarletlilu the" geiitle eyes oT^eace : 150
Now powers from home and discontents at
home
Meet in one line ; ""d TfliSl
As doth a raven Qu.a.sick4alTu beast,
llTeiranflnent decay of wrested uomp.
Now happy he whose cloak anjl eW'tui^ can
Hold'ont this teinbesi" Bear away that child
AnriMTo-W'WtWfB-spSSrnTrtoTK TfHig":
A thousand bnsine.sse3 are brief in hand,
And heaven itself doth frown upon the land.
[Exeunt.
ACT V.
Scene I. Kino John's palace.
Enter King John, pandunph, and Attendants.
K. John. Thus have I yielded up into your
hand
The circle of my glory. [Giving the crown.
Pand. ^ Take again
From this my hand, as holding of the pope
Your sovereign greatness and authority.
K. John. Now keep your holy word : go
meet the Frenclt,
And from his holiness use all your power
To stop their marches 'fore we are inflamed.
Our discontented counties do revolt;
Our p^ple quarrel with obedience,
Swearing allegiance and the love of soul 10
To strauger blood, to foreign royalty.
Tliis iuundatioB •of~»i«ttmper^4MiHnor.
Bests by you only to be qualified ;
Then pause not; forthe preseBttime'D so pick,
That present medicine must be minister'd,
Or overthrow incurable ensues.
Pand. It was niy breath that blew this
tempest up.
Upon your stubtoru usa.ge of the pope ;
But since you are a gentle convertite, 19
My tongue shall hush again this storm of war
And make fair weather in your blustering land.
On this Ascension-day, remember well.
Upon your oath of service to the pope,
Go I to make the French lay down their arms.
[Exit.
K. John. Is this Ascension-day ? Did not
the prophet
Say that before Ascension-day at noon
My crown 1 should give off ?"Even so I have :
I did suppose it should be on constraint;
But, heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary.
Enter the Bastard.
Bast. All Kent hath yielded ; nothing there
holds out 0 30
But Dover castle : London hath received,
Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers:
Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone
To offer service to your enemy.
And wild amazement hurries up and down
The little number of your doubtful friends.
K. John. Would not mylesdii seturu to me
again^
After they heard young Arthur was alive ?
Bast. They found him dead and cast into
the streets.
An empty casket, where the jewel oflife 40
By some damn'd hand was robb'd and ta'en
away.
K. John. That villain Hubert told me he
did live.
Bast. So, on my soni, he did, for aught he
knew.
But wherefore do j'ou droop ? why look you
sad ?
Be great in act, as you have been in thought ;
Let-nali tUa-mirld see fear an<I,s,ad^fetrust
Govern the motion of aJrin^y y 'e"?™'"
Be stirring as tTiiS time-; be lire with fire ;
Threaten me tlireatener arid oiitface-the brow
OFFragging horror : so Miall inferior eyes, 50
That borrow their behaviors from the great.
Grow great by your example and put on
The dauntless spirit of resolution.
Away, and glister like the god of war.
When he intendeth to become the field :
Show boldness and aspiring confidence.
What, shalltltey-seeliJtlm.lhauu-Uhi-fien,
And fright hiimlJlCTfiijUldUimJi.e. him
there. ?
0, let it not be said : forage,.aud run
To meet displeiisure'farther Irom tlie.doors, 60
And gmpplc'with liiih ere he conies soJligh.
''K.John. The legate of the popeTilith been
witli me.
And I have made a happy peace w ith him ;
And he hath promised to dismiss the powers
Led by the Dauphin.
Bast. O inglorious league !
Sluiil we, upon the footing of our land,
Send fair-])lay ordere and make compromise.
Insinuation, parley and base truce
To arms invasive ? shall a beardless boy,
A cocker'd silken wanton, brave our fields, 70
And flesh his spirit in^arwarlike soil.
Mocking the air with colors idly spread.
And find no check ? Let us, ray liege, to arms:
Perchance the cardinal cannot make your
peace ;
Or if he do, let it at least be said
They saw we had a purpose of defence.
K. John. Have thou the ordering of this
present time.
Bast. Away, then, with good courage ! yet,
I know,'
Our party may well meet a prouder foei
[Exeunt.
Scene II. The Dauphin's camp at St.
Edmundsbury.
Enter, in arms, Lewis, Sai.isburv, Meeun,
Pembroke, Bigot, and Soldiers.
Lew. My Lord Melun, let this be copied out,
Aud keep it safe for our remembrance ;
Keturn tlie precedent to these lords again;
350
KING
JOHN.
[Actt.
That, having our fair order written down,
Both they and we, perusing o'er these notes.
May know wherefore we toolt the sacrament
And keep our faiths firm and inviolable.
Hal. Upon our sides it never shall be broken.
And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear
A voluntary zeal and an unurged faith 10
To your proceedings ; yet believe nic, prince,
I am not glad that such a sore of time
Should seek a plaster by contemu'd revolt.
And heal the inveterate canker of one wound
By making many. O, it grieves my soul.
That I must draw this metal from my side
To be a widow-maker ! O, and there
Where honorable rescue and defence
Cries out upon the name of Salisbury !
But such is the infection of the time, 20
That, for the health and physic of our right.
We cannot deal but with the very hand
Of stern injustice and confused wrong.
And is't not pity, O my grieved friends.
That we, the sons and children of this isle.
Were born to see so sad an hour as tliis ;
Wlierein we step after a stranger march
Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up
Her enemies' ranks,—I must withdraw and
weep
Upon the spot of this enforced cause,— 30
To grace the gentry of a land remote.
And follow unacquainted colors here ?
What, here ? O nation, that thou couldst
remove I
That Neptune's arms, who clippeth thee about,
Would bear thee from the knowledge of thy¬
self.
And grapple thee unto a i>agan shore ;
Where these two Christian armies might com¬
bine
The blood of malice in a vein of league.
And not to spend it so unneighborly I
Lew. A noble temper dost thou show in
this ; 40
And great affections wrestling in thy bosom
Doth make an earthquake of nobility.
-O, what a noble combat hast thou fought
Between compulsion and a brave resjiect!
Let me wipe off this honorable dew.
That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks :
My heart hath melted at a lady's tears.
Being an ordinary inundation ;
But this effusion of such manly drops.
This shower, blown np by tempest of tlie soul.
Startles mine eyes, and makes me more
amazed 51
Than had 1 seen the vaulty top of heaven
Figured quite o'er with burning meteors.
Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury,
And with a great heart heave away the storm:
Commend these waters to those baby eyes
That never saw the giant world enraged ;
Nor met with fortune other than at fe.asts.
Full of warm blood, of mirth, of gossiping.
Come, come ; for thou shall thrust thy baud
as deep 60
Into the purse of rich prosperity
As Lewis himself: so, nobles, shall you all.
That knit your sinews to the strength of mine.
And even there, methinks, an angel spake:
Enter PAttouifH.
Look, where the holy legate comes apace.
To give us warrant from the hand of heaven,
And on our actions set the name of right
With holy breath.
Pand. Hail, noble prince of France 1
The next is this, King John hath reconciled
Himself to Rome ; his spirit is come in, TO
That so stood out against the holy church.
The great metropolis and see of Rome :
Therefore thythreatening colors now wind np;
And tame the savage spirit of wild war.
That, like a lion foster'd up at hand.
It may lie gently at the foot of peace.
And be no furtlier harmful than in sliow.
Lew. Your grace shall pardon me, I will
not back :
I am too high-born to be propertied.
To be a secondary at control, 80
Or useful serving-man and instrument.
To any sovereign state tliruughout the world.
Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars
Between this ciiastised kingdom and myself,
And brought in matter that should feed this
fire ;
And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out
With tliat same weak wind which enkindled it.
You taught me how to know tlie face of riglit.
Acquainted me with interest to this land.
Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart ; 90
And come ye now to tell me John hath made
His peace with Rome ? What is that peace to
me?
I, by the honor of my marriage-bed.
After young Arthur, claim this land for mine;
And, now it is haU-couquer'd, must I back
Because tlint John hath made his peaee with
Rome ?
Am I Rome's slave ? What penny liath Rome
borne.
What men provided, what munition sent.
To underprop this action ? Is't not 1
That undeigo tliis charge 7 who else but 1,100
And such as to my claim are liable,
Swetit in this business and maintain tliis war ?
Have 1 not heard these islanders shout out
' Vive le loi!' as 1 have bank'd tlieir towns ?
Have 1 not here the best cards for tlie game.
To win this easy match play'd for a crown ?
And shall I now give o'er the yielded set ?
No, no, on my soul, it never shall be said.
Panel. You look but on the outside of this
work.
Lew. Outside or inside, I will not return
Till my attempt so much be glorified 111
As to iny ample hope was promised
Before I drew this gallant head of war, '
And cuird these fiery spirits from the world.
To outlook conquest and to win renown
Even in the jaws of danger and of death.
{Trumpet sounds
What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us ?
scbnb IV.]
KING JCNN.
851
Enter the Bastard, attended.
Ba^t. According to the fair play of the
■world,
Let me have audience ; I am sent to speak:
My lioly lord of Milan, from the king 120
I come, to learn how you have dealt for him ;
And, as you answer, 1 do know the scope
And warrant limited unto my tongue.
Band. The Dauphin is too wilful-opiiosite,
And will not temporize with my entreaties ;
He flatly says he'll not lay down his arms.
Bast. By all the blood that ever fury
breathed,
The youth says, well. Now hear our English
king ;
For tlius his royalty doth speak in me.
He is prepared, and reason too be should : 130
This apish and unmannerly approach.
This harness'd ma^ue and unadvised revel,
This unhair'd 8aucine.ss and boyish troops,
The king doth smile at; and is well prepared
To whip this dwarfish war, thesa pigmy arms,
From out the circle of his teixitories.
That hand which had the strength, even at
your door,
To cudgel yon and make you take the hatch,
To dive like buckets in concealed wells.
To crouch in litter of your stable planks, 140
To lie like pawns lock'd up in chests and
trunks.
To hug with swine, to seek sweet safety out
In vaults and prisons, and to thrill and shake
Even at the crying of your nation's crow.
Thinking his voice an armed Englishman ;
Shall that victorious hand be feebled here.
That in your chambers gave you chastisement ?
No: know.lh.0 gallant monarch is.in arms
Anfilike au-eagle o'er his aeiy. towers,
To^aousean:■!l; j^-ance that comes near his nest.
And you degjuer<ate, you lugrate revolts, 151
You moody Neroes, ripping up the womb
Of your dear mother England, blush for shame;
For your own ladies and pale-visaged maids
Like Amazons come tripping after drums,
Tbeir-thtmbleaJntQ. arme^aiiiitlets. dthOge,
Theimeedles-to lances, aim their gentle hearts
Tafiercejuid bloody lucnn"aH"oh".~
Lew. There end'Thy "bravd', and turn thy
face in peace ;
We grant thou canst outscold us : fare thee
well ; ICO
We hold our time too precious to be spent
With such a brabbler.
Band. Give me leave to speak.
BaM. No, I will speak.
Lew. We will attend to neither.
Strike upthedrums ; and let the tongue of war
Plead for our interest and our being here.
Bast. Indeed your drums, being beaten,
will cry out;
And so shall you, being beaten ; do but start
An echo with the clamor of thy drum,
And even at hand a drum is ready braced
That shall reverberate a 11 as loud as thine ; 170
Sound but another, and another shall
As loud as thine rattle the welkin's ear
And mock the deep-mouth d thunder : for at
hand,
Not trusting to this halting legate here.
Whom he hath used rather for sport than need
Is warlike John ; and iuJuaioreheiid sits
Abare-ribb'd detttlk-whose office is this day
I'o least upon whole thousands of the French.
'TC^to.~'Strike up our" drum's7^o"find "this
danger out.
Bast. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do
not doubt \Exeunt. 180
Scene III. The field of battle.
Alarums. Enter King John and Hubert.
K. John. How goes the day with us ? 0,
tell me, Hubeit
Huh. Badly, I fear. How fares your
majesty ?
K. John. This fever, that hath troubled me
so long.
Lies heavy on me ; O, my heart is sick I
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faul-
conbridge.
Desires your majesty to leave the field
And send him word by me which way you go.
K. John. Tell him, toward Swinstead, to
the abbey there.
Mess. Be of good comfort ; for the great
supply
That was expected by the Dauphiu here, 10
Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin
Sands.
Tliis news was brought to Richard but even
now :
The French fight coldly, and retire themselves.
K. John. Ay me ! this tyrant fever burns
me up.
And will not let me welcome this good news.
Set on toward Swinstead : to my litter
straight ;
Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint.
[Exeunt.
Scene IV. Another part of the field.
Enter Salisbury, Pembroke, and Bigot.
Sal. I did not think the king so stored with
friends.
Bern. Up once again ; put spirit in the
French :
If they miscarry, we miscarry too.
Sal. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge,
In spite of spite, alone upholds the day.
Bern. They say King John sore sick hath
left the field.
Enter Melun, wounded.
Mel. Lead me to the revolts of England
here.
Sal. When we were happy we had other
names.
Bern. It is the Count Melun.
Sal. Wounded to death.
Mel. Fly, noble English, you are bought and
sold; 10
862 KING JOHN.
Untliread the rude eye of rebellion
And welcome home again discarded faith.
Seek out King John and fall before his feet ;
For if the French be lords of this loud day,
He means to recompense the pains you take
By cutting off your heads: thus hath he sworn
And I with him. and many moe with me,
Ujion the altar at Saint Edmundsbury ;
Even on that altar where we swore to you
Dear amity and everlasting love. 20
Sal. May this be possible ? may this be
true ?
Mel. Have I not hideous death within my
view,
Ketaiuing but a quantity of life.
Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax
Resolveth from his figure 'gainst the fire 2
What in the world should make me now
deceive.
Since I must lose the use of all deceit ?
AVhy should I then be false, since it is true
That I must die here and live hence by truth ?
I s,ay again, if Lewis do win the day, 30
He is forsworn, if e'er those eyes of yours
Behold another day break in the ea.st :
Bat even this night, whose black contagious
breath
Already smokes about the bumiug crest
Of the old, feeble and day-wearied sun,
Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire.
Paying the fine of rated treachery
Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives.
If Lewis by your assistiince wip the day.
Commend me to one Hubert with your king ;
The love of him, and this respect besides, 41
For that my gransire was an Englishman,
Awakes ray conscience to confess all this.
In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence
From forth the noise and rumor of the field.
Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts
In peace, and part this body and my soul
With contemplation and deVout desires.
Sal. We ,do believe thee : and beshrew
my soul
But I do love the favor and the form 50
Of this most fair occasion, by the which
We will untread the steps of damned flight,
And like a bated and retired flood.
Leaving our rankness and irregular course.
Stoop low within those bounds we have
o'erlook'd
And calmly run on In obedience
Even to our ocean, to our great King John.
My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence;
For I do see the cruel pangs of death
Right in thine eye. Away, my friends! New
flight; 60
And happy newness, that intends old right.
[Exeunt, leading off Melun.
Scene V. The French camp.
Enter Lewis and his traiti.
Lew. The sun of heaven methought was
loath to set.
But stay'd and made the western welkin blush,
(Act t.
When English measure backward their own
ground
In faint retire. O, bravely came we off,
When with a volley of our needless shot,
After such bloody toil, we bid good night;
And wound our tattering colors clearly up.
Last in the field, aud almost lords of it!
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Where is my prince, the Dauphin ?
Lew. Here : what news?
Mess. The Count Melun is slain ; the En¬
glish lords 10
By his iiersuasiou are again fall'n off.
And your supply, which you havewish'd so long.
Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands.
Lew. Ah, foul shrewd news ! beshrew thy
very heart !
I did not think to be so sad to-night
As this hath made me. Who was he that said
King John did fly an hour or two before
The stumbling night did part our weary
powers ?
Mess. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.
Lew. Well; keep good quarter and good
care to-night; 20
The day shall not be up so soon as I,
To try the fair adventure of to-morrow.
[Exeunt.
Scene YI. An open place in the neighbor¬
hood of Swinstead Abbey.
Enter the Bastabd and Hiibert, seveanUy.
Hub. Wlio's there ? speak, ho! speak
quickly, or I shoot.
Bast. A friend. What art thoU ?
Hub. Of the part of England.
Bast. Whither dost thou go ?
Hub. What's that to thee ? why may not 1
demand
Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine ?
Bast. Hubert, I think ?
Hub. 'Thou hast a perfect thought :
I will upon all hazards well believe
Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue
so well.
Who art thou ?
Bast. Who thou wilt: and if thou please.
Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think
1 come one way of the Plantageuets. 11
Hub. Unkind remembrance ! thou and eye¬
less night
Have done me shame : brave soldier, pardon
me.
That any accent breaking from thy tongue
Should scape the true acquaintance of mine
ear.
Bast. Come, come ; sans compliment, what
news abroad ?'
Hub. Why, here walk I in the,.black brow
of night, - "
To find ybu nut.
Bast. ™ Brief, then ; and what's the
news?
Hub. O. my sweet sir, news fitting to the
night.
SgeKE TII-l
Black, fearful, comfortless and horrible. 20
Bast. Show me the very wound of this ill
news:
I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it.
Huh. The, king. I fear, is poison'd by a
uconk :
I left him almost speediless ; and broke out
To acquaint you with this evil, that you might
The 'oetter arm you to the sudden time.
Than if you had at leisure knowu of this.
Bast. How did lie take it ? who did taste to
him ?
Htib. A monk, I tell you ; a resolved villain,
Whose bowels suddenly burst out : the king
Yet speaks and peradveiiture may recover. 31
Bast. Who didst thou leave to tend his ma¬
jesty ?
Hub. Why, know you not ? the lords are
all come back.
And brought Prince Henry in their company ;
At whose request the king hath pardon'd them.
And they are all about bis majesty.
Bast. Withhold thine indignation, mighty
heaven.
And tempt us not to bear above our power !
I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night.
Passing these fiats, are taken by the tide ; 40
These Lincoln Washes have devoured them ;
Myself, well mounted, hardly have escaped. '
Away before : conduct me to the king ;
I doiibt he will be dead or ere I come. [Axeunf.
Scene VII. The orchard in Swinstead sibbey.
Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury, and Bigot.
P. Hen. It is too late : the life of all his
blood
Is touch'd corruptibly, and his pure brain.
Which some supiiose the soul's frail dwelling-
house,
Doth by the idle comments that it makes
Foretell the ending of mortality.
Enter Pembroke.
Pern. His highness yet doth speak, and
holds belief
Tliat, being brou ;ht into the open air,
It would allay the burning quality
Of that fell poison which assaileth him.
P. Hen. Let him be brought into the
orchard here. 10
Doth he still rage ? [Exit Bigot.
Pern. He is more patient
Than when you left him ; even now he sung.
P. Hen. O vanity of sickness ! fierce ex¬
tremes
In their continuance wiii not feel themselves.
Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts.
Leaves them invistblev-and-Iris-mege is now
A^inst the mind, the" Which "he "pricks and
wounds
With-liiany tegions of Stranjjt fancies,
Which, in their thfbng'A'htr press'to that last
hold, ,
Confound themselves. "Rs strange that death
should sing. - 20
I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,
Who cliants a doleful hymn.tahis own. death,
And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings
IflSIOtirSndTiddy to their lasting resC
Sal. Be.otgqo(LxoiMforLprincej'for you
jire born
To set a form upon that indigest
Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude.
Enter Attendants, and Bigot, carrying King
John in a chair.
K. John. Ay,s marrynow my soul Iiath
elbow-room ;
It would not out at windows nor at doors.
There is so hot a summer in my bosom, 3C
That all my bowels crumble up to dust:
I ajaajKlil?fele4it>ii»v}Jrawji witu.a.jpen
Upon a parch menti and aga.l"§tWis.£"§
P.o I slTrinkT'up. ~ ~
P. Hen.'"" How fares your majesty?
JST. John. Poison'd,—ill fare—dead, for¬
sook, cast off:
And none of you will bid the winter come
To thrust his icy fiugers in my maw,
Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course
Through my burn'd bosom, nor entreat the
north
To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips
And comfort me with cold. I do not ask you
much, 41
I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait
And so ingrateful, you deny me that
P. Hen. O that there were some virtue in
my tears.
That might relieve you!
K. John. The salt in them is hot.
Within me is a hell; and there the poison
Is as a fiend confined to tyrannize
On unreprievable condemned blood.
Enter the Bastard.
Bast. 0,1 am scalded with my violent mo¬
tion.
And spleen of speed to see your majesty ! 50
K. John. O cousiu, thou art come to set
miue eye :
The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd.
And all tbe-shrouda whereuutlMny- Ufe-should
-sail
My heart hath one poor sfringlo stay it by.
W'hich holds but till thy news be uttered ;
And then all this thou seest is but a clod
And module of confounded royalty.
Bast. The Dauphin is preparing hither-
ward,
Where heaven He knows how we shall answei
him; 60
For in a night the best part of my power.
As I upon advantage did remove.
Were in the Washes all unwarily
Devoured by the unexpected flood.
[The king dies.
Sal. You breathe these dead news in as
dead an ear.
My liege! my lord! but now a king, nowthns.
P. Hen. Even so must I run on| and even
so stop.
2o *
KING JOHN.
851
KING
JOHN.
[Act v.
What surety of the world, what hope, what
stay, •
When this was now a king,-and-now is clay ?
Bast. Art thou gone so? I do but stay be¬
hind 70
To do the office for thee of rerenge,
And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven.
As it on earth hath been thy servant still.
Now, now, you stars that move bj your right
spheres,
Wliere be your powers ? show now your
mended faiths,
And instantly return with me again.
To push destruction and perpetual shame
Out of the weak door of our fainting land.
Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be
sought;
The Dauphin rages at our very heels. 80
Sal. It seems you know not, then, so much
as we :
The Cardinal Fandulph is within at rest,
Who half an hour since came from the
Dauphin,
And brinp from him such offers of our peace
As we with honor and respect may take.
With purpose presently to leave this war.
Bast. He will the rather do it when he sees
Ourselves well sinewed to our defence.
Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already;
For many carriages he hath dispatch'd 90
'To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel
To the disposing of the cardinal:
With whom yourself, myself and otlier lords.
If you think meet, this afternoon will post
To consummate this business liapi>ily.
Bast. Let it be so: and you, my noble prince.
With other princes that may best be spared.
Shall wait upon your father's funeral.
P. Hen. At Worcester must his body be in-
terr'd ;
For so he will'd it.
Bast. Thither shall it then: 100
And happily may your sweet self put on
The lineal state and glory of the land !
To whom, with all submission, on my knee
I do bequeath my faithful services
And true subjection everlastingly.
Sal. And the like tender of our love we
make.
To rest withoul a spot for evermore.
P. Hen. I h ive a kind soul that would give
you than rs
And knows not how to do it but with tears.
Bast. O, let us pay the time but needful
woe.
Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.
This England never did, nor never shall, 112
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror.
But when it first did help to wound itself.
Now these her princes are come home again.
Come the three comers of the world in arms.
And we sliaU-uahnck-theia. —Jionght shall
~ make us rue,
If England to itself do rest but true. [Emmi
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.
(written about 1596.)
' INTRODUCTION.
This play takes a place by Itself, midway between the group of Shakespeare's early comedies and
that more brilliant group of comedies which clusters about the year 1600. With the early comedies
It Is allied by the frequent rhymes, the occasional doggerel verse, and the numerous classical allu¬
sions ; with the later group It Is connected by its centring the interest of the drama in tiie develop¬
ment of character, and by the variety, depth, and beauty of the characterization. No person de¬
pleted In any preceding comedy can compare In vigor of drawing and depth of color wltli Shylock :
and Portia is the lirst of Shakespeare's women who unites In beautiful proportion, intellectual
power, high and refined, with unrestrained ardor of the heart. The story of the caskets and the
story of the pound of flesh had been told separately many times and In various countries. The for¬
mer la first found In the mediaeval Greek romance of Barlaam and Josaphat, by Joannes llamas-
cenus (about a.d. 800); in another form it is told by the English poet Gower, and the Italian
novelist Boccaccio. But points of resemblance are most striking between Shakespeare's version of
the casket incident and ihat^ven in the collection of stories so popular in the Middle Ages, the
Oesta Itomanarum. The Incident of the pound of flesh also appears in the Gesta; it is found
in a long religious poem, written In tlie Northumbrian dialect about the end of the thirteenth
century, the Cursor Afundi, in an old ballad, "showing the crueltle of Gernutus a Jew," and
elsewhere; there are Persian and Egyptian versions of the tale, which itself perhaps originally
came from the East. The form in which we have It in Shakespeare is most closely con¬
nected with the version found In a collection of tales, II Pecorone, written by Ser Giovanni,
a notary of Florence, about a. d., 1378. Here, and only here, the Incident of the ring,
which forms the subject of the fifth act of The Merchant of Venice, Is given; and here the
name Belmont appears. It Is probable, however, that Shakespeare to become acquainted
with these stories had not to go to /f Pecorone and tlie Gesta Romanorum. Stephen Gosson writing
in 1579, in his ScAoo/e of about plays which were " tollerable at sometime," mentions "the
Jew . .. showne at the Bull. . , representing the greedinesse of worldly chusers and bloody mlndes
of usurers." The greediness of worldly choosers seems to point to the casket Incident, and the
bloody minds of usurers to that of tlie pound of flesh ; we therefore Infer that a pre-Shakespearian
play existed which combined these two incidents. And It is highly probeble that Shakespeare's task
in the case of The Merchant of Venice, as afterwards in that of King Lear, consisted in creating from
old and worthless dramatic material found among the crude productions of the early English theatre
those forms of beauty and of majesty with which we are familiar. Although the play Is named after
the merchant, Antonio, he Is not the chief dramatic person ; he forms, however, a centre around
which the other characters are grouped : Bassanio, Ids friend; Shylock, his erring and would-be
murderer; Portia, his savior. Antonio's part Is rather a passive than an active one : he Is to be an
object of contention and a prize ; much Is to be done against him and on his behalf, but not much Is
to be done by him; and therefore, although his character Is very firmly conceived and clearly In¬
dicated, his part is subdued and kept low, lest It might Interfere with the exhibition of the two chief
forces of the play—the cruel masculine force of Shylock, which holds the merchant In its re¬
lentless, vice-like ^p; and the feminine force of Portia, which is as bright as sunlight, and as beuct-
Icent. Yet Shakespeare is careful to Interest us in Antonio, and to show us that he was worth
every exertion to save. The distinction of Portia among the women of Shakespeare is the union in
her nature of high intellectual powers and decision of will with a heart full of ardor and susceptibil¬
ity to romantic feelings. She has herself never known trouble or sorrow, but prosperity has left
her generous and quick in sympathy. Her noble use of wealth and joyous life, surrounded with
flowers and fountains and marble statues and music, stands in contrast over against the hard, sad,
and contracted life of Shylock, one of a persecuted tribe, absorbed in one or two narrowing and in¬
tense passions—the love of money-bags he clutches and yet fails to keep, and his hatred of the man
who had scorned his tribe. Insulted his creed, and diminished his gains. Yet Shylock is not like
Marlowe's Jew, Barabas. a preternatural monster. Wolf-like as his revenge shows him, we pity his
joyless, solitary life ; and when, ringed round in the trial scene with hostile force, he stands firm
upon his foothold of law, there is something sublime in his tenacity of passion and resolve. But we
feel that it Is right that his evil strength shorjld be utterly crushed and quelled, and when Shylock
leaves the court a broken man, we know it la needful that this should he so. The date of the play is
uncertain. Perhaps 1596 is as likely a date as we can fix upon ; but the precise year matters little if
it be remembered that the play occupies an intermediate place between the early and the middle
group of comedies. ,
(C55)
85G
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.
[Act
DRAMATIS PERSONS.
The Duke op Venice.
The Prince of Morocco, > u.,..,!..
The Prince of Arragon, j to Portw.
Antonio, a merchant of Venice.
B.assanio, his friend, suitor likewise to Portia.
Salanio, )
Grat^ano' I Antonio and Bssanio.
Salerio, j
Lorenzo, in love with Jessica
Shyloc^, a rich Jew.
Tcbae, a Jew, his friend. [lock.
Launceeot Gobbo, the clown, servant to Shy-
Old Gobbo, father to Launcelot.
Leonardo, servant to Bassanio.
STS"HANr' l^'ervantstoPortia.
Portia, a rich heiress. i
Nerissa, her waiting-maid. ■-
Jessica, daughter to Shy lock.
Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court
of Justice, Gaoler, Servants to Portia,
and other Attendants.
Scene : Partly at Venice, and partly at Bel¬
mont, the seat of Portia, on the Continent.
ACT I.
Scene I. Venice. A street.
Enter Antonio, Salarino, and Sadanio.
Ant. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad :
It wearies me ; you say it wearies you ;
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
What stuff 'tis made of, wheieof it is bom,
I am to leam ;
And such a want-wit sadness makes of me.
That i have much ado to know myself.
Salar. Your miud is tossing on the ocean ;
There, where your argosies with portly sail.
Like signiors and rich burghei-s on the flood.
Or, as it were, the pageants < f the sea, 11
Do overpeer the iretty traffickers,
That curtsy to them, do them reverence.
As they fly by them with their woven wings.
Solan. Believe me, sir, had I such venture
forth, ■
The better part of my affections would
Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still
Plucking the grass,to know where sits the wind.
Peering in maps for ports and piers and roads;
And every object that might make me fear 20
Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt
Would make me sad.
Salar. My wind cooling my broth
Would blow me to an ague, when I thought
What harm a wind too great at sea might do.
I should not see the sandy hour-glass run.
But I should think of shallows and of flats.
And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand.
Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs
To kiss her burial. Should I go to church
And see the holy edifice of stone, 30
And not bethink me straight of dangerous
rocks.
Which touching but my gentle vessel's side.
Would scatter all her spices on the stream.
Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks.
And, ill a word, but even now worth this.
And now worth nothing ? Shall I have the
thought
To think on this, and shall I lack the thought
That such a thing bechanced would make me
sad 7
But tell not me; I know, Antonio
Is sad to think upon lus merchandise. 40
Ant. Believe me, no : I thank my fortune
for it.
My ventures are not in one bottom trusted,
Kor to one place ; nor is my whoic estate
Upon the fortune of this present year:
Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad.
Salar. Wliy, then j'ou are in love.
Ant. Fie, fie 1
Salar. Not in love neither ? Then let us
say you are sad.
Because you are not merry; and 'twere as easy
For you to laugh and l^p and say you are
merry.
Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed
Janus,
Nature hath framed strange fellows in her
time: [eyes
Some that will evermore peep through their
And laugh like parrots at a bag-piper.
And other of such vinegar aspect
That they'll not show their teeth in way of
smile.
Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.
Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano.
Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most
noble kinsman,
Gratiano and Lorenzo. Fare ye well:
We leave you now with better company.
Salar. I would have stay'd till I had made
you merry, 60
If worthier friends had not prevented me.
Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard.
I take it, your own business calls on you
And you embrace the occasion to deiiart.
Salar. Good morrow, my good lords.
Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we
laugh 7 say, when 7
You grow exceeding strange : must it be so 7
Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend
on yours.
[Exeunt Salarino and Salanio.
Lor. My Lord Bassanio, since you have
found Antonio,
We two will leave you : but at dinner-time,71
I pray you, have in "mind where we must meet
Bass. I will not fail you.
Ora. You look not well, Siguier Antonio ;
You have too much respect upon the world :
Tiiey lose it that do buy it with much care :
Scene i.]
Believe me, you are marvellously changed.
Ant. I hold tlie world but as. the world,
Gratiano;
A stage where every man must play a part,
And mine a sad one.
Gra. Let me play the fool:
With mirtli and laughter let old wrinkles
come, tiO
And let my liver rather heat with wine
Thau my heart cool with mortifying groans.
Why should a man, whose blood is.warm
within.
Sit like his gmndsire cut in alabaster ?
Sleep when he wakes and creep into the
jaundice
By being peevish ? I tell thee what, Antonio—
I love tliee, and it is my love that speaks—
There are a sort of men whose visages
Do cream and mantle like a standing pond.
And do a wilful stillness entertain, 90
With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit.
As wlio should say ' I am Sir Oiacle,
And when I ope my lips let no dog Iwrk !'
0 my Antonio, I do know of these
Tliat therefore only are reputed wise
For saying nothing, when, I am very snre.
If they sliould speak, would almost damn
those ears [fools.
Which, hearing them, would call their brothers
I'll tell thee more of this another time ; 100
But fish not, with this inelanchoiy lialt.
For this fool gudgeon, this opinion.
Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile:
I'll end my exhortation after dinner.
Lor. Weli, we will leave you then till
dinner-time :
1 must be one of these same dumb wise men.
For Gratiano never lets me speak.
Gra. Well, keep me company but two
years moe.
Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own
tongne. [gear.
Ant. Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this
Gra. Thanks, i' faith, for silence is only
commendable 110
In a neat's tongue dried and a maid not vend¬
ible. [Exeunt Gratiano and Lorenzo.
Ant. Is that any thing now ?
Bass. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of
nothing, more than any man in all Venice.
His reasons are as two grains of wiieat hid in
two bushels of chaff: you shall seek all day
ere you find them, and" when yon have them,
they are not worth the search.
Ant. Well, tell me now what lady is the
same
To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, 120
That you to-day promised to tell me of ?
Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,
How much I have disabled mine estate,
By something showing a more swelling jiort
Than my faint means would grant continu¬
ance :
Nor do I now make moan to be abridged
From such a noble rate ; but my chief care
367
Is to come f.airly off from the great debts
Wherein my time something too prodigal
Hiitli left me gaged. To you, Antonio, 130-
1 owe the most, in money and in love.
And from your love I have a warranty
To unburden all my plots and purposes
How to get clear of all the debts I owe.
Ant. 1 pray you, good Bassauio, let me
know it;
And if it stand, as you yourself still do.
Within the eye of honor, be assured.
My purse, my person, my extremest means,
Lie all unlock'd to your occasions.
Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost
one shaft, .. 140
I shot his fellow of the self-same flight
The self-siime way with more advised watch.
To find tlie other foith, and by adventuring
both
I oft found both : I urge this cMdhood proof,
Because what follows is pure innocence,
I owe you much, and, like a wilful youth.
That which I owe is lost; biit if you please
To shoot another arrow that self way
Which you did shoot the first, 1 do not donbt,
As I will watch the aim, or to find both ISO
Or bring your latter hazard back again
And thankfully rest debtor for the first.
Ant. You know me well, and herein spend
but time
To wind about my love with circumstance ;
And out of doubt you do me now more wrong
In making question of my uttermost
Than if you had made waste of all I have :'
Then do but say to me what I should do
That in your knowledge may by me be done, ■
And I am prest unto it; therefore, speak. 160
Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left;
And she is fair, and, fairer than that word.
Of wondrous virtues : sometimes from her
eyes
I did receive fair speechless messages :
Her name is Portia, nothing undervalued
To Cato's daughter, Brutus Portia :
Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth,
Fot the four .winds blow in from every coast
Renowned suitors, and her sunny locks
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece ; 170
Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos'
strand.
And many Jasons come in quest of her.
0 ray Antonio, had 11 . the means
To liold a rival place with one of them,
1 have a mind presages me such thrift.
That I should questionless be fortunate I
Ant. Thou know'st that all my fortunes are
at sea;
Neither have I money nor commodity
To raise a present sum : therefore go forth ;
Try what my credit can in Venice do : 180
That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost.
To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia.
Go, presently inquire, and so will I,
Where money is, and I no question make
To have it of ray trust or for my sake,
. [Exeunt.
THE MERCHANT OF, VENICE.
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.
[A;7T 1-
!NE n. Belmont. A room in Portia's
house.
Enter Portia and Nebissa.
For. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body
is aweary of this great world.
Ner. You would be, sweet madam, U your
miseries were in the same abundance as your
good fortunes are : and yet, for aught I see,
they are as sick th.at surfeit with too much as
they that starve with nothing. It is no mean
happiness therefore, to be seated in the mean:
superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but
competency lives longer. 10
Pw. Good sentences and well pronounced,
Ner. They would be better, if well followed.
Por. If to do were as easy as to know what
were good to do, chapels had been churches
and poor men's cottages princes' palaces. It
is a good divine that follows his own instruc¬
tions: I can easier teach twenty what were
good to be done, than be one of the twenty to
follow mine own teaching. The brain may de¬
vise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps
o'er a cold decree: such a hare is madness the
youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good counsel
the cripple. But this reasoning is not in tlie
fashion to choose me a husband. O me, the
word ' clioose!' I may neitlier choose wliom I
would nor refuse whom I dislike; so is the will
of a living daughter curbed by the will of a
dead father. Is it not Iiard, Nerissa, that I
cannot choose one nor refuse none ? 2S)
Ner. Your father was ever vlrtuoim; and
holy men at their death have good inspirations:
therefore the lottery, that he hath devised in
these three chests of gold, silver and lead,
whereof who chooses his meaning chooses you,
will, no doubt, never be chosen by any rightly
but one who shall rightly love. But what
warmth is there iu your affection towards any
of these irriucely suitors that are already
come ?
Por. I pray thee, over-name them; and as
thou namest them, I will describe them; and,
according to my description, level at my af¬
fection.
Ner. First, there is the Neapolitan prince.
Por. Ay, that's a colt indeed, for he doth
.nothing but talk of his horse; and he makes it
a great appropriation to his own good parts,
that he can shoe him himself. I am much
afeard my lady his mother played false with a
smith.
Ner. Then there is the County Palatine.
Por. He doth nothing but frown, as who
should say ' If you will not have me, choose:'
he hears merry tales and smiles not: I fear he
will prove the weeping philosopher when he
grows old, being so full of unmannerly sadp
uess in his youth. I had rather be married to
a death's-head with a bone in his mouth than
to either of these. God defend me from these
two!
Ner. How say you by the French lord.
Monsieur Le Bon ?
Por. God made him, and therefore let hiin
pass for a man. In truth, I know it is a sin to
be a mocker: but, he ! why, he hath a horse
better than the Neapolitan's, a better bad
habit of frowning than the Count Palatine; he
is eveiy man in no man; if a throstle sing, he
falls straight a capering: he will fence with
his own shadow: if I should marry him, f
should marry twenty husbands. . If he would
despise me I would forgive him, for if he love
me to madness, I shall never requite him. 70
Ner. What say you, then, to Falcon-
bridge, the young baron of England ?
Por. You know I say nothing to him, for
he understands not me, nor I him; he hath
neither Latin, French, nor Italian, and you
will come into the court and swear that I have
a poor pennyworth in the English. He is a
proper man's picture, but, alas, who can con¬
verse with a dumb-show? How oddly he is
suited I I think he bought his doublet in
Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet in
Germany and his behavior every where.
Ner. What think you of the Scottish lord,
his neighbor ?
Por. That he hath a neighborly charity in
hira, for he borrowed a box of the ear of the
Englishman and swore he would pay him
again when he was able: I think the French¬
man became his surety and sealed under for
another.
Ner. Wpyr like you the young German, the
Duke of Saxony's nephew ? 91
Por. Very vilely in the morning, when he
is sober, and most vilely in the afternoon,
when he is drunk: when he is best, he is a
little worse than a man, and when he is worst,
he is little better than a beast : an the worst
fall that ever fell, I hope I shall make shift
to go without him.
Ner. If he should offer to choose, and
choose the right casket, you should refuse to
perform your father's will, if you should re¬
fuse to accept him.
Per. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I
pray thee, set a deep glass of rhenish wine on
the contrary casket, for if the devil be within
and that temptation without, 1 know he will
choose it. I will do any thing, Nerissa, ere
I'll be married to a sponge.
Ner. You need not fear; lady, the having
any of these lords: they have acquainted me
with their determinations; which is, indeed,
to return to their home and to trouble you
with no more suit, unless yon may be won by
some other sort than your father's imposition
depending on the caskets.
Per. If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will
die as chaste as Diana, unless I be obtained by
the manner of my father's will. I am glad this
parcel of wooers are so reasonable, for there
IS not one among them but I dote on his very
absence, and I pray God grant them a fair de¬
parture.
Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in your
father's time, a Venetian, a scholar and a
Scene hi.]
soldier, that came hither in company of the
Marquis of Montferrat ?
Por. Yes, yes, it was Bassauio; as I think,
he was so caiied.
Ner. True, madam: he, of all the men tliat
ever my foolish eyes iooked upon, was the
best deserving a fair iady. 131
Por. I remember him well, and I remem¬
ber him worthy of thy praise.
Enter a Serving-man.
How now f what news ?
Sen. The four strangers seek for you,
madam, to take their ieave: and there is a fore¬
runner come from a fifth, the Prince of
Morocco, who brings word the prince his
master wiil be here to-night. 139
Por If I could bid the fiftli welcome with
so good a heart as I can bid the other four
farewell, I should be glad of his approacli: if
he have the condition of a saint and the com¬
plexion of a devil, I had rather he should
shrive me tliau wive me.
Come, Nerissa. Sirrah, go before.
Wiiiles we shut the .gates upon one wooer,
another knocks at the door. [Exeunt.
Scene HI. Venice. A public place.
Enter Bassakio and Shylock.
Sky. Three thousand ducats ; well.
Pass. Ay, sir, for three months.
Shy. For three months ; weii.
Pass. For the which, as I told you, Anto¬
nio shall be bound.
Shy. Antonio shall become bound ; well.
Pass. May you stead me ? will you pleasure
me? shall 1 know your answer ? .
Shy. Three thousand ducats for three
months and Antonio bound. 10
Pass. Your answer to that.
Shy. Antonio is a good man.
Pass. Have you heard any imputation to
the contrary ?
Shy. Oh, no, no, no, no; my meaning in
saying he is a good man is to have you under¬
stand me that ho is sutficient. Yet his means
are in supposition: he hath an argosy bound to
IViimlis, another to, the Indies; 1 understiind,
moreover, upon the Rialto, he hath a third at
Mexico, a fourth for England, and other ven¬
tures he hath, squandered abroad. But ships
are but boards, siiilors but men : there be
land-rats and water-rats, water-tliieves and
land-thieves, I mean pirates, and then there is
the peril of waters, winds and rocks. The
man is, notwithstanding, sufficient. Three
thousand ducats; I think I may take his bond.
Pass. Be assured you may.
Shy. I will be assured 1 may; and, that I
may be assured, I will betl^k me. May I
sp^k with Antonio ?
Pass. If it please you to dine with us.
Shy. Yes, to smell pork; to eat of the habi¬
tation which your prophet the Nazarite con¬
jured the devil into. I will buy with you, sell
with you, talk with you, walk with yon, and
869
so following, but I will not eat with you, drink
with you, nor p.ay with you. What news on
tlie Riaito? Who is Le comes here ? 40
Enter Antonio.
Pass. This is Signior Antonio.
Shy. [Aside] How like a fawning publican
he looks I
I hate him for he is a Christian^
But more for that in low simplicity
He lends out money gratis and brings down
The rate of usance here witii us it Venice.
If I can catch him once upon tlie hip,
I wiil feed fat the ancient grudge 1 bear him.
He hates our sacred nation, and he rails.
Even tliere where merchants most do con¬
gregate, 50
On me, my bargains and my well-won thrift,
Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe.
If 1 forgive him !
Pass. Shylock, do you hear ?
Shy. I am debating of my present store.
And, bj' the near guess of my memory,
1 cannot instantly raise up tiie gross
Of full three tliousand ducats' Wliat of that?
Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe,
Wiil furnish me. But soft ! how many
months
Do you desire ? [To Anf.] Rest yon fair, good
signior ; 6(1
Y'our worship was the last man in our mouths.
Ant'. Shylock, although I neither lend uoi
borrow
By taking nor by giving of excess,
■yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend,
I'll break a custom. Is he yet possess'd
How much ye would ?
Shy. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats.
Ant. And for three months.
Shy. 1 had forgot; three mouths; you told
me so.
Weil then, your bond; and let me see; but
hear you;
Methought you said you neither lend nor bor¬
row
Upon advantage. 7fl
Ant. I do never use it.
Shy. When Jacob grazed his uncle Laban'a
sheep—
Tills Jacob from our holy Abram was.
As his wise mother wrought in bis behalf,
The third jiossessor ; ay, lie was the tliird—
Ant. And what of him ? did he take in¬
terest ? •
Shy. No, not talie interest, not, as you
would say.
Directly interest: mark what Jacob did.
When Laban and himself were compromised
That all the eanlings which were streak'd and
pied 80
Should fall as Jacob's hire, the ewes, being
rank.
In the end of autumn turned to the rams.
And, when the work of generation was
Between these woolly breeders in the act.
The skilful shepherd peel'd me certain wands
THE MERCHANT OF. VENICE.
360
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.
[Act II.
And, in the doing of the deed of kind,
He stuck tliem up before tlie fulsome ewes.
Who then conceiving did in eaniug time
Fall parti-color'd lambs, and those were
Jacob's.
This was a way to thrive, and he was blest: 90
And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not.
Ant. This was a venture, sir, that Jacob
served for ;
A thing not in his power to bring to pass.
But sway'd and fashion'd by the hand of
heaven.
Was this inserted to make interest good ?
Or is your gold and silver ewes and rams ?
Shy. I cannot tell; I make it breed as fast:
But note me, signior.
Ant. Mark you this, Bassauio,
The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.
An CT'il soul j)roduciug holy witness 100
Is like a villain with a smiling cheek,
A goodly apple rotten at the heart :
Q, what a goodly outside falsehood hath !
Shy. Three thousand ducats; 'tis "a good
round sum.
Three months from twelve; then, let me
see ; the rate— [to you ?
Ant. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholding
Shy. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft
In the Rialto you have rated me
About my moneys and my usances :
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug, 110
For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.
You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog.
And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine,
And all for use of that which is mine own.
Well then, it now appears you need my help :
Go to, then;; you come to me, and you say
'Shylock, we would have moneys:' you"say
so ;
You, that did void your rheum upon my beard
And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur 119
Over your threshold : moneys is j-our suit.
AVhat should I say to you ? Should I not say
' Hath a dog money ? is it possible
A cur can lend three thousand ducats ?' Or
Shall I bend low and in a bondman's key.
With bated breath and whispering humbleness.
Say this :
' Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last;
You spum'd me such a day ; another time
You cail'd me dog ; and for these courtesies
I'll lend you thus much moneys' 1 130
Ant. I am as like to call thee so again.
To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too.
If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not
As to thy friends ; for when did friendship
take I
A breed for barren metal of his friend ?
But lend it rather to thine enemy.
Who, if he break, thou mayst with better face
Exact the penalty.
Shy. Why, look you, how yon storm !
I would be friends with you and have your
love,
'Forget the shames that you have stain'd me
with, 140
Supply your present wants and take no doit
Of usance for my moneys, and yon'll not hear
me :
This is kind I offer.
Bass. This were kindness.
Shif. This kindness will I show.
Go with me to a notary, seal me there
Your single bond ; and, in a merry sport.
If you repay me not cm such a day.
In such a place, such sum or sums as are
Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit
Be nominated for an equal pound 150
f your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken
In what [lart of your body pleaseth me.
Ant. Content, i' faith : I'll seal to such a
bond
And say there is much kindness in the Jew.
Bass. You shall not seal to such a bond for
me :
I'll ratlier dwell in my necessity.
AnU Why, fear not, man ; 1 will not forfeit
it:
Within these two mouths, that's a month be¬
fore
This bond expires, I do expect return IGO
Of thrice three times the value of this bond.
Shy. O father Abram, what these Chris¬
tians are.
Whose own hard dealings teaches them sus¬
pect
The thoughts of others ! Pray you, tell me
this ;
If he should break his day, what should I gain
By the exaction of the forfeiture 1
A pound of man's flesh taken from a man
Is not so estimable, profitable neither.
As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats.. I say.
To buy his favor, I extend this friendship :
If he will take it, so ; if not, adieu ; 170
And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not.
Ant. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this
bond.
Shy. Then meet me forthwith at the no¬
tary's ;
Give him direction for this merry bond.
And I w I go and purse the ducats straight,
See to my house, left in the fearful guard
Of an unthrifty knave, and presen'ly
I will ue with you.
Ant. Hie thee, gentle .Tew. [Exit Shylock.
The Hebrew will turn Christian : he grows
kind. 180
Bass. I like not fair terms and a villain's
mind.
Ant. Come on : in this there can be no dis¬
may ;
My ships come home a mouth before the day.
[Exeunt.
ACT II.
Scene I. Belmont. AroominTo^TiA'shouse.
Flourish of cornets. Enter the Prince op
Morocco and his train; Portia, Nbrissa,
and others attending.
SCEMB Jl.|
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.
3C1
Mor. Mislike me not for my complexion,
The shadow'd Uvory ol tlto buniish'd suii,
To wtboin 1 am a ncightwr and near bred.
Bring me tho fairest creature northvrard born,
Where Phcsbus' Are scarce thaws the icicles.
And le. i- make incision for your love.
To prove u ose blood is reddest, his or mine.
I tell thee, l;;cly, this aspect of mine
Hath fcar'd tho valiant: by my love, I swear
The best-regarded virgins of our ciime 10
Have loved it too : I v/ould not change this hue.
Except to steal your thoughts, my gontlc queen.
vJPor. In terms of choice 1 am not solely led
By nice direction of a maiden'c eyes ;
Besides, the lottery of my destiny
Bais me the righi of voluntary choosing :
But if my father liad not scanted me
And hedged me by his wit, to yield myself
His wife who wins me by that means 1 told
you.
Yourself, renowned prince, tlieu stood as fair
As any comer I have look'd on yet 21
For my affection.
Mor. ! Even for that I thank you ;
Therefore, I prs^ you. lead me to the caskets
To try my fortune. By this scimitar
That slew the Sophy and a Persian prince
That won three fields ol Suitan Solyman,
1 would outstare the sternest eyes that look,
Outbrave the heart most daring on the ean^.
Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-
bear.
Yea, mock the Uou when he roarsfor prey, 30
To win thee, lady. But, alas the while !
If Hercules and Lichac play at dice
Wiiich is the better man, the greater throw
May turn by fortune from the weaker hand ;
So is Alcides beaten by his page ;
And so may 1, blind fortun. eading me.
Miss that which one unworthier may attain.
And die, with grieving! ,
For. You must take your chance,
And either not attempt to choose at all
Or swear before you choose, if you choose
wrong 40
Never to speak to lady afterward
In way of marr^e : therefore be advised. '
Mor. Nor will not Come, bring me unto
my chance. [dinner
Par. First, forward to the temple : after
Your hozartl shall be made.
Mor. Good fortune then !
To make me blest or cursed'et among inen.
[Cornels, and exeunt.
Scene II. Venice. A street.
' Enter Launcelot.
Laun. Certainly my conscience will serve
me to run from this Jew myi^master. The
fiend is at mine elbow and tempts me saying
to me ' Gol' o, Launcelot Gobbo, good Laun¬
celot,' or ' gcod Ciobbo,' or 'good Launcelot
Gobbo, use ..our legs, take the start, run
avray.' My conscience says' No ; take heed'
honest Launcelot; take need, honest Gobbo-,
or, as aforesaid, ' honest Launcelot Gobbo ; do
not run ; scorn running with thy heeis.' Well,
the most courageous fiend bids me pack ; 'Via!'
says the fiend ; ' away !' says the fiend ; ' for
the heavens, rouse up a brave mind,' says the
fiend, ' and run.' Well, my conscience, hang¬
ing about the neck of -my heart, says very
wisely to me ' My honest friend Lanucelot,
being an honest man's son,' or nvther an hon¬
est woman's son; for, indeed, my father did
something smack, something grow to, be had
a kind of taste ; well, my conscience says
'Launcelot, budge not.' 'Budge,' says the
fiend. ' Budge not,' says my conscience.
' Conscience,' say I, ' you counsel well ;'
' Fiend,' say I, 'you counsel well:' to be ruled
by my conscience, I should stay with the Jew
my master, who, God bless the mark, is a kind
of devil ; and, to run away from the Jew, I
should be ruled by the fiend, who, saving your
reverence, is the devil himself. Certainly the
Jew is the very devil iucarnal ; and, in my
conscience, my couscieuce is but a kind of hard
conscience, to offer to counsel me to stay with
the Jew. The fiend gives tho more friendly
counsel: I will mn, fiend ; my heels are at
your command ; I will run.
Enter Old Gobbo, with a basket.
Gob. Master young man, you, I pray yon.
Which is the way to master Jew's ?
Laun. [Aside] O heavens, this is my trne-
'begotten father! who, being more than saud-
bllnd, high-gravel blind, knows me not: I will
try confusions with him.
Gob. Master young gentleman, I pray you,
which is the way to master Jew's ? 41
Laun. Turn up on your right hand at the
next turning, but, at the next turning of all,
on your left; marry, at the very next turning,
turn of no hand, but turn down indirectly to
the Jew's house.
Gob. By God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way
to hit. Can you teil me whether one Launce¬
lot, that dwells with him, dwell with him or
no?
letiin. Talk you of young Master Launce¬
lot ? [Aside] Mark me now ; now will I raise?
the waters. Talk you of young Master Laun¬
celot ?
Gob. No master, sir, but a poor man's .son:
his father, though I say it, is an honest ex¬
ceeding poor man and, God be thanked, well
to live.
Laun. Well, let his father be what a' will,
we talk of young Master Launcelot.
Gob. Your worship's friend and Launcelot,
sir.
Laun. But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo,
I beseech you, talk you of young Master
Launcelot ? '
Gob. Of Launeelot, an't please your mas¬
tership.
Laun. Ergo, Master Launcelot. Talk not
of Master Launcelot, father; for the young
gentleman, according to Fates and Destinies
362
and such odd sayings, the Sisters Three and
such branches of learning, is indeed deceased,
or, as you would say in plain terms, gone to
heaven.
Gob. Marry, Good forbid 1 the boy was the
very staff of my age, my very prop. 70
Laun. Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-
post, a staff or a prop ? Do you know me,
father ?
Croh. Alack the day, I know you not, young
gentleman: but, I pi-ay you, tell me, is my
boy, God rest his soul, alive or dead ?
Laun. Do you not know me, fatlier ?
Gob. Alack, sir, I am sand-blind ; I know
you not
Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes,
you might fail of the knowing me : it is a wise
father that knows his own child. Well, old
man, I will tell you news of your son: give
me your blessing : truth will come to light;
murder cannot be hid long ; a man's son may,
but at the length truth will out.
Gub. Pray you, sir, stand up : I am sure
you are not Launcelot, my boy.
Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling
about it, but give me your blessing : 1 am
Launcelot, your boy that was, your son that
is, your child that snail be. 91
Gob. I cannot think you are my son.
Laun. I know not what I shall think of
<hat: but 1 am Launcelot, the Jew's man, and
: am sure Margery your wife is my mother.
Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed : I'll be
..worn, if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine
own flesh and blood. Lord worshipped might
lie be ! what a beard hast thou got 1 thou hast
got more hair on thy cliin than Dobbin my flll-
Horse has on his taiL 101
Zaun. It should seem, then, that Dobbin's
tail grows backward : I am sure he had more
hair of his tail than I have of my face when I
.ast saw him.
Gob. Lord, how art thou changed ! How
tlost thou and thy master agree? I have
hrought him a present. How 'gree you now ?
Laun. Well, well: but, for mine own part,
as I have set up my rest to run away, so I will
not rest till I have run some ground. My
aiaster's a very Jew : give him a present 1
give him a halter : I am famished in his serv¬
ice ; you may tell every finger 1 have with my
»lbs. Father, 1 am glsid you are come : give
me your present to one Master Bassanio, who.
Indeed, gives rare new liveries : if I serve not
him, I will run as far as God has any ground.
O rare fortune 1 here comes the man : to him,
father ; for 1 am a Jew, if I serve the Jew any
longer. 120
Enter B.issakio, with Leonardo and other
followers.
Bass. You inay do so ; but let it be so
hasted that supper be ready at the farthest by
five of the clock. See these letters delivered ;
put the liveries to making, and desire Gr»*iano
to come anon to my lodgmg. {Ezit a Sereant
[Act it.
Zaun. To him, fkther.
Gob. God bless your worship t
Bass. Gramercy 1 wouldst thou aught with
me ?
Chb. Here's my son, sir, a poor boy,—
Laun. Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich
Jew's man ; that would, sir, as my lather shal'i
specify—
Gob. Ho hath a great infection, sir, as one
would say, to serve,-
Laun.' Indeed, the short and the long is, I
serve the Jew, and have a desire, as my father
shall specify—
Gob. His master and he, saving your wor¬
ship's reverence, are scarce cater-cousins-
Zaun. Tobebrief, the very truth is that the
Jew, having done me wrong, doth cause me,
as my fatlier, being, 1 hope, an old man, shall
frutify unto you—
Gob. 1 have here a dish of doves that I
would bestow upon your worship, and my sub
is—
Laun. In very brief, the suit is impertinent
to myself, as your worship shall know by this
honest old man ; and, though I say it, though
old man, yet po<» man, my father.
Bass. One speak for both. What would
yon 7 150
Laun. Serve you, sir.
Gob. That is the very defect of tlie matter,
sir. [thy suit;
Bass. 1 know thee well ; thou hast obtain'd
Shylock thy master sp'ke with me this day.
And bath preferr'd tbeu, if it be preferment
To leave a rich Jew's service, to become
The follower of so poor a gentleman.
Laun. The old proverb is very well parted
between my master Shylock and you, sir: you
have the grace of God, sir, and he hath
enough.
Bass. Tliou speak'st itwelL Go, father,
with thy son.
Take leave of thy old master and inquire
My lodging out. Give him a livery
More guarded than his fellows': see it done.
Laun. Father, in.. 1 cannot get a service,
no ; I have ne'er a tongue in my head. Well,
if any man in Italy have t a fairer table which
doth offer to swear upon a book, I shall have
good fortune. Go to, here's a simple line of
life : here's a small trifle of wives : alas, fif¬
teen wives is nothing ! eleven widows and nine
maids is a simple Coming-in for one man: and
then to 'scape drowning thrice, and to be in
Eeril of my life with the edge of a feather-bed;
ere are simple scapes. Well, if Fortune be
a woman, she's a good wench for this gear.
Father, come ; I'll take my leave of ^e Jew in
the twiuklinv of an eye.
[ZTxeunf Launcelot and '.-Id
Bass. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think oa
this :
These thin» being bought and orderly be
stow'd.
Return in haste, for > do feast to-nmht 180
My best-esteem'd acquaintance: hm thee, go.
TUB MERCHANT OF VENICE.
Scene tr.]
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.
363
Leon. My best endeavors shall be done
herein.
Enter Gkatiano.
Gra. Where is yonr ina.ster ?
Leon. Yonder, sir, he walks. [Exit.
Gra, Siguier Bassauio!
Bass. Gratiano !
Gra. I have a suit to you.
Bass. You have obtaiu'd it.
Gra. Yon must not deny me : I must go
rith you to Belmont.
Bass. Why then you must But hear tliee,
Gratiano ;
riiou art too wild, too rude and bold of voice ;
Parts that become tliee happily enough 191
And in such eyes as ours app^r not faults ;
But where thou art not known, why, there
they show
Something too liberal. Pray thee, take pain
To allay with some cold drops of modesty
Thy skipping spirit, lest through thy wild be¬
havior
I be misconstrued in the place I go to
And lose my hopes.
Gra. Signior Bassanio, hear me :
It I do not put Cu a sober habit.
Talk with respect and swear but now and then.
Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look de¬
murely, 201
(Tay more, while grace is saying, hood mine
eyes
Thus with my hat, and sigh and say ' amen,'
Vse all the observance of civility,
Like one well studied in a sad ostent
To please his grandain, never trust me more.
Bass. Well, we shall see your bearing.
Gra. Nay, but I bar to-night; you shall
not gauge me
By what we do to-night.
Bass. No, that were pity :
I would entreat yon rather to put on 210
Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends
That purpose merriment. But fare you well:
I have some business.
Gra. And I must to Lorenzo and the rest :
But we will visit you at supper-time. [Exuent.
Scene III. The same. A room in Shylock's
house.
Enter Jessica and Launoeeot.
Jes. I am sorry thou wilt leave my father
so :
t/ur house is hell, and thou, a merry devil.
Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness.
But fare thee well, there is a ducat for thee :
And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see
Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest :
Give him this letter ; do it secretly ;
And so farewell : I would not have my father
See me in talk with'thee. 9
Laun. Adieu ! tears exhibit my tongtie.
Most beautiful pagan, most sweet Jew ! if a
Christian did not pl.ay the knave and get thee,
I am much deceived. But, adieu : these foolish
drops do something drown my manly spirit;
a^eu-
Jes. Farewell, good Launcelot -
lExit Launcelot.
Alack, what heinous sin is it in me
To be ashamed to be my father's child !
But though I am a daughter to his blood,
I am not to his manners. O Lorenzo,
If thou keep promise, I shall cud this strife, 20
Become a Christian and thy loving wile. [Exit.
Scene IV. The same. A street.
Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Saearino, and
Saeanio.
Lor. Nay, we will slink away in supper-
time.
Disguise us at my lodging and return.
All in an hour.
Gra. We have not made good preparation.
Salar. We have not spoke us yet of torch-
bearers.
Salan. 'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly
order'd.
And better in my mind not undertook.
Lor. 'Tis now but four o'clock: we have
two hours
To furnish us.
Enter Launceixjt, with a letter.
Friend Launcelot, what's the news ?
Laun. An it shall please you to break up
thi.s, it shall seem to signify. 11
Lor. I know the hand : in faith, 'tis a fair
hand ;
And whiter than the paper it writ on
Is the fair hand that writ.
Gra. Ixive-news, in faith.
Laun. By your leave, sir.
Lor. Whither goest thou ?
Laun. Marry, sir, to bid my old master the
Jew to sup to-night with my new master the
Christian.
Lor. Hold here, take this : tell gentle Jes.
sica 20
I will not fail her ; speak it privatelv.
Go, gentlemen, [Exit Launcelot.
Will you prepare you for this masque to-night ?
L am provided of a torch-bearer.
Salar. Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it
straight.
Salan. And .so will I.
Lor. Meet me and Gratiano
At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence.
Salar. 'Tis good we do so.
[Exeunt Salar. and Salan.
Gra. Was not that letter from fair Jessica ?
Lor. I must needs tell thee all. She hath
directed 30
IIow I shall take her from her father's house.
What gold and jewels she is furnish'd with,,
What page's suit she hath in readiness.
If e'er the Jew her father come to heaven,
It will be for his gentle daughter's sake :
And never dare misfortune cross her foot,
Unle.ss she do it under this excuse,
That she is issue to a faithless Jew.
Come, go with me ; peruse this as thou goest;
Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer.
[Exeunt,
*364
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.
lk<yi u>
Scene V. The same. Before Shylock's house.
Enter SavEOCK and Launcelot.
Shy. Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be
thy judge.
The difference of old Shylock and Bassanlo :—
What, Jessica !—thou shalt not gormandise,
As thou hast done with me :—What, Jessica !—
And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out
Why, Jessica, I say !
Laun. Why, Jessica !
Shy. Who bids thee call ? I do not bid thee
call.
Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me
that
I could do nothing without bidding.
Enter Jessica.
Jes. Call you ? what is your will ? 10
Shy. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica :
There are my keys. But wherefore should I
go ?
I am not bid for love ; they flatter me :
But yet I'll go iu hate, to feed upon
The prodigal Christian. Jessica, my girl.
Look to my bouse. I am right loath to go ;
There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest.
For I did dream of raoney.d)ags to-night,
Laun. I beseech' you, sir, go : my young
master doth expect your reproach. 20
Shy. So do f his.
Laun. An they have conspired together, I
will not say you shall see a ma.sque ; but if you
do, then it was not for nothing that my nose
feli a-bleeding on Black-Monday last at she
o'clock i' the morning, falling out that year on
Ash-Wednesday was four year, in the after¬
noon.
Shy. What, are there masques f Hear you
mo, Jessica :
Lock up my doors ; and when you hear the
drum
And the viie squealing of the wry-ncck'd fife,
Ciamber not you up to the casements then, 31
Nor thrust your head into the public street
To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd
faces, [ments :
But stop my house's ears, I mean my case-
Let not the sound of slmllow foppery enter
My sober house. By Jacob's staff, I swear,
I have no mind of feasting forth to night:
But I will go. Go you before me, sirrah ;
Say I will come.
Laun. I will go before sir. Mistress, look
out at window, for ali this ; 41
There will come a Christian by.
Will be worth a Jewess' eye. [Exit.
Shy. What says that fool of Hagar's off¬
spring, ha ?
Jes. His words were ' Farewell mistress ;'
nothing else.
Shy. The patch is kind enough, but a huge
feeder ;
Snail-slow in profit, and be sleeps by day
More than the wild-cat: drones hive not with
me;
Therefore I part with him. and part with him
To one that I would have him help to waste
His borrow'd purse. Well, Jessica, go in ; 51
Perh,aps I will return immediately: .
Do as I bid you ; shut doors after you :
Fast bind, first find ;
A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. [Exit.
Jes. Farewell • and if my fortune be not
croft,
I have a father, you a daughter, lost.. [Exit.
Scene VI. The samel
Enter Gratiano and Salabino, masqued.
Gra. This is the pent-house under yvhich
Lorenzo
Desired us to make stand.
Solar. His hour is almos*: past.
Gra. And it is marvel he out-dweils his
hour.
For lovers ever run before the clock.
Salar. O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons
fly
To seal love's bonds new-made, than they are
wont
To keep obliged faith unforfeited !
Gra. That ever holds : who riseth from' a
feast
With that keen appetite that he sits down ?
Where is the horse that doth untread again 10
His tedious measures with the unbated firO
That he did pace them first ? All things that
are.
Are with more spirit chased than enjoJ''d.
How like a younker or a prodigal
The scarfed'bark puts from her native bay,
Hugg'd and emHiuced by the strumpet wind !
How like the prodigal doth she return,
AViih over-weather'd ribs and ragged sails.
Lean, rent and beggar'd by the strumpet wind !
Salar. Here comes Lorenzo : more of this
hereafter. 20
Enter Lorenzo.
Lor. Sweet friends, your patience for my
long abode -,
Not I, but my affairs, have made you wait:
When you shall please to play the thieves for
wives,
I'll watch as long for you then. Approach ;
Here dwells my father Jew. Ho ! who's
within ?
Enter Jessica, above, in boy's clothes,
Jes. Who are you? Tell me, for more
certainty.
Albeit I'll swear that I do know your'tongue.
Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love.
Jes. Lorenzo, certain, and my love indeed,,
For who love I so much ? And now who
knows SO
But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours ?
Lor. Heaven and thy thoughts are witness
that thou art.
Jes. Here, catch tliis casket ; it is worth
the iiains.
I am glad 'tis night, yoii do not look on me,
scbke'tii.]
For I am much ashamed of my exchange :
But love is blind and lovert cannot see
The pretty follies that themselves commit;
for if they could, Cupid himsolf would blush
To see me thus iiansformed to a boy.
Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-
bearer. 40
Jes. What, must I hold a ciuidlc to my
shames ?
They in themselves, good-sooth, are too too
light.
Why, 'tis au office of discovery, love ;
And I should be obscured, i
IjOt. So are j'ou, sweet.
Even in the lovely ganiish of a boj'.
But come at once;
For the close night dotli play the runaway.
And we are stay'd for at Bassaiiio's feast.
Jes. I will make fast the doors, and gild
myself
With some more ducats, and be with you
straight. [Exit above. 50
Gra. Now, by my hood, a Gentile and no
Jew>
Lor. Beshrew me but I love her heartily ;
For she is wise, if I can judge o) her.
And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true.
And true she is, as she hath pntved herself.
And therefore, like herself, wise, fair and
true.
Shall she be placed in my ccmstaut soul.
Enter Jessica, below.
What, art thou come? On, gentlemen ;
away !
Our masquing mates by this time for «s stay.
[Exit with Jessica and Hularino.
Enter Antonio.
Ant. Who's there ? 60
Gra. , Signior Antonio !
Ant. Fie, fie, Gratiano ! where are all the
rest ?
'Tis nine o'clock ; our friends all stay for you.
No ma^ue to-night : the wind is come about;
Bassanio presently will go aboard :
I have sent twenty out to seek for you.
Gra. I am glad on't ^ I desire no more
delight
Thai: to be under Sail and gone to-night.
[Exeunt.
Scene VII. Belmont. A room in
Portia's house. ,
Flourish of cornets. Enter Portia, with the
Prince op Morocco, and their trains.
For. Go draw aside tlie curtains and dis¬
cover
The several caskets to tills noble prince.
Now make your choice.
Mon. The first, of gold, who this inscription
bears, •
' Who chooseth me shall gain what many men
desire;'
"Hie second, silver, which this promise carries,
' Who chooseth me shall get as much as he
deserves ;'
865
This third, dull lead, with warning all as
blunt,
' Who chooseth me must give and hazard all
he li.ath.'
How shall I know if I do choose the right ? 10
For. The one of them contains my picture,
prince :
If you choose that, then I am yours withal.
MOT. Some god direct my judgment! Let
me see;
I will survey the inscriptions back again.
What says Uiis leaden casket ?
' Who choosctli me must give and hazard all
he hath.'
Must give : for what ? for lead ? hazard for
leacl ?
This casket threatens. Men that hazard all
Do it in hope of fair advantages ; 19
A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross ;
I'll then nor give nor hazard aught for lead.
What says the silver with her virgin hue ?
' Who chooseth mo shall get as much as he de¬
serves.'
As much as he deserves ! Pause there, Mo¬
rocco,
And weigh thy value with an even hand :
If thou be'st rated by thy estimation, ,
Thou dost deserve enough ; and yet enough
May not extend so far as to the lady :
And yet to be afeard of my de.serving
Were but a weak disabling of myself. 30
As much tts I deserve ! Why, that's the lady:
I do in birtli deserve her, and in fortunes.
In graces and in qualities of bi-eeding ;
But more than these, in love 1 do deserve.
What if I stray'd no further, but chose here?
Let's see once more this saying graved in gold;
' Who chooseth me shall gain what many men
desire.'
Why, that's the lady ; all the world desires
her;
From the four comers of the earth they come.
To kiss this shrine, this mortal-breathing
saint: 40
'The Hyrcanian deserts and the vasty wilds
Of wide Arabia are as throughfares now
For princes to come view fair Portia :
The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head
Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar
To stop the foreign spirits, but they come.
As o'er a brook, to see fair Portia.
One of these three contains her heavenly
picture.
Is't like that lead contains her ? 'Twere
damnation
To think so base a thought : it were too gross
"To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave. 51
Or shall I think in silver she's immured.
Being ten times undervalued to tried gold ?
O sinful thought! Never so rich a gem
Was set in woree than gold. They have in
England
A coin that bears the figure of an angel
Stamped in gold, but that's insculp'd Upon i
But here an angel in a golden bed
Lies all withiu. Deliver me the key :
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.
^66
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.
[Act il
Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may ! 60
Por. There, take it, prince ; and if iny
form lie there,
Then I am yours.
[He unlocks the golden casket
Mor. O hell! what have we here ?
A carrion Death, within whose empty eye
There is a written scroll! I'll read the writing.
[ReadA All that glisters is not gold ;
Often have you heard that told :
Many a man his life hath sold
But my outside to behold :
Gilded tombs do worms infold.
Had you been as wise as bold, 70
Young in limbs, in judgment old.
Your answer had not been inscroll'd :
Fare you well; your suit is cold.
Cold, indeed ; and labor lost:
Then, farewell, heat, and welcome, frost!
Portia, adieu. I have too grieved a heart
To take a tedious leave : thus losers pari.
[Exit with his train. Flourish of cornets.
Por. A gentle riddance. Diaw the curtains,
go.
Let all of his completion choose me so.
[Exeunt.
Scene VIII. Venice. A street.
Enter Salabino and Salanio.
Salar. Why, man, I saw Bassanio under
sail: «
With him is Gratiano gone along ;
And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not.
Solan. The villain Jew with outcries raised
the duke.
Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship.
Salar. He came too late, the ship was
under sail :
But there the duke was given to understand
That in a gondola were seen together
Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica :
Besides, Antonio certified the duke 10
They were not with Bassanio in his ship.
Salan. I never heard a passion so confused.
So strange, outrageous, and so variable.
As the dog Jew did utter in the streets :
' My daughter ! 0 my ducats ! O my daugh¬
ter !
Fled with a Christian! 0 my Christian ducats!
Justice ! the law ! my ducats, and my daugh¬
ter !
A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats.
Of double ducats, stolen from me by my daugh¬
ter !
And jewels, two stones, two rich and precious
stones, 20
Stolen by my daughter ! Justice! find the
girl;
She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats."
Salar. Why, all the boys in Venice follow
him, [ducats
Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his
Salan. Let good Antonio look he keep his
or he shall pay tor this
Salar. Marry, well rememberid.
I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday.
Who told me, in the narrow seas that part
The French and English, there miscarried
A vessel of our country richly fraught: 30
I thought upon Antonio when he told me ;
And wish'd in silence that it were not his.
Salan. You were best to tell Antonio what
you hear ;
Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.
Salar. A kinder gentleman treads not the
earth.
I saw Bassanio and Antonio part:
Bassanio told him he would make some speed
Of his return : he answer'd,' Do not so ;
Slubber not business for my sake, Bassanio,
But stay the very ilping of the time ; 40
And for the Jew s bond which he hath of me,
t Let it not enter in your mind of love :
Be merry, and employ your chiefest thoughts
To courtship and such fair ostents of love
As shall conveniently become you there :'
And even there, his eye being big with tears.
Turning his face, he put his hand behind him.
And with affection wondrous sensible
He wrung Bassauio's hand; and so they
parM.
Salan. I think he only loves the world tor
him. 50
I pray thee, let us go and find him out
And quicken his embraced heaviness
With some delight or other.
Salar. Do we so. [Exeunt.
Scene IX. Belmont. A room in PoExiA'f'
house.
Enter Kekissa with a Servitor.
Ner. Quick, quick, I pray thee ; draw the
curtain straight:
Tlie Prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oaflr.
And comes to his election presently.
Flourish of cornets. Enter the Peincb op
Abragon, Pobtia, and their trains.
Por. Behold, there stand the caskets, noble
prince :
If you choose that wherein I am contain'd.
Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemnized:
But if you fail, without more speech, my lord.
You must be gone from hence immediately.
Ar. I am enjoin'd by oath to ob&en e three
things :
First, never to unfoid to any one / 10
Which casket 'twas I chose ; next, if I fail
Of the right casket, never in my life
To woo a maid m way of marriage :
Lastly,
If I do fail in fortune of my choice,
Immediately to leave you and be gone.
Por. To"these injunctions every one doth
swear
That comes to hazard for my worthless self.
Ar. And so have I address'd me. Fortune
tae-a ,
To my hearrs nope ! Gold ; silver ; and baw
lead. W
scemr i.]
' Who chooseth me must give and hazard all
he hath.' 21
You shall look lairer, ere I give or hazard.
What says the golden chest 7 ha I let me see:
• Who chooseth me shall gain what many men
desire.'
What many men desire I that' many' may be
meant'
By the fool multitude, that choose by show,
Not learning more than the fond eye dcfth
teach ;
Which pries not to the interior, but, like the
martlet.
Builds in th^. weather dn the outward wall.
Even in tl^e force and road of casualty.
I will not choose what many meu desire.
Because I will not jump witli common spirits
And rank me with the barbarous multitudes.
Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house;
Tell me once more what title thou dost bear :
' Who chooseth me shall get as much as he de¬
serves :'
And well said too ; for who shall go about
To cozeu fortune and be honorable
Without the stamp of merit ? Let none pre¬
sume
To wear au undeserved dignity. 40
<X that estates, degrees and offices
Were not derived corruptlj', and that clear
honor
Were purchased by the merit of the wearer !
How many then should cover that stand bare !
How many be commanded that command !
How much low peasantry would then be
glean'd
From the true seed of honor! and how much
honor
Pick'd from the chafi and ruin of the times
To be new-vamish'd ! Well, but to my choice:
' Who chooseth me shall get as much as he de¬
serves.' 50
I will assume desert Give me a key for this,
Aud instantly uulock my fortunes here.
[//e opens the silver casket.
Por. Too long a pause for that which you
find there.
Ar. What's here ? the portrait of a blink¬
ing idiot,
Presenting me a schedule ! I will read it.
How much unlike art thou to Portia !
How much unlike niy hopes aud my deserv-
ings !
' Who chooseth me shall have as much as he
deserves.'
Did I deserve no more than a fool's head ?
Is that my prize ? are my deserts no better ?
Por. To offend, aud judge, are distinct
offices ■ 61
And of opposed natures.
Ar. What is here ?
\Beads\ The fire seven time%tried this:
Seven times tried that judgment is.
That did never choose amiss.
Some there be that shadows kiss ;
Such have but a shadow's bliss:
There be fools alive, 1 wis,
867
Silver'd o'er ; aud so was this.
Take wha': wife yon will to bed, 70
I will ever be your head :
So be gone : you are sped.
Still mor>. fool I shall appear
By the ' ue 1 linger here ;
With one fool'.i head 1 came to woo.
But I g" away with two.
Sweet, adieu. I'll keep my oath.
Patiently to bear my wroth.
{Exexmt Arragon and train.
Por. Thus hath the candle singed the moth.
O, these deliberate fools! when they do
choose, 80
They have tlie wisdom by their wit to lose.
Ne^\ The ancient saying is no heresy.
Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.
Por. Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa.
Enter a Servant.
Se)-v. Where is my lady ?
Por. Here : what would my lord ?
Serv. Madam, there is alighted at your
gate
A young Venetian, one that comes before
To signify the approaching of his lord ;
From wlioin he bringetli sensible regreets.
To wit, besides commends and courteous
breath, . 90
Gifts of rich value. Yet I have not seen
So likely an ambassador of love :
A day in April never came so sweet.
To show how costly summer was at hand.
As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord.
Por. No more,' I pray thee ; 1 am half
afeard
Thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee.
Thou s^eud'st such high-day wit in praising
him.
Come, come, Nerissa ; for 1 long to see 99
Quick Cupid's post that comes so mannerly.
Nar. Bassanio, lord Love, if thy will it be !
[Exevnt.
ACT m.
Scene I. Venice. A street.
Enter Salanio and Salabino.
Salan. Now, what news on the Rialto ?
Salar. Why, yet it lives there unchecked
that Antonio hath a ship of rich lading
wrecked on the narrow seas ; the Goodwins,
I think they call the place ; a very dangerous
flat and fatal, where the carcases of many a
tall ship lie buried, as they say, if my gossip
Reix)rt be an honest woman of her word.
Satan. I would she were as lying a gossip in
that as ever knapped ginger or made her
neighbors believe she wept for the .death of
a third husband. Bbt it is true, without
any slips of prolixity or crossing the plain
highway of talk, that the good Antonio, the
honest Antonio, O that I had a title good
enough to keep his name company!—
Salar. Come, the full stop.
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.
S68
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE,
(Act hi
Salan. Hal what sayest thou ? Why, the
end is, he hath lost a ship.
b'alar. I would it miglit prove the end of
his losses. 21
Salan. Let me say'amen' betimes, lest
the devil cross my prayer, for here lie comes
in tiie likeness of a Jew.
Enter Shylock.
How now, Shylock ! what news among the
merchants ?
Shy. You know, none so well, none so well
as you, of ray daughter's flight.
Salar. That's certain : I, for ray part,
knew the tailor that made the wings she flew
withal. 30
Salan. And Shylock, for his own part,
knew the bird was fledged ; and then it is the
complexion of thera all to leave the dam.
Shy. She is damned for it.
Salan.. That's certain, if the devil may be
her judge.
Shy. Mv own flesh and blood to rebel !
Saian. Out upon it, old carrion ! rebels it
at these years ?
Shy. I say, my daughter is my flesh and
blood. 40
Salar. There is more difference between
thy flesh and hers than between jet and ivory;
more between your bloods than there is be¬
tween red wine and rhenish. But tell us, do
you hear whether Antonio have had any loss
at sea or no ?
Shy. There I have another bad match : a
bankrupt, a prodigal, who dare scarce show
his head on the Rialto ; a be.ggar, that was
used to come so smug upon the mart; let him
look to his bond: lie was wont to call me
usurer ; let him look to his bond: be was wont
to lend money for a Christian courtesy ; let
him look to his bond.
Salar.. Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou
wilt not take his fle.sh : what's that good for ?
Shy. T J bait fish withal; if it will feed
nothing else, it will feed my revenge. He hath
disgraced me, and hindered me half a million;
laughed at my losse.s, mocked at my gains,
scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains,
cooled my friends, heated mine enemies ; and
what's his reason ? I am a Jew. Hath not a
Jew eyes ? hath not a Jew hands, organs, di¬
mensions, senses, affections, passions ? fed
with the same food, hurt with the same wea-
l)ons, subject to the same diseases, healed by
the same means, warmed and cooled by the
same winter and summer, as a Christian is ? If
you prick us, do we not bleed ? if you tickle
us, do we not laugh ? if you poison us, do we
not die ? and if you wrong us, shall we not
revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we
will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a
Christian, what is his 'humility ? Revenge.
If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his
sufferance be by Christian example ? Why,
revenge. The vUlany you teach me, I will
execute, and it shall go hard but I will better
the instructiou.
Enter a Servant
Serv. Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at
his house and desires to speak with you both.
Salar. We liave been up and down to seek
him.
Enter Tubal.
Salan. Here comes another of the tribe : a
third cannot be matched, nnless the devil him¬
self turn Jew.
[Exeimt Salan., Salar., and Servant.
Shrj. How now. Tubal ! what news from
Genoa ? hast thou found my daughter ?
Tub. 1 often came where I did hear of her,
but cannot find her.
Shy. Why, there, there, there, there ! a dia¬
mond gone, cost me two thou.s:ind ducats in
Frankfort! The curse never fell upon our na¬
tion till now ; I never felt it till now: two
thousand ducats in that; and other precious,
precious jewels. I would my daughter were
dead at my foot, and the jewels in her ear!
would she were hearsed at ray foot, and the
ducats in her coffin 1 No news of them ?
Why, so: and I know not what's spent in the
search : why, thou loss upon loss ! the thief
gone with so much, and so much to find the
thief; and no satisfaction, no revenge : nor
no ill luck stirring but what lights on my
shoulders ; no sighs but of my breathing ; no
tears but of my shedding. 101
Tub. Yes, other men have ill luck too;
Antonio, as I heard in Genoa,—
Shy. What, what, what ? ill luck, ill luck ?
Tub. Hath an argosy cast away, coming
from Tripolis.
Shy. I thank God, 1 thank God. Is't true,
is't true ?
Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors that
escaped the wreck. 110
Shy. I thank thee, good Tubal; good news,
good news ! ha, ha ! where ? in Genoa ?
Tub. Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I
heard, in one night fourscore ducats.
Shy. Thou stickest a dagger in me : I shall
never see my gold again : fourscore ducats at
a sitting ! fourscore ducats 1
Tub. There came divers of Antonio's cred¬
itors in my company to Venice, that swear
he cannot choose but break. 120
Shy. I am very glad of it. I'll plague him;
I'll torture him : I am glad of it.
Tub. One. of them showed me a ring that
he had of your daughter for a monkey.
Shy. Out upon her 1 Thou torturest me,
Tubal : it was my turquoise ; I had it of
Leah when I was a bachelor : I would not
have given it for a wilderness of monkeys.
Tub. But Antonio is certainly undone. ,
Shy. Nay, that's true, that s very true.
Go, 'Tubal, fee me an officer ; bespeak him a
fortnight before. I will have the heart of him,
if he forfeit; for, were he out of Venice, I
can make what mercliandise I will. Go, go.
Tubal, and meet me at our ^ nagogue ; go,
good Tubal; at our synagogue, 'Tubal, lExeunt.
Scene ii.]
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.
868
Scene 11. Belmont. A room in Pobtia's
house.
Enter Bassanio, Pobtia, Gratiano, Ne-
BissA, and Attendauts.
Par. I pray you, tarry; jjause a day or two
Before you hazard ; for, in choosing wrong,
1 lose your company: therefore forb^i
awhile.
There's something tells me, but it is not love,
I would not lose you : and you know your¬
self,
Hate counsels not in such a quality.
But lest you sliould not understand me well,—
And yet a maiden hath no tongue but
thought,—
I would detain you here some mouth or two
Before you venture for me. I could teach you
How to clroose right, but I am then forsworn;
So will I never be: so may you miss me ; .
But if you do, you'll make me wish a sin,
That Idiad been forsworn. Beshrew your
eyes,
They have o'erlook'd mo and divided me ;
One half of me is yours, the other half yours.
Mine own, I would say ; but if mine, then
yours,
And so all yours. O, these naughty times
Put bars between the owners and their rights!
And so, though yours, not yours. Prove it so.
Let fortune go to hell for it, not I. 21
1 speak too long ; but 'tis to (reize the time.
To eke it and to draw it out in length,
To stay you from election.
Bass. Let me choose ;
For as I am, I live upon the rack.
Par. Upon the rack, Bassanio 1 then con¬
fess
What treason there is mingled with your love.
Bass. None but that ugly treason of mis¬
trust.
Which makes me fear the enjoying of my
love :
There may as well be amity and life 30
'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love.
Por. Ay, but I fear you speak upon the
rack,
Where men enforced do speak anything.
Bass. Promise me life, and I'd confess the
trutli.
Por. Well then, confess and live.
Bass. ' Confess' and ' love'
Had been the very sum of my confession :
O happy torment, when my torturer
Doth teach me answers for deliverance I
But let me to my fortune and the caskets.
Por. Away, then 1 1 am lock'd in one of
them: 40
If you do love me, you will find me out.
Nerissa and the rest, stand all aloof. .
Let music sound while he doth make his
choice; «
Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end,
Fading in music : that the comparison
May stand more proper, my eye shall be the
stream
And watery death-bed for him. He may win ;
And what is music then 7 Then music is
Evennsthe flourish when true subjects bcw
To a new-crowned monarch : such it is 50
As are those dulcet sounds in break of day
That creep into tlie dreaming bridegroom's ear
And summon him to marriage. Now he goes.
With no less presence, but witli much more
love.
Than young Alcides, when he did redeem
The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy
To the sea-monster : I stend for sacrifice ;
The rest aioof are the Dardanian wives.
With bleared visages, come forth to view
The issue of the exploit. Go, Hercules I 60
Live thou, 1 live : with much, much more dis¬
may
1 view the fight than thou that makest the
fray.
Music, whilst Bassanio comments on the
caskets to himseif.
Song.
Tell me where is fancy bred.
Or in the heart, or in the head 7
How begot, how nourished 7
Reply, reply.
It is engendered in the eyes.
With gazing fed ; and fancy dies
In the cradle where it lies.
Let us all ring fancy's knell: 70
I'll begin it,—Ding, dong, belL
All. Ding, dong, bell.
Bass. So may tire outward shovys be least
. themselves:
The world is still deceived with ornament.
In law, what plea so tainted and. corrupt .
But, being seasoned with a gracious voice,
Obscures the show of evil 7 In religion.
What damned error, but some sober Ww
Will bless it and approve it with a text.
Hiding the grossuess with fair ornament 7 80
There is no vice so simple but assumes
Some mark of virtue on his outward parts
How many cowards, whose hearts are all as
false
As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins
The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars,
Who, inward search'd, have livers white as
milk;
And these assume but valor's excrement
To render them redoubted ! Look on beauty.
And you shall see 'tis purchased by the
weight;
Which therein works a miracle hi nature, 90
Making them lightest that wear most of it:
So are those crisped snaky golden locks
Which make such wanton gambols with the
wind.
Upon supposed fairness, often known
■Po be the dowry of a second head.
The skull that bred them in the sepuldire.
Thus ornament is but the guiled shore
'To a most dangerous sea ; the beauteous sciirri
tVeiUng an Indian beauty ; in a word,
870
The seeming truth which cunning times put
on 100
To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy
gold,
Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee ;
Nor none of thee, thou pale and common
drudge
'Tween man and man : but thou, thou meagre
lead,
Which rather threatenest than dost promise
aught.
Thy paleness moves me more than eloquence ;
And here choose I ; joy be the consequence !
For. [Asi'cfeJ How all the other passioirs
fleet to air,
As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embraced
despair.
And shuddering fear, and green-eyed je.al-
ousy! 110
0 love.
Be moderate J allay thy ecstasy ;
In measure rein thy joy ; scant this excess.
1 feel too much thy blessing : nuike it less.
For fear I surfeit..
Bass. What find I here ?
■ [Opening the leaden casket.
Fair Portia's counterfeit! What demi-god
Hath come so near creation ?' Move these
eyes ?
Or whether, riding on the balls of mine,
Seem they in motion ? Here are sevePd lips.
Parted with sugar breath ; so sweet a bar
Should suuder such sweet friends. Here in
her hairs 120
The painter plays the spider and hath woven
A golden mesh to entrap tlie hearts of men
Faster than gnats in cobwebs ; but her eyes,—
How could he see to do them ? having made
one,
Methinks It should have power to steal both
his
And leave itself unfumish'd. Yet look, how
far
The substance of my praise doth wrong this
shadow
In underprizing it, so far this shadow
Doth limp behind the substance. Here's the
scroll, 130
The continent and summary of my fortune.
£/Jeads] You that choose not by the view.
Chance as fair and choose as true !
Since this fortune falls to you.
Be content and seek no new.
If you be well pleased with this
And hold your fortune for your bliss.
Turn you where your lady is
And claim her with a loving kiss.
A gentle scroll. Fair lady, by your leave ; 140
I come by note, to give and to receive.
Like one of two contending in a prize.
That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes,
Hearing applause and universal shout.
Giddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt
Whether those pearls of praise be his or no ;
So, thrice fair lady, stana I, even so ;
As doubtful whether what I see be true,
[Act i:j.
Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by yom
Par. You see me. Lord Bassauio, where I
stand, 160
Such a.s I am ; thoagh for myself a'one
I would not be ambitious in my wi.sh.
To wish myself much better ; yet, for you
I would be trebled twenty times myself ;
A thousand times more fair, ten thousaalt
times
More rich ;
That only to stand high in your account,
I might in virtue, beauties, livings, friends.
Exceed account; but the full sum of me 169
tls sum of something, which, to term in gross.
Is an unlesson'd girl, nnschoord,uni}ractised ;
Happy in this, she is not yet so old
tBiit she may learn ; happier than this.
She is not bred so dull but she can learn ;
Happiest of all is that her gentle spirit
Commits itself to yours to be directed.
As from her lord, her governor, her king.
Myself and what is mine to you and yours
Is now converted : but now I was the lord
Of this fair mansion, master of my servants,
Queen o'er myself ; and even now, but now.
This house, these servants and this same my¬
self
Are yours, my lord : I give them with this
ring ;
Which wnen you part from, lose, or give
away.
Let it presa^ the ruin of your love
And be my vantage to exclaim on you.
Bass. Madam, you have bereft me of all
words.
Only my blood speaks to you in my veins;
And there is such confusion m my powers,
As after some oration fairly spoke 180
By a beloved prince, there "doth appear
Among the buzzing pleased multitude ;
Where every something, being blent together.
Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy,
Express'd and not express'd. But when this
ring [hence :
Parts from this finger, then parts life from
O, then be bold to say Bassanio's dead !
Ner. My lord and lady, it is now our time.
That have stood by and seen our wishes
prosper.
To cry, good joy : gooa ]oy, my lord and
lady! 190
Gra. My lord Bassanio and my gentle lady,
I wish you all the joy that you can wish ;
For I am sure you ca'n wish none from me :
And when your honors mean to solemnize
The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you.
Even at th.at time I may be mariied too.
Bass. With all my heart, so thou canst get
a wife.
' Gra. I thank your lordship, you have got
me one.
My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours :
You saw the mistress, I belield the maid ; 200
You loved, I loved for intermission.
No more pertains to me, my lord, than you.
Your fortune stood upon the casket there,
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.
Scene ii.]
And so did mine too, as tlie matter falls ;
For wooing here until 1 sweat again,
And swearing until my very roof was dry
With oatlis of love, at last, if promise last,
I got a promise of this fair one here
To have her love, provided that your fortnue
Achieved her mistress.
Pot. Is tliis trne, Nerissa 1 210
Ner. Madam, it is, so you stand pleased
withal [faith ?
Bass. And do you, Gratiano, mean good
Gra. Yes, faith, my lord.
Bass. Our feast shall be much honor'd in
your marriage.
Ora. We'll play with them the first boy for
a thousand ducats.
Ner. What, and stalce down ?
Or a. No ; we shall ne'er win at that sport,
and stake down. 220
But who comes here 2 Lorenzo and bis in¬
fidel ?
What, and iny old Venetian friend Salerio ?
Enter Lorenzo, Jessica, and Salerio,
a Messenger from Venice.
Bass. Lorenzo and Salerio, welcome hither ;
If that the youth of my new interest here
Have power to bid you welcome. By your
leave,
I bid my very friends and countrymen.
Sweet Portia, welcome.
Par. So do I, my lord :
They are entirely welcome.
Lor. I thank your honor. For my part, my
lord.
My purpose was not to have seen you here;
But meeting with Salerio by the way, 2S1
He did entreat me, past all saying nay.
To come witli him along.
Saler. I did, my lord ;
And I have reason for it Signor Antonio
Commends him to you.
[Giues Bassanio a letter.
Bass. Ere I ope his letter,
I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth.
Saler. Not sick, my lord, unless it be in
mind;
Nor well, unless in mind ; his letter there
Will show you his estate.
Ora. Nerissa, cheer yon stranger ; bid her
, welcome. 240
Your hand, Salerio : what's the news from
Venice ?
How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio?
I know he will be glad of our success ;
We are the Jasons, we have won the fieece.
Saler. I would you liad won the fleece that
he hath lost.
Por. There are some shrewd Contents in yon
same paper.
That steals the color from ^ssanio's cheek ;
^me dear friend dead ; dse nothing in tlie
world
Could turn so much the constitution
Of any constant man. What, worse and
worse! 250
871
With leave, Bassanio : I am half yourself.
And I must freely have the half of anything
That this same paper brings you.
Bass. 0 sweet Portia.
Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words
That ever blotted paper 1 Gentle lady.
When I did first impart my love to yoU)
I freely told you, all the wealth I had
Ran in my veins, I was a gentleman ;
And then I told you true : and yet, dear lady,
Rating myself at nothing, you shall see 2(>C
How much I was a braggart. When 1 told you
My state was nothing, 1 should then have told
you
That 1 was worse than nothing ; for, indeed,
I have engaged myself to a dear friend.
Engaged my friend^ his mere enemy, ___
To feed my means. [Here is a letter, lady
The paper as the botiy of my friend,
And eve^ word in ita gaping wound.
Issuing life-blood. But is it true, Salerio ?
Have all his ventures fail'd ? Wliat, not one
hit? 270
From Tripolis, from Mexico and England,
From Lisbon, Barbary and India ?
And not one vessel 'scape the dreadful touch
Of merchant-marring rocks ?
Saler. Not one, my lord.
Besides, it should appear, that if he had
The present money to discharge the Jew,
He would not take it. Never did I know
A creature, that did bear the shajie of man.
So keen and greedy to confound a man :
He plies the d^uke at morning and at night, 279
And doth impeach the freedom of the state.
If they deny him justice : twenty merchants.
The duke himself, and the magnificoes
Of greatest port, have all persuaded with him ;
But none can drive him from the envious plea
Of forfeiture, of justice and his bond.
Jes. Wlien I was with liim I have heard
him swear
To Tubal and to Chus, his countrymen.
That he would rather have Antonio's flesh
Than [wenty times the value of the sum
That he did owe him : and I know, my lord.
If law, authority and power deny not, 291
It will go hard with poor Antonio.
Por. Is it your dear friend that is thus in
trouble ?
Bass. The dearest friend to me, the kindest
man.
The best-condition'd and unwearied spirit
In doing courtesies, and one in whom
The ancient Roman honor more appears
Than any that draws breath in Italy.
Por. What^sum owes he the Jew ?
Bass. For me three thousand ducats.
Por. What, no more ? SOf
Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond •,
Double six thousand, and then treble that.
Before a friend of tliis descriiUion
Shall lose a hair through Bassanio's fault.
First go with me to church and call me wife,
-And then away to Venice to your friend ;
For never shall you lie by Portia's side
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.
S72
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.
[Act in.
With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold
To pay the petty debt twenty times over:
Wheu it is paid, bring your true friend along.
My maid Nerissa and myself mefuitime 311
VVill live as maids aud widows. Come, away !
For you shall hence uiwn your wedding-day :
Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer;
Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear.
But let mo hear the letter of j-our friend. 331
■" Bass, [bead's] Sweet Bassiano, my ships have
all miscarried, my creditors grow cruel, ray es¬
tate is very low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit;
and since in paying it, it is impossible 1 should
live, all debts are cleared between you and I,
if I might bnt see you at my death. Notwith¬
standing, use your pleasure: if yonr love do not
^rsuade you to come, let not ray letter.
Pw. O love, disiiatch all business, and be
gone!
Bass. Since I have your good leave to go
away,
I will make haste: but, till I come again.
No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay.
No rest be interposer 'twixt us twain.
[Exeunt.
Scene III. Venice. A street.
Enter Shveock, SALARtNO, Antonio, and
Gaoler.
Shy. Gaoler, look to him : tell not me of
mercy ;
This is the fool that lent out money gratis :
Gaoler, look to him.
AnU Hear me yet, good Shylock.
Shy. I'll have my bond ; speak not against
my bond :
I have sworn an oath that I will have my bond.
Thou call'dst me dog before thou li^st a
cause ;
But, since I am a dog, beware my fangs ;
The duke shall grant me justice. I do wonder.
Thou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond
To come abroad with him at his request. 10
Ant. I pray thee, hear me speak.
Shy. I'll have my bond ; I will not hear
thee speak : [more.
I'll have my bond ; and therefore speak no
I'll not be made a soft and dull-eyed fool.
To shake the head, relent, and sigh, aud yield
To Christian intercessors. Follow not;
I'll have no speaking : I will have my bond.
[Exit.
Salar. It is the most impenetrable cur
That ever kept with men.
Ant. Let him alone :
I'll follow him no more with bootless prayers.
He seeks my life ; his reason well I know : 21
I oft deliver'd from his forfeitures
Many that have at times made moan to me ;
Therefore he hates me.
Salar. I am sure the duke
Will never grant this forfeiture to hold.
Ant. The duke cannot deny the course of
law :
For the commodity that strangers have
With us in Venice, if it be denied,
Will much impeach the justice of his state i
Since that the trade aud profit of the city 30
Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go :
These griefs and losses have so bated me.
That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh
To-mon-ow to my bloody creditor.
Well, gaoler, on. Pray God, Bassanio come
To see me pay his deb^ and then I care not!
[Exeunt.
Scene IV. Belmont. A room in Poktia's
house.
Enter Portia, Nerissa, Lorenzo, Jessica,
and Balthasar.
Lor. Madam, although I speak it in your
presence.
You have a noble and a true conceit
Of god-like amity ; which appears most
strongly
In bearing thus the absence of your lord.
But if you knew to whom you show this honor.
How true a gentleman you send relief.
How dear a lover of my lord your husband,
I know yon would be prouder of the work
Than customary bounty can enforce you.
For. I never did repent for doing good, 10
Nor shall not now : for in companions
That do converse and waste the time together,
JWhose souls do bear an equal yoke of love,
[Tliere must be needs a like proportion
Of lineaments, of manners and of spirit;
Which makes me think that this Antonio,
Being the bosom lover of my lord.
Must needs be like my lord. If it be so.
How little is the cost I have bestow'd
In purchasing the semblance of my sonl 20
From out the state of hellish misery !
This comes too near the praising of myself;
Therefore no more of it: hear other tilings.
Lorenzo, I commit into your hands
The husbandry and manage of my house
Until my lord's return : for mine own part,
I have toward heaven breathed a secret vow
To live in prayer and contemplation.
Only attended by Nerissa here.
Until her husband and my lord's return : 30
There is a monastery two miles off ;
And there will we abide. I do desire yon
Not to deny this imimsition ;
The which my love and some necessity
Now lays uiion you.
Lor. Madam, with all my heart
I shall obey you in all fair commands.
Por. My people do already know my mind,
And will acknowledge you and Jessica
In place of Lord Bassanio and myself.
And so farewell, till we shall meet again. 40
Lor. Fair thoughts and happy hoursattend
on you !
Jes. 1 wish your ladyship all heart's con¬
tent.
Por. I thank you for your wish, and am
well pleased
To wish it back on you: fare you well, Jessica.
[Exeunt Jessica and Lorenzo.
Now, Balthasar,
Scene v.]
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.
873
As I have ever found thee honest-true,
So let me find thee still. Take this same letter,
And use thou all the endeavor of a man
In si>eed to Padua : see thou render this
Into my cousiiTs hand. Doctor Bcllario ; 50
And, look, what notes and garments he doth
give thee.
Bring them, I pray thee, with imagined speed
Unto the tiauect, to the common ferry
Which trades to Venice. Waste no time in
words.
But get thee gone : I shall be there before thee.
Balth. Madam, I go with all convenient
speed. , [Exit.
For. Come on, Nerissa ; I have work in
hand [bands
That you yet ktiow not of: we'll see our hus-
Before they think of us.
Ner. Shall they see us ?
For. They shall, Nerissa j but in such a
habit, 60
That they shall think we are accomplished
With that we lack. I'll hold thee any wager.
When we are both accoutred like young men,
I'll prove the prettier feliow of the two.
And wear ray dagger with the braver grace.
And speak between the change of man and
boy
With a reed voice, and turn two mincing steps
Into a manly stride, and speak of frays
Like a line bragging youth, and tell quaint lies.
How honorable ladies sought my love, 70
Which I denying, they fell sick and died ;
I could not do withal ; then I'll reirent.
And wish, for all that, that I had not kill'd
them ;
And twenty of these puny lies I'll tell.
That men shall swear I have discontinued
school
Above a twelvemonth. I have within my mind
A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks,
Wliioh I will practise.
Sfer. Why, shall we turn to men ?
For. Fie, what a question's that,
If thou wert near a lewd interpreter ! 80
But come, I'll tell thee all my whole device
When I am in my coach, which stays for us
At the park gate ; and therefore liuLte away.
For we must measure twenty miles to-day.
[Exeunt.
Scene V. The same. A garden.
JSTnfe)'Launcblot and Jessica.
Laun. Yes, truly; for, look yon, the sins of
the father are to be laid upon the children:
therefore, I promise ye, I fear you. I was
always plain with you, and so now I siieak my
agitation of the matter : therefore be of good
cheer, for truly I thfnk yon are damned. There
is but one hope in it that can d<^'ou any good;
and that is but a kind of bastard hope neither.
Jes. And what hope is that, I pray thee ?
Laun. Marry, you may partly hope that
your father got you not, that you are not the
Jew's daughter.
Jes. That were a kind of bastard hope,
indeed : so the sins of my mother should be
visited upon me.
Laun. Truly then I fear you are damned
both by father and mother : thus when I shun
Scylla, your father, I fall into Charybdis, your
mother : well, you are gone both ways; 20
Jes. I shall be saved by my husband ; he
hath made me a Christian.
Latin. Truly, the, more to blame he: we
were Christians enow before ; e'en as many as
could well live, one by another. This making
of Christians will raise the price of hogs : if we
grow all to be pork-eaters, we shall not shortly
have a rasher on the coals for money.
Enter Lorenzo.
Jes. I'll tell my husband, Launcelot, what
you say : here he comes. 30
, Lor. I shall grow jealous of you shortly,
Launcelot, if you thus get my wife into corners.
Jes. Nay, you need not fear u.s, Lorenzo :
Launcelot and I are out. He tells me flatly,
there is no mercy for me in heaven, because' I
am a Jew's daughter : and he sjiys, you are no
good member of the commonweaith, for in con¬
verting Jews to Christians, you raise the price
of pork. 39
Lor. I shall answer that better to the com¬
monwealth than you can the getting up of the
negro's belly : the Moor is with child by you,
Launcelot
Laun. It is much that the Moor should be
more than reason : but if she be less than an
honest woman, she is indeed more than 1 took
her for.
Lor. How every fool can play upon the
word I I think the best grace of wit will shoit-
ly turn into silence, and discourse grow com¬
mendable in noue only but parrots. Go in,
sirrah ; bid them prepare for dinner.
Laun. Tliat is done, sir ; they have all
stomachs.
Lor. Goodly Lord, what a Wit-snapper are
you 1 then bid them preirare dinner.
Laun. That is done too, sir ; only ' cover'
is the word.
Lor. Will you cover then, sir ?
Laun. Not so, sir, neither ; I know my
duty.
Lot. Yet more quarrelling with occasion 1
Wilt thou show the whole wealth of thy wit in
an instant ? 1 pray thee, understand a plain
man in his plain meaning : go to thy fellows ;
bid them cover the fcible, serve in the meat,
and we will come in to dinner.
Laun. For the table, sir, it shall be served
in ; for the meat, sir, it shall be covered ; for
your coming in to dinner, sjr, why, let it be as
humoi's and conceits shall govern. [Exit.
Lor. O deiir discretion, how his words are
suited ! 70
The fool hath planted in his memory *
An army of good words ; and I do know
A many fools, that stand in better place,
Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksy word
874
Defy tbe matter. How cheer'st thoii, Jessica ?
Aud now, eood sweet, say thy opinion.
How dost thou like tlie Lord Bassanio's wife ?
Jes. Past all expressing. It is very meet
The Lord Bassanio live an upright life ;
For, having such a blessing in his lady, 80
He finds tlie joys of heaven here on earth ;
tAnd if on earth he do not mean it, then
In reason he should never come to heaven.
Why, if two gods shouid play some heavenly
match
Aud on the wager lay two earthly women.
And Portia one, there must be something else
Pawii'd wHh the other, for the poor rude world
Hath not her fellow.
Lor. Even such a husband
Hast thou of me as she is for a wile.
Jes. Nay, but ask my opinion too of that. 90
Lor. I will anon : first, let ns go to dinner.
Jes. Nay, let me praise you while I have a
stomach.
Lor. No, pray thee, let it serve for table-
talk ;
Then, howso'er thou speak'st, 'mong other
things
I shall digest it.
Jes. Well, I'll set you forth. [Exeunt,
ACT IV.
ScBifE I. Venice. A court of justice.
Enter the Duke, the Magnificoes, Antonio,
Bassanio, Gr.\tiano, Balebio, and others.
Duke. Wliat, is Antonio here ?
Ant. Ready, so please your gmee.
Duke. I am sorry for thee ; thou art come
to answer
A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch
Uncapable of pity, void and empty
From any dram of mercy.
Ant. I have heard
Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify
His rigorous course; but since he stands obdu¬
rate
Aud that no lawful means ciiu carry me
Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose 10
My patience to'his fury, and am arm'4
To suffer, with a quietness 'of spirit.
The very tyranny and rage of his.
Duke. Go one, and call the Jew into the
court
Saler. He is ready at the door : he comes,
my lord.
Enter Shtuock.
Duke. Make room, and let him stand be¬
fore our face.
Shylock, the world thinks, aud I think so too,
rbat thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice
To the last hour of act; and then 'tis thought
Thou'lt show thy mercy and remorse more
strange 20
Than is thy strange apparent cruelty;
[Act iw.
And where thou now exact'st the penalty,
Wllich is a pound of this poor merchant's fiesh,
Thou wiit not only loose the forfeiture.
But, touch'd with liuman gentleness aud love.
Forgive a moiety of the princip.ai ;
Glancing an eye of pity on his losses.
That have of late so huddled on his back.
Enow to press a royal merchant down
And pluck commiseration of his state 30
From brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint.
From stubborn Turks and Tartars, never
train'd
To offices of tender courtesy.
We ail expect a gentle answer, Jew.
Shy. I have possess'd your grace of what I
purpose I
And by our holy Sabbath have I swoni
To have the due and forfeit of my bond :
If you deny it, let the danger light
Upon your chaiter and your city's freedom.
You'll ask me, why I rather choose to have 40
A weight of carrion flesh than to receive
Three mousand ducats : I'll not answer that:
But, say, it is my humor: is it answer'd ?
What if my house be troubled with a rat
And I be pleased to give ten thousand ducats
To have it baued ? What, are you answer'd
yet?
Some men there are love not a gaping pig ;
Some, that are mad if they behold a cat;
And others, when the bagpipe sings i' the nose.
Cannot contain their uriiie : for affection, 50
Mistress of passion, sways it to the mood
Of what it likes or loathes. Now, for your
answer:
As there is no firm reason to be renderfd.
Why he cannot abide a gaping pig ;
Why he, a harmless necessary cat;
tWiiy he, a woollen bagpipe ; but of force
Must yield to such inevitable shame
As to ofi'end, himself being offended ;
So can I give no reason, nor 1 will not.
More than a lodged hate and a certain loathing
I bear Antonio, that I follow thus iJl
A losing suit against him. Are you answer'd ?
Bass. This is no answer, thou unfeeling
man.
To excuse the current of thy cruelty.
Shy. I am not bound to ijlease thee with
my answers.
Bass. Do all men kill the things they do not
love ? [not Kill ?
Shy. H.ates any man the thing he would
Bass. Every offence is not a h.ate at lirst
Shrj. What, wouldst thou have a serpent
sting thee twice ?
Ant. I 1 ray yon, think you que.stion with
the Jew: 73
Yon may as well go stand upon the beach
And bid the main flood batb his usual height;
You may as well use question with the wolf
Why he hath m.ade the ewe bleat for the lamb;
You may as well forbid the mountain pines
To wag their high tops and to make no noi.se.
When they are fretteu with the gusts of
heaven;
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.
Scene i.]
Yoi may as well do anything most hard,
As seek to solteu tliat—than which what's
harder ?— 79
His Jewish heart; theretore, I do beseech you,
Make no more offers, use no fartlier means.
But with all brief and plain convenieney
Let me have judgment and the Jew his will.
£asa. For thy three thousand ducats here
is six.
Shy. If every ducat in six thousand ducats
Were in six parts and every part a ducat,
I would not draw them; I would have my
bond.
DuJce. How shalt thou hope for mercy,
rendering none ?
Shy. What judgment shall I dread, doing
no wrong ?
Ton have among you many a purchased slave.
Which, like your asses and your dogs and
mules, 91
You use in abject and in slavish parts.
Because you bought tliem : shall I say to yon,
Let them be free, marry tlrera to your heirs ?
Why sweat they under burthens ? let their
beds
Be made as soft as yours and let their palates
Be season'd with such viands ? You will
answer
' The slaves are ours :' so do * answer you :
The pound of flesh, which I demand of him.
Is dearly bought; 'tis mine and I will have it.
If you deny me, ne upon your law ! 101
There is no force in the decrees of Venice.
I stand for judgment: answer ; shall I have
it 7 [court,
Duke. Upon my power I may dismiss this
Unless Bellario, a learned doctor,
Whom I have sent for to determine this.
Come here to-day.
Saler. My lord, here stays without
A messenger with letters from the doctor.
New come from Padua.
Dttke. Bring us the letters; call the mes¬
senger. , 110
Bass. Good cheer, Antonio ! What, man,
courage yet!
The .Tew shall have my flesh, blood, bones and
all.
Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood.
Ant. I am a tiiiuted wether of the flock,
Meetest for death : the weakest kind of fruit
Drops earliest to the ground ; and so let me :
Yon cannot better be employed, Ba.ssanio,
Thau to live still and write mine epitaph.
Enter NerissA, dressed like a lawyer's clerk.
Duke, Game you from Padua, from Bel¬
lario 7
Ner. From both, my lord. Bellario greets
your grace. [Presmtiny n letter, 120
Bass. Why dost thou whe^ thy knife so
earnestly 7
Shy. To cut the forfeiture from that banki
Tupt there.
6ra. Notonthysole,butoutl^soul,harsh
ew.
376
Thou makest thy knife keen ; but no metal
can.
No, not the hangman's axe, bear hall thokemi-
ness
Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce
thee?
Shy. No, none that thou hast wit enough
to make.
Gra. 0, be thou damn'd, inexecrable dog!
And for thy life let justice be accused.
Thou almost makest roe waver in my faith 130
To hold opinion with Pythagoras,
That souls of animals infuse themselves
Into the trunks of men: thy currish spirit
Govern'd a wolf, who, hang'd for human
slaughter, ,
Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet.
And,whilst thou lay'st in thy unhallow'd dam.
Infused itself in thee ; for thy desires
Are wolvish, bloody, starved and ravenous.
Shy. Till thou canst rail the seal from off
my bond,
Thou but offend'st thy lungs to speak so loud:
Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will faU 141
To cureless ruin.. I stand here for law.
Duke. This letter from Bellario doth com¬
mend
A young and learned doctor to our court,
where is he 7
Ner. He atteudeth here hard by.
To know your answer, whether you'll admit
him.
Duke. With all my heart Some three or
four of .you
Go give him courteous conduct to this place.
Mearrtime the court shall hear Bellario's letter.
Clerk. [Ttead."!] Your grace shall under¬
stand that at the receipt of your letter I httti
very sick : but in the instant that your mes¬
senger came, in loving visitation was with me
a young doctor of Rome ; his name is Bal-
tliasar. I acquaiirted him with the cause in
controversy between the Jew and Antonio the
nrerchant: we turned v'er many books together:
he is furnished .. itir my opinion ; which, bet¬
tered with his owit learuing, the greatnesa
whereof 1 cannot enough commend, comes
with him, at my importunity, to fill up your
grace's request "in my stead. I beseech you,
let his. lack of years "be no impediment to let
him lack a reverend estinaation ; for I never
knew so young a body with so old a head. I
leave h.ira to your gracious acceptance, whose
trial shall.better publish his commendation
Duke. You hear the learn'd Bellario, what
he writes :
And here, 1 take it, is the doctor come.
Enter Portia, dressed like a doctor of^lmes;
Give me your hand. Come you from old Bel¬
lario 7
Por. I did, my lord.
Duke. You are welcome •. take your place.
Are you acquainted with the difference 171
fc't holds this present question in the court 7
Por. I am informed thoroughly of the cause.
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE..
m
the merchant of venice.
{Act it.
Which is the merchant here, and which the
Jew?
Duke. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand
' forth.
Por. Is your name Shylock ?
Shy. Shylock is my name.
Por. Of a strange nature is the suit you fol¬
low;
Tet in such rule that the Venetian law
Cannot impngn yon as you do proceed.
Von stand within his danger, do you not ? 180
Ant. Ay, so he says.
Por. Do you confess the bond ?
Ant. I do.
Por. Then must the Jew be merciful.
Shy. On what compulsion must I ? teU me
that.
Por. The quality of mercy is not strain'd.
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath : it is twice blest;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crov/n ;
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power.
The attribute to awe and majesty, 191
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ;
But mercy is above this sceptred sway ;
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings.
It is an attribute to God himself ;
And earthly power doth then show likest
God's
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,
Though justice be thy plea, consider this.
That, in the course of justice, none of us 199
Should see salvation : we do pray for mercy ;
And that same prayer doth teach us all to
render
The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much
To mitig-nte the justice of thy plea ;
Which if thou follow, this rtiict court of^
Venice
Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant
there;
Shy. My deeds upon my head! I crave
the law.
The penalty and forfeit of my bond.
Por. Is he not able to discharge the money ?
Bass. Yes, here I tender it for him in the
court;
Tea, twice the sum : if that will not suffice,
I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er, 211
On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart:
If this will not suffice, it must appear
That malice bears down truth. And I beseech
you.
Wrest once the law to your authority :
To do a great right, do a little wrong.
And curb this cruel devil of his will.
Por. It must not be ; there is no power in
Venice
Can alter a decree established:
'Twill be recorded for a precedent, 220
And many an error by the same example
Will rush into the state ; it cannot be.
Shy. A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a
Daniel! »
O wise young judge, how I do honor thee f
Por. I pray you, let me look upon the
bond.
Shy. Here 'tis, most reverend doctor, here
it is.
Por. Shylock, there's thrice thy money
offer'd thee.
Shy. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in
heaven:
Shall I lay perjury upon my soul ?
No, not for Venice.
Por. Why, this bond is forfeit; 330
And lawfully by this the Jew may claim
A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off
Nearest the merchant's heart. Be merciful :
Take thrice thy money ; bid me tear the bund.
Shy. When it is paid according to the
teuot.
It doth appear you are a worthy judge ;
You know the law, your exposition
Hath been most sound : I charge you by the
law.
Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar.
Proceed to judgment: by my soul I swear 240
There is no power in the tongue of man
To alter me: I stay here on my bond.
Ant. Most heartily I do beseech the court
To give the judgment
Por. Why then, thus it is :
You must prepare your bosom for his knife.
Shy. O noble judge ! O excellent young
man!
Por. For the intent and purpose of the law
Hath full relation to the penalty.
Which here appeareth due upon the bond.
Shy. 'Tis very true : O wse and upright
judge! 250
How much more elder art thou than thy
looks !
V Por. Therefore lay bare your bosom.
H Shy. Ay, his breast:
So says the bond : doth it not, noble judge ?
' Nearest his heart:' those are the very words,
Por. It is so. Are there balance here to
weigh
The flesh ?
Shy. I have them ready.
Por. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on
your charge.
To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death.
Shy. Is it so nominated in the bond ?
Por. It is not so express'd: but what of that?
'Twere good you do so much for charity. 2(il
Shy. I cannot And it; 'tis not in the bond.
Por. You, merchant, have you any thing
to say ?
Ant. But little : I am arm'd and well pre¬
pared.
Give me your hand, Bassanio : fare you well!
Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you ;
For herein Fortune shows herself more kind
Than is her custom : it is still her use
To let the wretched man outlive his wealth.
To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow
An age of poverty ; from which lingering
penance
SCENB I.]
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE,
Ot such misery doth she cut me off.
Commend me to your honorable wife ;
Tell her the process of Antonio's end ;
Say how 1 loved you, speak me fair In death ;
And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge
Whether Bassanio had not once a love.
Kepent but you that you shall lose your friend.
And he repents not tliat he pays your debt;
For if the Jew do cut but deep enough, 280
I'll pay it presently with all my heart
Bass. Antonio, I am marriM to a wife
Which is as dear to me as life itself ;
But life itself, my wife, and all the world.
Are not with me esteem'd above thy life:
I would lose all, ay, sacrifice tliem all
Here to this devil, to deliver you.
For. Your wife would give yon little thanks
for that.
If she were by, to hear you make the offer.
Qra. I have a wife, whom, I protest, I
love: 290
I would she were in heaven, so she could
Entreat some power to change this currish
Jew.
A'er. 'Tis well you offer it behind her
back;
The wish would make else an unquiet house.
Shy, These be the Christian husbands. I
have a daughter;
Would any of the stock of Barrabas
Had been her husband rather than a Chri.s-
tian! [Aside,
We trifie time: I pray thee, pursue sentence.
For. A pound of that same merchant's
flesh is thine:
The court awards it, and the law doth give it.
Shy. Most rightful judge I 301
For. And you must cut this flesh from off
his breast:
The law allows it, and the court awards it.
Shy. Most learned judge ! A sentence !
- Come, prepare!
['or. Tarry a little; there is something
else. I
This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood;
The words expressly are ' a xeound of flesh :'
Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of
flesh ;
But, in the cutting it, it thou dost shed
One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and
goods 310
Are, by tlie laws of Tenice, confiscate
Unto the state of Venice.
Gra. O upright judge! Mark, Jew : O
learned judge f
Shy. Is that the law ?
For. Thyself shalt see the act:
For, as thou urgest justice, be assured
Thou shalt have justice, more than tliou
desirest
Gra. O learned judge I Jdark, Jew : a
learned judge 1 *
Shy. 1 take this offer, then ; pay the bond
thrice
And let the Christian go.
Boat, Here is the money.
For. Soft 1 320
The Jew shall have all justice ; soft! no haste;
He shall liave nothing but the penalty.
Gra. 0 Jew I an upright judge, a learned
judfje t
For. Therefore prepare thee to cut off the
flesh.
Shed thou no blood, nor cut thou less nor more
But just a pound of flesh : if thou cut'st mor^
■ Or less tliau a just pound, bo it but so rauclT^
I As makes it light or heavy in the substance,
Or tlie division of the twentieth part
Of one poor scruple, nay, if the scale do turn
But in the estimation of a hair, 331
Thou diest and all thy goods are confiscate.
Gra. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew i
Kow, infidel, I have you on the hip.
For. Why doth the Jew pause ? take thy
forfeiture.
Shy. Give rae my principal, and let me go.
Bass. 1 have it ready for thee ; here it is.
For. He hath refused it in the open court
He shall have merely justice and his bond.
Gra. A Daniel, still say 1, a second Daniel!
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.
Shy. Shall I not have barely my principal ?
For. Thou shalt have nothing but the
forfeiture.
To be so taken at thy peril, Jew.
Shy. Why, then the devil give him good
of it!
I'll stay no longer question.
For. Tarry, Jew: ^
Tlie law bath yet another hold on you.
It is enacted in the laws of Venice,
If it be proved against an alien
That by direct or indirect attempts 860
He seek the life of any citizen.
The party 'gainst the which he doth contrive
Shall seize one half his goods ; the other half
Comes to the privy coffer of the state ; ' ■
And the offender's life lies in the mercy
Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice.
In which predicament, 1 say, tliou stand'st;
For it appears, by manifest proceeding.
That indirectly and directly too
Thou hast contrived against the very life 360
Of the defendant; and thou hast incurr'd
The danger formerly by me rehearsed.
Down therefore and beg mercy of the duke
Gra. Beg that thou mayst have leavo ic
hang thyself:
And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state.
Thou hast not left the value of a cord ;
Therefore thou must be hang'd at the state's
charge. four spirits,
Duke. 'That thou shalt see the difference >i
1 pardon thee thy life before thou ask it;
For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's ; 870
The other half comes to the general state.
Which humbleness may drive unto a fine.
For. Av, for the state, not for Antonio.
Shy. Hay, take my life and all; patdon
not that;
You take my house when you do take the
prop
378
THE MERCHANT OP VENICE.
[Act it;
That doth snstaiu my house; you take my
lite '
When you do take the means whereby 1 live.
Por. What mercy can yon render him,
Autouio ?
Gra. A halter gratis; nothing else, tor
God's sake.
Ant. So please my lord the duke and all
the court 380
To quit the fine tor one half of his goods,
I am content; so he will let me have
The other half in use, to render it.
Upon his de.ath, unto the geutieman
That lately stole his daughter :
Two things provided more, that, for this
favor.
He presently become a Christian ;
The other, that he do record a gift.
Here in the court, of all he dies pos.sess'd.
Unto bis son Lorenzo and his daughter. 390
Duke. He shall do this, or else 1 do recant
The pardon that I late pronounced here.
Pot. Art thou contented, Jew ? what dost
thou say ?
Shy. I am content.
Por. Clerk, draw a deed of gift.
Shy. I pray you, give me leave to go from
hence ;
I am not well: send the deed after me.
And I will sign it.
Duke. Get thee gone, but do it.
Gra. In christening shalt thou have two
god-fathers :
Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten
more,
To bring thee to the gallows, not the font 400
[Ari't Shylock.
Duke. Sir, I entreat you home with me to
dinner.
Por. I humbly do desire your grace of
pardon :
I must away this night toward Padua,
And it is meet I presently set forth.
Duke. I am sorry that your leisure serves
you not.
Antonio, gratify this gentleman.
For, in my mind, you are much hound to him.
[Exeunt Duke and his train.
Bass. Most worthy gentleman, I and my
friend
Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted
Of grievous penalties ; in lieu whereof, 410
Three thousand duciits, due unto the Jew,
We freely cojie your courteous pains withal.
Ant. And stiiiid indebted, over and above.
In love and service to yon evermore.
Por. He is well paid that is well satisfied ;
And I, delivering you, am satisfied
And therein do account myself well paid:
My mind was never yet more mercenary.
I pray you, know me when we meet again ;
I wish you well, and so 1 take my leave. 420
Bass. Dear sir, of force I must attempt you
further :
Take some remembrance of us, as a tribute.
Not as a fee; grant mo two tilings, I pray you.
Not to deny me, and to pardon me.
Por. You press me far, and therefore I will
yield.
[To Ant.] Give me your gloves, I'll wear them
for your sake ;
[To Bass.] And, for your loive, I'll take this
ring from you :
Do not draw back your han.1; I'll take no
more;
And you in love shall not deny me this.
Bass. This ring, good sir, alas, it is a trifle!
' I will not shame myself to give you tliis. 431
Por. I will have nothing else but only this;
And now methinks I have a mind to it.
Bass. There's more depends on this than
on the value.
The dearest ring in Venice wili I give you.
And find it out by proclamation;
Only for this, I pray yon, pardon me.
Por. I see, sir, you are liberal in offers :
You taught me first to beg ; and now me¬
thinks
You teach me how a beggar should be auswePd.
Bass. Good sir, this ring was given me by
my wife ; 441
And when she put it on, she made me vow
That I should neither sell nor give nor lose it.
Por. That 'sense serves many men to save
their gifts.
An if your wife be not a mad-woman.
And know how well I have deserved the ring.
She would not hold out enemy for ever.
For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you!
[Exeunt Portia and Nerissa.
Ant. My Lord Bassanio, let him have the
ring .
Let his deservings and my love withal 460
Be valued 'gainst your wife's commandment.
Bass. Go, Gratiano, run and overtake him;
Give him the ring, and bring him, if thou
canst,
Unto Antonio's house: away ! make haste.
[Exit Gratiano.
Come, you and I will thither pre.sently ;
And in the morning early will we Wh
Fly toward Belmont: come, Antonio. [E: eunt.^
Scene II. The same. A street.
Enter Portia and Nebissa.
Por. Inquire the Jew'^ house out, give him
this deed
And let him sign it: we'll away to-night
And be a day before our husbands home :
This deed wiU be well welcome to Lorenzq
Enter Gratiano.
Gra. Fair sir, you are well o'erta'en;
My Lord Bassanio upon more advice
Hath sent you here this ring, and doth entreat
Your company at dinner.
Por. That cannot be :
His ring 1 do accept most thankfully :
And so, 1 pray you, tell him : furthm-inore, 10
I pray you, show my youth old Shylock's
house.
scexe t,]
Gm. That trill I do.
Ner. Sir, I trould speak tritli ron.
[Aside to Por.J I'll see if I cau get my hus-
baud's ring,
Wliich I did make him swear to keep for ever.
For. fo JVer.l Thou mayst, I warrant
I We shall have old swearing
That they did give the rings away to men (
But we'll outface them, and outswear them
too.
[.ifotid] Away 1 make baste ; thou know'st
where I will tarry.
Ner. Come, good sir, will you show me to
this house ? [EvewU,
ACT V.
SoEirE I. Belmont. Avenue to Portia's
house.
Enter Lorenzo and Jessica-
Lor. The moon shines bright: in such a
night as this,
When tlie sweet wind did gently kiss the trees
And they did make no noise, in such a night
Troilus metliinks mounted the Troyah walls
And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents,
Where Cressid lay tiiat night
Jes. In such a night
Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew
And saw the lion's'shadow ere himself
And ran dismay'd away.
Jjor. In such a night
Stood Dido with a willow in her hand 10
Upon tlie wild sea banks and waft her love
To come again to Carthage.
Jes. In such a night
Medea gathered the enchanted herbs
That did renew oldiGson.
Lor. In such a night
Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew
And with an unthrift love did run from Venice
As far as Belmont
Jes. In such a night
Did young Lorenzo swear he loved her well.
Stealing her soul with many vows of faith
And ne'er a true one.
Lor. In such a night 20
Did pretty Jessica, like a little slirew.
Slander her love, and he forgave it hen
Jes. I would out-night you, did no body
come ;
But, hark, 1 bear the footing of a man. -
Enter Stephano.
Lor. Who eomes so fast in silence of
the night ?
Steph. A friend.
Lor. A friend ! what friaud ? your name,
I pray you, friend ?
St^h. Stephano is my name ; and I bring
word
My. mistress will before the break of day
Be here at Belmont: she doth stray about 30
'379
By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays'
For happy wedlock hours.
Lor. Who comes with her?
Steph. None but a holy hermit and her
maid.
I pray you, is my master yet retnm'd ?
Lor. He is not, nor we have not heard
from hiih.
But go we in, 1 pray thee, Jessica,
And ceremoniously let us prepare
Some welcopre for the mistress of the house.
Enter Launcelot.
Laun. Sola, sola ! wo ha, ho 1 sola, sola 1
Lor. Who calls? 40
Laun. Sola.! did you see Master Lorenzo 7
Master Lorenzo, sola, sola !
Lor. I-eave hollaing, man ; here.
Laun. Sola I, where ?, where ?
Jj)r. Here.
Laun. Tell him there's a post come from
my master, with his horn full of good uewa:
my master will be here ere morning. [Exit.
Lor. Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect
their coming.
And yet no matter : why should we go in?^ 50
My friend Stephano, sigiiity, 1 pray you.
Within tlie house, your mistress is at band ;
And bring your music forth into the air.
^ [Exit Stephano.
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this
bank !
Here will we sit and let tiie sounds of music
Creep in our ears : soft stillness and the nigitt
Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold :
There's not the smallest orb wmch thou be-
hold'st 60
But in his motion like an angel sings.
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins ;
Such harmony is in immortitl souls ;
But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it
Enter Musicians.
Come, ho ! and wake Diana with a hymn .
With sweetest touches jrierce your mistress'
oar
And draw her home with music. [Music.
Jes. I nm never merry when I hear sweet
music.
Loi\ The reason is, your spirits are atten¬
tive : 70
For do but note a wild and wanton herd.
Or race of youthful and unlrandled colts.
Fetching mad bounds, bcllov, iug and neighing
loud.
Which is the hot condition of their blood ;
If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound, '
Or any air of music touch their cars.
You shall perceive them make a mutual stand,
Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze
By the sweet power of music : therefore th«
poet
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones and
floods; 80
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.
880
Since nought so stockish, hard and lull of
»age,
But music for the time doth change his nature.
The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet
sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils ;
The motions of his spirit are dull as night
And his affections dark as Erebus ;
Let no such mau be trusted. Mark the music.
EiUer Portia and Nerissa.
For. That light we see is burning in my
halt.
How far that little candle throws his beams'
So shines a good deed in a naug'-ty world. 91
Ner. When the moou shone, we did not see
the candle.
For. So doth the greater glory dim the
less:
A substitute shines brightly as a king '
Unto the king b^ by, and then his state
Empties itself, as ^th m inland brook
Into the main of waters. Music ! hark !
Ner, It is your music, madam, of the house.
Fofr. Nothing is good, I see, without re¬
spect :
Methiuks it sounds much sweeter than by day.
Ner. Siience bestows that virtue on it,
madam. 101
.Poi*. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the
lark
When neither is attended, and I think
The nightingale, it she should sing by day.
When every goose is cackling, would be
thought
No better a musician than the wren.
How many things by season season'd are
To their right praise and true perfection !
Peace, ho ! the moon sleeps with Endymion
And would not be awaked. [jVusfc ceases.
LoY. That is the voice, 110
Or I am much deceived, of Portia.
For. He knows me as the blind man knows
the cuckoo.
By the bad voice.
Lor. Dear lady, welcome home.
For. We have been praying for our hus¬
bands' healths.
Which speed, we hope, the better for our
words.
Are they retum'd ?
Lor. Madam, they are not yet •
But there is come a messenger before.
To signify their coming.
. For. Go in, Nerissa ;
Give order to ray servants that they take
No note at all of our being absent hence ; 120
Nor you, Lorenzo ; Jessica, nor you.
[A tucket sounds.
Lor. Your husband is at hand ; I hear his
trumpet:
We are no tell-tales, madam ; fear yon not.
For. This night methiuks is but the day¬
light sick;
It looks a little paler ; 'tis a day,
[Act v.
Such as the day is when the sun is bid.
Enter Ba'ssanio, Antonio, |Gratiano, and
their followers..
Bass. We should hold day with the Anti¬
podes,
If yon would walk in absence of the sun.
For. Let me give light, but let me not be
light;
For a light wife doth make a heavy bmsband.
And never be Bassanio so for me : 131
But God sort all! You are welcome home, my
lord.
Bass. I thauk you, madam. Give welcome
to my friend.
This is the mau, this is Antonio,
To whom I am so infinitely bound.
For. You should hi all sense be much bound
to him.
For, as I hear, he was much bound for you.
Ant. No more than I am well acquitted of.
For. Sir, you are very welcome to our
house :
It must appear in other ways than words, 140
Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy.
Gra. [To Ner.] By yonder moon I swear
you do me wrong ;
In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk:
Woulu he were gelt that had it, for my part^
Since you do take it, love, so much at heart.
For. A quarrel, ho, already ! wliat's the
matter ?
Gra. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring
That she did give me, whose posy was
For all the world like cutler's poetry
Upon a knife, ' Love me, and leave me not.'
Ner. What talk you of the posy or the
value 1 151
You swore to me, when I did give it you.
That you would wear it till your hour of death
And that it should lie with you in your grave:
Though not for me, yet for your vehement
oaths, [kept it.
Yon should have been respective and nave
Gave it a judge's clerk ! no, God's my judge.
The clerk will ne'er wear hair on's face that
had it.
Gra. He will, an if he live to be a man.
Ner. Ay, if a womau live to be a man. 160
Gra. Now, by this hand, I gave it to a
youth,
A kind of boy, a little scrubbed boy.
No higher than thyself, the judge's derk,
A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee:
I could not for my heart deny it him.
For. You were to blame, I must be plain
with you.
To part so slightly with your wife's first gift:
A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger
And so riveted with faith unto your flesh.
I gave my love a ring and made him swear 170
Never to part with it; and here he stands ;
I dare be sworn for him he would not leave it
Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth
That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gra-
tiauo.
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.
Scene i.j
THE MERCHANT OE VENICE.
881
Yon give your wife too uukind a cause of
grief :
An 'twere to me, I should be mad at it.
Bas$. [Aside] Why, I were best to cut my
left hand off
And swear 1 lust the ring defending it.
Ora. My Lord Bassanio gave liis ring away
Unto the judge tliat begg'd it and indeed 180
Deserved it too ; and tiien the boy, his clerk.
That took some pains in writing, lie begg'd
mine ;
And neither man nor master would take aught
But the two rings.
Par. ■ What ring gave yon, my lord ?
Not that, I hope, which you received of me.
Boss. If I could add a lie unto a fault,
I would deny it; but you see my finger
Hath not the ring upon it; it is gone.
Por. Even so void is your false heart of
truth.
By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed 190
Until 1 seethe ring.
Ner. . Nor I in yours
Till I again see mine.
Bass. Sweet Portia,
If you did know to whom I gave the ring.
If you did kuow for whom I gave the ring
And would conceive for what I gave the ring
And how unwillingly I left tlie ring.
When nought would be accepted but the ring.
You would abate the strength of your dis¬
pleasure. (
Por. If you had known tlie virtue of the
ring.
Or half her worthiness that gave the ring, 200
Or your own honor to contain the ring.
You would not then have parted with the
ring.
What man is there so much unreasonable,
If vou had pleased to have defended it
With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty
To urge the thing lield as a ceremony ?
Nerissa teaches me what to believe :
I'd die for't but some woman had the ring.
Bass. No, by my honor, madam, by my
soul.
No woman had it, but a civil doctor, 210
Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me
And begg'd the ring; the which I did deny
him
And suffer'd him to go displeased away;
Even he that did uphold the very life
Of my dear friend. What should 1 say, sweet
lady?
I was enforced to send it after him ;
I was beset with shame and courtesy ;
My honor would not let ingratitude
So much besmear it. Pardon me, good lady ;
For, by these blessed caudles of the night, ^
Had you been there, I think you would have
begg'd ♦
fhe ring of me to give the worthy doctor.
Por. Let not that doctor e'er come near my
house:
Since he hath got the jewel that I loved.
And that which you did swearkeq^wtme^
I will become as liberal as you ;
I'll not deny him any thing I have.
No, not my body nor my husband's bed
Know iiim I shall, I am well sui-e of it:
Lie nut a nigiit from home ; watch me like
Argus: 230
If you do not, if 1 be left alone.
Now, by mine honor, which is yet mine own,
I'll have that doctor for my bedfellow.
Ner. And I his elerk ; therefore be well
advised
How you do leave me to mine own protection.
Gra. Well, do you so : let not me take
him, then ;
For if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen.
Ant. I am the unhappy subject of these
quarrels.
Por. Sir, grieve not you ; yon are welcome
uotwithstanding.
Bass. Portia, forgive me this enforced
wrong; 240
And, in the hearing of these many friends,
1 swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes,
Wherein I see myself—
Por. Mark you but that!
In both my eyes he doubly sees himself ;
In each eye, one : swear by your double self.
And there's an oath of credit.
Bass. Nay, but hear me ;
Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear
I never more will break an oath with thee.
V Ant. I once did lend my body for his
wealth; [ring.
Which, but for him that had your husband's
Had quite miscarried : I dare be bound again.
My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord
Will never more break faith advisedly.
Por. Then you shall be his surety. Give
him this
And bid him keep it better than the other.
Ant. Here, Lord Bassanio ; swear to keep
this ring.
Bass. By heaven, it is the same I gave the
doctor 1
Por. I had it of him : pardon me, Bassanio;
For, by this ring, the doctor lay with me. 259
Ner. And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano ;
For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's
clerk.
In lieu of this last night did lie with me.
Gra. Why, this is like the mending of high¬
ways
In summer, where the ways are fair enough :
What, are we cuckolds ere we have deserved
it?
Por. Speak not so grossly. You are all
amazed :
Here is a letter ; read it at your leisure;
It comes from Padua, from Bellario:
TTiere yon shall find that Portia was the doc¬
tor,
Nerissp there her clerk ; Lorenzo here 270
Shall witness I set forth as soon as you
And even but now return'd ; I have not yet
Enter'd my house. Antonio, you are wel-
m
And I have better news in store for you
Than you expect : unseal this letter soon ;
There you suall find tliree of your argosies
Are richly come to harbor suddenly :
Yon shall not know by wliat strange accident
I chanced on this letter.
Ant. I am dumb.
Bass. Were you the doctor and 1 knew you
not ? 280
Ora. Were you the clerk that is to make
me cuckold ?
ATer. Ay, but the der^ that never means to
do it,
Unless he live until he be a man.
Bass. Sweet doctor, you shall be my bed¬
fellow :
When I am absent, then lie with my wife.
Ant. Sweet ladj', you have given me life
and living ;
For here I read for certain that my ships
Are safe|y come to road.
Par. How now, Lor^zo I
Hy clerk hath some good comforts too for
you.
{ACTT.
Ner. Ay, and I'll give tliem him without a
fee. 290
There do I give to you and Jessica,
From tiie rich Jew, a special deed of gift,
After Ills death, of all lie dies possess'd of.
Lor. Fair ladies, you drop manna in the
way
Of starved people.
Por. It is almost morning.
And yet I am sure you are not satisfi^
Of tiiese eveuts at full. Let us go in ; .
And charge us there upon inter'gatories,
And we will answer ail things faitiifuliy.
Gra. Let it be so : the first inter'gatory 30C
That my Nerissa shall be sworn on is,
Whether till the next night she had rather
stay.
Or go to bed now, being two hours to day:
But were the day come, I should wish it dark.
That I were coaching with the doctor's clerk.
Well, while I live I'll fear no otlier tiling
So sore as keeping safe Nerissa's ring.
[Exeunt
THE MERCHANT OP VENICE.
KING HENRY IV. PART L
(written about 1597-98.)
INTRODUCTION.
The two parts of King Henry IV. may be considered as one play in ten acts. It is probable that
Shakespeare weiii on with little or no delay from the flrst part to its continuation in the second.
Both were written before the entry of tlie bist in the ktationeis' legistci, Itb. 16,1667-66 ; for the
entry shows that the name of the tat knight, who originally appeared in both parts under the name
of Oldcastie, had been already altered toX'alstall. Meres makes mention of Henry J V.; and Ben
donson, in Every Man Out of His Humour (159!!), alludes to Justice Silence, one of the characteis of
the Second Part of Shakespeare's play. The materials upon which Shakespeare worked in Henry 1V.
and Henry V. were obtained from Uolinshed, and from an old play, full of vulgar mirth, and acted
before 1568, The Famous Victories of Henry V. Both parts of Henry 1V. consist of a comedy and a
history fused together. The hero of the one is the royal Boliugbroke. the heio of the other is
Falstalf, while Prince Henry passes to and fro between me history and the comedy, serving as the
bond which unites the two. Henry IV. is the same Boliugbroke who had been so greatly con¬
ceived in Richard II.; only he is no longer in the full force ot his manhood. He is worn by care and
Toil, harassed by revolts and conspiracies, yet still resolved to hold hrmly what he has forcibly at¬
tained. There is a pathetic power in the ligure of this weary ambitious man, who can take no rest
until the rest of death comes upon him. Hotspur, who, to bring him Into contrast with the Prince, is
made much younger than the Harry Percy of history, is as ardent in the pursuit ot glory as the
Prince seems to be indifferent to it. Tohishottemperandquick senseof personal honor small matters
are great; he does not see things in their true proportions ; he lacks seu-control, he has no easine.ss
of nature. Yet he is gallant, mivalrons, not 'devoid of generosity nor of quick affections, though
never in a high sense disinterested. Prince Hal, whom Shakespeare admires and loves more thair
arv other person in English history, afterward to become Shakespeare's ideal king of England,
c.-4res little for mere reputation. He does not think much of himself and of bis own honor ; and
while there is nothing to do, and his great father holds ..II power in bis Own right hand, he escapes
from the cold proprieties of the court to the boisterous life and mirth of the tavern. He is, bow-,
ever, only welting for a call to action, and Shakespeare declares that from the first he was conscious
of his grc..t destiny, and while seeming to scatter his force in frivolity, was holding his true self, wel-
gnai'deJ, in rese^ o. Falstaff is everything i:. Attle, or rather everything in much ; for is he not a
ttiiiof flesh? English literature knows no J tumorous creation to set beside Falstaff; and to find
his equal—yet his opposite—we must turn to the gaunt figure of the romantic knight of LaMancha,
in whose person Cervantes smiled away pathetically the chivalry of the Middle Ages from out our
mo< 1 world. F stiff exercises upon the reader of these plays much the same fascination which
he exercised upon the Prince. We know hiin to be a gross-bodied, self-indulgent old sinner, devoid
of moral sense and of self-respect, and yet we cannot part v. jth hhn. We cannot live in this world
without humor, and Falstaff humor maintaining its mastery against all antagonisms. We ad¬
mit, however, the necessity of his utter banishment from ilenry, when Henry enters upon the grave
responsibilitr - of kingship. Still we have a tender thought lor Sir John in his exile from London
taverns. And at the last, when he fumbles with ti j shcHs and plays with flowers, when "a' went
away, i. it li-'' been any christom child," we bid him a<deu with a tear that does not forbid a smile.
Tbe historical period represented by 1 Henry /K. dates from the battle of Holmedon Hill, Sept. 14,
1402, to the battle of Shrewsbury, July 21, 1403. 2 Henry IV, continues the history to the king's
death and the accession of Heury V., 1413.
DRAMATIS
King Henry the Foartb.
Henry, Prince of Wales,! „„„„
John of Lancaster, sons to the King.
Earl, of Westmoreland.
.Sir Walter Blunt.
Thomas Percy, Earl of Worcester.
Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland.
PERSON.®.
Henry Percy, snniamed Hotspur, his son.
Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March.
Richard Scroop, Archbishop of York.
Archibald, Earl of Douglas.
Owen Glendower.
Sir Richard Vernon.
Sir John Falstaff.
(383)
884
KING HENRY IV. PART 1.
[Act 1.
Sib Michael, a friend to the Archbishop of
York.
POINI!.
Gadshi x.
Peto.
Bardou>h.
Lady Percy, wife to Hotspur, and sister to
Mortimer.
Lady Mortimer, daughter to Glendower,
and wife to Mortimer.
Mistress Quickly, hostess of a tavern in
Eastcheap.
Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Ofaa'mberlaiu.
. Drawers, two Carriers, Travellers, and
Attendants.
Scene : England.
ACT L
Scene I. London. The palace.
Enter Kino Henry, Lord John op Lancas¬
ter, the Earl of Westmoreland, Sir
Walter Blunt, and others.
King. So shaken as we are, so wan with
care.
Find we a time for frighted peace to pant.
And breathe short-winded accents of new
broils
To be commenced in strand,s afar remote.
tNo more the liirsty entrance of this soil
Shiill daub her lips with her own children's
blood ;
Nor more shall trenching war ch^nel her
fields.
Nor braise her flowerets with the armed hoofs
Of hostile paces : tliose opposed eyes.
Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven.
All of one nature, of one substance bred, 11
Did lately meet in the intestine shock
And furious close of civil butchery
. Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks,
March all one way and be no more opposed
Against acquaintance, kindred and allies :
The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife.
No more shall hut his master. Therefore,
friends.
As far as to the sepulchre of Christ,
Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross
We are impressed and engaged to flght, 21
Forthwith a power of English shall we levy ;
Whose arms were moulded in their mothers'
womb
To chase tuese pagans in those holy fields
Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet
Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd
For our advantage on the bitter cross.
But this our purpose now is twelve month old.
And bootless 'tis to tell you we will go :
Therefore we meet not now. Then let me hear
Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland, 31
What yesternight our council did decree
In forwarding this dear expedience.
West.' My liegei this haste was hot in ques¬
tion.
And many limits of the charge set down
But yesternight; when all athwart there came
A post from Wales loaden with heavy news ;
Whose worst was, that the noble Mortimer,
Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight
Against the irregular and wild Glendower, 40
Was by the rude hands of that Welshman
taken,
A thousand of his people butchered ;
Upon whose dead corpse there was such mis¬
use.
Such beastly shameless transformation.
By those Welshwomen done as may not be
Without much shame retold or s^ken of.
King. It seems then that the tidings of this
broii
Brake off our business for the Holy Land.
West. This match'd with other did, my
gracious lord;
For more uneven and unwelcome news 50
Came from the north and thus it did import:
On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there.
Young Harry Percy and brave Archibald,
That ever-valiant and approved Scot,
At Holmedon met.
Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour;
As by discharge of their artillery,.
And shape of likelihood, the news was told ;
For he that brought them, in the very heat
And pride of their contention did take horse,
Unceitain of the issue any way. 61
King. Here is a dear, a true industrious
friend.
Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse,
Stain'd with the variation of each soil
Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours ;
And he hath brought us smooth and welcome
news.
The Earl of Douglas is discomfited :
Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty
knights,
Balk'd in their own blood did Sir Walter see
On Holmedon's plains. Of prisoners. Hotspur
took 70
Mordake the Earl of Fife, and eldest son
To beaten Douglas ; and the Earl of .4thol,
Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith :
And is not this an honorable s;x>il ?
A gallant prize ? ha, cousin, is it not ?
West. In faith.
It is a conquest for a prince to boast of.
King. Yea, there thou makest me sad and
makest me sin
In envy that my Loid Northuniberlaud
Should be the father to so blest a son, 60
A son who is the theme of honor's tongue ;
Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant;
Who is sweet Fortune's minion and her pride ;
Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him.
See riot and dishonor stain the brow
Scene ii.]
Of my young Harry. O that it could he t>ro ved
That som^ night-tripping fairy had exchanged
In cradle-clotfiesour children where they lay,
And call'd mine Percy, his PUiutagenet!
Then would I have his Harry, and he mine. 90
But let him from my thoughts. What think
you, coz.
Of this young Percy's pride ? the prisoners.
Which he in this adventure hath surprised.
To his own use he keeps ; and sends me word,
I shall have none but Mordake Earl of Fife.
West. This is his uncle's teaching ; this is
Worcester,
Malevolent to you in all aspects ;
Which makes him prune himself, and bristle
up
The crest of youth against your dignity.
King. But I have sent for him to answer
this: 100
And for thb cause awhile we must neglect
Our holy purpose to Jerusalem.
Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we
Will hold at Windsor ; so inform the lords :
But come yourself with speed to us again ;
For more is to be said and to be done
Than out of anger can be uttered.
West. I will, my liege. [Exeunt.
Scene U. London. An apartment <if the
Princes.
Eater the Prince of Wales and Faxstaff.
Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?
Prince. Thou art so fat-witied, with drink¬
ing of old sack and unbuttoning thee after
supper and sleeping upou benches after noon,
that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly
which thou wouldst truly know. What k devil
hast thou to do with the time of the day ?
Unless hours were cups of sack and minutes
capons and clocks the tongues of bawds and
dials the signs of leaping-hou.sesandthe bles.sed
sun himself a fair hot wench in flame-colored
taffeta, I see no reason why thou shouldst be
so superfluous to demand the time of the day.
Feu. Indeed, you come near me now, Hal;
for we tliat take purses go by the moon and
the seven stars, and not by Phoebus, he, ' that
wanderi-g knight so fair.' And, I prithee,
sweet wng, when thou art king, as, God save
thy grace,—majesty I should say, for grace
thou wilt have none,— 20
Prince. What, none ?
Fal. No, by my troth, not so much as will
serve to be prologue to an egg and butter.
P) •ince. Well, how then 1 come, roundly,
roundly.
Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou
art king, let not us that are squires of the
night's body be called thieves of the day's
beauty : let us be Diana's ^resters, gentlemen
of the shade, minions of the moon; and let
men say we be men of good government, being
govemM, as the sea is, by our noble and chaste
mistress the moon, under whose countenance
we steal
385
Prince. Thou sayest well, and it holds well
too ; for the fortune of us that are the moon's
men doth ebb and flow like the sea, being
governed, as the sea is, by the moon. As, fur
proof, now ; a purse of gold most resolutely
suatched on Monday night and most disso¬
lutely spent on Tuesday morning; got witli
swearing 'Lay by' and spent with crying
' Bring in ;' now in as low an ebb as the foot
of the ladder and by and by in as high a flow
as the ridge of the gallows.
Fal. By the Lord, thou sayest true, lad.
' And is not my hostess of the tavern a most
sweet wench ?
Prince. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad
of the castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most
sweet robe of durance ? 49
Fat. How now, how now, mad wag ! what,
in thy quips and thy quiddities ? what a
plague have I to do with a buff jerkin ?
Prince. Why, what a pox have I to do with
my hostess of the tavern ?
Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a reckon¬
ing many a time and oft. I
Prince. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy
part?
Fal. No ; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast
paid all there. <>0
Prince. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my
coin would stretch ; and where it would not, I
have used my credit.
Fal. Yea, and so used it that, were it not
here apparent that thou art iheir apparent—
But, I prithee, sweet wag, sliali there be gal¬
lows standing in England when thou art king?
and resolution thus fobbed as it is with £e
rusty curb of old father antic the law ? Do not
thou, when thou art king, hang a thief. 70
Prince. No ; thou shalt.
Fal. Shall I ? O rare ! By the Lord, I'll
be a brave judge.
Prince. Thou judgest false already: I
mean, thou shalt have the hanging of the
thieves and so become a rare hangman.
Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it
jumps with my humor as well as waiting in
the court, I can tell you.
Prince. For obtaining of suits ? 80
Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof
the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood,
I am as melanchoiy as a gib cat or a lugged
bear.
Prince. Or an old lion, or a lover's lute.
Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire
bagpipe.
Prince. What sayest thou to a hare, or the
melancholy of Moor-ditch ?
Fgl. Thou hast the most unsavory similes
and art indeed the most comparative, ra.scal-
liest, sweet young prince. But, Hsvl, I prithee,
trouble me no more with vanity. I would to
God thou and 1 knew where a commodity of
good names were to be bought. An old lord
of the council rated me the other day in the
street about you, sir, but I marked him not;
and yet he talked very wisely, but I resided
KING HENRY IV. PART I.
886
KINO HENRY IV. PART I.
[Act I.
Aim not; and yet he talked wisely, and id the
street too.
Prince. Thou didst well; for wisdom cries
out in the streets, and no man re^rds it. 100
Pal. O, thon hast damnable iteration and
art indeed able to corrupt a saint. Thou luast
done much harm upon me, Hal; God forgive
thee for it! Before 1 itnew thee, Hal, I knew
nothing; and now am I, if a man sliould speak
truly, little better than one of the wicked. I
must give over this life, and I will give it over:
by the Lord, and I do not, I am a villain : I'll
be damned for never a king's son in Christen¬
dom.
■ Prince. Where shall we take a purse to¬
morrow, Jack ? Ill
Pal. 'Zounds, where thou wilt, lad ; I'll
make one ^ an I do not, call me villain and
baffle me.
Prince. I see a good amendment of life in
thee ; from praying to purse-taking.
Pal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal; 'tis
no sin for a man to labor in his vocation.
Enter Poins.
Poins ! Now shall we know if Gadshill have
seta match. O, if meu were to be saved by
merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for
him ? This is the most omnipotent viUaip that
ever cried ' Stand' to a true man.
Prince. Good morrow, Ned.
Poins. Grood morrow, sweet Hal. What
says Monsieur Remorse ? what says Sir Joiin
&vck and Sugar ? Jack ! how agrees tlie devil
and thee about thy soul, that thou soldest him
on Good-Friday last for a cup of Madeira and
a cold capon's leg 'I 129
Prince. Sir John stands to his word, the
devil shall have his bargain ; for he was never
yet a breaker of proverbs: he will give the
devil his due.
Poins. Then art thou damned for keeping
thy word with the devil.
Prince. Else he had been damned for coz¬
ening the devil.
Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow
morning, by four o'clock, early at Gadshill!
tliere are pilgrims going to Canterbury with
rich offerings, and traders riding to Loudon
with fat purses: 1 have vizards for you all ; you
have horses for yourselves : Gadshill hes to¬
night in Rochester : I have bespoke sncper to-
mbiTow night in Eastcheap : we may do it as
secure as sleep. If you will go, I will stuff
your purses full of crowns ; if you will not,
tarry at home and be hanged.
Pal. Hear ye, Yedward ; if I tarry at home
and go not, I'll hang you for going. 150
Poins. You will, chops ?
Pal. Hal, wilt thou make one ?
Prince. Who, I rob ? I a thief ? not h by
my^faith. '
Pal. There's neither honesty, manhood,
nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou earnest
not of the blood royal, if thou dares'-"lot stand
hat ten shillings
Prince. Well then, once in my days I'll be
a madcap. 160
Pal. Wh^ that's well said.
Prince. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at
home.
Pal. By tlie Lord, Pll be a traitor then,
when thou art king.
Prince. I care not.
Poins. Sir John, I prithee, leave tlie prince
and me alone : I will lay him down such rea¬
sons for this adventure that he shall go. 169
Pal. Well, God give tiiee the spirit of per¬
suasion and him the ears of profiting, that
what thou speakest may move and what he
liears maybe believed, that the true prince
may, for recreation sake, prove a false thief ;
for the poor abuses of tlie time want coun¬
tenance. Farewell: you shall find me in
Eastcheap. -
Prince. Farewell, thou latter spring 1 fare¬
well, All-hallown summer ! [Eril Palstaf.
Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord,
ride with us to-morrow : I have a jest to ex¬
ecute that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff,
Bardolph, Peto and Gadshill shall rob those
men that we have already waylaid : yourself
and I will not be there ; and when they have
the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cu^
this head off from my shoulders.
Prince. How shall we part with them in
setting forth ?
Poins. Why, we will set forth before or
after them,-and appoint them a place of meet¬
ing, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail, and
then will they adventure upon the exploit
themselves ; which they shall have no sooner
achieved, but we'll set upon them.
Prince. Yea, but 'tis like that they will
know us by our horses, by our habits and by
every other appointment, to be ourselves.
Poins. Tut! our horses they shall not see:
I'll tie them in the wood ; our vizards we will
change after we leave them : and, sirrah I
have cases of bucknm for the nonce, to im-
mask our noted outward garments.
Prince. Yea, but I doubt they will be too
hard for us.
Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them
to be as true-bred cowards as ever turned
back; and for the third, if he fight longer than
he sees re:ison, I'll forswear arms. The virtue
of this jest will be, the incomprehensible lies
that this same fat rogue will tell us when we
meet at supper: how thirty, at least, he fought
with.; what wards, what blows, what extrem¬
ities he endured ; and in the reproof of this
lies the jest.
Prince. Well, I'll go with thee : provide us
all things necessary and meet me to-morrow
night in Eastcheap ; there I'll sup. Farewell.
Poins. Farewell, my lord. [Exit.
Prince., I know you all, and will awhile
uphold
The unyoked humor of your idleness : 820
Yet herein will I Imitate the sun,'
Who doth permit the base conta^ous clouds
SCEMB 111.]
To smother up his beauty from the world,
That, when be pleaso again to be liimself,'
Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at.
By breaking through the foul and ugly mists
Of vapors that did seem to strangle him.
If all tlie year were playing holidays,
To sport would Be as tedious as to work
But when they seldom come, tliey wish'd for
come, ^
And notliiiig pleaseth but rare accidents.
So, when this loose behavior I throw off
And pay the debt I never promised.
By how much better than my word I am,
By so much shall 1 falsify men's hopes ;
And like bright metid on a sullen ground,
My reformation, glittering o'er my fault.
Shall show more goodly and attract more
eyes
Than that which hath no foil to set it off.
I'll so offend, to make offence a skill ; 240
Redeeming time when men think lea^ I will.
[Exi.
Scene in. London. The palace.
Enter the Kino, Northumberland, Wor¬
cester, Hotspur, Sir Walter Blunt,
with others.
Kill!/. My blood hath been too cold and
temperate,
Unapit to stir at these indignities,
And you have found me ; for accordingly
Vou tread upon my patience : but be sure
I will from henceforth rather be myself.
Mighty and to be fear'd, than my condition ;
Which hatli been smooth as oil, soft as yonug
down.
And therefore lost that title of respect
Which the proud sonl ne'er pays but to the
proud.
Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little
deserves > 10
The scourge of greatness to be used on it;
And that same greatness too which our own
hands
Have holp to make so portly.
North. My lord,—-
King. Worcester, get thee gone ; for I do
see
Danger and disobedience in thine ej'e:
O, sir, your presence is too bold and peremp¬
tory.
And majesty might never yetendure
The moody frontier of a servant brow.
You have" good leave to leave us : when we
need 20
Tour use and counsel, we shall send for you.
[Exit Wor.
You were about to speak. ITo North,
North. Yea, my good lord.
Those prisoners in your highness' name de¬
manded, #
Which Harry Percy here at HolmedOn took.
Were, as he says, not with such strength de¬
nied
As is delivePd to your majes^i
387
Either envy, therefore, or misprision
Is guilty of this fault and not my son-'
Hot, My iiege, 1 did deny no prisoners.
But I remember, when the fight was done, SC
When I was dry with rage and extreme toil.
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,
Came there a certain lord, neat, and trimly
dress'd, ,
Fre^ as a bridegroom; and his chin new
reap'd
Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home ;
He was perfumed like a milliner ; ,
And 'twixthis finger and his thumb he held
A ponncet-box, which ever and anon
He gave his nose and took't away again ;
Who therewith angry, when it next came
there,. 40
Took it in snuff; and still he smiled and
talk'd.
And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by.
He call'd them mitaught knaves, unmannerly.
To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse
Betwixt the wind and his nobility.
With many holiday and lady terms
He question'd me ; amongst the rest, de¬
manded
My prisoners in your majesty's behalf.
I then, all smarting with my wounds being
cold.
To be so pester'd with a popinjay, 50
Out of my grief and my impatience,
Answer'd neglectingly I know not what.
He should or he should not; for he made me
mad
To see him shine so brisk and smell so sweet
And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman
Of guns and drums and wounds,—God save
the mark !— \
And telling me the sovereign'st thing on earth
Was jiarmaceti for an inward bruise ;
And that it was great pity, so it was,
This villanous salt-petre should be digg'd CO
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth.
Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd
So cowardly ; and but for these vile guns.
He wonld himself have been a soldier.
This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord,
I answer'd indirectly, as I said ;
And I beseech you, let not his report
Come current for an accusation
Betwixt my love and your high majesty.
Blunt. The circumstance consider'd, good
my lord, 7C
Whate'er Lord Harry Percy then had said
To such a {lersoB and in such a place.
At such a time, with ail the rest retold, !
May reasonably die and never rise
To do him wrong or any way impeach .
What then he said, so he unsay it now.
King. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners,
■But with proviso and exception.
That we at our own charge shall ransom
straight
His brother-in-law. the foolish Mortimer ;■ 80
Who, on my soul, nath wilfully betray'd
The lives pf those that he did lead to fight
KTNG HENRY IV. PART L
m
SWG HENRY IV. PART I.
[Act 1.
Against that great magician, damn'd Glen-
dower,
AVhose daaghter, as we hear, the Earl of
March
Hath lately married. Shall our coffers, then,
Be emptied to redeem a traitor home ?
Shall we buy treason ? and indent with fears.
When they have lost and forfeited themselves ?
No, on tlie barren mountains let him starve ;
For I shall never hold that man my friend 90
Whose tongue shail ask me for one penny cost
To ransom home revolted Mortimer.
Hot. Revolted Mortimer!
He never did fall off, my sovereign liege.
But by the chance of war : to prove that true
Needs no more but one tongue for all those
wounds,
Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he
took.
When on the gentle Severn's sed^ bank.
In single opposition, hand to hand.
He did confound the best part of an hour 100
In changing hardiment with great Glendower :
Three times they breathed and three times did
they drink.
Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood ;
Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks.
Ban fearfully among the trembling re^s.
And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank
Bloodstained with these valiant combatants.
Never did base and rotten policy
Color her working with such deadly wounds ;
Nor never could the noble Mortimer 110
Receive so many, and all willingly :
Then let not him be slander'd with revolt.
Kinff. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou
dost belie him ;
He never did encounter with Glendower:
I tell thee.
He durst as well have met the devil alone
As Owen Glendower for an enemy.
Art thou not ashamed 7 But, sirrah, hence¬
forth
Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer ;
Send me your prisoners with the speediest
means, 120
Or you shall hear in such a kind from me
As will displease you. M y Lord Northumber¬
land,
We license your departure with your son.
Send us your prisoners or you will hear of it.
[Exeunt King Henry, Blunt, and train.
Hot. An if the devil come and roar for
them,
I will not send them : I will after straight
And tell him so : for I will ease my heart.
Albeit I make a hazard of my head.
North. What, drunk with choler 7 stay and
pause awhile;
Here comes your uncle.
Re-mler Wobcesteb.
Hot Speak of Mortimer! 130
'Zounds, i will speak of him; and let my
soul
Want mercy, if I do not join with him :
Yea, on his part I'll empty aU these veins,
And shed my dear blood drop by drop in the
dust.
But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer
As high in the air as this unthankful king.
As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke.
North. Brother, the king hath made your
nephew mad.
War. Who struck this heat up after I was
gone 7
Hot. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners;
And when I u^ed the ransom once again 141
Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd
pale.
And on my face he tum'd an eye of death.
Trembling even at the name of Mortimer.
Wor. I cannot blame him : was not he pro-
claim'd
By Richard that dead is the next of blood 7
North. He was ; I heard the proclama¬
tion :
And then it was when the unhappy king,—
Whose wrongs in us God pardon !—did set
forth
Upon his Irish expedition ; 150
From whence he intercepted did return
To be deposed and shortly murdered.
Wor. And for whose d^th we in the world's
wide mouth
Live scandalized and foully spoken of.
Hot. But, soft, I pray you ; did King Rich¬
ard then
Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer
Heir to the crown 7
North. He did ; myself did hear it.
Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin
king.
That wished him on the barren mountains
starve.
But shall it be that you, that set the crown 160
Upon the head of this forgetful man
And for his sake wear the detested blot
Of murderous subornation, shall it be.
That you a world of curses undergo.
Being the agents, or base second means.
The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather 7
0, pardon me that I descend so low.
To show the line and the predicament
Wherein you range under this subtle king ;
Shall it for shame be sjMken in these days, 170
Or fill up chronicles in time to come.
That men of your nobility and power
Did gage them both in an unjust behalf.
As both of you—God pardon it!—have done.
To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose.
And plant this thorn, this canker, Boling-'
broke 7
And shall it in more shame be further spoken.
That you are fool'd, discarded and shook off
By him for whom these shames ye under¬
went 7 179
No ; yet time serves wherein you may redeem
Your^nish'd honors and restore yourselves
Into the good thoughts of the world again.
Revenge the jeering and disdain'd contempt
Of this proud king, who studies day and ai^t
Scene hi.]
To answer all the debt he owes to you
Even with the bloody payment of your deaths:
Therefore, I say,—
Wor. Peace, cousin, say no more :
And now I will unclasp a secret hook.
And to your quick-conceiving discontents
rii read you matter deep and dangerous, 190
As fuli of peril and adventurous spirit
As to o'er-walk a current roaring loud
On the luisteadfast footing of a spear.
Hot. If he faU in, good night! or sink or
swim :
Send danger from the east unto the west.
So honor cross it from the north to south.
And iet them grappie : O, the blood more stirs
To rouse a lion than to start a hare !
North. Imagination of some great exploit
Drives him beyond the bounds of patience. 200
Hot. By heaven, methinks it were an easy
leap.
To pluck bright honor from the pale-faced
moon.
Or dive into the bottom of the deep,
Where fathom-line could never touch the
envtund.
And pluck up drowned honor by the locks ;
So he that doth redeem her thence might wear
Without corrival, ali her dignities :
But out upon this half-faced fellowship !
Wor. He apprehends a worid of figures
here.
But not the form of what he should attend.
Good cousin, give me audience for a while. 211
Hot. I cry you mercy,
iroc. Those same noble Scots
That are your prisoners,—
Hot. I'il keep them all;
By God, he shall not have a Scot of them ;
No, if a Scot wouid save his soui, he shali not;
I'll keep them, by this hand.
Wor. You start away
And lend no ear nnto my purposes.
Those prisoners you shali keep.
Hot. Nay, I wiii; that's flat:
He said he would not ransom Mortimer ;
Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer ; 220
But I wiii find him when he lies asleep.
And in his ear I'll holla * Mortimer!'
Nay,
I'll have a starling shali be taught to speak '
Nothing but' Mortimer,' and give it him
To keep his anger still in motion.
Wor. Hear you, cousin ; a word.
Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy.
Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke;
And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of
Wales, 230
But that I think his father loves him not
And would be glad he met with some mis¬
chance,
I would have him poison'd with a pot of ale.
Wor. Farewell, kinsman r I'll talk to you
When you are better temper'd to attend.
North. Why, what a waspetnng and im¬
patient fool
Art thou to break into this woman's mood,
880
Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own !
Hot. Why, look you, I am whipp'd and
scourged with rods.
Nettled and stung with pismires, when I hear
Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke. 241
In Richard's time,—what do you call the
place ?—
A plague upon it, it is in Gloucestershire ;
'Twas where the madcap duke his uncle kept.
His uncle York ; where I first bow'd my knee
Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbi'dke,—
'Sblood !—
When you and he came back from Ravens-
purgh.
North. At Berkley castle.
Hot. You say true : 250
Why, what a candy deal of courtesy
This fawning greyhound then did proffer me !
Look, ' when his infant fortune came to age,'
And gentle Han-y Percy,' and ' kind cousin;'
O, the devil take such cozeners ! God forgive
me I ,
Good uncle, tell your tale ; I have done.
Wor. Nay, if you have not, to it again ;
We will stay your leisure.
Hot. I have done, i' faith.
Wor. Tlien once more to your Scottish pris¬
oners. 259
Deliver them upwithout their ransom straight.
And make the Douglas' son your only mean
For powers in Scotland; which, for divers
reasons
Which I shall send you written, be assured.
Will easily be granted. You, my lord,
[To Northumberland.
Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd,
Shall secretly into the bosom creep
Of that same noble prelate, well beloved.
The archbishop.
Hot. Of York, is it not?
ITor. True ; who bears hard 270
His brother's death at Bristol, the Lord
Scroop.
I speak not this in estimation.
As what I think might be, but what I know
Is ruminated, plotted and set down.
And only staj;s but to behold the face
Of that occasion that shall bring it on.
Hot. I smeii .it: upon my life, it wUI do
well.
North. Before the game is afoot, thou still
let'st slip.
H>t. Why, it cannot choose but be r. .loble
plot;
And then the power of Scotland and of York,
To join with Mortimer, ha ? 281
Ivor. ' And so they shalL
Hot In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd.
IFbr. And 'tis no little reason bids us
speed.
To save our heads by raising of a head ;
For, bear ourselves as even as we Ciin,
The king will always think him in our debt.
And think we think ourselves unsatisfied.
Till he hath found a time to pay us home :
And see already bow he doth begin
KING HENRY IV. HART I.
890
Kim BENRY tV. PARTI.
[Act It
To make ns strangers to kis looks of love. 290
Hot. He does, he does : we'll be revenged
on him. [this
War. Cousin, farewell ) no further go in
Than I by lettera shall direct your course.
When time is ripe, which will' be suddenly,
I'll steal to Glendower and Lord Mortimer ;
Where you and Douglas and our powers at
once,
As I will fashion it, shall happily meet.
To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms.
Which now we hold at much uncertainty.
North. Farewell, good brother : we shall
thrive, I trust. 300
Hot, Uncle, adieu: O, let the hours be
short
Till fields and blows and groans applaud our
sport! \_Exeunt.
ACT II.
Scene I. Rochester. An inn yard.
Enter a Carrier with a lantern in his Imnd.
First Car. Heigh-ho ! an it be not four by
the day, I'll be hanged ; Charles' wain is over
the new chimney, and yet our horse not
packed. What, ostler !
Ost. [Within'^ Anon, anon.
First Car. I prithee, Tom, beat Cut's sad¬
dle, put a few flocks in the point; poor jade,
is wrung in the withers out of ail cess.
Enter another Carrier.
Sec. Car. Peas and beans are as dank here
as a dog, and that is the next way to give pmr
jades the hots : this house is turuM upside
down since Robin Ostler died.
First Car. Poor fellow, never joyed since
the price of oats rose ; it was the death of
him.
Sec. Car. I think this be the most villanons
house in all London road for fleas: 1 am stung
like a tench.
First Car. Like a tench ! by the mass,
there is ne'er a king cliristen could be better
bit than I have been since the first cock. 20
Sec. Car. Why, they will allow us ne'er a
jordan, and then we leak in your chimney ;
and your chamber-lie breeds fleas like a loach.
First Car. What, ostler! come away and
be handed ! come away.
Sec. Car. I have a gammon of bacon and
two razes of ginger, to be delivered as far as
Charing-cross.
First Car. God's body! the turkeys in my
pannier are quite starved. What, ostler ! A
plague on thee ! hast thou never an eye in
thy head ? canst not hear ? An 'twere not as
good deed as drink, to break the pate on thee,
I am a very villain. Come, and be hanged 1
hast no faith in thee ?
Enter Gadshili,,
Gads. Good morrcw, carriers. What's
o'clock ?
First Ca»'. I think it be two o'clock.
Gads. I pray tliee lend me thy lantern, to
see my gelding in the stable.
First Car. Nay, by God, soft; I know a
trick worth two of that, i' faith. .^1
Gads. I pray thee, lend me thine.
Sec. Car. Ay, when ? can'st tell ? Lend
me thy lantern, quoth he ? marry, I'll see thee
hanged first.
Gads. Sirrah carrier, what time do you
mean to come to London ?
See. Car. Time enough to go to bed with a
candle, I warrant thee. Come, neighbor
Mugs, we'll call up the gentlemen; they will
along with compmiy, for they have great
charge. lExcntnt caniers. 51
Gads. What, ho I chamberlain 1
Cham. [ Within] At liand, ^uoth pick-purse.
Gads. 'That's eveu as fair as—at hand,
quoth the chamberlain ; for thou variest no
more from picking of purses than giving di¬
rection doth from laboring ; thou, layest the
plot how.
Enter Chamberlain.
Cham. Good morrow. Master Gadshill. It
holdc current that I told you yesternight;
there's a frauxliu in the wild of Kent hath
brought three hundred marks with him in
gold: 1 heard him tell it to one of his com¬
pany last night at supper ; a kind of auditor ;
one that Imth abundance of charge too, God
knows what. They are up already, and call
for eggs and butter ; they will away pres¬
ently.
Gads. Sirrah, if they meet not with Saint
Nicholas' clerks, I'U give thee this neck.
Cham. No, I'll none of it: I pray thee,
keep that for the hangman ; for I know thou
worshippest St. Nicholas as truly as a man of
falsehood may.
Gads. What talkest thou to me of the
hangman ? if I hang, I'll make a fat pair of
gallows; for if I hang, old Sir John hangs with
me, and thou kuowcst he is no starveling.
Tut! there are other Trojans that thou dreara-
est not of, the which for sport sake are con¬
tent to do the profession some grace ; that
would, if matters should be looked into, for
their own credit sake, make all whole. I am
joined with no foot-land rakers, no long-staff
sixpenny strikers, none of tliese mad mus-
tachio purple-hued malt-worms ; but witli no¬
bility and tranquillity, burgomasters and great
oneyers, such as can hold in, such as will
strike sooner than speak, and speak sooner
than drink, and drink sooner than pray : and
yet, 'zounds, I lie ; for they pray continually
to their saint, the commonwealth ; or rather,
not pray to her, but prey on her, for they ride
up and down on her and make her their
boots. 91
Cham. What, the commonwealth their
boots 7 will she hold out water in fonl way ?
Gods. She will, she will; justice hath li¬
quored her. We steal ae in a castle, cock-
Scene II.]
'KING HENRY JY. PART I.
891
sure; -we have the receipt of fem-seed, we
walk ittvisible.
Cham. Nay, by my faith, 1 think you are
more beholding to the uight than to fem-seed
for your walking invisible.
Oads. Give me thy hand: thou slialt have
a share in our purchase, as I am a true man.
Cham. Nay, rather let me have it, as you
are a false thief.
Gads. Go to;' homo' is a common name to
. all men. Bid the ostler bring my gelding out
of the stable. Farewell, you muddy knave.
[Exeutd.
Scene IL The highway, near Gadshtll.
Enter Pbince Henby and Poins.
Poins. Come, shelter, shelter: I have re¬
moved Falstafi's horse, aud he frets like a
gummed velvet.
Pt ■incc. Stand close.
Enter Falstaff.
Pal Poins ! Poins, and be hanged ! Poins!
Prime. Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal!
what a brawling dost thou keep 1
Fal. Where's Poins, Hal ?
Prince. He is walked up to the top of the
hill: I'll go seek him. 9
Fal. 1 am accursed to rob in tliat thief's
comirany : the rascal bath removed my horse,
and tied him I know not where. If 1 travel but
four foot by the squier further afoot, 1 shall
break my wind. Well, 1 doubt not but to die
a fair death for all this, if 1 'scape hanging
for killing that rogue. I have forsworn his
company Dourly any time this two and tweir-
ty years, and yet I am bewitched with the
rogue's i«mpany. If the lascai hath not given
me medicines to make me love him, I'll be
hanged ; it could not be else ; I have drunk
medicines. Poins ! Hai I a plague upon you
both 1 Bardolph ! Peto ! I'll starve ere I'll
rob a foot further. An 'twere not as
good a deed as drink, to turn true man and
to leave these rogues, I am the veriest var-
let that ever ehewed with a tooth. Eight
yards of uneven ground is threescore and ten
miles afoot with me; and the stony-hearted
villains know it well enough ; a plague upon
it when thieves ainnot be true one to another!
[They whistle.'] Whew! A plague upon you
all! Give me my horse, you rogues ; give me
my horse, and be hanged !
Prince. Peace, ye fat-guts! lie down ; lay
thine ear close to the ground and list if thou
canst hear the tread of travellers.
Fal. Have you any levers to lift me up
again, being down? ''Sblood, I'll not bear
mine own flesh so far afoot again for all the
coin in thy father's exchequerj'What a iflague
mean ye to colt me thus ? 40
Prince. Thou liest; thou art not colted,
t'aou art nncolted.
Fal. I prithee, good Prince Qal, help me
to my horse, good khig's son.
Prince. Out, ye rogue! shall I be your
ostler ?
Fal. Go, hang thyself in thine own heir-
apparent garters I If I be ta'en, I'll peach for
this. An 1 have cot ballads made on you all
and snug to filthy tunes, let a eup of sack be
my poison ; when a jest is so forward, aud
afoot too I I hate it
Enter Gadsuiu., Babdolfh and Peto with
him.
Gads. Stand.
Fal. So 1 do, against my will.
Poins. O, 'tis our setter : I know his voice.
Bardolph, what news ?
Bard. Case ye, case ye : on with your
vizaids : there's money of the king's coming
down the hill; 'tis going to the king's exche¬
quer.
Fal. You lie, ye rogue ; 'lis going to the
king's tavern.
Gads. There's enough to make us all. 60
Fal. To be hanged.
Prince. Sirs, you four shall front them in
the narrow lane ; Ned Poins aud 1 will walk
lower : if they 'scape from your encoumer,
then they light on ns.
Peto. How many be there of them ?
Gads. Some eight or ten.
Fal. 'Zounds, will they not rob ns ?
Prince. What, a coward. Sir John Paunch?
Fed. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your
grandfather ; but yet no coward, Hal. 71
Prince. Well, we leave that to the proof.
Poins. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands be¬
hind the hedge : when thou needest him, there
tlroii shalt find him. Farewell, and .stand fast.
Fal. Now cannot I strike him, if 1 should
be hanged.
Prince. Ned, where are our disguises ?
Poins. Here, hard by ; stand close.
[Exeunt Prince and Poins.
Fed. Now, my masters, happy man be his
dole, say I ; every man to his business.
Enter the Travellers.
First Trav. Come, neighbor ; the boy shall
lead our horses down the hill ; we'll walk
afoot awhile, and ease onr legs.
' Thieves. Stand I
Travellers. Jesus bless us I
Fal. Strike ; down with them ; cut the vil¬
lains' throats : ah I whoreson caterpillars I
bacoir-fed knaves! they hate us youth : down
with them : fleece them. 90
Tranellers. O, we are undone, both we and
ours for ever I
Fal. Hang ye, gorbellied knaves, are ye
undone ? No, ye fat chuffs ; 1 would your
store were here I On, bacons, on I What, ye
knaves I young men must li^•e. Yon are graud-
jurois, are ye ? we'll jure ye, 'faith.
[Here they rob them and hind them. Exeunt.
Re-enter Pbince Henby and Poins. ^
Prince. The thieves have bound the true
men. Now could thou aud I rob the thieves
892
KING HENRY IV. PARTI.
[Act ir.
and go merrily to London, it ■would be argu¬
ment for a week, laughter for a month and a
good jest for ever.
Poins. Stand close ; I hear them coming.
Enter the Thieves arjain.
Fal. Come, my masters, let us share, and
then to horse before d.ay. An the Prince and
Poins be not two arrant cowards, there's no
equity stirring : there's no more valor in that
Poins than in a wild-duck.
P) ■ince. Your money!
Poins. A'illains I 110
[As they are sharing, the Prince and
Poms set upon them; they all run
away; and Falsuiff', after a blow
or two, runs aioay too, leaving the
booty behind them.]
Prince. Got with much ease. Now merrily
to horse }
The thieves are all scatter'd and possess'd with
fear
So strongly thatthey dare not meet each other;
Each takes his fellow for an ollicer.
Away, good Ned. Falstail sweats to death.
And lards the lean earth as he walks along :
Were't not for laughing, I should pity him.
Poins. How the rogue roar'cl 1 [ExeHnt.
Scene III. Warkworth castle.
Enter Hotspl'k, solus, reading a letter.
Hot. ' Bnt for mine o-wn part, my lord, I
could be well contented to be there, in respect
of the love I bear your house.' Ho could be
contented : why is he not, then ? In respect
of the love he bears our house ; he shows iu
this, ho loves his own barn better than ha
loves our house. Let mesee some more. 'The
purpose you undertake is dangerous ;'—why,
that's ceitaiu : 'tisdaugerou.s to take a cold, to
sleep, to drink ; bat I tell you, my lord fool,
out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower,
safety. ' Tlie jrurpose you undertake is dan¬
gerous ; tlie friends you have named uncer¬
tain ; the time itself unsorted ; and your
whole plot too light for the counterpoise of so
re.at an opposition.' Say you so, siiy you so?
say unto you again, you are a shallow
cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lack-
brain is this ! By the Lord, our plot is a good
plot as ever was laid ; our friends true and
constant: a good pdot, good friends, and full
of expectation ; an excellent plot, very good
friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue is this !
Why, my lord of York commends the plot and
the general course of the action. 'Zounds,
an I were now by this rascal, I could brain him
with his lady's fan. Is there not my father,
my luicle and myself ? lord Edmund Alortimer,
my lord of York and Owen Glendower? is
there not besides the DougUta ? have I not all
their letters to meet me in arms by the ninth
of the next month ? and are they not some of
.them set forward already? What a pagan
xascalisthisi an infidel! Ha I you shall see
now in very sincerity of fear and cold heart.
, will he to the king mid lay open all our pro¬
ceedings. O, I conld divide myself and go to
buffets, lor moving such a dish of skim n)ilk
with so honorable an action ! Hang him I let
him tell the king : we are prepared. I will set
forward to-night
Enter Lady Percy.
How now, Kate! I must leave you within these
two hours.
Lady. O, my good lord, why are you thus
, alone ? 40
For what offence have I this fortnight been
A banish'd woman from my Harry s bed ?
Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from
thee
Thy stomach, pleasure and thy golden sleep ?
Wliydostthou bend thine eyes uixjn the earth,
And start so often when thou sit st alone ?
Why hast thou lost the fresh blood iu thy
cheeks ;
And given my treasures and my rights of thee
To thick-eyed musing and cursed melancholy?
In thy faint slumbers 1 by thee have watch'd.
And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars ;
Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed;
Cry ' Courage I to the field 1' And thou hast
talk'd
Of sallies and retires, of trenches, tents,
Of palissKloes, frontiers, parapets.
Of basilisks. Of cannon, culverin.
Of prisoners' ransom and of soldiers slain.
And all the currents of a heady fight
Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war 59
And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep.
That beads of sweat have stood uiwn'thy brow
Like bubbles in a late-disturbed stream ;
And in thy face strange motions have appear'd,
£uch as we see when men restrain their breath
Cn some great sudden hei3t. O, whpt pxntents
are these ?
Some heavy business hath my lord in hand.
And I must know it, else he loves me not.
Hot. What, ho 1
Enter Servant.
Is Gilliams with the pvacket gone ?
Serv. He is, my lord, an hour ago.
Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses
from the sheriff ? 70
Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought even
now.
Hot. What horse ? a roan, a crop-ear, is it
not ?
Serv. It is, my lord.
Hot. That roan shall by my throne.
Well, I will back him straight: O esperance 1
Bid Butler lead him forth into the )-.ark.
[Exit Servant.
Lady. But hear you, my lord.
Hot. What say'st thou, my lady ?
Lady. AVhat is it carries you away ?
Hot. Why, my horse, my love, my horse.
Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape 1 80
A weasel hath not stich a deal of spdeen
As you are toss'd with. In faith,
I'll know your business, Hfirry, that 1 will.
SCENB IV.]
I fear my brother Mortimer doth stir
About his title, and hatli sent for you ,
To line his euterprize : but if you go,—
Hot. So far afoot, 1 sliall be weary, love.
Ladjf. Come, come, you paraquito, answer
me
Directly unto this question that I ask :
In faith, I'll break thy little finger, Harry, 90
An if thou wilt not tell me all things true.
Hot. Away,
Away, you triflerl Love! I love thee not,
I care not for tliee, Kate : this is no world
To-play with mammets and to tilt with hps :
We must ha ve bloody noses and crack'd crowns.
And pass them current too. God's roe, my
horse I
What say'st tliou, Kate ? what would'st thou
have with me ?
, Lady. Do you not love me ? do you not,
indeed ? 99
Well, do not then ; for since you love me not,
I will not love myself. 'Do yoii 'not love me ?
N^, tell me if you speak in jest or no.
Hot. Come, wiit thou see me ride ?
And when I am o' horseback, I will swear
I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate;
I must not have you henceforth question me
Whither I go, nor reason whereabout :
Whither I must, I must; and, to roiiclnde.
This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate.
I know you wise, but yet no farther wise 110
Than Harry Percy's wife s constant you are.
But yet a woman : and for secrecy.
No lady closer ; for I well believe
Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know ;
And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate.
Lady. How! so far ?
Hot. Not an inch further. But hark you,
Kate: ,
Whither I go, thither shall yon go too;
To-day will I set forth, to-morrow yon.
Will this content you, Kate ?
Lady. It must of force. [E^xunt. 120
Scene IV. The Boar's-Head Tavern,
Eaetcheap.
Enter the Prince, and Pcins. '
Prince. Ned, prithee, come out of that fat
room, and lend me thy hand to laugh a little.
Poins. Where hast been, Hal 1
Prince. With three or four it^gerheads
amongst three or four score hogsheads. I have
sounded the very base-string of humility.
Sirrah, I am sworn brother to a leash of draw¬
ers ; and can call tiiem all by their christen
names, as Tom, Dick, and Francis. Tliey take
it already upon their salvation,that thongh I be
but Prince of Wales, yet I am the king of
courtesy ; and tell me fiatly I am no proud
Jack; like Falstaff, but a Ce^nthian. a lad of
mettle, a good boy, by the Lord, so they call
me, and when I am Inug of England, I shall
command all the good lads in Eastcheap. They
call drinking deep, dyeing scarlet; and when
you breathe in your watering, they cry' hem!'
898
and bid you play it off. To conclude, 1 am so
good a proficient in one quarter of an hour,
that I can drink with any tinker in bis own
language during my life. I tell thee, Ned,
thou liast lost much honor, that thou wert not
with me in this action. But, sweet Ned,—to
sweeten which name of Ned, I give tliee this
pennyworth of sugar, clapped even now into
my hand by an uuder-sldiiker, one that never
spake other English in his life tlian 'Eight
shillings and sixpence,' and' You are welcome,'
with this shriU addition, 'Anon, anon, su- !
Score a pint of bastard in the Half-moon,' or
so. But, Ned, to drive away the time till Fal¬
staff come, I prithee, do thou sbind in some
by-room, while I question my puny drawer to
what end he gave me the sugar ; and do thou
never leave calling'Francis,'that his tale to
me may be nothing but' Anon.' Step aside,
and I'll show thee a precedent.
Poins. Francis !
Prince. Thou art perfect.
Poins. Francis I [Exit Poins. CO
Enter Francis.
Fran. Anon, anon, sir. Look down into
the Pomgarnet, Ralph.
Prince. Come hither, Francis.
Fran. My lord ?
Prince, flow long hast thou to serve, Fran¬
cis ?
Fran. Forsooth, five years, and as much
as to—
Poins. [ Within} Francis !
Fran. Anon, anon, sir. 49
PrUice. Five year ! by'r lady, a long lease
for the clinking of pewter. But, Francis,
darest thou be so valiant as to play the tow¬
ard with thy indenture and show it a ..ar pair
of heels and run from it 1
Fran. 0 Lord, sir, I'll be sworn upon all
the books in England, I could find in my
heart.
Poins. [ Within} Francis !
Fran. Anon, sir.
Prince. How old art thou, Frsticis ?
Fran. Let me see—about Michaelmas next
I shall be— 61
Poins. [Within} Francis !
Fran. Anon, sir. Pray stay a little, my
lord.
Prtnce. Nay, but hark you, Francis : for
the sugar thou gavest me, 'twas a penny¬
worth, wa.st'fnot ?
Fran. • O Lord, I would it had been two !
Prince. I will give thee for it a thousand
pound : ask me when thou wilt, and thou
shalt have it. 70
Poins. [ Within} Francis !
Fran. Anon, anon.
Prince. Anon, Francis ? No, Francis ; but
to-morrow, Francis ; or, Francis, o' Thurs¬
day ; or indeed, Francis, when thou wilt.
BujL Francis !
Fran. My lord ? ,
Prince. Wilt thou rob tiiis leathern jerkin.
KING HENRY IV. PART 1.
894
KING HENRY IV. PART I.
(Act i}.
crystal-button, not-pated, agate-ring, puke-
stockiug, caddis-garter, smootli-tougue, Spau-
isb-poucb,— 80
Fran. O Lord, sir, wbo do yoti mean ?
Prince. Why, then, your brown bastard is
your only drink ; for look you, Francis, your
white canvas doublet will sully : in liaroary,
sir, it cannot come to so much.
Frayi. What, sir?
Poiiis. [ Within] Francis !
Prince. Away, you rogue ! dost thou not
hear them call ?
[Here they both call him; the drawer stands
amazed, not knowing wludt way to go.
Enter Vintner
Vint. What, standest thou still, and hear-
est such a calling ? L<x)k to tlie guests witli-
in. [Ezit Francis.] My lord, old Sir Jolm,
with half-a-dozen more, are at the door :
shall I let them in ?
Prince. Let them alone awhile, and then
open the door. [Exit Vintnes-.] Poius !
lie-enter Poins.
Poins. Anon, anon, sir.
Prince. Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the
thieves are at the door : shall we be merry ?
Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. But
hark ye; what cunning match have you
made with this jest of the drawer ? come,
what's the issue ?
Prince. I am now of all humors that have
showed themselves humors siuce the old days
of goodman Adam to the pupil age of this
present twelve o'clock at midnight.
Ri-enter Fkakcis.
What's o'clock, Francis ?
Fran. Anon, anon, sir. [Exit. 109
Prince. That ever this fellow should have
fewer words than a jiarrot, and yet tlie son of
a woman ! His industry is up-stjiirs and
down-stairs ; his eloquence the parcel of a
reckoning. I am not yet of Percy's mind, the
Hotspur of the north ; he that kills me some
six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast,
washes his hands, and says to his wife ' Fie
upon this quiet life ! I want work.' ' O my
sv/eet Harry,' says she, ' how many hast thou
killed to-day ?' ' Give my roan horse a
drench,' says he ; and answers ' Some four¬
teen,' an hour after ; ' a trifle, a trifle.' I
prithee, call in Falstaff : I'll play Percy, and
that damned brawn shall play Dame Morti¬
mer his wife. 'Rivol' says the drunkard.
Call in ribs, call in tallow.
Enter Falstaff, Gadshill, Bardolph, and
Peto ; Francis following with wine.
Poins. Welcome, Jack : where hast thou
been?
Fal. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a
vengeance too ! marry, and amen ! Give me
a cup of sack, bo.y. Ere I lead this life long,
I'll sew nether stocks and mend them and
loot them too.* A plague of all cowards 1 Give
me a cup of sack, rogue. Is there no vutne
extant ? ■ [He drinks.
Prince. Didst thou never see 'Titan kiss a
dish of butter ? pitiful-hearted Titan,' tliat
melted at the sweet tale of the sun's ! if thou
didst, then behold that com^uud.
Fal. Yon rogue, here's lime in this sack
too : there is nothing but roguery to Tie found
in villanous man : yet a coward is worse than
a cup of sack with lime in it. A villanous
coward ! Go thy ways, old Jack ; die when
thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be not
forgot upon the face of the eaith, then am I a
shotteu herring. There live not three good
men unlianged in England ; and one of them
is fat and grows old : God help the while ! a
bad world, 1 say. I would I were a weaver;
I could sing |)salms or any thing. A plague of
all cowards, I say still.
Prince. How now, wool-sack ! what mut¬
ter you ? 149
lai. A king's son ! If I do not beat thee
out of thy kingdom with a dagger of lath, and
drive ail thy subjects afore thee like a flock of
wild-geese, I'll never wear hair on my lace
more. You Prince of Wales ! ►
Prince. Why, you whoreson round manj
what's the matter ?
Fal. Are uot you a coward ? answer me to
that: and Poins there ?
Poins. 'Zonuda, ye fat paunch, an ye call
me coward, by the Lord, I'll stab thee. • 180
Fal. I call thee coward ! I'll see- thee
damned ere I call thee coward : but L would
give a thousitnd ponud I could run as fast as
tliou canst. You are straight enough in tlie
shoulders, you care not who sees your back :
call you that backuig of your friends ? A
pla.gue upon such backing ! give me tlicm
that will face me. Give me a cup of sack ; I
am a rogue, if 1 drunk to-day.
Pt •ince. O villain ! thy lips are scarce wiped
since thou drunkest last. 171
Fal. All's one for that. [He drinks.] A
plague of all cowards, still fey 1.
Prince. What's the matter ?
Fal. What's the matter ! there be four of
US here have ta'en a thousand pound this day
morning.
Prince. Where is it, Jack ? where is it ?
Fal. Where is it ! taken from us it is : a
hundred upon poor four of us. 180
Prince. What, a hundred, man ?
Fal. I am a rogue, if I were not at half-
aword with a dozen of them two hours to¬
gether. I have 'scaped by miracle. I am eiglit
times thrust through the doublet, four through
the hose; my buckler cut through and
through ; my sword hacked like a hand-saw-.-
ecce signum ! I never dealt better since I was
a man : all would nut do. A plague of all
cowards ! Let tliem speak : if they siieak
more or less than truth, they are villains and
the sons of darkness. IBI
Prince. Speak, sirs; how was it ?
. Oads. We four set upon some doseu.-.-
Scene iv.]
Fal. Sixteen at least, my lord.
Oads. And bound tliem.
Pelo, No, no, tUey were not bound.
Fid. Yon rogue, they were bound, every
man of them ; or I am a Jew else, an Ebrew
Jew.
. Gads, As we were sharing, some six or
seven fresh men set upon us— 200
Fat. And unbound the rest, and then come
in the other.
Prinee. What, fought you with them,ail ?
Fat. All! I know not what you calf all ;
but if I fought not with fifty of them, 1 am a
bunch of radish : it there were not two or
three and fiity upon poor old Jack, then am I
no two-legged creature.
Prince. Pray God you have not murdered
some of thent. 210
Fat. Nay, that's past praying for : I have
j)eppered two of tliein ; two 1 am sure I have
paid, two rogues in buckiam suits. X tell thee
wliat, Hal, if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face,
call me horse. Thou knowest my old ward ;
here 1 lay, and thus I bore my imint. Four
rogues in buckram let drive at me—
Prince. What, four ? thou saidst but two
even now.
Fat. Four, Hal; I told thee four. 220
Poins. Ay, ay, he said four.
Fat. These four came all a-frout, and
mainly thrust at me. I made me no more ado
but took all their seven points in my target,
thus.
Prince. Seven ? why, there were but four
even now.
A'af. In buckram ?
Poins. Ay, four, in buckram suits.
Fat. Seven, by these hiits, or I am a villain
else. , 230
Pritux. Prithee, let him alone; we shall
have more anou.
Fat. Dust thou hear me, Hal ?
Prince. Ay, and mark thee too. Jack.
Fat. Do so, for it is worth the listening to.
These nine in buckram that I told thee of--
Prince. So, two more already.
Fal. Their points being broken,—
Poins. Down fell their hose. 239
Fat. Began to give me ground : but I fol¬
lowed me dose, came in foot and hand ; and
with a thought seven of the eleven 1 mid.
Prince. O monstrous! eleven buckram
men grown out of two !
Fat. But, as the devil would have it, three
misbegotten knaves in Kendal green came at
my back and let drive at me ; for it was so
dark, Hid, that thou could.st not see thy hand.
Prince. These lies are like their father that
be^ts them ; gross as a mountain, open, pal¬
pable. Why, thou clay-brained guts, thou
knotty-pated fool, thou wh^esou, obscene,
grea.sy tallow-catch,—
Fat. What, art thou mad 1 art thou mad ?
is not the ^uth thei truth ?
Prince. Why, how couldst thou know
tbese men in Kendal green, when it was so
893
dark thou couldst not see thy hand ? come,
tell us your reason : what sayest thou te
this ? 25S
Poins. Come, your reason, J.ack, your rea¬
son.
Fat. What, upon compulsion ? 'Zounds,
an 1 were at the strapiiudo, or all the racks in
the world, 1 would not tell you on compul¬
sion. Give you a reason on compulsion ! if
reasons were as plentiful its bliickberries, I
would give no man a reason uixm compul¬
sion, I.
Prinee. I'll be no longer guilty of this sin ;
this sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this
horsebadt-breaker, this huge hill of flesh,—
Fal. 'Sblood, you stiirveling, you elf-skin,
you dried neat's tongue, you bull s pixzle, you
stock-fish ! O for breath to utter what is like
thee 1 you tailor's-yard, you sheath, you bow-
case, you vile standing-tuck,—
Prince. Well, breathe awhile, and then to
it again : and when thou hast tired thyself in
base comparisons, hear me speak but this.
Poins. Mark, Jack.
Prince. We two saw you four set on four
and bound them, and were masters of their
wealth. Mark now, how a plain tale shall put
you down. Then did we two set on you four;
and, witli a word, out-faced you from your
prize, and have it; yea, and can show it you
here in the house : and, Falstaff, you carried
your guts away as nimbly, with as quick
dexterity, and roared for mercy and still run
and roared, as ever 1 heard bull-calf. What
a slave art thou, to hack thy sword as thou
hast done, and then say it was in fight!
What trick, what device, what starting-hole,
canst thou now find out to hide thee from this
open and apparent shame ?
Poins. Come, let's hear. Jack ; what trick
hast thou now ?
Fat. By the Lord, I knew ye as well as he
that made ye. Why, hear you, my mastei-s :
was it for me to kill the heir-apparent ?
should I turn upon the true prince ? why,
thou knowest I am as valiant as Hercul&s :
but beware uistinct; the lion will not touch
the true prince. Instinct is a great matter ; I
was now a coward on instinct. 1 shall think
the better of myself and thee during my life ;
1 for a valiant lion, and thou for a true prince.
But, by the Lord, lads, I am glad you have
the money. Hostess, clap to the doors : watt h
to-night, pray to-morrow. Gallants, lads,
boys, hearts of gold, all the titles of good fel¬
lowship come to you ! What, shall we be
merry ? shall we have a play extempore ?
Prince. Content; and the argument shall
be thy running away. 311
Fat. Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou
lovest me I
Enter Hostess.
Host. O Jesu, my lord the prince 1
Prince. How now, my lady the hosteagt
what sayest thou to me ?
KING HENRY I\. PART L
m
Km&ffE^RYtV. PART I.
[Act ii.
Host. Marry, my lord, there is » nobleman
of the court at door would speak with you: he
says he comes from your father. 319
Prince. Give him as much as will make
him a royal man, and send him back again to
my mother.
Fal. What manner of man is he ?
Host. An old man.
Fal. What doth gravity Out of his bed at
midnight ? Shall I give him his answer ?
Prince. Prithee, do. Jack.
Fal. 'Faith, and I'll send him packing.
[Exit.
Prince. Now, sirs: by'r lady, you fought
fair ; so did you, Peto ; so did you, Bardolph :
you are lions too, you ran away upon instinct,
you will not touch the true prince ; no, fie !
Bard. 'Faitli, I ran when I saw others run.
Prince. 'Faith, tell me now in earnest,
how came FalstaC's sword so hacked ?
Peto. Wiiy, he hacked it with his dagger,
and said he would swear truth out of England
but he would make you believe it was done in
fight, and persuaded us to do the like. 339
Bard. Yea, and to tickle our no.ses with
spear-grass to make them bleed, and then to
beslubber our garments with it and swear it
was the blood of true men. I did that I did
not this seven year before, I blushed to hear
his monstrous devices.
Pi •ince. O villain, thou stolest a cup of
sack eighteen years ago, and wert taken with
the manner, and ever since thou hast blushed
extempore. Thou had.st fire and sword on
thy side, and yet thou ranaest away : what
imstinct hadst thou for it ? 330
Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors ?
do yon behold these exhalations ?
Prince. I do.
Bard. What think you they portend ?
Pi •ince. Hot livers and cold purses.
Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken.
Prince. No, if rightly taken, baiter.
Re-enter Falstaff.
Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone.
How now, my sweet creature of bombast!
How long is't ago. Jack, since thou sawest
thine own knee ? 361
Fal. My own knee ! when I was about thy
years, Hal, I was not an eagle's talon in the
waist ; I could have crept into any alderman's
thumb-ring: a plague of sigiiing and grief 1 it
blows a man up like a bladder. There's
villanous news abroad : here was Sir John
Braoy from your fatlier ; you must to the
court in the morning. That same mad fellow
of the north, Percy, and he of Wales, that
gave Amainon the b.astinadoand made Lucifer
cuckold and swore tlie devil his true liegeman
upon the cross of a Welsh hook—what a plague •
call you him ?
Poins. O, Glendows".
Fal. Owen, Owen, the same; and his son-
in-law Mortimer, and v,id Northumberland,
and that sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas,
that ruus o' horseback up a hill perpendicu¬
lar,—
Prince. He that rides at high speed and
with his pistol kills a si>arrow flying. 380
Fal. You have hit it.
Prince. So did he never the sparrow.
Fal. Well, tliat rascal hath good mettle in
him ; he will not run.
Prince. Why, what a rascal art thou then,
to piaise him so for running !
Fal. O' horseback, ye cuckoo ; but afoot
he will not budge a foot.
Prince. Yes, Jiick, upon instinct. 389
Fal. I grant ye, npon instinct. Well, he
is there too, and one Mordake, and a thousand
blue-caps more : Worcester is stolen away to-
niglit; thy father's beard is turned white with
the news : you may buy laud now as cheap as
stinking mackerel.
Prince. Why, then, it is like, if there come
a hot June and this civil buffeting hold, we
shall buy maidenheads as they buy bob-nails,
by the hundreds. ' 399
F(d. By the mass, lad, thou sayest true ; it
is like we shall have good trading that way.
But tell me, Hal, art not thou horrible afeard ?
thou being heir-apparent, could the world pick
thee out three such enemies again as that
fiend Douglas, that spirit Percy, and that devil
Glendower ? Art thou not horribly afraid ?
doth not thy blood thrill at it ?
Prince. Not a whit, i' faith ; I lack some of
thy instinct. 409
Fal. Well, thou wilt be honibly chid to¬
morrow when thou contest to thy father : if
thou love me, practise an answer.
Prince. Do thou stand for my father, and
examine me upon the particulars of my life.
Fal. Shall I ? content: this chair shall be
my state, this dagger my sceptre, and this
cushion my crown.
Prince. Thy state is taken for a ioined-
stool, thy golden sceptre for a leaden dagger,
and thy precious rich crown for a pitiful bald
crown! 430
Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not qmte
out of thee, now shalt thou be moved. Give
me a cup of sack to make my eyes look red,
that it may be thought I have" wept ; for I
must speak in passion, and I will do it in
King Carabyses' vein.
Prince. Well, here is my leg.
Fal. And here is my speech. Stand aside,
nobility. 4M
Hist. O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i'
faith I
Fal. Weep not, sweet queen ; for trickling
tears are vain.
Host. 0, the father, how he holds his
countenance !
Fat. For God's sake, lords, convey my
tristful queen ;
For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes.
Host. O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these
harlotry players as ever I see !
Fal. Peace, good pint-pot* peace, good
SOEVB IT.]
mNG HENRY IV. PART 1.
tlpkle-braln. Harry, T do not 6iily marvel
■where thou spende.st thy time, but also how
thou art accomi)anled : for though the camo¬
mile, the more it is trodden on the faster it
grows, yet youth, the more it Is wasted the
sooner it wears. Tliat thou art my son, I have
partly tliy mother's n-ord, partly my own
opinion, but chiefly a villanous trick of thine
eye and a foolish hanging of thy nether lip,
that doth warrant me. If then thou be son to
me, here lies the point; why, being son to
me, arttbou so pointed at? Shall the blessed
sun of heaven prove a micher and eat black¬
berries ? a question not to be asked Shali
the son of England prove a thief and take
purses ? a question to be asked. There is a
thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard of
and It ■ • known to manv in our land by the
name . pitch : this pitch, as ancient writers
do i-eport, doth defile ; so doth the company
thou kee^st: for, Harry, now I do not speak
to thee in drink but in tears, not in pleasure
but in passion, not in words only, but in woes
also : and yet there is a virtuous man whom I
have often noted hi thy company, but 1 know
not his name. 461
Prince. What manner of man, an it like
your majesty ?
Fal. A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a
corpulent; of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye
and a most noble carriage ; and, as I think,
his age some ' fifty, or, by r lady, inclining to
three score ; and now I remember roe, his
name is FalstaS : if that man should be lewdly
^ven, he deceiveth me; for, Harry, I see
virtue in his looks. If then the tree may be
known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree,
then, peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue in
that Falstaff : him keep with, the rest banish.
And tell me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me,
where ha.st thou been this mouth ?
Prince. Dost thou speak like a king ? Do
thou stand for me, and I'll play my father.
Fal. Depose me ? if thou dost it half so
gravely, so majestically, both in word and
matter, hang me up by the heels for a rabbit-
sucker or a poulter s hare. 481
Prince. Well, here I am set.
Fal. And hare I stand : judge, my masters.
Prince. Now; Harry, whence come you ?
My noble lord, from Eastcheap.
Prince. The complaints I hear of thee are
grievous.
Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false : nay,
I'll tickle ye for a young prince, i' faith. 489
Prince. Swearest thou, ungracious bo.y?
henceforth ne'er look On me. "Thou art vio-
'ently earned away from grace: there is a devil
haunts thee in the likeness of an old fat man ;
a tun of man is thy companion. Why dost
thou converse with thattrunlf of humors, that
bolting-hutch of beastliness, that swollen
parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard of sack,
that stuffed cloak-bag of guts, that roasted
Manuingtree ox with the pudding in hisb..lly,
that reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that
father nifflan, that vanity in years 7 Wherein
is he good, but to taste sack and drink it ?
wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a
capon and eat it ? wherein cunning, but in
craft ? wherein crafty, but ui viilauy ? where¬
in villanous, but in all things ? wherein worthy,
but in nothing ?
Fal. 1 would your grace would take me
with you : whom means your grace ?
Prince. That villanous abominable mis-
leader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-beard¬
ed Satan.
Fal. My lord, the man I know. 510
Prince. I know thou dost.
Fal. But to say I know more harm in him
than in myself, were to say more than 1 know.
That he is old, the more the pity, his white
hairs do witness it; but that he is, saving
your reverence, a whoremaster, that I utterly
deny. If sack and sugar be a fault, God help
the wicked ! if to be old and merry be a sin,
then many an old host that I know is damned:
if to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh's
lean kine are to be loved. No, my good lord ;
banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins :
but for sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Fal¬
staff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Falstaff,
and therefore more valiant, being, as he is,
old Jack Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's
company, banish not him thy Harry's com¬
pany : banish plump Jack, and banish all the
world.
Prince. I do, I will. [A knocking heard.
[Exeunt Hostess, Francis, and Bardolph.
Re-enter Bardolph, running.
Bard. 0, my lord, my lord ! the sheriff
with a most monstrous watch is at the door.
Fal. Out, ye rogue ! Play out the play : I
have much to say in the behalf of that Fal¬
staff.
Re-enter the Hostess.
Host. 0 Jesu, my lord, my lord !
Prince. Heigh, heigh ! the devil rides ujion
a fiddlestick ; what's the matter ?
Host. The sheriff and all the watch are at
the door: they are come to search the house
Shall I let them in ?
Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal ? never call a
true piece of gold a counterfeit: thou art
etsentially mad, without seeming so. 541
Prince. And thou a natural coward, with¬
out instjnct.
Fal. 1 deny your major : if you will deny
the sheriff, so ; if not, let him enter? if I be¬
come not a cart as well as another man, a
plague on my bringing up ! 1 hope I .shall as
soon be strangled with a halter as another.
Prince. Go, hide thee behind the arras
the rest walk up above. Now, my maston
for a true face and good conscience. 55.
Fal. Both whicli I have had: but thds
date is out, and therefore I'll hide me.
Prince. Call in the sheriff.
[Exeunt all except the Prince and Pete,
398
KING HENRY IV. PART 1.
' [Act Hi.
Enter Sheriff and the Carrier.
Now, master sheriff, what is your will with
me?
Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue
and cry
Hath follow'd certain men unto this honse.
Prince. What men ?
Sher. One of them is well known, ray
gracioos lord,
A gross fat raan.
Car. As fat as butter. 560
Prince. The man, I do assure you, is not
here ;
For I myself at tliis time have employ'd him.
And, slieriff, I will engage my word to thee
That I will, by to-morrow diuuer-time.
Send him to answer thee, or any man,
For any thing he shall be eharged withal :
And so let me entreat yon leave the honse.
Sher. I will, my loM. There are two gen¬
tlemen [marks.
iHave in this robbery lost three hundred
Prince. It may be so : if he have robb'd
these men, 570
He shall be answerable ; and so farewell.
Sher. Good night, my noble lord.
Pi •ince. I think it is good morrow, is it
not ?
Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two
o'clock. [Exeunt Sheriff and Carrter.
Prince. This oily rascal is known as well as
I'aul's. Go, call him forth.
Peto. Falstaff !—^Fastasleep behind the arras,
and snorting like a horse.
Prince. Hark, how hard he fetches breath.
Search his pockets. [Af? ssarcheth his pockets,
and findeth certain papers.] What hast thou
found ?
Peto. Nothing but papers, my lord.
Prince. Let's see what they be: read them.
Peto. [Reads] Item, A capon, . . 2s. 2d.
Item, Sauce, . . 4d.
Item, Sack,two gallons, 5s. 8d.
Item, Anchovies and sack
after supper, . 2s. Cd.
Item, Bread, . . ob.
Prince. O monstrous ! but one half-penny¬
worth of bread to this intolerable deal of sack!
What there is else, keep clo.se ; we'll read it at
more advantage : there let him sleep till day.
I'll to the court in the morning. We must all
to the wars, and thy place shall be honorable.
I'll procure this fat rogue a charge of foot;
and I know his death will be a march of
twelve-score. The money shall be paid back
again with advantage. Be with me betimes in
the morning ; and so, good morrow, Peto. 601
[Exeunt.
Peto. Good morrow, good my lord.
ACT HI.
Scene I. Bangor, The Archdeacon's house.
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Mobtiuer, and
GwmPOWB#.
Mort. These promises are fair, "the parties
BUI^
And our induction full of prosperous hope.,
Hot. Lord Mortimer, and cousin Glen-
dower, '
Will you sit down ?
And uncie Worcester ; a plague upon it! i
I have forgot tlie map.
Glend. No, here it is.
Sit, cousin Percy ; sit, good cousin Hotspur,
For by that name as oft as Lancaster
Doth sp^k of you, his cheek looks jxile and
with .
A rising sigh he wisheth you in heaven. 10
Hot. And you in hell, as oft as he hears
Owen Glendower 8]K>ke of.
Glend. 1 cannot blame him: at my nativity
The front of heaven was full of fiery shaxie.s.
Of burning cressets ; and at my birth
The frame and huge foundation of the earth
Shaked like a cou'ard.
Hot. Why, so it would have done at the
same season, if your mother's cat hail but kit¬
tened, though yourself had nc\ er been born.
Glend. I say the earth did shake when I
was born. 21
Hot. And I say the earth was not of my .
mind.
If you suppose as fearing you it shook.
Glend. The heavens were all on fire, the
earth did tremble.
Hot. O, then the earth shook to see tlie
heavens on fire.
And not in fear of your nativity.
Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth
In strange eruptions ; oft the teeming earth
Is with a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd
By the imprisoning of unruly wind 30
Within her womb ; which, for enlargement
striving,
Shakes the old beldam earth and topples
down
Steeples and moss-grown towersi At your
birth
Our grandam earth, having this distempera-
ture, ,
In lesion shook.
Glend. Cousin, of many men
I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave
To tell you once again that at my birth
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes.
The goats rau from tlie mountains, and the
herds
Were stmngely clamorous to the frighted
fields. 40
These signs have mark'd me extaaordinary ;
And all the courses of my life do show
I am not in the roll of common men.
Where is he living, clipp'd in with the sea
That chides the banks of England, Scotland,
Wales,
Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me ?
And bring him out that is but woman's son
Can trace me in the tedious wa\ s of art
And hold me pace in deep experiments.
UoU I think there's no man sjieaks better
SCENfe l.|
KlNa HENRY IV. PART I
399
Welsh. I'll to dinner. • 50
Mort. Peace, cousin Percy ; yon ■will make
him mad.
Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty
d^.
Hot. Why, so can I, or so can any man ;
But will they come when you do call for
■them?
Glend. Why, I can teach you, cousin, to
command
The devil.
Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame
• the devil
By telling truth : tell truth and shame the
devil.
If thou have power to raise him, bring him
hither, 60
And I'il be swoni I have power to shame him
hence.
O, while you live, tell truth and shame the
devil!
Mort. Come, come, no more of this unprofit¬
able chat.
Glend. Three times hath Henry BoUugbroke
made head
Against my power ; thrice from the banks of
Wye
And sandy-bottom'd Severn have I sent him
Bootless home and weather-beaten biick.
Hot. Home without boots, and in foul
weather too !
How 'scapes he agues, in the devil's name ?
Glend. Come, here's the map : shall we di¬
vide our right 70
According to our threefold order ta'en ?
Mort. The archdeacon hath divided it
Into three limits very equally :
England, from Trent and Severn hitherto.
By south and east is to my jiart assign'd :
All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore.
And all the fertile land within that bound.
To Owen Olendower: and, dear coz, to you
The remnant northward, lying off from Trent.
And our indentures tripartite are drawn; 80
Which being sealed interchangeably,
A business that this nigbt may execute.
To-morrow, cousin Perc.v, you and I
And my good Lord of Worcester will set forth
To meet your father and the Scottish power.
As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury.
My father Glendower is not ready yet.
Nor shall we need his help these fourteen
days. ,
Within that space you may have drawn to¬
gether
Tour tenants, friends and neighboring gentle¬
men. 90
Glend. A shorter time shall send me to you,
lords:
And in my conduct shall your ladies come;
From whom you now must steal and take no
leave.
For there will be a world of water shed
Upon the pa>tlngof your wivagand you.
Hot. Hethinks my moiet", north from Bur¬
ton hero.
In quantity equals not one of yours :
See how this river comes me cranking in.
And cuts me from the best of all my land
A huge half-moon, a monstrous cautleout. 100
I'll liave the current In this place damm'd up;
And here the smug and silver Trent shall run
In a new channel, fair and evenly ;
It shall not wind with such a deep indent,
I To rob me of so rich a bottom here.
Glend. Not wind ? it shall, it must; you
see it doth.
Mort. Yea, but
Mark how he bears his course, and runs me
up
With like advantage on the other side ;
Gelding the opjxised continent as much 110
As on the other side It takes from you.
Wor. Yea, but a little charge will trench
him here
And on this north side win this cape of land ;
And then he runs straight and even.
Hot. I'll have it so : a little charge will do
It.
Glend. I'll not have it alter'd.
Hot. Will not you ?
Glend. No, nor you shall not.
Hot. Who shall say me naj" 2
1 Glend. Why, that will I.
Hot. Let me not understand you, then;
. speak it in Welsh. 120
Glend. I can sfieak English, lord, as well as
you ;
For I was train'd up in the English court;
Where, being but young,.! framed to the harp
Many an English ditty lovely well
And gave the tongue a helpful ornament,
A virtue that was never seen in you.
Hot.' Marry,
And I am glad of It with all my heart:
1 had rather be a kitten and cry mew
Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers;
1 had rather hear a brazen canstlck turn'd, 131
Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree ;
And that would set my teeth nothing on edge.
Nothing so much as mincing poetry :
'T1.S like the forced gait of a shuffling nag.
Glend. Come, you shall have Trent turn'd.
Hot. I do not care : I'll give thrice so much
land
To any well-deserving friend ;
But In the way of bargain, mark ye me,
I'll cavil on the ninth pait of a hair. 140
Are the indentures drawn ? shall we be gone?
Glend. The moon shines fair ; you may
away by night :
I'll haste the writer and withal
Break with your wives of your depjirture
hence :
1 am afraid ray daughter will run mad.
So much she doteth on her Mortimer. [Exff.
Mart. Fie, cousin Percy I how you cross my
father !
Hot. I cannot choose : sometime he anger.s
me
With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant.
Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies. 15(1
400
' KING HENRY IV. PART 1.
[Act uu
And of a diaron and a finless fish,
A cllp-wing'd griffin and a monlteii raven,
A couching lion and a ramping cat,
And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff
Ac puts me from ray faitli. I tell you what;
He held me last night at least nine_hours
In reckoning up the several devils' names
That were his lackeys •. I cried ' hum,' and
' well, go to,'
But mark'd liim not a word. O, he is as tedi¬
ous
As a tired horse, a railing wife ; 160
Worse than a smoky house : I had rather live
Witti clieese and garlic in a windmill, far.
Than feed on cates and have him talk to me
In any summer-house in Christendom.
Mart. In faith, he is a worthv gentleman,
Exceedingly well read, and profited
In strange concealments, valiant as a lion
And wondrous affable and as Itountiful
As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin ?
He holds your temper in a high respect 170
And curbs himself even of his natural scope
When you come 'cross Iiis humor ; faith, he
does :
I warrant you, that man is not alive
Might so have tempted him as you have done.
Without the taste of danger and reproof :
Bat do not use it oft, let me entreat you.
Woi\ In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-
• blame ;
And since j-our coming hither have done
enough
To put him quite beside his patience.
You mast needs learn, lord, to amend this
fault: 180
Though sometimes it show greatness, courage,
blood,—
And that's the dearest grace it renders you,—
Yet oftentimes it doth pi-esent harsh rage.
Defect of manners, want ol government,
Pride, haughtine.ss, opinion and disdain :
The least of which haunting a nobleman
Loseth men's heaits and leaves behind a stain
Upon the beauty of all parts besides.
Beguiling them of commendation.
Hoi. Well, I am school'd : good manners
be your svreed ! 190
Here come our wives, and let us take our
leave. ,
Re-enter Glendoweb with the ladies.
Mort. This is the deadly spite that angers
me ;
My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh.
Glend. My daughter weeps : she will not
part with you ;
She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars.
Mort Good father, tell her that she and my
aunt Percy
Shall foUow in your condnct speedily.
[Glendower speaks to her in Welsh, and she
answers him in the same.
Glend. She is desperate here ; a peevish
self-will'd harlotry, one that no persuasion c.an
do good ufxm. [The lady ^peaks in Welsh.
Mort. I understand thy looks i tliat prcit;
Welsh ; , 201
Which thou pour'st down from the^e swelling
heavens
I am too perfect in ; and, but for shame,
In such a parley should I answer thee.
['Che lady speaks again in Welsh
I understand thy kisses and thou mine.
And tliat's a feeling disputation :
But I will never be a truant, love.
Till I have learned thy language ; for thy
tongue
Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penu'd.
Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower, 210
With ravishing division, to her lute.
Glend. Nay, if you melt, then will she run
mad. [77tc lady speaks again in Welsh.
Mort. 0, I am ignorance itself in tliis !
Glend. She bids you on the wanton rushes
lay you down
And rest your gentle head upon her lap,
And slie will sing the song that pleaseth you
And on your eyelids crown the god of sleep,
Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness.
Making such difference 'twixt wake and sleep
As is the difference betwixt day and night 220
Tiie hour before the heavenly-hamess'd team
Begins his golden progress in the east.
Mort. With all my heart I'll sit and hear
her sing :
By that time will our book, I think, be drawn.
Glend. Do so; ,
And those musicians that shall play to you
Hang in the air a thousand leagues irom'hence.
And straight they shall be here : sit, and at¬
tend.
Hot. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying
down : come, quick, quick, that I may lay my
head in thy lap. 231
Lady P. Go, ye giddy goose.
[The music plays.
Hot. Now I perceive the devil understands
Welsli;
And 'tis no marvel he is so humoroua
By'r lady, he is a good musician.
Ladij P. Then should you be nothing but
musical for you ate alt^ether govemSi by
humors. Lie still, ye thief, and hear the lady
sing in Welsh.
Hot. I had rather hear Lady, my brach,
howl in Irish. 241
Lady P. Wouldst thou have thy head
broken ?
Hot. No.
Lady P. Then be still.
Hot. Neither; 'tis a woman's foult
Lady P. Now God help thee I
Hot. To the Welsh lady's bed
Lady P. What's that ?
Hot. Peace ! she sings.
[Here the lady sings a Welsh sons,.
Hot. Come, Kate, I'll have .your song too.
Lady P. Not mine, in good' sooth. 251
Hot. Not yours, in good sooth ! Heart !
you swear like a comfit-maker's wife. ' Not
you, in good sooth,' and ' as true as I live,' and
BcttJE n.]
KTNG BENRY IV. PART I.
401
' as God shall mend me,' and 'as sure as day,*
And givest such sarcenet surety for thy oaths,
As if thou never walk'st further than Fins-
bury.
Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art,
A good mouth-filling oath, and leave ' in sooth,'
And such protest of pepper-gingerbread, 260
To velvet-guards and Sunday-citizens.
Come, sing.
iMdy P. I will not sing.
Hot. 'Tis the ne.tt way to turn tailor, or
be red-breast teacher. An the indentures be
drawn, I'll away within these two hours ; and
so, come in when ye will. [JJxif.
Qlend, Come, come. Lord Mortimer; you
' are as slow
As hot Lord Percy is on fire to go.
By this our book is drawn ; we'll but seal, 270
And then to horse immeoiately.
Mort. With all my heart. [Exeunt.
Scene 11. London. The palace.
Enter the King, Prince of Wales, and others.
King. Lords, give us leave ; the Prince of
Wales and 1
Must have some private conference: but be
near at hand.
For we shall presently have need of yon.
[Exeunt Lords.
I know not whether God will have it so,
For some displeasing service 1 have done.
That, in his secret doom, out of my blood
He'll breed reveiigement and a scourge for me;
But thou dost ill thy passages of life
Make me believe that thou art only mark'd
For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven
To punish my mistreading.s. Tell me else, 11
Could such inordinate and low desires.
Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean
attempts.
Such barren pleasures, rude society.
As thou art match'd withal aud grafted to.
Accompany the greatness of thy blood
And hold their level with thy princely heart?
Prince. So please your majesty, I would I
could
Quit all offences with as clear excuse
As well as 1 am doubtless 1 can purge 20
Myself of many 1 am charged withal:
Yet such extenuation let me beg, <
As, in reproof of many tales devised.
Which oft the ear of greatness needs must
hear.
By smiling pick-thanks and base newsmongers,
I may, for some things true, wherein my youth
Hath faulty wander'd and irregular.
Find pardou on my true submission.
Ki^g. .God pardon thee ! yet let me won¬
der, Harry,
At thy affections, which do h«id a wing 3C
Quite from tlie flight of all thy ancestors.
Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost,
Which by thy younger brother is supplied,
Aud art almost an alien to the hearts
Of all the coiwt and princes of my blood :
The hope aud expectation of thy time
Is ruin'd, and the soul of every man
Prophetically doth forethiuk thy fall.
Had 1 so lavish of mv (iresence been,
So common-hackuey^l in the eyes of men, 40
So stale and cheap to vulgar company.
Opinion, that did help me to the crown.
Had still kei^ loyal to possession
And left me in repiiteless banishment,
A fellow of no mark nor likelihood.
By being seldom seen, 1 could not stir
But like a comet 1 was wonder'd at;
That men would tell their children ' This is he;'
Others would say 'Where, which is Boling-
broke ?'
And then 1 stole all courtesy from heaven, 50
And dress'd myself in such humility
That 1 did pluck allegiance from men's hearts.
Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths.
Even in the presence of the crowned king.
Thus did 1 keep my person fresh aud new ;
My presence, like a robe pontifical.
Ne'er seen but wonder'd at: and so my state;
Seldom but sumptuous, showed like a feast
And won by rareness such solemnity.
The skipping king, he ambled up and down 60
With shallow je.sters and rash bavin wits,
Soon kindled and soon burnt; carded his state.
Mingled his royalty with capering fools,
Had his great name profaned with their scorns
And gave his countenance, against his name.
To laugh at gibing boys and stand the push
Of every beardless vain comparative.
Grew a companion to the common streets,
Enfeoff'd himself to popularity;
That, being daily swallow'd by men's eyes, 70
They surfeited with honey and began
To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a
little
More than a little is by much too much.
So when he had occasion to be seen.
He was but as the cuckoo is in June,
Heard, not regarded ; seen, but with such eyes
As, sick and blunted with community.
Afford no extraordinary gaze.
Such as is bent on sun-like majesty
When it shines seldom in admiring eyes ; 80
But rather drowzed and hung their eyelids
down.
Slept in his face and render'd such aspect
As cloudy men use to their adversaries.
Being with his presence glutted, gorged and
full.
And in that very line, Harry, staudest thou ;
For tliou hast lost thy princely privilege
With vile participation : not an eye
But is a-weary of thy common sight.
Save mine, which hath desired to see thee
more;
Which now doth that I would not have it do.
Al ike blind itself with foolish tenderness. 91
I'rince. 1 shall hereafter, my thrice gra¬
cious lord.
Be more myself.
King. For all the world
As thou art to this hour was Richard then
26
102
KING HENRY lY- PART 1.
[Act iii.
When I from France set foot at Savenspurgh,
And even as 1 was then is Percy now.
Now, by my sceptre and my soul to boot,
He hath more worthy interest to the state
Than thou the shadow of succession ;
For of no right, nor color like to right, 100
He doth flu flelds with harness in the realm.
Turns head against the lion's armed jaws.
And, being no more in debt to years than thoiv,
Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on
To bloody battles and to bruising arms.
What never-dying honor hath he got
Against renowned Douglas ! who.se high deeds,
Whose hot incursions and great name in arms
Holds from all soldiers chief majority
And military title capital
Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge
Christ:
Thrice hath this Hotspur, Mars in swathUng
clothes.
This infant warrior, in his enterprizes
Discomfited great Douglas, ta'eu him once.
Enlarged him and made a friend of him.
To fill the mouth of deep defiance up
And shake the peace and safety of onr throne.
And what say you to this ? Percy, Northumbei^
laud.
The Archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, Mor¬
timer,
Capitulate against us and are up. 120
But wherefore do I tell these news to thee ?
Wiiy, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes.
Which art my near'st and dearest enemy 7
Thou that art like enough, through vassal fear.
Base inclination and the start of .spleen.
To fight against me under Pei-cy's pay.
To dog his heels and curt.sy at his frowns.
To show how much thou art degenerate.
Prince. Do not think so; you shaU not find
it so :
And God forgive them that so much have
sway'd 130
Tour majesty's good thoughts away from me!
I will redeem all this on Percy's head
Aud in the closing of some glorious day
Be bold to tell you that I am your son ;
When I will wear a garment all of blood
And stain my favors in a bloody mask,
Which, wasti'd away, shall scour ray shame
witli it:
And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights.
That this same child of honor and renown,
Tliis gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight.
And your unthought-of Harry chance to meet
For every honor sitting on his helm.
Would they were multitudes, and on ray head
My shames redoubled I for the time will come.
That I shall make this northern youth ex¬
change
His glorious deeds for my indignities.
Percy is but ray factor, good my lord.
To engross np glorious deeds on nty behalf ;
And 1 will call him to so stvict account.
That he shall render every giory up, 150
Yea, even the slightest worship of his time.
Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart
This, m the name of God, I promise here :
The which if He be pleased 1 shall perform,
I do beseech your majesty may salve
The long-grown wounds of my intemperance;
If not, tiie end of life cancels all bands ;
Aud 1 will die a hundred thousand deaths
Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow.
King. A hundred thousand rebels die in
this : ICO
Thou shidt have charge and sovereign trust
herein.
JSnfer Blunt.
How now, good Blunt 7 thy looks are full of
speed.
Blunt. So hath the business that I come to
speak of.
Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word
That Douglas and the English rebels met
The eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury:
A mighty and a fearful head they are,
If promises be kept on ev ery hand.
As ever offer'd foul play in a sfa e.
King. The Earl of Westmoreland set forth
to-day: 170
With him ray son. Lord John of Lancaster;
For this advertisement is five days old:
On We<lnesday next, Harry, you shall set for,
ward;
On Thursday we ourselves will march: our
me' ting
Is Bridgenorth: and, Harry, you shall march
Through Gloucestershire; by wnich account.
Our business valued-, some twelve days hence
Our general forces at Bridgenorth shall meet.
Our hands are full of busine'-s: let's away;
Advantage feeds him fat, while men delay. 160
[Exeunt.
Scene TIL Eastcheap. The Boar's-Head
Tavern.
Enter Falstafp and Bardolph.
Fal. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely
since this last action ? do I not Imte 7 do 1 not
dwindle 7 Why, my slcin hangs about me like
au old lady's loose gown ; I am withered like
an old app'le-john. Well, I'll repent, and that
suddenly, while I am in some liking ; I shall
be out of heart shortly, and then I shall have
no strength to repent. An I have not forgotten
what the inside of a church is made of, I am a
peppercorn, a brewer's horse : the inside of a
church I Company, villauQUs comijauy, hath
been the spoil of me.
Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you
cannot live long,
Fal. Why, there is it: come sing me a
bawdy song ; make me merry, I wh.s as vir¬
tuously given as a geutlem,m need to' be ; vir¬
tuous enough ; swore little ; diced not above
seven times a week ; went to a bawdy-house
not above once in a quarter—of an hour ; paid
money that I borrowed, three or four times ;
lived well and in good compass : and now I live
out of all order, out of all compass.
Scene iii]
KING HENRY IV. PART I.
■403
Bard. Why, yon are so fat, Sir Jtohn, ftiat
yon must needs be out of all compass, out of
ail reasonable compass. Sir John.
Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend
Ihy life •: thou art our admiral, thou bearest
the lantern in the poop, but 'tis in the nose of
thee ; thou art the ^ight of the Bunting
Lamp. ;!0
Bard. Why, Sir John, my face does you no
harm. . '
Fal. No; I'D be swOrn ; I make a^ good
nse of it as many a man doth of a Death's^
hejvd or a memento mori : I never see tliy face
but I think upon heli-fire and Dives that lived
in purple ; for there he is in his robes, burn¬
ing. burning. If thou wert any way given to
virtue, I would swear by thy face ; my oath
should be 'By this fire, that's God's angel:'
but thou art altogether ^iven over ; and wert
indeed, but for tlie light in thy face, the son of
utter darknesa When tlnm rannest up Gads-
hill in the night to catcii ray horse, if I did not
think thou hadst been an ignis fatuns or a ball
of wildfire, there's no purdiase in money. O,
thou art a iierpetual triumph, an everlasting
bonfire-light! Thou hast savM me a thousand
marks in links and torches, walking with thee
in the night betwixt tavern and tavern : but
the sack that thou hast drunk me would have
bought me lights as good cheap at the dearest
chandler's in Europe. I have maintained that
salamander of yours-with fire anytime this
two and thirty years ; God reward me for it!
Bard. 'Stilood, I would my fa^e were in
your belly !
Fal. God-a-mercy ! so should I be sure to
be heart-burned.
Enter Hostess.
How now. Dame Partlet the hen ! have you
inquired yet who picked my jxicket ? 61
Hoit. Why, Sir John, what do you think.
Sir John ? do you think I keep thieves in my
house ? I have searched, I have inquired, so
has my husband, man by man, boy by boy,
servant by servant: the tithe of a hair was
never lost in my house before.
Fal. Ye lie, hostess : Bardolph was shaved
and lost many a hair ; and I'll be sworn my
pocket was picked. Go to, you are a woman,
go.
Host. Who, 1 ? no ; I defy thee : God's
light, I was never called so in mine own house
before.
Fill. Go to, I know you well enough.
Host. No, Sir John ; you do not know me.
Sir John. I know you. Sir John : you owe me
money. Sir John ; and now you pick a qimrrel
to beguile me of it: I bought you a dozen of
shirts to your back.
Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowla* I have given
them away to bakers' wives, and they have
made bolters of them. 81
Host. Now, as I am a true woman, holland
of eight shillings an ell. You owe money here
besides, Sir JoiSn, for your diet and by-drink-
Ings, and money lent you, '4onr and twenty
pound.
Fal. He had his part of it; let him pay.
Host. He 1 alas, he is poor ; he liath
nothing.
Fal. How ! poor ? look upon his face ;
what call you rich ? let them coin his nose, let
them coin his cheeks ; I'll not pay a denier.
Wliat, will you make a younker of me ? shall
I not take mine ease in mine inn but I shall
have my pocket picked ? I have lost a seal-
ring of my grandfather's worth forty mark.
Host. O Jesu, I have heard the prince tell
him, I know not how oft, that that ring was
copper!
F^. How ! the prince is a Jack, a sneak-
cup ; 'sblood, an he were here, I would cudgel
him like a dog, if he would say so. 101
Enter the Prince and Peto, marchiwj, and
Faestafp meets them playing on his trun¬
cheon like a fife.
How now, lad 1 is the wind in that door, 1'
faith ? must we all march ?
Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate fashion.
Host. My lord, I pray yon, hear me.
Prince. What sayest thou, Mistress Quick¬
ly? How doth thy husband? I love him
well; he is an honest man.
Host.' Good my lord, hear me.
Fal. Prithee, let her alone, and list to me.
Prince. What sayest thou. Jack ? Ill
Fal. The other night I fell asleep here be¬
hind the arras and had m}' pocket picked : this
house is turned bawdy-house; they pick
pockets.
Prince. Wliat didst thou lose. Jack ?
Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or
four bonds of forty pound a-piece, and a seal-
ring of my grandfather's.
Prince. A trifle, some eight-penny matter.
Host. So I told him, my lord ; and I said I
heard your grace say so : and, my lord, he
speaks most vilely of you, like a foul-mouthed
man as he is ; and said he would cudgel you.
Prince. What! he did not ?
Host. There's neither faith, truth, nor
womanhood in me else.
Fal. There's no more faith in thee than in
a stewed prune ; nor no more truth in thee
than in a drawn fox ; and for womanhood.
Maid Marian may be the deputy's wife of the
ward to thee. Go, you thing, go. 131
Host. Say, what thing ? what thing ?
Fal. 'What thing ! why, a thing to thank
God on.
Host. I am no thing to thank God on, I
would thou shouldst know it; I am an honest
man's wife : and, setting thy knighthood aside,
thou art a knave to call me so.
Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou
art a beast to say otherwise. 140
Host. Say, what beast, thou knave, thou ?
Fed. What beast! why, an otter.
Plince, An otter, Sir John ! why an otter?
401
KING HENRY IV. PART 1.
(Act ir.
FaL Why, die's neither fish nor fiesh { s
man knows not where to have her.
Host. Thou art an unjust man in saying so:
thou or any man knows where to have me,
thou knave, thou !
Prince. Thou sayest true, hostess ; and he
slanders thee most grossly. 150
Host. So he doth you, my lord ; and said
this other day you ought him a thousand
pound.
Prince. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand
pound 1
FaL A thousand pound, Hal! a million:
thy love is worth a million : thou owest me
thy love.
Host. Nay, my lord, he called you Jack,
and said he would cudgel you.
Fal. Did I, Bardolph ? 160
Bard. Indeed, Sir John, you said so.
Fal. Yea, if he said my ring was copper.
Prince. I say 'tis copper : darest thou be
as good as thy word now ?
Fal. Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art
but man, 1 dare : but as thou art prince, I fear
thee as I fear the roaring of tlie lion's whelp.
Prince. And why not as the lion ?
Fal. The king himself is to be feared as the
lion: dost thou think I'll fear thee as I fear
thy father ? nay, an I do, I pray Cod my girdle
break.
Prince. O, if it should, how would thy guts
fall about thy knees I But, sirrah, there's no
room for faith, truth, nor honesty in this
bosom of thine ; it is all filled up with guts and
midriff. Charge an honest woman with pick¬
ing thy pocket! why, thou whoreson, impu¬
dent, embossed rascal, if there were anything
in thy pocket but tavern-reckonings, memo¬
randums of bawdy-houB">s, and one poor
penny-worth of sugar-candy to make thee
long-winded, if thy pocket were enriched with
any other injuries but these, I am a villain :
and yet you will stand to it; you will not
pocket up wrong: art thou not ashamed 1
Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal 7 thou knowest
in the state of iunocency Adam fell; and what
should poor Jack Falstaff do in the days of
villany 7 Tliou seest I have more fie.sli than
another man, and therefore more frailty. Yon
confess then, you picked my pocket 7 190
Pi •ince. It appears so by the story.
Fal. Hostess, I forgive thee : go, make
ready breakfast; love thy husband, look to
thy servants, cherish thy guests : thou shalt
find me tractable to any honest reason : thou
seest I am pacified still. Nay, prithee, be
gone. [Exit Hostess."] Now, Hal, to the news
at court; for the robbery, lad, how is that
answered 7
Prince. O, my sweet beef, I must still be
good angel to thee : the money is paid Ixick
again. 200
Fal. 0,1 do not like that paying back ; 'tis
a double labor.
Prince. I am good friends with my father
and may do any uiag.
Fal. Rob me the exchequer the first thing
thou doest, and ao it with unwashed haudi
too.
Bard. Do, my lord.
Prince. 1 have procured thee, Jack, a
charge of foot. 209
FaL I would it had been of horse. Where
shall I find one that can steal well 7 O for a
fine thief, of the age of two and twenty or
thereabouts I I am heinously unprovided.
Well, God be thanked for these rebels, they
offend none but the virtuous : 1 laud them, 1
praise them.
Prince. Bardolph 1
Bard. My lord 7
Prince. Go bear this letter to Lord John of
Lancaster, to my brother John ; this to my
Ixird of Westmoreland. [Exit Bardolph.] Go,
Peto, to horse, to horse ; for thou and I have
thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time. [Exit
Peto.] Jack, meet me to-morrow in the temple
hall at two o'clock in the afternoon.
There shalt thou know thy charge; and there
receive
Money and order for their furniture.
The land is buniing ; Percy stands on high -,
And either we or they must lower lie. [ExiL
Fal. Rare words I brave world 1 Hostess,
my breakfast, come 1 229
O, I could wish this tavern were my drum I
[ExiU
ACT IV.
Scene I. The rebel camp near Shrewsbury.
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, and Douglas.
Hot. Well said, my noble Scot: if speaking
truth
In this fine age were not thought flattery.
Such attribution should the Douglas have.
As not a soldier of this season's stamp
Should go so general current through the
world.
By God, I cannot flatter ; I do defy
The tongues of soothers ; but a braver place
In my heart's love hath no man than yourself:
Nay, task me to my word ; approve me, lord.
Dosig. Thoii art the king of honor ; 10
No roan so potent breathes uxxm the ground
But 1 will beard him.
Hot. Do so, and 'tis well.
Enter a Messenger with letters.
What letters hast thou there 7—^I can but diank
you.
Mess. These letters come from your father.
Hot. Letters from him 1 why comes he not
himself 7
Mess. He cannot come, my lord; he is
grievous sick.
Hot. 'Zounds 1 how has he the leisure to be
sick
In such a justling time 7 Wlio leads his powerf
Voder whosegoveromept come they along?
*«OKnii.]
Mess. HU letters bear his mind, not 1, my
lord. 20
War. I prithee, teU me, doth he keep his
bedf '
Mess. He did, my lord, lour days ere I set
forth
And at tlie time of my departure thence ,
He was much fear'd by his physiciaus.
Wor. I would the state of time had first
been whole
Ere he by sickness had been visited :
His health was never better worth than now.
Hot. Bick now ! droop now I this sickness
dotli infect
The very life-blood of our enterprise ;
"Tis catching hither, even to our camp. 30
tHe writes me here, that inward sickness—
And that his friends by deputation could not
So soon be drawn, nor did he think it meet
To lay BO dangerous and dear a trust
On any soul removed but on his own. .
Yet doth he give us bold advertisement,
Tliat with our small coni unction we should on.
To see how fortune is disposed to us ;
For, as he writes, there is no qn.niliug now.
Because the king is certainly i)us.sess'd 40
Of all our purposes. What say jfon to it ?
Wor. Your father's sickness is a maim to
us.
Hot. A perilous gash, ai very limb lopp'd
oft: ' '
And yet, in faith, it is not; his present want
Seems more than we shall find it: were it
good
To set the exact wealth of all our states
All at one cast 7 to set so rich a luain
On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour 7
It were not good ; tfor therein should we read
The very bottom and the soul of hope, 60
The very list, the very utmost bound
Of all our fortunes
Ikniff. 'Faith, and so we should ;
Where now remains a sweet reversion :
fWe may boldly spend upon the hope of what
Is to come in ;
A comfort of retirement lives in this.
Hot. A rendezvous, a home to fiy unto.
If that the devil and mischance look big
Upon the maidenhead of our affairs.
Wor. But yet I would your father had been
here. CO
The quality and hair of our attempt
Brooks no division : it will be tliought
By some, that know nut why he is away,
Tnat wisdom, loyalty and mere dislike
Of our proceedings kept the earl from hence :
And think how such an apprehension
May turn the tide of fearful faction
And breed a kind of question in our cause;
For well you know we of the offering side
Must keep aloof from strict nrbitrement, 70
And stop all sight-holes, erory loop from
whence
The eye of reason'may pry in upon us:
This absence of your lather's draws a curtain,
That shows the ^gnoiaut a kind of fear
406
Before not dreamt of.
Hot. Ton strain too far.
I rather of his absence make this use :
It leads a lustre and more great opinion,
A larger dare to our great enterprise,
Thau if tlie earl were here ; for men must think.
If we without his help can make a head 81)
To push against a kingdom, with his help
We sliall o'ertum it topsy-turvy down.
Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole.
Doug. As heart can think ; there is not such
a word
Spoke of in Scotland as this term of fear.
Enter Sib Hichard Verkon.
Hot. My cousin Vernon, welcome, by my
soul.
Fei*. Pray God my news be worth a wel¬
come, lord.
The Earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand
strong,
Is inarching hitherwards ; with hiiu Prince
John.
Hot. No harm : what more 7
Ver. And further, I have leam'd, 90
The king himself in person is set forth.
Or hitherwards intended speedily.
With strong and mighty preparation.
Hot He shall be welcome too. Where is
his son.
The nimble-footed madcap Prince of Wales,
And his comrades, tliat daff'd the world aside.
And bid it pass 7
Ver. All fumish'd, all in arms ;
f All plumed like estridges that with the wind
Baited like eagles having lately bathed ;
Glittering in golden coats, like images; 100
As full of spirit as the month of May,
And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer;
Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls.
I saw young Harry, with his beaver on,
His cnisses on his thighs gallantly arm'd.
Rise from the ground like feather d Mercury,
And vaulted with such ease into his seat,
As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds.
To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus
And witch the world wi& noble horsemanship.
Hot. No more, no more : worse than the sun
. in March, 111
This praise doth nourish agues. Let tliem
come J
They come hke sacrifices in their trim,
And <0 the fire-eyed maid of smoky war
All hot and bleeding will we offer them
The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit
Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire
To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh
And yet not ours. Come, let me taste my
"horse.
Who is to bear me like a thunderbolt 120
Against the bosom of the Prmce of Wales :
Harry to Harry shall, hot horee to horse.
Meet and ne'er part till one drop down a corse,
0 that Glendower were come !
Ver. There is more news j
1 leam'd in Worcester, as I rode along,
HENRY ir. PARTI.
i06
KING HENRY IV. PART I.
[Act I*.
He caunot draw his power this fonrteen days.
Doun. That's the worst tidings that I hear
o£ yet.
Wor. Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty
sound.
Hot. What may the king's whole battle
reach unto ?
Ver. To thirty thousand.
Hot. Forty let it be : 130
My father and Glendower being both away.
The powers of us may serve so great a day.
Come, let us take a muster speedily :
Doomsday is near ; die ail, die merrily.
Doug. Talk not of dying ; I am ont of fear
Of d^th or death's hand for this one-half
year. {Exeunt.
Scene II. A puhlio road near Coventry.
Enter Falstafe and Babdolph.
FaL Bardolv>h, get thee before to Coventry;
fill me a bottle of sack: our soldiers shall
march through ; we'll to Sutton Co'fll' to¬
night.
Bard. Will you give me money, captain ?
Fal. • Lay out, lay out
Bard. 'This bottle makes an angel.
Fal. An if it do, take it for thy labor ; and
if it make twenty, take thfem all; I'll answer
the coinage. Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me
at town's eud. 10
Bard. I will, captiiin : farewell. [Exit.
Fal. If 1 be not ashamed of my soldiers, I
am a soused gurnet. I have misused the king's
Eress damnably. I have got, in exchange of a
undred and fifty soldiers, three hundred and
odd pounds. I press me hone but good house¬
holders, yeoman's sous ; iuquire me out con¬
tracted bachelors, such as had been asked
twice on the banns; such a commodity of warm
slaves, as had as lieve hear the devil as a drum;
such as fear the report of a caliver worse than
a struck fowl or a hurt wild-duck. I pressed
me none but such toasts-and-butter, with
hearts in their bellies no bigger than pins'
heads, and they have bought out their ser¬
vices ; and now my whole charge consists of
ancients, corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of
companies, slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the
painted cloth, where the glutton's dogs licked
his sores ; and such as indeed were never sol¬
diers, but discarded unjust serving-men,
younger sons to younger brothers, revolted
tapsters and o.stlers trade-fallen, the cankers
of a calm world and a long peace, ten times
more dishonorable'r.agged than an old faced
ancient : and such have. I, to till up the rooms
of them th.at have bought out their services,
that yon would think that I had a hundred
and fifty tattered prodigals lately come from
swine-keeping, from eating draff and husks.
A mad fellow met me on the way and told me
I had unloaded all the gibbets and pressed the
dead bodies. No eye hath seen such scare¬
crows. I'll not march through Coventry with
tliem, that's flat: nay, and the villains march
yride betwixt the legs, as if they had gyves on;
for indeed I had the most of them out of pris¬
on. There's but i\ shirt and a half in all my
company ; and the half sliirt is two napkins
tacked together and thrown over the shoulders
like an lierald's coat without sleeves ; and the
shirt, to say the truth, stolen from my host at
Saint Alban's, or the red-nose innkeeper of
Daventry. But that's all one ; they'll find
linen enough on every hedge.
Enter the Pbincb and Westmoreland.
Pi •ince. How now, blown Jack ! how now,
quilt!
Fal. What, Hal! how now, mad wag !
what a devil dost thou in Warwickshire ? My
good Loi-d of Westmoreland, I cry you mercy :
I thought your honor had already been ."t
Shrewsbury. 51)
IVest. Faith, Sir John, 'tis more tlian time
that I were there, and you too ; but my powers
are there already. Tne king, I can tell you,
looks for us all: we must away all night.
Fal. Tut, never fear me : I am as vigilant
as a cat to steal cream.
Prince. I think, to steal cream indeed, for
thy theft hath already made thee butter. But
tell me, Jack, whose fellows are these tbat
come after ?
i'al. Mine, Hal, mine. 69
Prince. I did never see such pitiful rascals.
Fal. Tut, tut; good enough to toss ; food
for powder, food for^wder ; they'll fill a pit
as well as better : tush, man, mortal men, mor¬
tal men.
West. Ay, but. Sir John, methinksthey are
exceeding poor and bare, too beggarly.
Fal. 'Faith, for their poverty, I know Pot
where they had tliat; and for iheir bareness,
I am sure they never learned that of me. •
Prince. No, I'll be sworn ; unless you call
three fingers on the ribs bare. But, sirrah,
make haste : Percy is already.in the field. 81
Fal. What, is the king encamped ?
West. He is. Sir John : I fear we shall stay
too long.
Fal. Well,
To the latter end of a fray and the beginning
of a feast w
Fits a dull fighter and a keen guest.
[Exeunt.
Scene III. The rebel camp near Shrewsburi/.
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Douglas, and
Vernon.
Hot. We'll fight with him to-night.
■ Wor. It inay not be.
Doug. You give him then advantage.
Ver. Not a whit.
Hot. Wliy say you so ? looks he not for
supply ?
Ver. So do we.
Hot. His is certain, ours is daubtfuL
Wor. Good cousin, be advised ; stir not to¬
night
Ver. Do not, my lord.
scgnb iii.]
KING HENRY IV. PART I.
407
Doug. You do not oonusel well:
You speak it oat of fear and cold heart
Yer. Do me no slander, Douglas : by my
life,
And I dare well maintain it with iuy life.
If well-resjiected honor bid me on, 10
I hold as little counsel with weak fear
As you, my lord, or any Scot that this day
lives :
Let it be seen to-morrow in tlie battle
Which of us fears.
Doug. Yea, or to-night
Yer. Content.
Hot. To-night, say I.
Yer. Come, come, it may not be. I wonder
much.
Being men of such great leading as you are.
That you foresee not what impediments
Drag back our expedition : -certain horse
Of my cousin Vernon's are not yet come up :
Your uncle Worcester's horse came but to¬
day; 21
And now their pride and mettle is asleep.
Their courage with hard labor tame and dull.
That not a horse is lialf the half of himself.
Hot. So are the horses of the enemy
In general, jonmey-bated and brought low :
The better part of ours are full of rest.
Wor. The number of the king exceedeth
ours :
For God's sake, cousin, stay till all come in.
[The trumpet $ound» a parley.
Enter Sm Walter Blunt.
Blunt. I come with gracious offers from
the king, 30
It you vouchs^e me hearing and respect.
Hot. Welcome, Sir Walter Blunt;' and
would to Go'd
You were of our determination !
^me of us love you well; and even those
some
Envy your great deserviugs and good name.
Because you are not of our quality.
But stand against us like an enem^.
Blunt. And God defend but sM I should
stand so.
So long as out of limit and true rule
You stand against anointed majesty. 40
But to my charge. The king hath sent to know
The nature of your griefs, and whereupon
You conjure from the breast of civil peace
Such bold hostility, teaching his duteous land
Audacious cruelty. If that the king
Have any way your good deserts foi^ot.
Which he confesseth to be manifold.
He bids you name your griefs ; and with all
speed
You shall have your desires with interest
And pardon absolute for yourself and these 50 '
Herein misled by your sugge^ion.
Hot. The king is kind ; and well we know
the king
Knows at what time to promise, when to pay.
My father and my uncle and myself
give him that 8ame.royalty he wears ; .
And when he was not six and twenty strong.
Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low,
A poor mimlnded outlaw sneaking home.
My father gave him welcome to the shore :
And when he heard him swear and vow to God
He came but to be Duke of Lancaster, (il
To sue his livery and beg his peace.
With tears of innocency and terms of zeal.
My father, in kind heart and pity moved.
Swore him assistance and perl'orm'd it too.
Now when the lords and batons of the realm
Perceived Northumberland did lean to him.
The more and less came in with cap and knee;
Met him in boroughs, cities, villages.
Attended him on bridges, stood in ianes, 70
Laid gifts before him, proffer'd him their oaths.
Gave him their heirs, as pages follow'd him-
Even at the heels in golden multitudes.
He pres^tly, as neatness knows itself,
Steps me a little higher than his vow
Made to my father, while his blood was poor.
Upon the naked shore at Ravenspurgh ;
And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform
Some certain edicts and some strait decrees
'rhat lie too heavy on the commonwealth, 8C
Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep
Over his country's wrongs ; and by this face.
This seeming brow of justice, did he win
The hearts of all that he did angle for ;
Proceeded further ; cut me off the heads '
Of all the favorites that the absent king
In deputation left behind him here^
When he was personal in the Irish war.
Blunt. Tut, I came not to hear this.
Hot. Then to the point.
In short time after, he deposed the king ; 90
Soon after that, deprived him of his life ;
And in the neck of that, task'd the whole starte:
To make that worse, suffer'd his kinsman
March,
Who is, if every owner were well placed.
Indeed his king, to be engaged in Wales
There without ransom to lie forfeited ;
Disgraced me in my happy victories.
Sought to entrap me by intelligence ;
Rat^ mine uncle from the council-board ;
In rage dismiss'd my father from the court;
Broke oath on oath, committed wrong on
wrong, 101
And in conclusion drove us to seek out . i
This head of safety ; and withal to pry
Into his title, the which we find
Too indirect for long continuance.
Blunt. Shall I return tliis answer to the
king ?
Hot. Not so. Sir Walter : we'll withdraw
awhile.
Go to the king ; and let there be impawn'd
Some surety for a safe return again.
And in the morning early shall my uncle 110
Bring him our purposes ; and so farewell.
Blunt. I would you would accept of grace
and love.
Hot. And may be so we shaU.
Blunt. Pray God you do.
KING HENRY ir. PARTI.
[Act t.
Scene IY. York. The Abchbishop'b palace.
Enter the Abchbishop of York and Sir
Michael.
Arch. Hie, good Sir Michael; hear this
sealed brief
With winged haste to the lord marshal;
This to my cousin Scroop, and all the rest
To whom they are direct^. If you knew
How much tliey do import, you would make
haste.
Sir M. My good lord,
I guess their tenor.
Arch. Like enough you do>
To-morrow, good Sir Michael, is a day
Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men
Must bide the touch ; for, sir, at Shrewsbury,
As I am truly given to understand, 11
The king with mighty and quick-raised power
Meets with Lord Harry : an<L 1 fear. Sir
Michael,
What with the sickness of Northumberland,
Whose power was in the first proportion.
And what with Owen Glendower's absence
thence.
Who with them was a rated sinew too
And comes not in, o'er-ruled by prophecies,
I fear the power of Percy is too weak
To wage an instant trial with the king. 20
' Sir M. Why, my good lord, you need not
fear;
There is Douglas and Lord Mortimer.
Arch. No, Mortimer is not there.
Sir M. But there is Mordake, Vernon, Lord
Harry Percy,
And there is mj; tord of Worcester and a head
Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen.
Arch. And so tiiere is : but yet the king
hath drawn
The special head of all the bind together :
The Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster,
The noble Westmoreland and warlike Blunt;
And many moe corrivals and dear men 31
Of estimation and command in arms.
Sir M. Doubt not, my lord, they shall be
well opposed.
Arch. Ihope no less, yet needful 'tistofear;
And, to prevent the worst, Sir Michael, speed;
For if Lord Percy thrive not, ere the king
Dismiss his Mwer, he means to visit us.
For he hath lieard of our confederacy.
And 'tis but wisdom to make strong against
him :
Therefore make haste. I must go write again
'fo other friends ; and so farewell, Sir Michael.
[Exeunt. 41
ACT V.
Scene I. The King's camp near ^' gtesoury.
Enter the King, Prince of W ales. Lord
John of Lancaster, Eaflo* Westmore¬
land, Sir Walter Blunt, and Falstaff.
King. How bloodily the sun begins to peer
Above yon busky hill ! the day looks pale
At his distemperature.
Prince. The southern wind
Doth play the trumpet to his purposes.
And by bis hollow whistling in the leaves
Foretells a tempest and a blustering day.
King. Then with the losers let it sympa^
thize,
For nothing can seem foul to those that win.
[The trumpet founds.
Enter Worcester and Vernon.
How now, my Lord of Worcester ! 'tis Eot
That you and I should meet upon such terms
As now we meet. You have deceived our trus*
And made us doff our easy robes of peace.
To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel :
This is not well, my lord, this is not well.
What say you to it ? will you again unknit
This curiish knot of ali-abhon'ed war ?
And move in that obedient orb ag.-iiu
Where you did give a fair and natural light,
And be no more an exhaled meteor,
A prodigy of fear and a portent 20
Of broached mischief to the unborn 4imes ?
Wor. Hear me, my liege :
For mine own part, I could be well content
To enSiri-jn the lag-end of my life
With quiet hours ; for I do protest,
I haw, not sought 1. , day of this dislike.
King. You have not sought it! how comes
it, then ?
Fal. Rebeliis lay in his way, and f >> /,mnd
it.
Prince. Pea*,e, chewet, peace !
TTor. It pleas^ your majesty u) icum your
looks 30
Of favorfrvm myself and all our iiouse ;
And yet I must remember you, my lord.
We were the first and deirest of your friends.
For you my staff of office did I break
In Richard s time ; and posted day and night
To meet you on tlm way, and kiss your hand,
VTien yet you wr.,-b in place and in account
Nothing so strong and fortunate as I.
It was myself, my brother and his son.
That brought you home and Iwldly did outdare
'fhe dangjti; of the time. You swore to ns, 41
And yo'u did swear that oath at Doncaster,
That you did nothing purpose 'gainst tliestate;
Nor claim no further than your new-fall'n right,
The seat of Gaunt, diJiedbm of Lancaster;
To this we swore our aid. . But in slicit s|>ac.
It rain'd down fortune showering on your head;
And such a flood of greatness fell on you.
What with our help, wliat with the absent king.
What with the injuries of a wanton time, SO
The seeming sufferances that you had borne.
And the contrarious winds that held the king
So long in his unlucky Irish wars
'Tliat all in England did repute him dead :
And from this swarm of fair advantages
You took occasion to be quickly woo'd
To gripe the general sway into your hand ;
Forgot your oath to us at IXucaster;
And being fed by us you mod us so
As tliat ungentle gttll,^the cuckoo's bird, fli
iiCBNB II.]
KING HENRY IV. PART 1.
409
Useth the sparrow; did oppress our nest;
Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk
That even>our love durst not come near your
sight
For fear of swallowing ; but with nimble wing
We were enforced, for safety sake, to fiy
Out of your sight and raise this present bead'; '
Whereby we stand opposed by such means
As you yourself have forged against yourself
By unkind usage, dangerous counteuance,
And violation of all faith and troth 70
Sworn to us in your yonn^r enterprise.
King. These things indeed you have artic¬
ulate,
Proclaim'd at market-crosses, read in churches.
To face the garment of rebellion
With some nne color that may please the eye
Of fickle changeling and poor discontents.
Which gape and rub the elbow at the news
Of hurlyburly innovation :
And never yet did insurrection want
Such water-colors to impaint his cause ; 80
Nor moody beggars, starving fur a time
Of pellmeU havoc and confusion.
Prince. In both your armies there is inany
a soul
Shall pay full dearly for this encounter.
If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew.
The Prince of Wales doth join with all the
world
In praise of Henry Percy : by my hopes,
This present enterprise setoff his heM,
I do not think a braver gentleman,
More active-valiant or more valiant-young, 90
More daring or more bold, is now alive
To grace this latter age with noble deeds.
For my i>art, I may speak it to ray shame,
I have a truant been to chivalry ;
And so I hear he doth account me too ;
Yet this before my father's majesty—
I am content that he shall take the odds
Of his great name and estimation.
And wul, to save the blood on either side.
Try fortune with him in a single fight. 100
King. And, Prince of Wales, so dare we
venture thee.
Albeit cousiderations infinite
Do make against it. N6, good Worcester, no.
We love our people i^ell; even those we love
That are misled upon your cousin's part;
And, will they take the offer of our grace.
Both he and they and yon, yea, every man
Sliall be my friend again and I'll be his :
So tell your cousin, and bring me word
What he will do : but if he will not yield, 110
Rebuke and dread correction wait on us
And they .sha'A do their office. So, be gone ;
We will not now be troubled with reply :
We offer fair ; take it advisedly.
lExeunl Worcest^and Vernon.
Prince. It\.iii not be accepted, on my life:
The Douglas and the Hotspur both together
Ate confident against the world in arms.
King. Hence, therefore, every leader to his
. charge ;
For, on their answer, will we set on them :
And God befriend ns, as our cause is just! 120
[Exeunt all but the Prince of Wales and
Falstaff.
Fal. Hal, if thou see me down in the
battle and bestride me, so ; 'tis a' point of
friendship.
Prince. Nothing but a colossus can do thee
that friendship, ^y thy prayers, and fare-
weil.
Fal. I would 'twere bed-time, Hal, and
all well.
Prince. Why, thou owest God a death.
[Exit.
Fal. 'Tis not due yet ; I would be loath to
pay him before his day. What need I be so
forward with him tliat calis nut on me ? Well,
'tis no matter ; honor pricks me on. Yea, but
how if honor prick me off when I come on ?
how then ? Can honor set to a ieg 7 no : or an
arm ? no: or take away the grief of a wound ?
no. Honor hath no skill in surgery, then ? no.
What is honor ? a word. What is in that word
honor ? what is that honor ? air. A trim reck¬
oning ! Who hath it ? he that died o' W ednes¬
day. Doth he feel it ? no. Doth he hear it ?
no. 'Tis insensible, then. Yea, to the dead. But
will it not live with the living ? no. Why ? de¬
traction will not suffer it. Therefore I'll none
of it. Honor is a mere scutclieon : and so
ends my catechism. [Exit.
, Scene II. The rebel camp.
Eater WottCESTER and Vernon.
Wor. 0, no, my nephew must not know.
Sir Richard,
The liberal and kind offer Of the king.
Ver. 'Twere best he did.
ITor. Then are we all undone.
It is not possible, it cannot be.
The king should keep his wmd in loving ns ;
He will suspect us still and find a time
To punish this offence in other faults:
Suspicion all our lives shall be stuck full of
eyesi;
For treason is but trusted like the fox.
Who, ne'er so tame, so cherish'd and lock'd
up, 10
Will have a wild trick of his ancestors.
Look how we can, or sad or merrily.
Interpretation will misquote our looks,
And we shall feed like oxen at a stall.
The better cherish'd, still the nearer death.
My nephew's tre.spass may he well forgot;
It hath the excuse of youth and heat of blood,
And an adc^ited name of privilege,
A hair-brain'd Hotspur, govern'dby a spleen:
All his offences live upon my head ,20
And on his father's ; we did tiaiuhim on,
And, his corruption being ta'en from us,
We, as the spring of all, shall p^ for all.
Therefore, good cousin, let not Harry know.
In any case, the offer of the king.
Ver. Deliver what you will; I'll say 'tis sa
Here comes your cousm.
«10
KING HENRY IV. PART I.
[Act t.
Enler Hotspub and Douglas.
Hot. My uncle is return'd :
Deliver up my Lord of Westmoreland.
Uncle, what news ? 30
Wor. The king will bid you battle pres¬
ently.
Doug. Defy him by the Lord of Westmore¬
land.
Hot. Lord Douglas, go you and tell him so.
Doug. Marry, and shall, and very willingly.
[Exit.
Wor. There is no seeming mercy in the
king.
Hot. Did you beg any ? God forbid I
Wor. I told him gently of our grievances.
Of his oath-breaking ; which he mended thus.
By now forswearing that he is forsworn :
He calls us rebels, traitors ; and will scourge
With liaughty arms this hateful name in us. 41
Re-enter Douglas.
Doug. Arm; gentlemen ; to arms ! for I
have thrown
A brave defiance in King Henry's teeth,
And Westmoreland, that was engaged, did bear
it;
Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on.
Wor. The Prince of Wales stepp'd forth
before the king.
And, nephew, challenged you to single fight.
Hot. 0, would the quarrel lay upon our
heads,
And that no man might draw short breath to¬
day
But I and Harry Monmouth 1 Tell me, tell
me, 50
How show'd his tasking ? seem'd it in con¬
tempt ?
Ver. No, by my soul ; I never in my life
Did hear a challenge urged more modestly.
Unless a brother should a brother dare
To gentle exercise and proof of arms.
He gave you all the duties of a man ;
Trimm'd up your praises with a princely
tongue.
Spoke your deservings like a chronicle,
Making you ever better than his praise
By .still dispraising praise valued with you; 60
And, which became him like a prince indeed.
He made a biushing cital of himself ;
And chid his truant youth with such a grace
As if he master'd there a double spirit
Of teaching and of learning instantly.
"There did he pause: but let me tell the world.
If he outlive the envy of this day,
England did never owe so sweet a hope.
So much misconstrued in his wantonness.
Hot. Cousin, I think thou art enamored 70
On his lollies : never did I hear
Of any prince so wild a libertine.
But be he as he will, yet once ere night
I will embrace him with a soldier's arm',
That he shall shrink under my courtesy.
Arm, arm with speed : and, fellows, soldiers,
friends,
Better consider what you nave to do
Than I, tliat have not well the gift of tongue.
Can lift your blood up with persuasion.
Enter a Messenger. "
Meat. My lord, here are letters for you. 80
Hot. 1 caunot read them now.
O gentlemen, the time of life is short!
"To spend that shortness basely were toe long.
If life did ride upon a dial's point,
Stiil ending at the arrival of an hour.
An if we live, we live to tread ou kings';
If die, brave death, when princes die with
us!
Now, for our consciences, the arms are fair.
When the mtent of bearing them is just
Enter another Messenger.
Meas. My lord, prepare ; the king comes on
apace. 90
Hot. 1 tliank him, that he cuts me from my
tale.
For 1 profess not talking ; only this—
Bet each man do his best: and here draw 1
A sword, whose temper 1 intend to stain
With the best blood that 1 can meet withal
In the adventure of this perilous day.
Now, Es^rance! Percy ! and set on.
Sound all the lofty instruments of war,
And by that music let us all embrace ;
For, heaven to earth, some of us never shall
A second time do such a courtesy. 101
[The tmmpeta aound. They embrace, and
exeunt.
ScBtnB UL Plain between the campa.
The Kino eritera with hia pwer. Alarttm to
the battle. Then enter Douglas and Sib
Waltkk Blunt.
Blunt. What is thy name, that irv the battle
thus
Thou crossest me 7 what honor dost thou seek
Upon my head ?
Doug. Know then, my name is Douglas :
And 1 do haunt thee in the battle thus
Because some tell me that thou art a king.
Blunt. They tell thee true.,
Doug. The Lord of Stafford dear to-day
hath bought
Thy likeness, for mstead of thee. King Harry,
This sword hatii ended him : so shall it thee.
Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner. 10
Blunt. 1 was not born a yielder, thou
proud Scot;
And thou shall find a king that will revenge
Lord Stafford's death.
[Theyjight. Douglas killa Blunt,
Enter Hotspub.
Hot. O Douglas, hadst thou fought at
Holmedon thus,
1 never had triumph'd upon a Scot.
Doug. All's done, all's won ; here breath¬
less lies the king. '
Hot. Where ?
■ Doug. Here.
Hot. This, Douglas ? no : 1 know this fane
lull well:
KING HENRY IV. PART I.
411
sckme iv.]
A gallaiit knight he was, his name was Blunt;
Semblably furnish'd like the king himself. 21
Doug. A fool go with thy soul, whither it
goes !
A borrow'd title hast thou bought too dear :
Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king?
Hot. The king hath many marching in his
coats.
Doug. Now, by my sword, I wUl kin all his
coats ;
I'll murder ^1 his wardrobe, piece by piece.
Until I meet the king.
Hot. Up, and away !
Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day. 29
[Axeujtt.
Alanim. Enter Falstaff, solus.
Fal. Though I could 'scape shot-free at Lon¬
don, I fear the shot here ; here's no scoring
but upon the pate. Soft! who are you ? Sir
Walter Blunt: there's honor for yon 1 here's
no vanity ! I am as hot as molten lead, and as
heavy too : God keep lead out of me ! I need
no more weight than mine own bowels. I
have led my ragamufllns where they are pep¬
pered : there's not three of my hundred and
fifty left alive ; and they are for the town's
end, to beg during life. But who comes
here ? W
Enter the P«ince.
Prince. What, stand'st thou idle here ? lend
me thy sword :
Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff
Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies,
Whose deaths are yet unrevenged : I prithee,
lend me ttiy sword.
Fal. O Hal, t prithee, give me leave to
breathe awhile. Turk Gregory never did such
deeds in arms as I have done this day. I have
paid Percy. I have made him sure.
Prince. He is, indeed; and living to kill thee.
1 prithee, lend me thy sword. 50
Fal. Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be
alive, thou get'st not my sword ; but take my
pistol, if thou wilt.
Prince. Give it me: what, is it in the case ?
Fal. Ay, Hal ; 'tis hot, 'tis hot ; there's
that will sack a city. [TTic Prince draws it out,
and finds it to he a bottle of sack.
Prince. What, is it a time to jest and dally
* now ? [He throws the bottle at him. Exit.
Fal. Well, if Percy be alive, I'll pierce him.
If he do come in my way, so : if he do not, if I
come in his willingly, let him make a carbonado
of me. I like not such grinning honor as Sir
Walter hath : give me life : which if I can
save, so ; if not, honor comes unlooked for, and
there's an end. [Exit.
Scene IV. Another part of the field.
Alarum. Excursions, Enter tite King, the
Prince, Lord John of Lancaster, and
Earl of Westmoreland.
King. I prithee,
Harry, withdraw thyself ; thou bleed'st too
much.
Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him.
Lan. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too.
Prince. I beseech your majesty, make up.
Lest your retirement do amaze your friends.
King. I will do so.
My Lord of Westmoreland, lead him to his
tent.
West. Come, my lord, I'll lead you to your
tent.
Prince. Lead me, my lord ? I do not need
your help : 10
And God forbid a shallow scratch should dii\ e
The Prince of Wales from such a field as this.
Where stain'd nobility lies trodden on.
And rebels' arms triumph in massacres !
Lm. We breathe too long : come, cousin -
Westmoreland,
Our duty this way lies ; for God's salre, come.
[Exeunt Prince John and Westmoreland.
Prittce. By God, thou hast deceived me,
Lancaster ;
I did not think thee lord of such a spirit:
Before, I loved thee as a brother, John ;
But now, I do respect thee as my soul. 20
King. I saw him hold Lord Percy at the
point
With lustier maintenance than I did look for
Of such an ungrown warrior.
Prince. 0, this boy
Lends mettle to us all! [Exit.
Enter Douglas. '
Doug. Another king ! they grow like Hy¬
dra's heads :
I am the Douglas, fatal to all those
That wear tliose colors on them : what art
thou,
That counterfeit'st the person of a king ?
King. The king himself; who, Douglas,
grieves at heart
So many of his shadows thou hast met 30
And not the very king. I have two boys"
Seek Percy and thyself about the field :
But, seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily,
I will assay thee ; so, defend thyself.
Doug. I fear thou art another counterfeit;
And yet, in faith, thou bear'st thee like a king:
But mine I am sure thou art, whoe'er thou l)e.
And thus I win thee. [They fight; the King
being in danger, re-enter Prince of Wales.
Prince. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or tliou
art like
Never to hold it up again ! the spirits 40
Of valiant Shirley, Stafford, Blunt, are in ray
arms :
It is the Prince of Wales that threatens thee ;
Wlio never promiseth l)ut he means to pay.
• [They fight: Douglas fiies.
Cheerly, my lord : how fares your giuce?
Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succor sent.
And so hath Clifton : I'll to Clifton straight
King. Stay, and breatiie awhile :
Thou iiast rcdeem'd thy lost ojiinion.
And show'd thou m.akest some tender of my
life.
In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me. 50
m
Prince. 'O God ! tbey did me too much in¬
jury
That ever said I hearken'd for your death.
If it irere so, I might have let alone
The insulting hand of Douglas over you,
Which would have beefi as speedy in your end
As all the poisonous i>otions m the world
And saved the treacherous labor of your son.
King. Make up to Clifton : I'll to Sir Nich¬
olas Gawsey. [Exit.
Enter Hotspur.
Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Mon¬
mouth.
Prince. Thou speak'st as if I would, deny
my name. 60
Hot. My name is Harry Percy.
Prince. Why, then I see
A very valiant rebel of the name.
I am the Prince of Wales; and think not,
Percy,
To share with me in glory any more :
Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere;
Nor can one England brook a double reign.
Of Harry Percy and the Prince of Wales.
Hot. Nor shall it, Harry ; for the hour is
come
To end the one of us ; aud would to God
Thy name in arms were now as great as mine!
Prince. I'll make it greater ere I part from
thee; 71
And all the budding honors ou thy crest
I'll crop, to make a garland for my head.
Hot. I can no longer brook thy vanities.
[Tlicyjifjhi.
Enter Falstaff.
Fal. Well said, Hal I to it, Hal! Nay, you
shall find uo boy's play here, I can tell you.
Re-enter Douglas ; hefighXs with Falstaff,
vilw/aMs down as if he were dead, and exit
Douglas. Hotspur is wounded, and fails.
Hot. O, Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my
youth !
I better brook the loss of brittle life
Than those proud titles thou hast won of me ;
They wound my thoughts worse than thy
sword my flesh ; M
But thought's the slave of life, and life time's
fool I
And time, that takes survey of all the world.
Must have a stop. O, 1 could prophesy.
But that th3 earthy and cold hand of death
Lies ou my tongue : no, Percy, thou art dust
And food for— [Dies.
Prince. For worms, brave Percy : fare thee
well, great heart I
Ill-weaved ambition, how much art thou
shrunk!
When that this body did contain a spirit,
A kingdom for it was too small a bound ; 90
but now two paces of the vilest earth
Is room enough : this earth Uiat bears tliee
dead
Bears not alive so stout a gentleman.
II thou wert seusible of courtesy,
[Act t.
I should not make so dear a show of zeal:
But let my favors hide thy mangled face ;
Aud, even in thy behalf, I'll thank myself
For doing these fair rites of tenderness.
Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heav¬
en I
Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave, 100
But not remember d in thy epitaph I
[He spieth Falstaff on the ground.
What, old acquaintance ! could not all this
flesh
Keep in a little life ? Poor Jack, farewell!
1 could have better spared a better man :
O, I should have a heavy miss of thee.
If I were much in love with vanity !
Death hath not struck so fat a deer to-day,
Though many dearer, in this bloody fray.
Embowell'd will I see thee by and by :
Till then in blood by noble Percy lie. [Exit. 110
Fal. [Rising tim Embowelled! if thou em¬
bowel me to-day, I'll give yon leave to powder
me and eat me too to-morrow. 'Sblood, 'twas
time to counterfeit, or that hot termagant Scot
had paid me scot aud lot too. Counterfeit ? I
lie, I am no counterfeit: to die, is to be a
counterfeit; for he is but the counterfeit of a
man who hath not the life of a man : but to
counterfeit dying, when a man tliereby livetli,
is to be no counterfeit, but the true and perfect
image of life indeed. The better part of valor
is discretion ; in tlie which better part I Imye
saved ray life. 'Zounds, I am afi-aid of this
gunpowder Percy, though he be dead : how,
if he should counterfeit too and rise ? by my
faith, I am afraid he would prove the better
counterfeit Therefore I'll make him sure ;
yea, aud I'll swear I killed him. Why may
not he rise as well as 17 Nothing confutes me
but eyes, and nobody sees me. Therefore,
sirrah [stahhinfi /urn], with a new wound in
your thigh, come you along with me.
[TuLes up Hotspur on his back
Re-enter the Prince of Wales and Lord
John of Lancaster.
Prince. Come, brother John ; full bravely
hast thou flesh'd
Thy maiden sword.
iMn. But, soft I whom have we here 1
Did you not tell me this fat man was dead ?
Prince. I did ; I saw him dead.
Breathless and bleeding on tlie ground. Art
thou alive 7
Or is it fantasy that plays upon our eyesight 7
I prithee, speak; we will not trust our eyes 139
Without our ears: thou art not what thou
seem'St.
.Fal. No, that's certain ; I am not a double
mau : but if I be not Jack Falstaff, then am I
a Jack. There is Percy [throwing the body
doton] : if your father will do me any honor,
so ; if not, let him kill the next Percy himself.
I look to be either earl or duke, I can assuiA
you.
Prince. Why, Percy I killed myself and
saw thee dead.
KING HENRY IV. PARTI.
Scene v.)
Fal. _ Didst thou ? Lord, Lord, how this
world is given to lying I I grant yon I was
down and out of breath ; and so was he : but
we rose both at an instant and fought a long
honr by Shrervshnry clock. If I may be be¬
lieve, go ; if not, letthem that shonid reward
valor bear the sin upon their own heads. I'll
take it upon my death, I gave him this wound
in the thigh ; if the man were alive and would
deny it, 'zounds, I would make him eat a piece
of my sword.
Lan. This is the strangest tale that ever I
heard.
Prince. "This is the strangest frilow, brother
John. 159
Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back:
For my part, if a lie may do thee grace,
I'll gild It with the happiest terms I have.
[A retreat is sounded.
The trumpet sounds retreat; tlie day is ours.
Come, brother, let us to the highest of the
field.
To see what friends are living, who are dead.
[Exeunt-Prince of Wa^ and Lancaster.
Fat. I'll follow, as they say, for reward.
He that rewards me, God reward him ! If I
do grow great, I'll grow less ; for I'll purge,
and leave sack, and Uve cleanly as a nobleman
should do. [Exit.
Scene V. Another part of the field.
The trumpets sound. Enter the King, Prince
of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster,
Earl of Westmoreland, with Worces¬
ter and Vernon wrisoners.
King. Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke.
Ill-spirited Worcester! did not we send grace.
Pardon and terms of love to all of you ?
And wouldst thou turn our offers contrary ?
Misuse the tenot of thy kinsman's trust ?
Three knights upon our party .slain to-day,
A noble earl and many a creature else
Had been alive this hour.
If like a Christian thou hadst trulv home
Betwixt our armies true intelligence. 10
418
War. What I have done my safety urged
me to;
And I embrace this fortune patiently.
Since not to be avoided it falls on me.
King. Bear Worcester, to the deatli and
Vernon too :
Other offenders we will pause upon.
[Exeunt Worcester and Vernon, guarded.
How goes the field ? [lie saw
Prince. Tlie noble Scot, Lord Douglas, wlien
The fortune of tlie day quite turu'd from'him.
The noble Percy slain, and all ids men
Upon the foot of fear, fled with the rest; 20
And falling'from a hill, he was so bruised"
Tiiat tlie pursuers took him. At my tent
The Douglas is; and I beseech your grace
I may dlsimse of him.
King. With all my heart.
Prince. Then, brother John of Lancaster,
to you
This honorable bounty shall belong :
Go to the Douglas, and deliver him
Up to his pleasure, rausomless and free :
His valor shown upon our crests to-day
Hath taught us how to cherish such high
deeds 30
Even in the bosom of our adversaries.
Lan. I thank your grace for this high cour¬
tesy.
Which I shall give away immediately.
King. Then this remains, that we divide
our power.
You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland
Towards York shall bend you with your dear¬
est speed.
To meet Northumberland and the prelate
Scroop,
Who, as wq iiear, are busily in arms :
jiiyself and you, son Harry, will towards
Wales,
To fight with Glendower and the Earl of
March. 40
Rebellion in this land sh.all lose his sway.
Meeting the check of such another day :
And since this business so fair is done.
Let OS not leave till-all our own be won.
[Exeunt
KING HENRY IV. PART 1.
KING
HENRY IV. PART H.
(WRITTEN ABOUT 1597-08.)
INTRODUCTION.
[See Introduction to Part L]
DRAMATIS
Rumour, the Presenter.
Kino Henry the Fourth.
Henry, Prince of Wales, after- '
wards King Henry V., . .
Thomas, Duke of Clarence,
Prince John op Lancaster,
PrinceHujiphreyof Gloucester,,
Earl of Warwick.
Earl of Westmoreland.
Earl of Surrey.
Gower.
Harcourt.
Blunt.
Lord Chief-Justice of the King's Bench.
A Servant of the Chief-Justice.
Earl of Northumberland.
Scroop, Archbishop of York.
Lord Mowbray. i
Lord Hastings.
Lord B.ardolph.
Sir John Colevile.
Travers and Morton, retainers of Northum¬
berland. .
INDUCTION.
Warkworth. Before the castle.
Enter Barxlbxxi, painted full of-tongues
Rum. Open your ears ; for which of you
will stop
The vent of hearing when loud Rumour speaks ?
I, from the orient to the drooping west.
Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold
The acts commenced on this ball of earth :
Upon my tongues continual slanders ride.
The which in every language I pronounce.
Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.
I speak of peace, wliile covert enmity
Under the smile of safety wounds the world :
(414)
PERSONiE.
Sir John Falstaft.
His Page.
Bardolph.
pistou
POINS,
Peto.
Davy, Servant to Shallow.
Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, and
Bullcalf, recruits.
Fang and Snare, sheriffs officers.
Lady Northumberland.
Lady Percy.
Mistress Quickly, hostess of. a tavern is
Eastcbeap.
Doll Tearsueet.
Lords and Attendants; Porter, Drawers,
Beadles, Grooms, &c.
A Dancer, speaker of the epilogue.
Scene ; England.
And who but Rumour, who but only X, 11
Make fearful musters and prepared defence.
Whiles the big year, swolu with some other
grief.
Is thought with child by the stem tyrant war.
And no such matter 1 Rumour is a pipe
Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures.
And of so easy and so plain a stop
That the blunt monster with uncounted heads,
The still-discordant wavering multitude.
Can play upon it. But what need I thus 20
My well-known body to anatomize
Among my household ? . Why is Rumour
here ?
I run before King Harry's victory ;
Who in a bloody field by Shrewsbury
Scene i.]
KING HENRY
IV. PART II.
415
Hath beaten down young Hotspur and his
troops.
Quenching tne flame ol bold rebellion
Even with the rebel's blood. But what mean I
To siieak so true at first ? my office is
To noise abroad that Harry Monmouth fell
Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's swoi-d, 30
Arid that the king before the Douglas' rage
Stc^p'd bis anointed head as low as death.
This have I ruraor'd through the peasant
towns
Between that royal field of Shrewsbury
And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone,
Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland,
Lies crafty-sick : the posts come tiring on.
And not a man of them brings other news
Than they have learn'd of me: from Rumour's
tongues
They bring smooth comforts false, worse than
true wrongs. [Exit. 40
ACT I.
Scene I. The same.
Enter Lonn Bardolpb.
L. Bard. Who keeps the gate here, ho ?
The Porter opens the gate.
Where is the earl ?
Port. What shall I say you are ?
L. Bard. Tell thou the earl
That the Lord Bardolph doth attend him here.
Port. His lordship is walk'd forth into the
orchard ;
Please it your honor, knock but at the gate.
And he himself will answer.
Enter Nobthcuberiand. i
L. Bard. Here comes the earl.
[Exit Porter.
North. What news. Lord Bardolph ? every
minute now
Should be the lather of some stratagem :
The times are wild ; contention, like a horse
Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose
And bears down all before him. 11
L. Bard. Noble earl,
I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury.
North. Good, an God will!
L. Bard. As good as heart can wish :
The king is almost wounded to the death ;
And, in the fortune of my lord your son.
Prince Harry slain outnght ; and both the
Blunts
Kill'd by the hand of Douglas ; young Prhice
John
And Westmoreland and Stafford fled the field;
And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk Sir
John, •
Is prisoner to your son : O, such a day, 20
So fought, so loUow'd and so fairly won.
Came not till now to dignify the times, .
Since Csesar's fortunes!
North. How is this derived ?
Saw you the field 7 came you from Shrews¬
bury 7
L. Bard. I spake with one, my lord, IJiat
came from thence,
A gentleman well bred and of good name.
That freely render'd me these news for true.
North. Here comes my servant Travers,
whom I sent
On Tuesday last to listen after news.
Enter Travers.
L. Bard. My lord, I over-rode him on the
way ; 3(1
And he is fumish'd with no certainties
More than he haply may retail from mc.
North. Now, Travei-s, what good tidings
comes with you 7
Tra. My lord. Sir John Umfrevile tum'd
me back
With joyful tidings ; and, being better horsed,
Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard
A gentleman, almost forspent with speed,.
That stopp'd by me to breathe , his bloodied
horse.
He ask'd the way to Chester ; and of him
I did demand what news from Shrewsbury : 40
He told me that rebellion had bad luck
And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold.
With that, he gave his able horse the head.
And bending forward struck his armed heels
Against the panting sides of his poor jade,
Up to the rowel-head, and starting so
He seem'd in running to devour tlie way,
Staying no longer question.
North. Ha ! Again :
Said he young Harry Percy's spur was cold 7
Of Hotspur Coldspur 7 that rebellion 50
Had met ill luck 7
L. Bard. My lord, I'll tell you what;
If my young lord your son have not the day.
Upon mine honor, for a silken point
I'll give my barony : never talk of it.
■ North. Why ^ould that gentleman that
rode by Travers
Give then such instances of loss?
L. Bard. Who, he 7
He was some hildiug fellow that had stolen
The horse he rode on, and, upon my life.
Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more
.news.
Enter •Morton.
North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-
leaf, 60
Foretells the nature of a tragic volume :
So looks the strand whereon the imperious
flood
Hath left a witness'd usurpation.
Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrews¬
bury 7
Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble
lord ;
Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask
Tr /Jight our party.
North How doth my son and brother?
Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy
cheek
416
Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.
Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless, TO
So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begoue.
Drew Priam's curtain in Uie dead of night.
And would have told him half bis Troy was
burnt;
But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue.
And I my Percy's death ere thou report st it.
This thou wouldst say, ' Your son did thus and
thus ;
Your brother thus: so fought the noble Doug¬
las :'
Stopping my CTeedy ear with their bold deeds :
But in the end, to stop my ear indeed.
Thou bast a sigh to blow away this praise, 80
Ending with ' Brother, son, and all are dead.'
Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother,
yet;
But, for my lord your son,—
North. Why, he is dead.
See what a ready tongue suspicion hath !
He that but fears the thing he would not know
Hath by instinct knowledge from others' eyes
That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak,
Morton ;
Tell thou an earl his divination lies.
And I will take it as a sweet disgrace
And make thee rich for doing me such wrong.
Mor. You are too great to be by me gain¬
said : 91
Yonr spirit is too true, your fears too certain.
North. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's
dead.
I see a strange confession in thine eye :
Thou shakest tlry head and hold'st it fear or sin
To speak a truth. U he be slain, say so ;
The tongue offends not that reports his death :
And he doth sin that doth belle the dead.
Not he which says the dead is not alive.
Yet the first brihger of unwelcome news 100
Hath but a lo.sing oflSce, and his tongue
Sounds ever after as a sullen bell,
Reraember'd tolling a departing friend.
L. Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son
is dead.
Mor. I am sorry I should force you to be¬
lieve
That which I would to God I had not seen ;
But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state.
Rendering faini quittance, wearied and out-
breathed,
To Harry Monmoulh ; whose swift wrath beat
down
The never-daimted Percy to the earth, 110
From whence with life he never more sprung
up.
In few, his death, whose spirit lent a fire
Even to the dullest peasant in his camp.
Being bruited once, took fire and heat away
From the best temper'd courage in his troops:
For from his metal was his party steel'd ;
Which once in him abated, all the rest
Tum'd on themselves, like dull and heavy
lead :
And as the thing that's heavy in itself.
Upon enforcement flies with greatest speed.
tAori.
So did OUT men, heavy in Hotspur's loss, 121
Lend to this weight such lightness with their
fear
That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim
Than did our soldiers, aiming at tlieir saf^.
Fly from the field. Then was the noble Wor¬
cester
Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious
Scot,
Tlie bloody Douglas, whose well-laboring
sword
Had three times slain the appearance of the
king,
'Gan vail bis stomach and did grace the
shame
Of those that tum'd their backs, and in his
flight, 130
Stumbiing in fear, was took. The sum of all
Is that the king hath won, and hatli sent out
A speedy power to encounter you, my lord.
Under the conduct of young Lancaster
And Westmoreland. Tliis is the news at full.
North. For this I shall have time enough
to mourn.
In poison there is physic ; and these news.
Having been well, that would have made me
sick.
Being sick, have in some measure made me
well:
And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd
joints, 140
Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life.
Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire
Out of his keeper's arms, even so my limbs,
Weaken'd witli grief, being now eluded with
grief.
Are thrice themselves. Hence, therefore, thou
nice crutch!
A scaly gauntlet now with joints of steel
Must glove this band: and hence, tliou sickly
quoif !
Thou art a guard too wanton for the head
Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to
hit.
Now bind my brows with iron ; and approach
The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare
bring 151
To frown u^xin tlte enraged Northumberland !
Let heaven kiss earth ! now let not Nature's
hand
Keep the wild flood confined ! let order die !
And let this world no longer be a stage
To feed contention in a lingering act;
But let one spirit of the first-bom Cain
Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being
set
On bloody courses, the rude scene may end.
And darkness be the burierof the dead ! 160
Tra. This strained passion doth you wrcug,
my lord.
L. Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom
from your honor.
Mor. The lives of all your loving complices
Lean on your health ; the which, if you give
o'er
To stormy passion, must perforce decay.
KING HENRY IV. PART II.
scenb ii.]
KING HENRY IV. PART II.
417-
You cast the event of war, my noble lord,
And summ'd tlie account of chance, before
yon said
' Let us make head.' It was your presurmise,
Tliat, in the dole of blows, your son might
drop:
You knew he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge,
More likely to fali in than to get o'er ; 171
You were advised his flesli was cai>able
Of wounds and scars and that liis forward
spirit
Would lift him where most trade of danger
ranged:
Yet did you say ' Go forth ;' and none of this.
Though strongly apprehended, could restrain
The stiff-borne acticm: what hath then be¬
fallen.
Or what hath this bold \ enterprise brought
forth.
More tluin that being which was like to be ?
L. Bard. We all that are «igaged to this
loss 180
Knew that we ventured on such dangerous
seas
That if we wrought our life 'twas ten to one ;
And yet we ventured, for the gain proposed
Clioked the respect of likely peril fear'd ;
And since we are o'erset, venture again.
Come, we will all put foith, body and goods.
Mar. 'Tls more tiian time : and, my most
noble lord,
I hear for certain, and do speak the truth.
The gentle Arclibishop of York is up
With well-apiiointed ^wers : he is a man 190
Who with a double surety binds his follow¬
ers.
My lord your son had only but the corpse.
But shadows and the shows of men, to fight;
For that same word, rebellion, did divide
The action of their todies from their souls ;
And they did fight with queasiness,coustrain'd.
As men drink potions, that their weapons only
Seem'd on our side ; but, for their spirits and
souls,
This word, rebellion, it had froze them up.
As fish are in a pond. But now the bishop 200
Tunis insurrection to religion :.
Supposed sincere and holy in his thoughts.
He s followed both with body and with mind;
And doth enlarge his rising with the blood
Of fair King Richard, scraped from Pomfret
stones;'
Derives from heaven his quarrel and his
cause ;
Tells them he doth bestride a bleeding laud.
Gasping fo;- life under great Bolingbroke ;
And more aiid less do flock to follow him.
North. I knew of this before ; but; to
speak truth, 210
This present grief had wiped it from my mind.
Go ill with me ; and counsel «very man
The aptest way for safety and revenge :
Get posts and letters, aud make friends with
speed:
Never so few, and never yet more need.
[Exetmt.
Scene II. London. A street.
Enter Faestaff, with his Page hearing his
sioord and buckler.
Fat. Sirrah, you giant, what says the doc¬
tor to my water ?
Page. He said, sir, the water itself was a
good healthy water ; but, fur the party that
owed it, he might have more diseases than he
knew for.
Fal: Men of all sorts take a pride to gird
at me : the brain of this foolish-compounded
clay, man, is not able to invent anything that
tends to laughter, more tiian I invent or is in¬
vented on me; I am not only witty in myself,
but the cause tliat wit is in other men. I
do here walk before thee like a sow that hath
overwhelmed all her litter but one. If the
prince put thee into my service for any other
reason than to set me off, why then I have no
judgment. Thou whoreson mandrake, tliou
art fitter to be worn in niy cap tlian to wait at
my heels. I was never manned with an agate
till now: but I will inset you neither in gold nor
silver, but in vile apparel, and send you back
again to your roaster, for a jewel,—the juve-.
ual, the prince your master, whose chin is not
yet fledged. I will sooner have a beard
grow in the palm of my hand than he shall
get one on his cheek ; and yet he will not
stick to say his face is a face-royal: God may
finish it when he will, 'tis nut a hair amiss
yet: he may keep it still at a face-royal, for a
barber shall never earn sixpence out of it;
and yet he'll be crowing as if he had writ
man ever since bis father was a bachelor. He
may keep hi.s own grace, but he's almost out
of mine, I can assure him. What said Master.
Dombledoii about the satin for my short cloak
aud my slops ?
Page. He said, sir, you should procure him
better assurance than Bardolph : he would
not take his band aud yours ; he liked not the
security.
Fal. Let him be damned, like the glutton .'
pray God his tongue to hotter ! A whoreson
Achitophel! a rascally yea-forsooth knave !
to bear a gentleman in hand, aud then stand
upon security ! The whoreson smooth-pates
do now wear uothmg but high shoes, and
bunches of keys at their girdles ; and if a
man is through with them m honest taking
up, then they must stand upon security. 1
had as lief tliey would put ratsbane in my
mouth as offer to stop it with security. I
loolced a' should have sent me two and twenty
yards of satin, as I am a true knight, and he
sends me security. Well, he may sleep in se¬
curity ; for he hath the horn of abundance, and
the lightness of his wife shines through it:
and yet cannot he see, though he have his own
lanthorn to light him. Where's Bardolph ?
Page. He's gone into Smithfleld to buy your
worship a horse.
Fal. I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy
me a horse in Smithfield : an I could get me
27
418
KING HENRY IV. PART II.
[Act I.
but a wife in the stews, I were manned,
horsed, and wived. 61
Enter the Lord Chief-Justice and Servant.
Par/e. Sir, here %x)mes the nobleman that
committed tlie prince for striking him about
Bardolph.
F(. I. Wail, close ; I will not see him.
C7i. Ju.^t. What's he that goes there ?
Serv. FalstafE, au't please your lordship.
Ch.Jiist. He that was in question for the
robbery ? 09
Herv. He, my lord : but he hath since done
good service at Shrewsbury ; and, as I hear,
is now going with some chdrge to the Lord
Jolinof Lancaster.
Ch. Just. What, to York ? Call him back
again.
Serv. Sir John Falstafl !
Fal. Boy, tell him I am deaf.
Page. Yon must speak louder - my master
is deaf. 79
Ch. Just. I am sure he is, to the hearing of
any thing good. Go, plnck him by the elbow ;
I must speak with him.
Serv. Sir John !
Fal. What ! a young knave, and begging !
Is there not wars ? is there not employment ?
doth not the king lack subjects ? do not the
rebels need soldiers ? Though it be a shame
to be on any side but one, it is worse shame to
beg than to be on the worst side, were it worse
than the name of rebellion can tell how to
make it. 90
Sera. You mistake me, sir.
Fal. Why, sir, did I say you were an honest
man ? setting my knighthood and ray soldier¬
ship aside, 1 had lied in my throat, if I had
said so.
Serv. I pray you, sir, then set your knight¬
hood and yonr soldiership aside ; and give
me leave to tell you, you lie in your throat, if
yon say 1 am any otlierthan an honest man.
Fal. I give thee leave to tell me so ! I lay
aside that which grows to me ! If thou get-
test any leave of me, hang me ; if thou takest
leave, thou wert better be hanged. You hunt
counter: hence ! avannt!
Serv. ' Sir. my lord would speak with yon.
Ch. Just. Sir John Falstaff, a word with you.
Fol. .My good lord ! God give your lord¬
ship good time of day. I am glad to see yonr
lordshii) abroad : I heard say your lordship
was sick ; I hope your lordship goes abroad by
advice. Your lordship, though not clean past
your youth, hath yet some smack of age in
you, some relish of the saltness of time ; and
I must humbly beseech your lordship to have
a reverent care of your health.
Ch. Ju.si. Sir John, I sent for you before
your expedition to Shrewsbury.
Fal. An't please yonr lordship, I hear his
majesty is returned with some discomfort
from Wales.
Ch. Just. I talk not of his majesty : you
would not come when I sent fof you, 121
Fal And I heari moreover, his highness is
fallen into tliis same whoreson apoplexy.
Ch. Just. Well, God mend Dim ! I pray
yon, let me speak with you.
Fal. This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind
of lethargy, an t please your lordship ; a kind
of sleeping in the blood, a whoreson tingling.
Ch. Just. What tell yon me of it ? be it as
it is. liiO
Fal. It hath its original from much grief,
from study and perturbation of the brain ; 1
liave read the cause of his effects in Galen ;
it is a kind of deafness.
Ch. Just. I think you are fallen into the
disea.se ; for you hear not what I say to you.
Fal. Very well, my lord, very well ; ra¬
ther, an't please you, it is the di.sease of not
listening, the malady of not marking, that I
am troubled withal. 140
Ch. Just. To punish you by the heels would
amend the attention of your ears ; and I care
not if I do become your physician.
Fal. I am as poor as Jol^ my lord, but not
so patient: your lordship may minister the
potion of imprisonment to me in respect of
poverty ; but how should I be your patient to
foUow your prescriptions, the wise may make
some dram of a scruple, or indeed a scruple
itself.
Ch. Just. 1 sent for you, when there were
matters against you for your life, to come
speak with me.
Fal. As I was then advised by my learned
counsel in the laws of this land-service, X did
not come.
Ch. Just. Well, the truth is. Sir John, you
live in great infamy.
Fal. He that buckles him in my belt can¬
not live in less.
Ch. Just. Your means are very slender,
and your waste is gre^t. 160
Fal. I would it were otherwise ; I would
my means were greater, and my waist slen¬
derer. {prince.
Ch. Just. You have misled the youthful
Fal. The young prince hath misled me : I
am the fellow with the great belly, and he my
dog.
Ch. Just. Well, I am loath to gall a new-
healed wound : your day's service at Shrews¬
bury hath a little gilded over your night's ex¬
ploit on Gad's-hill : you may thauk the un¬
quiet time for your quiet o'er-postiug that ac¬
tion. 171
Fal. My lord ?
Ch. Jxist. But since all is well, keep it so :
wake not a sleeping wolf.
Fal. To wake a wolf is as bad as to smell a
fox.
Ch. Just. What 1 you are as a caudle, the
better part burnt out.
Fal. A wassail caudle, my lord, all tallow r
if 1 did say of wax, my growth would approve
the truth. 181
Ch. Just. There Is not a white hair on your
face but should have his effect of gravity.
Scene hi.]
KING HENRY IV. PART II.
419
Fal. His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy.
Ch.Jutt. You follow the young prince Up
and dowiu like his ill angel.
Fal. Not so, my lord ; your ill angel is
light; but 1 hope he that looks upon me wHl
take me without weighing: and yet, in some
respects. I grant, I cauuot go : I cannot tell.
Virtue is of so little regard in these coster-
monger tiroes that true valor is turned bear-
herd : pregnancy is made a tapster, and hath
his quick wit wasted in giving reckonings : all
the other gifts appertiuent to man, as the
malice of this age shapes them, are not worth
a gooseberry. You that are old consider not
the capacities of us that are young ; you do
measure the heat of our livers with the bitter¬
ness of your galls; and we that are in the
vaward of our youtli, I must confess, are wags
too. 200
Ch. Just. Do you set down your name in
the scroll of youth, thait are written down old
with all the characters of age ? Have you not
a moist eye ? a dry hand ? a yellow cheek ?
a white beard ? a decreasing leg ? an increas¬
ing belly ? is not your voice broken ? your
wind short ? your chin double ? your wit sin¬
gle ? and every part about you blasted with
antiquity ? and will you yet call yourself
young ? Fie, fie, fie, Sir John !
F<u. My lord, I was bom about three of
the clock in the afternoon, with a white head
and something a round belly. For my voice, I
have lost it with halloing and singing of
anthems. To approve my youth further, I
will not i the truth is, I am only old in judg¬
ment and understanding ; and he that will
caper with me for a thousand marks, let him
lend me the money, and have at him I For
the box of'the ear that the prince gave you,
he gave it like a rude prince, and you took it
like a sensible lord. I have checked him for
it, and the young lion repents ; marry, not in
ashes and sackcloth, but in new silk and old
sack.
Ch. Just. Well, God send the prince a bet¬
ter companion !
Fal. God send the companion a better
prince I I cannot rid my hands of him.
Ch. Just. Well, the king hath severed you
and Prince Harry : 1 hear you are going with
Lord John of Lancaster against the Arch¬
bishop and the FArl of Northumberland. 2.30
Fat. Yea ; I thank your pretty sweet wit
for it. But look you pray, all you that ki.ss
my lady Peace at home, that our armies join
not in a hot day ; for, by the Lord, I take but
two shirts out with me, and I mean not to
sweat extraordinarily : if it be a hot day, and
I brandish any thing but a bottle, I would I
might never, spit white again. - There is not a
dangerous action can peep out his head but I
am thrust upon it: well, I cannot last ever ;
but it was alway yet the tiick of our Eng¬
lish nation, if they have a good thing, to
make it too common. If ye will needs say I
am an oid man, you should give me rest. 1
would to dod my name were not so terrible
to the enemy as it is ; I were better to be
eaten to death with a rust thau to be scoured
to nothing with perpetual motion.
Ch. Just. Well, be honest, be honest; and
God bless your expedition 1
Fal. Will your lordship lend me a thou¬
sand pound to furnish me forth ? 251
Ch. Just. Not a penny, not a penny ; yoa
are too impatient to bear crosses. Fare you
well: commend me to my cousin Westmore,
land. [Exeunt Chief-Justice and Servant.
Fal. If 1 do, fillip me with a three-man
beetle. A man can no more separate age and
covetottsness thau a' can part young limbs and
lechery : but the gout galls the one, and the
pox pinches the other ; and so both the de¬
grees prevent my curses. Boy I 260
Page. Sir ? .
Fal. What money is in my purse ?
Page. Seven groats and two pence.
Fal. I can get no remedy against this con¬
sumption of the purse : borrowing only lin¬
gers and lingers it out, but tlie disease is in¬
curable. Go bear this letter to my Lord of
Lancaster; this to the prince; this to the
Earl of Westmoreland ; and this to old Mis¬
tress Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to
marry since I perceived the first white hair on
my chin. About it: you know where to find
me. [Exit Page.'] A pox of this gout! or, a
gout of this pox! for the one or the other
plays the rogue with my great toe. 'Tis no
matter if I do halt; I have the wars for my
color, and my pension shall seem the more
reasonable. A good wit will make use of any
thing: I will tuni diseases to commodity.
[Exit.
Scene III. York. The Arcobisbov's palace.
Enter the Abchbishop, the Lords Hastings,
Mowbray, and Bardolph.
Arch. Thus have yon heard our cause and
known our means ;
And, my most noble friends, I pray yon all,
Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes :
And first, lord marshal, what say you to it ?
Mowb. I well allow the occasion of our
arms ;
But gladly would be better satisfied
How in our means we should advance our¬
selves
To look with forehead bold and big enough
Upon the power and puissance of the king.
Hast. Our present musters grow upon the
file 10
To five and twenty thousand men of choice ;
And our supplies live largely in the hope
Of great Northumberland, whose bosom bums
With an incensed fire of injuries.
L. Bard. The miestion then, Lord Hast¬
ings, standeth thus ; [sand
Whether our present five and twenty thou-
May hold up head without Northumberland ?
Hast. With him, we may.
420
KING HENRY IV. PART II.
(Act 11.
L. Bard. Yea, marry, there's the point:
But if without him we be thought too feeble,
My judgmeut is, we should not step too far
Till we had his assistance by the hand ; 21
For in a theme so bloody-faced as this
Conjecture, expectation, and surmise
Of aids incertain should not be admitted.
Arch. 'Tis very true, .Lord Bardolph ; for
indeed
It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury.
L. Bard. It was, my lord ; who lined him¬
self with hope,
Eating the air on promise of supply,
Flattering himself in project of a power
Much smaller than the smallest ol his
thoughts; SO
And so, with great imagination
Proper to madmen, led his powers to death
Ana winking leap'd into destruction.
Hast. But, by your leave, it never yet did
hurt
To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope.
L. Bard. tYes, if this present quality of
war.
Indeed the instant action ; a cause on loot
Lives so in hope as in an early spriug
We see the appearing buds ; which to prove
fruit,
Hope gives not so much warrant as despair 40
Tnat frosts will bite them. When we mean
to build.
We first survey the plot, then draw Bie
model; -
And when we see the figure of the house,
Then must we rate the cost of the erection ;
Which if we find outweighs ability.
What do we then but dniw anew the model
In fewer offices, or at last desist
To build at all ? Much more, in this great
work.
Which is almost to pluck a kin4:dom down
And set another up, should we survey 50
The plot of situation and the model.
Consent upon a sure foundation.
Question surveyors, know our own estate.
How able such a work to undergo.
To weigh against his opposite ; or else
We fortify in paper and in figures,
LTsing the names of men instead of men ;
Like one that draws the model of a house
Beyond his power to build it; who, half
through.
Gives o'er and leaves his part-created cost 60
A naked subject to the weeping clouds
And waste for churlish winter's tyranny.
Hast. Grant that our hopes, yet likely of
fair birth, [sess'd
Should be still-bom, and that we now pos-
The utmost man of expectation,
1 think we are a body strong enough.
Even as we are, to equal with the king.
B. Bard. What, is the king but five and
twenty thousand ?
Hast. To us uo more -, nay,- not so much.
Lord Bardolph.
For his divisions, as the times do brawl, 70
Are in three heads : one power against the
French,
And one against Glendower ; perforce a third
Must take up us : so is the uunrm king
In three divided ; and his coffers sound
With hollow poverty and emptiness.
Arch. That he should draw his several
strengths togetlier
And come against us in full puissance,
Keed not be dreaded.
Hast. If he should do so.
He leaves his bach uuarm'd, the French and
Welsh
Baying him at the heels : never fear that. 80
L. Bard. Who is it like should lead his
forces hither ?
Hast. The Duke of Lancaster gnd West¬
moreland ;
Against the Welsh, himself and Harry Mon¬
mouth : f
But who is substituted 'gainst the French,
I have no certain notice.
Arch. Let us op.
And publish the occasion of our arms.
The eommonwealth is sick of their own
choice ;
Their over-greedy love hath surfeited :
An habitation giddy and unsure
Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart 90
O thou fond many, with what loud applause
Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Boling-
broke, [be!
Before he was what thou wouldst have him
And beiug now trimm'd in4:hiue own desires.
Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him,.
That thou provokest thyself to east him up.
So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge
Thy giuttou bosom of the royal Richard ;
And now thou wouldst eat thy dead vomit
up.
And howl'st to find it. What trust is in tliese
times 7 100
They that, when Richard lived, would have
him die.
Are now become euamor'd on his grave :
Thou, that threw'st dust upon nis goodly
head
When through proud London he came sigh¬
ing on
After the admired heels of Bolingbroke,
Criest now ' O earth, yield us that king again.
And take thou this !' O thoughts of men
accursed!
Pastiand to come seems best; things present
worst.
Mawb. Shall we go draw our numbers and
set on 7
Hast. We are time's subjects, and time
bids be gone. {Ezeunt. 110
ACT XL
Scene L London. A street.
Enter Hostess, Fano and his Boy wiOt her,
and SsAUB following.
SCENB I.]
Hott. Master Fang, have yon entered the
action 7
Pang. It la entered.
Host. Where's your yeoman 7 Is't a lusty
yeoman 7 will a' stand to't 7
Fang. Sirrah, wbere's Snare 7
Host. O Lord, ay! good Master Snare.
Snare. Here, here.
Fang. Snare, we must arrest Sir John Fal-
stail. 10
Host. Yea, good Miister Snare ; I have en¬
tered hhn and all.
Snare. It may chance cost some of us our
lives, for he will stab.
Host. Alas the day ! take heed of him ; he
stabbed me in mine own house, and that most
beastlv: in good faith, he cares not what mis¬
chief ne does, if his weapon be out: he will
foin like any devil; he will spare neither man,
woman, nor child. 20
Fang. If I can close with him, I care not
for his thrust.
Host. No, nor I neither: Til be at your
elbow.
Fang. An I but fist him once ; an a' come
but within my vice,—
Host. I am undone by his going ; I warrant
you, he's an infinitive thing upon my score.
Good Master Fang, hold him sure : good Mas¬
ter Snare, let him not 'scape. A' comes con-
tinuantly to Pie-coi-ner—saving your manlioods
—to buy a saddle ; and he is indited to dinner
to the Lubber'8-head in Lumbert street, to
Master Smooth's the silkman : I pray ye, since
my exion is entered and my case so openly
known to the world, let him be brought in to
his answer., A hundred mark is a long one for
a poor lone woman to bear: and ' have borne,
and borne, and bonie, and have •. w>n fubbed
off, and fubbed off, and fubbed off, from this
day to that day, that it isa shame to be thought
on. There is no honesty in such dealing ; un¬
less a woman should be made an ass and a
beast, to bear every knave's wrong. Yonder
be comes ; and that arrant malmsey-nose
knave, Batdolph, with him. Do your offices,
do your offices : Master Fang and Master
Snare, do me, do me, do me your offices.
Enter Falstaff, Page, and Bardolph.
Fal. How now! whose mare's dead 7 what's
the matter 7
Fang. Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of
Mistress Quickly. 49
Fal. Away, varlets I Draw, Bardolph: cut
me off the villain's head : throw the quean in
the channel.
Host. Throw me in the channel I I'll throw
thee in fhe channel. Wilt thou 7 wilt thou 7
thou bastardly rogue! Murder, murder ! Ah,
thou honey-suckle villain ! wMt thou kill God's
officers and the king's 7 Ah, thou honey-seed
rogue ! thou art a honey-seed, a man-queller,
and a woman-qneller.
Fal. Keep them off, Bardolph. 60
Fang. A rescue I a rescue I
421
Host. Good people, bring r. 'escne or two.
Tliou wo't, wo't thou 7 thou wo't, «vo't ta 7 do,
dojthou rogue ! do, thou hemp-seed !
Fal. Away, you scullion ! you rampaltion ;
you fustilarian i I'll tickle your catastrophe.
Enter the Lord Chief-Jdstice, and his men.
Ch. Just. What is the matter 7 keep the
peace here, ho!
Host. Good my lord, be good to me. I be¬
seech you, stand to me. 70
Ch. Just. How now. Sir John ! what are
you brawling here 7
Doth this become your place, your time and
business 7 ,
You shouid have been ^vell on your way to
York. '
Stand from him, fellow: wherefore hang'st
upon him 7
Host. O most worshipful lord, an't please
your grace, 1 am a poor widow of Eastcheap,
and he is arrested at my suit.
Ch. Just. For what sum 7
Host. It is more than for some, my lord; it
if for all, all 1 have. He hath eaten me out of
house and home ; he hath put all my substance
into that fat belly of his : but 1 will have some
of it out again, or 1 will ride thee o' nights like
the mare.
Fal. 1 think 1 am as like to ride the mare,,
if 1 have any vantage of ground to get up.
Ch. Just. How comes this. Sir John 7 Fie*
what man of good temper would endure this
tempest of exclamation 7 Are you not ashamed
to enforce a poor widow to so rough a course
to come by her own 7 90
Fal. H^at is the gross sum that I owe
thee 7
Host. Marry, if thou wert an honest man,
thyself and the money too. Thou didst swear
to me upon a parcel-^lt goblet, sitting in my
Dolphin-chamber, at the round table, by a sea-
coaf fire, upon Wednesday in Wheeson week,
when the prince broke thy head for liking his
father to a singing-man of Windsor, thou didst
swear to me then, as I was washing thy wound,
to marry me and make me my lady thy wife.
Canst thou deny it 7 Did not goodwife Keech,
the butcher's vvife, come in then and call me
gossip Quickly ? coming in to borrow a mess
of vinegar ; telling us she had a good dish of
prawns; whereby toou didst desire to eat some;
whereby I told thee they were ill for a green
wound 7 And didst thou not, when she was
gone down stairs, desire me to be no more so
familiarity with such poor people ; saying that
ere long they should call me madam 7 And
didst thou not kiss me and bid me fetch thee
thirty shillings 7 1 put thee now to thy book-
oath : deny it, if thou canst.
Fal. My lord, this is a poor mad soul; and
she says up and down the town that the eldest
son is like yon : she hath been in good case,
and the truth is, poverty hath distracted her.
But for these foolish officers, 1 beseech you I
may have redress against them.
KING HENRY IV. PART II.
422
Ch. Just. Sir John, Sir John, I. am well
acquainted with your manner of wrenching the
true cause the false way. It is not a confident
brow, nor the throng of words that come with
such more than impudent sanciness from you,
can thrust me from a level consideration: you
have, as it appears to me, practi.sed upon the
easy-yielding spirit of this woman, and made
r.er serve your uses both in purse and in per-
jou.
Host. Yea, in truth, my loi-d.
Ch. Just. Pray thee, peace. Pay her the
debt you owe her, and uupay the villauy you
have done her: the one you may do with ster¬
ling money, and the other with current repent¬
ance.
Fat. My lord, I will not undergo this sneap
without reply. You call honorable boldness
impudent sauciness : if a man will make cour¬
tesy and say nothing, he is virtuous : no, my
lord, my humble duty remembered, 1 will not
be your suitor. 1 say to you, 1 do desire de¬
liverance from these officers, being upon hasty
employment in the king's affairs. 140
Ch. Just. You speak as having power to do
wrong: but answer in the effect of your rep¬
utation, aud satisfy the poor woman.
FcU. Come hither, hostess.
Entev Gower.
Ch. Just. Now, Master Gower,what news?
Q<rw. The king, my lord, aud Harry Prince
of Wales
Are near at h.aud : the rest the paper tells
F(d. As I am a gentleman.
Host. Faith, you said so before.
Fat. As 1 am a gentleman. Come, no more
words of it 131
Host. By this heavenly ground 1 tread on, 1
must be fain to pawn both my plate and the
tajjestry of my diniug-chambers.
Fat. Glasses, glasses is the only drinking :
and for thy walls, a pretty slight drollery, or
the story of the Prodigal, or the German hunt¬
ing in water-work, is worth a thousand of these
bed-hangings and these fly-bitten tapestries.
Let it be ten pound, if tliou canst. Come, an
'twere not for thy humors, there's not a bet¬
ter wench in England. Go, wash thy face, and
draw the action. Come, thou must not be in
this humor with me; dost not know me t come,
come, 1 know tliou wast set on to this.
Host. Pray tliee, Sir John, lot it be but
twenty nobles : i' faith, I am loath to pawn
my plate, so God save me, la !
Fm. Let it alone ; I'll make other shift:
you'll be a fool still. 170
Host. Well, you shall have it, though 1 pawn
my gown. 1 hope you'll come to supper. You'll
pay me all together ?
Fat. Will 1 five ? [To Bardolphi Go,with
herewith her ; hook on, hook on.
Host. Will you have Doll Tearsheet meet
you at supper ?
Fat. No more words ; let's have her.
\Exe\mt Hostess, Bm-dol^h, Officers and Boy.
[Act i;.
Ch. Just. 1 liave heard better news.
Fal. What's the news, my lord ? 180
Ch. Just. Where lay the king last night ?
Gow. At Basingstoke, my lord.
Fal. 1 hope, my lord, ail's well : what is
the news, my loivl ?
Ch. Just. Come all his forces back ?
Gow. No ; fifteen hundred foot, five him-
dred horse,
Are marched up to my lord of Lanca.ster,
Against Northumberland and the Archbishop.
Fal. Comes the king back from Wales, nsy
noble lord ?
Ch. Just. You shall have letters of me pres¬
ently; 190
Come, go along with me, good Master Gower.
Fal. My lord !
Ch. Just What's the matter ?
Fal. Master Gower, shall 1 entreat you with
me to dinner ?
Gow. I must wait upon my good lord here;
I thank you. good Sir John.
Ch. Just. Sir John, you loiter here too long,
being you are to take soldiers up in counties
as you go. 200
Fal. Will you sup with me, Master Gower?
Ch. Just. What foolish master taught you
these manners. Sir John ?
Fed. Master Gower, if they become me not,
he was a fool that taught them me. This is the
right fencing grace, my lord ; tap for tap, and
soj^rt fair.
Ch. Just. Now the Lord lighten thee! thou
art a great fool. [Exeunt.
Scene II. London. Another street.
Enter Prince Henrt and Poins.
Prince. Before God, I am exceedhig weaiy.
Poins. Is't come to that ? I had thought
weariness durst not have attached one of so
high blood.
Prince. Faith, it does me ; thongh it dis¬
colors the complexion of my greatness to ac¬
knowledge it. Doth it not show vilely in me
to desire small beer ?
Poins. Why, a prince should not be so
loosely studied as to remember so weak a com¬
position.
Prince. Belike them my appetite was not
princely got; for, by my troth, 1 do now re¬
member the poor creature, small beer. But,
indeed, these humble considerations make me
out of love with my greatuesa What a dis¬
grace is it to me to remember thy name ! or to
know thy face to-morrow! or to take note how
many pair of silk stockings thou hast, viz. these)
and those that were thy peach-colored ones!
or to bear the inventory of thy shii-ts, as, one
for superfluity, and another for use 1 But that
the tennis-court-keeper knows better than 1;
for it is a lovy ebb of linen with thee when thou
keepest not racket there; as thou hast not done
p. great while, because the rest of thy low coun¬
tries have made a shift to eat up thy holland:
and God knows, whether those that bawl out
KING HENRY IV. PART fl.
Scene ii.]
KING HENRY IV. PART II.
m
the ruins of thy linen shall inherit his king¬
dom : but the midwires say the children are
not in the fault! wherenj)on the world increases,
and kindreds are mightily strengthened.
Poins. How ill it follows, after you have
labored so hard, yon should talk so idly! Tell
me, how many good young princes would do
so, their fathers being so sick as yours at this
time is ? ■
Prince. Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins ?
Poins. Yes, faith ; and let it be an excellent
good thing.
Prince. It shall ser^ve among wits of no
hi^er breeding tlian thine.
Poins. Go to ; I stand the push of your one
thing that you will tell. 41
Prince. Marry, I tell thee, it is not meet
that I slionld be .sad, now my father is sick :
albeit I conld tell thee, as to one it (rteases ine,
for fault of a better, to call my friend, I could
be sad, and sad indeed too.
Poins. Very hardly upon such a Subject.
Prince. By this hand, thou thinkest me as
far in the devil's book as thon and Falstaff for
obduracy and pei'sistency: let the end try the
man. But I tell thee, my heart bleeds inwardly
that my father is so sick: and keeping sueh vile
company as thou art hath in reason taken from
me all ostentation of sorrow.
Poins. The reason ?
P, •ince. What wouldst thou think of me, if
I should weep ?
Poins. I would think thee a most princely
hypocrite. 5!)
Prince. It would be every man's thought ;
and thou art a blessed fellow to think as every
man thinks : never a -man's thought in the
world keeps the road-way better than thine :
every man wotdd think me an hypocrite in¬
deed. And what acoites your most worshipful
thought to think so ?
Poins. Why, because you have been so lewd
and so much engrailed to Falstaff.
Prince. And to thee.
Poins. By this light, I am well spoke on ;
I can hear it with my own ears*, the worst that
they can say of me is that I am a second
brother and that I am a proper fellow of my
hands ; and those two things, I confess, I
cannot help. By the mass, here comes Bar-
dolph.,
. Enter Babdoeph and Page.
Prince. And the boy that I gave Falstaff :
a' had him from me Christian ; and look, if
the fat villain have not transformed him ape.
Bard. God save your grace !
Prince. And yours, most noble Bardolph !
Bard. Come, you virtuous ass, you bashful
fool, must you be blushing ? wherefore blush
you now ? What a maidenly ilkiu-at-arms are
you become ! Is't such a matter to get a pottle-
pot's maidenhead ?
Page. A' calls me e'en now, my lord,
through a Md lattice, and 1 could discern no
part of his lace from the window : at last I
spied his eyes, and metbought he had made
two holes in the ale-wife's new petticoat and
so peeped thiough.
Prince. Has not the boy profited ? 90
Bard. Away, you whoreson upright rabbit,
away !
Page. Away, you rascally Althsea^ dream,
away !
Prince. Instruct us, boy ; what dream,
boy 1
Page. Marry, my lord, Althma dreamed
she was delivered of a fire-brand ; and there¬
fore I call him her dream.
Prince. A crown's worth of good interpre-,
tation : there 'tis, boy. 100
Poins. O, that this good blossom could be
kept from caukers 1 Well, there is sixpence to
preserve thee.
Bard. An you do not make him hanged
among you, the gallow.^ shall have wrong.
Prince. And how doth thy master, Bar¬
dolph ?
Bard. AVell, my lord. He heard of your
grace's coming to town : there's a letter for
yon.
Poins. Delivered with good respect. And
how doth the martleinas, your master ? 110
Bai-d. In bodily health, sir.
Poins. Marry, the immortal i>art needs a
physician ; but that moves not him : though
that be sick, it dies not.
Prince. I do allow this wen to be as famil¬
iar with me as my dog ; and he holds his
place ; for look you how he writes.
Poins. [.Beads] ' John Falstaff, knight,'—
every man must know that, as oft as he lias
occasion to name himself: even like those that
are kin to the king ; for they never prick their
finger but they say, ' There's some of the
king's blood spdt.' ' How comes that ?' says
he, that hikes upon him not to conceive. The
answer is as ready as a borroivcr's cap, ' I am
the king's poor cousin, sir.'
Prince. Nay, they will be kin to us, or they
will fetch it from Japhet. But to the letter :
Poins. [Beads] ' Sir John Falstaff, knight,
to the son of the king, nearest his father, Har¬
ry Prince of Wales, greeting.' Why, this is a
certificate. '
Prince. Peace !
Poins. [Beads] ' I will imitate the honor¬
able Romans in brevity :' he sure means bre¬
vity in breath, short-winded. ' I commend me
to thee, I commend thee, and I leave thee. Be
not too familiar with Poins ; for he misuses
thy favors so much, that lie swears thou art to
marry hissister Nell. Repent at idle times as^
thou mayest; and so, farewell. 141
' Thine, by yea and no, which is as
much as to say, as thon usest him,
Jack Faestaff with my familiars,
John with my brothers and sisters,
and Sir John with all Europe.'
My lord, I'll steep this letter in sack and make
him eat it. '
Prince. That's to make him eat twenty of
m
his words. But do you use me thus, Ned ?
must I marry your sister? 151
Poins. God send the wench no worse for¬
tune ! But I never said so.
Prince. Weii, tiius we piay the fools with
the time, and tlie spirits of the wise sit in the
clouds and mock us. Is yonr master here in
Loudon ?
Bard. Yea, my lord.
Prince. Where sups he ? doth the old hoar
feed in the old frank ? 160
Bard. At the old place, my lord, in East-
cheap.
Prince. What company ?
, Page. Ephesians, my lord, of the old church.
Prince. Sup any women with him ?
Page. None, my lord, but old Mistress
Quickly and Mistress DoUTearsheet.
Prince. What pagan may that be ?
Page. A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a
kinswoman of my master's. 170
Prince. Even such kin as the parish heifers
are to the town bull. Sliail we steal upon them,
Ned, at supper? Tlow you.
Poins. I am your shadow, my lord ; I'll foi-
Prince. Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no
word to your master that I am yet come to
town : there's for your silence.
Bard. I have no tongue, sir.
Page. And for mine, sir, I will govern it. 180
Prince. Fare you well ; go. {Exeunt Bar¬
dolph and Page.'] This Doll Tearsheet should
be some road.
Poins. I warrant you, as common as the
way between Saint Ai ban's and London.
Prince. How migiit we see Faistaff bestow
himself to-night in his true colors, and not our¬
selves be seen ?
Poins. Put on two leathern jerkins and
aprons, and wait upon him at his table as
drawers. 191
Pi •ince. From a Gk)d to a bull? a heavy
descension ! it was Jove's case. From a prince
to a |)rentice ? a low transformation! that shali
be mine ; for in every thing the purpose must
weigh with the folly. Follow me, ifed.
[Exeunt.
Scene III. Warkworih. Before the castle.
Enter Northumberland, Lady Nobthum-
berland, and Lady Percy.
North. I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle
daughter.
Give even way unto my rough affairs :
Put not you on the visage of the times
And be like them to Percy troublesome.
Lady N. I have given over, I will speak no
more :
Do what you will; yonr wisdom be your
guide.
North. Alas, sweet wife, my honor is at
pawn ;
And, but my going, nothing can redeem it
Lady P. 0 yet, for God's sake, go not to
these wars ! «
[Act ii.
The time was, father, that you broke your
word, 10
When you were more endeared to it than now;
When your own Percy, when my heart's dear
Harry,
Threw many a northward look to see his
father
Bring up his powers ; but he did long in vain.
Who then persuaded you to stay at home ?
There were two honors lost, yours and your
son's.
For yours, the God of heaven brighten it!
For his, it stuck upon him as the sun
In the grey vault of heaven, and by his light
Did all the chivalry of England move 20
To do brave acts : be was indeed the glass
Wherein the noble youth did dress tliemselves:
He iiad no legs that practised not his gait;
And speaking thick, which nature made his
biemisn,
Became the accents of tlie valiant;
For those tliat could speak low and tardily
Would turn their own perfection to abuse.
To seem like him : so that in speech, in gait,
In diet, in affections of deiiglit.
In military rules, humors of blood, JO
He was the mark and glass, copy and book.
That fashion'd others. And liim, O vnr-
drous him!
O miracle of men ! him did you leave.
Second to none, unseconded by you.
To look upon the hideous god of war
In disadvant^e ; to abide a field
Wiiere nothing but the sound of l"otspi»r's
name
Did seem defensible : so you left him.
Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong
To hold your honor more precise and nice 40
With others than with him I let t)iem alone ;
The marshal and tiie archbishop are strong :
Had my sweet Harry had but h^lf their num¬
bers.
To-day might I, hanging on Hf tspur's neck.
Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave.
North. Beshrew your heart.
Fair daughter, you do drav my spirits from
me
With new lamenting ancient oversights.
But I must go and meet wi'h danger there.
Or it will seek me in anotlier place
And find me worse provided.
Lady N. O, fly to Scotland, 50
Till thiit the nobles and tJ e armed commons
Have of their puissance made a little taste.
Lady P. If tiiey get 'ground and vantage of
the king.
Then join you with them, like a rib of steel.
To make strength stiouger; but, for all our
loves.
First let them try "liemselves. So did yoat
son ;
He was so snffer'd : so came I a widow ;
And never shali have length of life enough
To rain uixm remembrance with mine eyes.
That it may grow and sprout as high as hea-
60
KING HENRY IV. PART II.
SCBMB iv.]
KING HENRY
IV, PART II.
425
For recordation to my noble hnsband.
North. Come, come, go in with me. 'Tie
with my mind
As with the tide swell'd up luito his height.
That makes a still-staud, running neither way:
Fain would I go to meet the archbishop.
But many thousand reasons hold me back.
I will resolve for Scotland : there am 1,
Till time and vantage crave my company.
[Exeunt.
Scene IV. London. The Boar's-head Tavern
in Eastcheap.
Enter two Drawers.
FirH Draw. What the devil hast thou
brought there ? apnle^johus ? thou knowest
Sir John caunot endure an apple-John.
Sec. Draw. Mass, thou sayest true. The
prince once set a dish of apple^ohns before
him, and told him there were five more Sir
Johns, and, putting ofi his hat, said ' I will now
take my leave of these six dry, round, old,
withered knights.' It angered him to the
heart: but he hath forgot tliat. 10
Firet Draw. Why, then, cover, and set tiiem
down : and see if thou canst find out Sneak's
nmse ; Mistress. Tearsheet would fain hear
some music. Dispatch : the room where they
supped is too hot; they'll come in straight.
■Sec. Draw, Sirrah, here will be the prince
and Master Poins anon ; and tliey will put on
two of our jerkins and aprons ; and Sir John
must not know of it: Bardolph hath brought
word. 20
First Draw. By the mas.s, here will be old
Utis c it will be an excellrat stratagem.
Sec. Draw. I'll see if I can find out Sneak.
[Exit.
Enter Hostess and Doni. Tearsheet.
Host. I' faith, sweetheart, methinks now
you are in an excellent good temporality: your
pulsidge beats as extraordinarily as heart
would desire ; and your color, I warKint you,
is as red as any rose, in good truth, la ! But,
i' faith, you have drunk too much canaries;
and that s a marvellous searching wine, and it
perfumes the blood ere one can say ' What's
tills 1' How do you now ?
Dol. Better than I was : hem !
Host. Why, that's well said ; a good heart's
Worth gold. Lo, here comes Sir John.
Enter Falstaff.
Fal. [Singing] ' When Arthur firstin court,'
—Empty the Jordan. [Exit First Drawer.]—
[Singing] ' And was a worthy king.' How
nowj Mistress Doll! .
Host. Sick of a calm ; yea, good faith. 40
Fal. So is all her sect; an they be once in
a calm, they are sick. •
Dol. You muddy rascal, is that all the
comfort you give me ?
Fal. You ms^e fat rascals. Mistress Doll.
Dol. I make them ! gluttony and diseases
make them s I make them not.
Fal. If the cook help to make the gluttony,
you help to make the diseases, Doll: we catch
of you, Doll, we catch of you ; grant that, my
poor virtue, grant that. 51
Dol. Yea, joy, our chains and our jewels.
Fal. ' Your brooches, pearls, and ouches :'
for to serve bravely is to come halting off, y^ou
know : to come off the breach with his pike
bent bravely, and to surgery bravely ; to
venture utx>n tlie charged chambers bravely,—
Dol. Hang yourself, you muddy conger,
ha^ yourself ! 59
^st. By my troth, this is the old fashion ;
you two never meet but you fall to some dis¬
cord : you are both, i' good truth, as rheumatic
as two dry toasts; you camiot one bear with
another's coufirmities. What the good-year !
one must bear, and that must be you : you
are the weaker vessel, as they say, the emptier
vessel. /
Dol. Can a weak empty vessel bear such a
huge full hogshead ? there's a whole mer¬
chant's venture of Bourdeaux stuff in him ;
you have not seen a hulk better stuffed in the
hold. Come, I'll be friends with thee. Jack :
thou art going to the wars ; and whether I
shall ever see thee again or no, there is nobody
cares.
Re-enter First Drawei;.
Fira Draw. Sir, Ancient Pistol's below,
and would speak with you.*
Dol. Hang him, swaggering rascal! let
him not come hither : it is the foul-mouthed'st
rogue in England.
Host. If he swagger, let him not come here:
no, by my faith ; 1 must live among my ueigh-
^rs : I'll no swaggerei-s : I am in goM name
and fame with the very best: shut the door ;
there comes no swaggerers here : 1 have not
lived all this while, to have swaggering now :
shut the door, 1 pray you. *
• Fal. Dost thou hear, hostess ?
Host. Pray ye, pacify yourself. Sir John :
there comes no swaggerers here.
Fal. Dost thou hear ? it is mine ancient.
Host. Tilly-fally, Sir John, ne'er tell me :
your ancient swaggerer comes not in my doors.
1 was before Master Tisick, the debuty, t'other
day ; and, as he said to me,, 'twas no longer
ago than VVedne.sday last,' '1' good faith,
neiglibor Quickly,' says he ; Master Dumbe,
our minister,, was by then ; ' neighbor Quick¬
ly,' says he, * receive those that are civil; for,'
^id he, ' you are in an ill name :' now a' said
so, I can tell whereuiion ; ' for,' says he, ' you
are an honest woman, and well thought on ;
therefore take heed what guests you receive ;
receive,' says he, ' no swaggering compan¬
ions.' There comes none here: you would
bless you to hear what he said : no, I'll no
swaggerers.
Fal. He's no swaggerer, hostess ; a tame
cheater, i' faith ; you may stroke him as
gently as a puppy greyhound : he'll not swag¬
ger with a Barbary hen, if her leathers turn
j£3 king henry
:nck in any show of resistance. Call him np,
drawer. [Exit First Drawer^
Ecst. Cheater, call you him 1 I will bar
no Lo) est man my house, nor nocheater : but
£ do not love swaggering, by my troth ; I am
the worse, when one says swagger: feel,
masters, how I sh.ake; look you, I warrant
yon.
Dot. So you do, hostess.
Host. Do I ? yea, in very truth, do I, an
' twere an aspen leaf : I cannot abide swag¬
gerers.
Enter Pistol, Bardolfb, and Pag&
PisU God save you, Sir John ! 119
F(d. Welcome, Ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol,
I charge you with a cup of sack : do you dis¬
charge n^n mine hostess.
Fist. I will discharge upon her. Sir John,
with two ballets.
Fal. She is pistol-proof, sir; you shall
hardly oSend her.
Host Come, I'll drink no proofs nor no
bullets : I'll drink no more than will do me
good, for no man's pleasure, 1.
Fist. Then to yon. Mistress Dorothy ; I
will charge you. 131
Dol Charge me ! I scorn you, scurvy com-
panioa What! you poor, base, rascally,
cheating, lack-linen mate ! Away, you mouldy
logiie, away 1 I am meat tor your master.
Fist. I know yo*u. Mistress Dorothy.
Dol. Away, you cut-purse rascal! you
filthy bung, away ! by this wine, I'll thrust
my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play
the saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-
ale rascal ! you basket-hilt stale juggler, yon!
Since when, I pray yon, sir ? God's light, with
two points on your shoulder ? much I
Fist. God let me not live, but 1 will murder
your rufl for this.
Fal. No more. Pistol; I would not have
you go off here ; discharge yourself of our
company. Pistol.
Host. No, Good Captain Pistol; not here,
sweet captiiin. 150
Dol. Captain ! thou abominable damned
cheater, art thou not ashamed to be called
captain 7 An captains were of my mind, they
would truncheon you out, for taking their
names upon you before you have earned them.
You a captain ! you slave, for what 7 for
tearing a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy-house?
He a captain! hang him, rogue ! he lives
upon mottldy stewed prunes and dried cakes.
A captain ! God's light, these villains will
make the word as odious as the word' occupy;'
which was an excellent good word before it
was ill sorted : therefore captains had need
look to't.
Bard. Pray thee, go down, good ancient.
Fal. Hark thee hither. Mistress Doll.
Fist. Not 1 : I tell thee what. Corporal
Bardolph. ^could tear her: I'll be revenged
of jber.
Fags. Pray thee, go down- «
iV. PART n. fAcTii,
Fist. I'll see her damned first; to Pluto s
damned lake, by this hand, to the infernal
deep, with Erebus and tortures vile also. Hold
hook and line, say I. Down, down, dogs!
down, faitors 1 Have we not Hiren here 7
Host Good Captain Peesel, be quiet; 'tis
very late, i' faith : I beseek you now, aggra¬
vate your choler.
Fist. These be good humors, indeed I SljiU
pack-horses
And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia,
Which cannot go but tliirty mile a-day.
Compare with Csesars, and with Cannibals,
And Trojan Greeks 7 nay, rather damn them
with 181
King Cerberus ; and let the welkin roar.
Shall ,we fall foul for toys 7
Host. By my troth, captain, these are very
bitter words.
Bard. Be gone, good ancient: this will
grow to a brawl anon.
Fist Die men like dogs ! give crowns like
pins ! Have we not Hiien here 7 189
Host. O' my word, captain, there's none
such here. What the good-year 1 do you
think I would deny her 7 For God's sake, be
quiet.
Fist. Then feed, and be fat, my fair Calij-
olis.
Come, give's some sack.
' Si fortime me tormente, sperato me con-
tento.'
Fear we broadsides? no, let the fiend give
fire :
Give me some sack : and, sweetheart, lie thou
there. [Laying doxm his sword.
Come we to full x>oints here ; and are etceteras
nothing 7
Fal. Pistol, I would be quiet.
Fist. Sweet knight, I kiss thy neif: what!
we have seen the seven stars. 201
Dol. For God's sake, thrust him down
stairs : I cannot endure such a fustian rascal.
Fist. Thrust him down stairs! know ws
not Galloway nags 7
FaL Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a
shove-groat shilling : nay, an a' do nothing
but speak nothing, a' shall be nothing here.
Bard. Come, get you down stairs. 209
Fist. What! shall we have incision 7 shall
we imbrue 7 [Snaiching up his sword.
Then death rock me asleep, abridge my dole¬
ful days!
Why, then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping
wounds
Untwine the Sisters Three 1 Come, Atropos^ I
say 1
Host. Here's goodly stuff toward !
Fal. Give me my rapier, boy.
Dot I pray tiiee, Ja(», I pray thee, do not
draw.
Fai. Get you down stairs.
[Draioing, and driving Fistol out
Host. Here's a goodly tumult! I'll for¬
swear keeping house, afore I'll be in these
tirrits and frights. £io murder, I warrant
iSCKKV IT.]
KINQ HENRY IV. PART It
427
now. Alas, alas! put up your uaked weapons,
put up your intkea weapona
[Eteunt Pistol and Bardalph.
Dot. I pray thee. Jack, be quiet; the
rascal's gone. Ah, you whoresou little valiant
villain, you!
Host. Are you not hurt i' the groin ? me-
thoughta' made a shrewd thrust at your belly.
Re-enter BAia>ou>H.
Pal. Have you turned him out o' doors ?
Bard. Yea, sir. The rascal's drunk : you
have hurt him, sir, T the shoulder. 231
Fat. A rascal! to brave me 1
Dol. Ah, you sweet little rogue, you ! Alas,
poor ape, how thou sweatest! come, let me wipe
thy lace ; come on, yon whoresou chops : an,
rbgue ! i' faith, I love thee : thou art as valox--
ous as Hector of Troy, worth five of Agamem¬
non, and ten times better than the Klne
Worthies: ah, villain I
Fal. A rascally slave ! I will toss the rogue
in a blanket 241
Dol. Do, an thou darest for thy heart: an
thou dost, I'll canvass thee between a pair of
sheets
Enter Music.
Page. The music. Is come, sir.
Fal, Let them play. Play, sirs. Sit oh my
knee, Doll. A rascal bragging slave ( the rogue
fled from me like quicksilver.
Dol. r faith, and thou followedst him like,
a church. Thou whoreson little tidy Barth¬
olomew boar-pig, when wilt thou leave fight¬
ing o' days and folnlng o' nights, and begin to
patch up thine old body for heaven ?
Enter, behind, Pkince Henby and Poins, dis¬
guised.
Fal. Peace, good Doll ! do not speak like
a death's-head ; do not bid me remember mine
end.
Dol. Sirrah, what humor's the'prlnce of ?
Fal, A good shallow young fellow: a' would
have made a good pantler, a would ha' chip¬
ped bread well.
Dol. They say Poins has a good wit. 260
Fal. He a good wit ? hang him, baboon !
his wit's as thick as Tewksbury mustard ;
there's no more conceit in him than Is In a
mallet [then ?
Dol. Why does the prince love him so,
Fal. Because their legs are both of a
bigness, and a' plays at quoits well, and eats
conger and fennel, and drinks off candles'
ends for flap-dragons, and rides the wlld-mare
with the boys, and jumps upon jolned-stools,
and swears vnth a good grace, and wears his
boots very smooth, like unto the sign of the
lag, and breeds no bate with telling of discreet
stmes; and such other gambol faculties a'
has, that show a weak mftid and an able body,
for the which tlie prince admits him : for the
prince himself Is snch another ; the weight of
t hair will turn the scales between their
avoirdupois.
Prince. Would not this nave of a wheel
have his ears cut off ? 279
Poins. Let's beat him before his whore.
Prince. Look, whether the withered elder
hath not his |m11 clawed like a parrot. 281
Poins. Is It not strange that desire should
so many years outlive performance ?
Fal Kiss me, Doll.
Prince. Saturn and Venus this year in
coi^unction! what siiys the almanac to that ?
Poins. And look, whether the fiery Trigon,
his man, be not lisping to his master's old
tables, his note-book, his counsel-keeper. 290
Fal. Thou dost give me flattering busses.
DoL By my tioth, I kiss thee with a most
constant heart.
Fal I am old, I am old.
Dol. I love thee better than I love e'er a
scurvy young boy of them all.
Fal. What stuff wilt have a klrtle of ? I
shall receive money o' Thursday : shalt have a
cap to-morrow. A merry song, come : It glows
late ; we'll to bed. Thou'It forget me when I
am gone.
Dol. By my troth, thoult set me a-weep-
ing, an thou sayest so ; piove that ever I drees
my.self handsome till thy return ; well, harken
at the end.
Fal. Some sack, Francis.
JrTlTWP i
Poins '} sir. [Comingforward.
Fal. Ha! a bastard son of the king's ? And
art not thou Poins his brother ?
Prince. Why, thou globe of sinful conti¬
nents, what a life dost thou lead ! 310
Fal A better than thou : I am a gentle¬
man; thou art a drawer.
Prince. Very true, sir; and I come to draw
you out by the ears.
Host. O, the Lord preserve thy good grace!
by my troth, welcome to London. Now, the
Lord bless that sweet face of thine ! O Jesu,
are you come from Wales ?
Fal. Thou Whoreson mad compound of
majesty, by this light flesh and corrupt blood,
thou art welcome. 321
Dol. How, you fat fool! J scoru you.
Poins. My lord, he will drive you out of
your revenge and turn all to a merriment, if
you take not the heat.
Prince. You whoreson candle-mine, you,
how vilely did you speak of me even now be¬
fore this honest, virtuous, civil gentlewoman !
Host. God's blessing of your good heart!
and so she Is, by my troth. 330
Fal. Didst thou hear me ?
Prince. Yea, and you knew me, as you did
when you ran away by Gad's-hlU : you knew I
was at your back, and spoke It on purpose to
try my patience.
Fal. No, no, no ; not so ; I did not think
thou wast within heariug.
Prince. I shall drive you then to confess the
wilful abuse ; and then I know how to handle
you. [abuse.
Fal No abuse, Hal, o' mine honor; no
m
KING HENRY tr. PART 11.
(ACT III.
Prince. Not to dispraise me, and call me
pautler and breiid-cliipper and 1 know not
what ?
. Fal. No abuse, Hal.
Poini. No abuse ?
Fal. No abuse, Ned, i' the world ; honest
Ned, none. I dispraised him before the wick¬
ed, that the wick^ might not fall in love with
him ; in wliich doiug, I have done the part of
a careful friend and a true subject, and thy
. father is to give me thanks for it. No abuse,
Hal : none, Ned, none : no, faith, boys, none.
Prince. See now, whether pure fear and
entire cowardice doth not make thee wrong
this virtuous geutlewoiuaii to close with us ?
is she of the wicked ? is tliiue hostess here of
the wicked ? or is thy boy of the wicked 7 or
honest Bardolph, whose zeal bums in his nose,
of the wicked ?
Poins. Answer, thou dead elm, answer.
Fal. The fiend hath pricked down Bar¬
dolph irrecoverable ; and his face is Lucifer's
privy-kitchen, where he doth nothing but
roast malt-worms. For the boy, there is a
1[ood angel about him ; but the devil outbids
dm too.
Prince. For the women ?
Fal. For one of them, she is in hell already,
and burns poor souls. For the other, I owe
her money ; and whether she be damned for
that, I know not.
Host. No, I warrant you. 3691
Fal.' No, I think thou art not; I think thou
art quit for that. Marry, there is another
indictment upon thee, for suffering flesh to be
eaten in thy house, contrary to the law ; for
the which 1 think thou wilt howl.
Host. All victuallers do so ; wliat's a joint
of mutton or two in a whole Lent 7
Prince. You, gentlewoman,—
Dol. What .says your grace 7
Fal. His grace says that which his flesh
rebels against. [ifnoc^in^ within. 380
Host. Who knocks so loud at door 7 Look
to the door there, Francis.
Enter Peto.
Prince. Peto, how now ! what news 7
Peto. The king your father is at West¬
minster :
And there are twenty weak and wearied posts
Come from the north : and, as I came along,
I met and oveitook a dozen captains.
Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the tav¬
erns.
And asking every one for Sir Jfohu Falstaff.
Prince. By heaven, Poins, 1 feel me much
to blame, 390
So idly to profane the precious time,
Wheu tempest of commotion, like the south
Borne with black vapor, doth b^in to melt
And drop upon our ikre unarms heads.
Give me my sword and cloak. Falstaff, good
night. [Exeunt Prince Henry, Poins,
Peto and Bardolph.
Fal. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of
the night, and we must hence and leave it un¬
picked. [Knockiny toffAfn.] More knocking
at the door!
Be-e^Uer Bardolph.
How now ! what's the matter 7 400
Bard. You must away to court, sir, pres¬
ently ;
A dozen captains stay at door lor yon.
Fal. [ To the Pa{je'\ Pay the musicians, sirrah
Farewell, hostess; farewell, DoU. Yoa see,
my good wenches, how men of merit are
so'nght after i the undeseiver may sleep, when
the man of action is called on. Farewell, good
wenches: if 1 be not sent away post, I will
see you again ere I go.
Dol. 1 cannot speak ; if my heart be not
ready to burst,—well, sweet Jack, have a Care
of tliyself.
Fal. Farewell, farewell.
[Exeunt Falstaff and Bardolph.
Host. Well, fare thee well: I have known
thee these twenty-nine years, come peascod-
time ; but an huiiester and truer-hearted man,
—well, fare thee well.
Bard. [ Within] Mistress Tearsheet !
Host. What's the matter 7
Bard. [Wif/im] Bid Mistress Tearsheet
come to my master. 419
Host. O, run, Doll, run ; run, good Doll :
come. [^Ae comes blubbered^ Yea, will you
come, Doll 7 [Exeunt.
ACT HI.
Scene I. Westminster. The palace.
Enter the King in his.nightgown, with a Page.
King. Go call the Earls of Surrey and of
Warwick ;
But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these
letters.
And well consider of them : make good speed.
[Exit Page.
How many thousand of my poorest subjects
Are at this hour asleep i O sleep, O gentle
sleep.
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee.
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down
And steep my senses in forgetfulness 7
Why rather, sleep, liest tliou in smoky cribs.
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee 10
And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy
slumber.
Than in the perfumed chambers of the great.
Under the canopies of costly state.
And Inll'd with sound of sweetest melody 7
0 tliou dull god, why* liest thou With the vile
In loathsome beds, and leavest the kingly couch
A watch-case or a common 'larum-bell 7
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rocklhis brains
In cradle of the rude imperious surge 20
And in the'visitation of the winds.
Who take the ruffian billows by the top.
SCEKE II.]
KING HENRY IV. PART IL
429
Carling flieir monttious heads and hanging
tliem
With deafening clamor in the slippery clouds.
That, with the hurly, death itself awakes 7
Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude.
And in the calmest and most stillest night.
With all appliances and means to boot.
Deny it to a king ? Then liappy low, lie down!
Uneasy lies the head tliat wears a crown. 31
Enter Warwick and Surrev.
War. Many good morrows to your majesty!
King. Is it good morrow, lords 7
Tfor. 'Tis one o'clock, and past.
King. Why, then, good morro\v to you all,
' my lords.
Have you read o'er the letters tliat I sent you 7
War. We have, my liege.
King. Then you perceive the body of our
kingdom
How foul It is ; what rank diseases grow
And with what danger, near the heart of it. 40
War. It is but as a body yet distemper'd ;
Which to his former strength may be restored
With good advice and little medicine : -
My Lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd.
King. O God! that one might read the
book of fate.
And see the revolution of the times
Make mountains level, and the continent.
Weary of solid firmness, melt itself
Into the sea ! and, other times, to see
The beacby girdle of the ocean 50
Too wide for Neptune's hips ; how chances
mock,
And changes fill the cup of alteration
With divers liquors ! 0, if tliis were seen.
The happiest youth, viewing his progress
through.
What perils past, what crosses to ensue,
W ould shut the boolc, and sit him down and die.
'Tis not ten years gone
Since Richard and Northumberland, great
friends.
Did feast together, and in two years after
Were they at wai-s : it is but eight years since
This Percy was the man nearest niy soul, fil
Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs
And laid his love and life under my foot.
Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard
Gave lilm defiance. But which of you was by—
You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember—
\To Warwick.
When Richard, with his eye brimful of tears.
Then check'd and rated by Nortliumberlaud,
Did speak these words, now proved a proph¬
ecy 7 69
' Northumberland, thou ladder by the which
My cousin Bolinghroke ascends my throne ;'
Though tiien, Gira knows, I )tad no such intent,
Put that necessity so bow'd the state
That I and greatness were comiiell'd to kiss :
'The time shall come,' thus did he follow it,
' The time will come, that foul sin, gathering
head,
Shall break into corruption :' so went on,
Foretelliug this same time's condition
And the division of our amity.
War. There is a history in all men's lives,
Figuring tlie nature of tlie times deceased; 81
The which observed, a man may prophesy,
With a neaiyiim, of tlie main chance of things
As yet not come to life, which in their seeds
And weak beginnings lie intreasured.
Such things become the hatch and brood of
N time;
And by the necessary form of this
King Richard might create a perfect guess
That great Northumberiand, then false to him.
Would of that seed grow to a greater falseness;
Which should not find a ground to root uixui.
Unless on you.
King. Are tliese things then uecesstties7
Then let us meet them like necessities :
And that same word even now cries out on us:
Tliey say the bishop and Northumberland
Are fifty thousand strong.
War. It cannot be, my lord ;
Rumor doth double, like the voice and echo.
The numbers of the fear'd.' Please it your
grace
To go to bed. Upon my soul, my loid.
The powers at you already have sent forth
Shall bring this prize in very easily. 101
To comfort you the more, I have received
A certain inst iiice that Glendower is dead.
Your majesty hath been this foitnight ill.
And these unseason'd hours perforce must add
Unto your sickness.
King. 1 will take your coun.sel :
And were these inward wars once out of hand.
We would, dear lords, unto the Holy l.,aiid.
[Exeunt.
Scene II. Gloucester.'hire. Before .Tusticb
Shallow's house.
Enter Shallow ' and Silence, meeting ;
Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, Bull-
calf, a Servant or two with them.
Shal. Come on, come on, come on, sir ;
give me your hand, sir, give me your hand,
sir; an early stirrer, by the rood ! And how
doth my good cousin Silence 7
Sil. Good morrow, good cousin Shallow.
' Shal. And how doth my cousin, your bed¬
fellow 7 and your fairest daughter and mine,
my god-daughter Ellen 7
Sil. Alas, a black ousel, cousin Shallow I 9
Shal. By yea and nay, sir, 1 dare say my
cousin William is become a good scliolar : he
is at 0.\ford still, is he not 7
Sil. Indeed, sir, to my cost.
Shal. A' must, then, to the inns o' court
shortly. I was once of Clement's Inn, where
I think they will talk of mad Shallow yet.
Sil. You were called ' lusty Shallow' then,
cousiiL
.Shal. By the mass, I was called any thing;
and I would ha ve done any thing indeed too,
and roundly too. There was I, and little John
Doit of Staffordshire, and black George Barnes,
480
and Francis Pickbone, and Will Squele, a Cots-
wold man ; you liad not four such swinge-
bucklers in all the inns o' court again : and I
may say to you, we knew where the bona-
rot^ were and had the best of them all at
commandment. Then was Jack Falstaff, now
Sir John, a boy, and page to Thomas Mowbray,
Duke of Norfolk.
iS'ff. This Sir John, cousin, that comes hither
anon about soldiers? 31
Shal. The same Sir John, the very same. 4
see him break Skogan'sheadat the court-gate,
when a' was a crack not thus high : and the
very same day did I fight with one Samixson
Stockfish, a fruiterer, behind Gray's Inn.
Jesu, Jesu, the mad days that I have spent!
and to see how many of my old acquaintance
are dead!
Sil. We shall all follow, cousin. 39
Shal. Certain, 'tis certain ; very sure, very
sure : death, as the Psalmist saith, is certain
to all; all shall die. How a good yoke of bul¬
locks at Stamford fair ?
SU. By my troth, I was not there.
'Shal. Death is certain. Is old Doable of
your town living yet ?
SU. Dead, sir.
Shal. Jesu, Jesu, dead ! a' drew a good
bow ; and dead ! a' shot a fine shoot: John a
Gaunt loved him well, and betted much money
on his head. Dead 1 a' would have clapped i'
the clout at twelve score ; and carried you a
forehand shaft a fourteen and fourteen and a
half, that it would have done a man's heart
good to see. How a score of ewes now ?
Sil. Thereafter as they be : a score of good
ewes may be worth ten i)Ounds.
Shal. And is old Double dead 7
Sil. Here come two of Sir John Falstaff's
men, as 1 thluk. 60
Enter BakdoljPh and one with him.
Bard. Good morrow, honest gentlemen ! I
beseech you, which is Justice Shallow ?
Shal. I am Robert Shallow, sir ; a i)oor es¬
quire of this county, and one of the king's jus¬
tices of the peace : what is your good pleasure
with me ?
Bard. My captain, sir, commends him to
you ; my captain. Sir John Falstaff, a tall
gentleman, by heaven, and a most gallant
leader.
Shal. He greets me well, sir. I knew him
a good backsword man. How doth the good
knight ? may I ask how my livdy his wife
doth ? 71
Bard. Sir, pardon ; a soldier is better accom¬
modated than with a wife.
■ Shal. It is well said, in faith, sir ; and it is
well said indeed too. Better accommodated !
it is good ; yea, indeed, is it: good phrases are
surely, and ever were, very commendable. Ac¬
commodated ! itcomesof'accommodo:' very
good ; a good phrase. 79
Bard. Pardon me, sir ; I have heard the
word. Phrase call you it ? by t^is good day,
[Act iii-
I know not the phrase ; but I will maintain the
word with my sword to be a soldier-like word,
and a word of exceeding good command, by
heaven. Accommodated ; that is, when a man
is, as they say, accommodated; or when a
man is, being, whereby a' may be thought to
be accommodated; which is an excellent
thing.
SmU. It is very just. 88
Enter Famtaff.
Look, here comes good Sir John. Give me
your good hand, give me your worship's good
hand : by my troth, you like well and bear
your years very well: welcome, good Sir
John. ,
Fal. I am glad to see you well, good Master
Robert Shallow ; Master Surecard, as I think?
Shal. No, Sir John ; itis my cousin Silence,
in commission with me. .
Fat. Good Master Silence, it well befits you
should be of the peace.
Sil. Your good worship is welcome. 100
Fal. Fie t this is hot weather, gentlemen.
Have you provided me here half a dozen suffi¬
cient men ?
Shal. Marry, have we, sir. Will you sit ?
Fal. Let me see them, 1 beseech you.
Shal. Wliore's the roll ? where's tlie roll ?
Where's the roll ? Let me see, let me see, let
me see. So, so, so, so, so, so, so : yea,
marry, sir ; Ralph Mouldy ! Let them appear
as 1 call; let them do so, let them do so. Let
me see ; where is Mouldy ? Ill
Moul. Here, an't jdease you.
Shal. What think you. Sir John ? a good-
limbed fellow; young, strong, and of good
friends.
Fal. Is thy name Mouldy ?
Monl. Yea, an't please you.
Fal. 'Tis the more time thou wert used.
Shal. Ha, ha, ha ! most excellent, i' faith I
things that are mouldy lack use: very singular
good! in faith, well said. Sir John, very well
said. 120
Fal. Prick him.
Mcml. 1 was pricked well enough before,
an you could have let me alone : my old dame
will be undone now for one to do her hus¬
bandry and her drudgery : you need not to
have pricked me ; there are other men fitter
to go out than I.
Fal. Go to : peace. Mouldy ; you shall go.
Mouldy, it is time you were spent.
MouL Silent I 129
Shal. Peace, fellow, peace; stand aside ;
know you where you are ? For the other. Sir
John: let me see: Simon Shadow !
Fal. Yea, marry, let me have him to sit
under; he's like to be a cold soldier.
Shal. Where's Shadow ?
Shad. Here, sir.
Fal. Shadow, whose son art thou 7
Shad. My mother's son, sir.
Fal. Thy mother's son I like enough, and
thy father's shadow: so the son of the female
KFNG HENRY IV. PART IT.
SCEXB II.]
KING HENRY IV. PART IL
431
is the shadow of the male; it is often so, in¬
deed ; but much of the father's substance !
Shal, Do you like him, Sir John ?
Fal. Shadow will serve for summer ; prick
him, for we have a uumber of shadows to ^1
up the muster-book.
Shal' Thomas Wart!
Fal, Where's he ?
W'art. Here, sir.
Fal. Is thy name Wart 7 , 150
Wart. Yea, sir.
Fal. Thou art a very ragged wart.
Hhal. Shall I prick him down, Sir John ?
Fal. It were superfluous ; forhisapparel is
built upon his back iuid the whole frame
stands upon pins : prick him no more.
Hhal. Ha, ha, ha I you can do it, sir ; you
can do it: I commend you weU. Francis
Feeble I
Fee. Here, sir.
Fal. What trade art thou. Feeble 7 160
Fee. A woman's tailor, sir..
ShaL Shali I prick him, sir 7
Fal. You may: but if he had been a man's
tailor, he'ld ha' pricked you. Wilt thou make
as many holes in an enemy's battle as thou
hast dune in a woman's petticoat ?
Fee, I will do my good will, sir ; you can
have no more.
Fal. Well said, good woman's tailor I well
said, courageous Feeble ! thou wilt be as vali-
antas the wrathful dove or most magnanimous
mouse. Prick the woman's tailor: well,
Master Shallow ; deep. Master Shallow.
Fee. i would Wart might have gone, sir.
Fal I would thou wert a man's tailor, that
thou mightst mend him and make him fit
to go. I cannot put him to a private soldier
that is the leader of so many thousands ; let
that suffice, most forcible FeAle.
Fee. It shall suffice, sir. 180
Fal. I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble.
Who is next 7
Shal. Peter Bullcalf o' the green !
Fal, Yea, marry, let's see Bullcalf.
Bull Here, sir.
Fal 'Fore God, a likely fellow! Come,
prick me Bullcalf till he roar again.
Bull. O Lord ! good my lord captain,—
Fal. What, dost thou roar before thou art
prickM 7 190
Bull O Lord, sir! I am a diseased man.
Fal What disease hast thou 7
Bull A whoreson cold, sir, a cough, sir,
which 1 caught with rin^ng in the king's
affairs upon his coronation-day, sir. ^
Fal. Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a
gown ; we will have away thy cold; and I will
take such order that my friends shall ring for
thee. Is here all 7 199
Shal. Here is two more called than your
numlMr ; you must have flnt four here, sir:
and so. I pray yon, go in with me to dinner.
Fal. Come, I wiU go drink with yon, but I
cannot tarry dinner. I am glad to see you, by
my troth, Master Shallow.
Shal. O, Sir John, do yon remember since
we lay all night in the windmill in Saint
George's field 7
FcU. No more of that, good Master Shallow,
no more of that
Shal. Ha I 'twas a merry night. And is
Jane Nightwork alive 7 211
Fal She lives. Master Shallow.
Shal She never could away with me.
Fal. Never, never ; she would always say
she could not abide Master Shallow.
Shal By the mass, I could anger her to the
heart. She was then a bona-roba. Doth she
hold her own well 7
Fal. Old, old. Master Shallow. 219
ShoU. Nay, she must be old ; she cannot
choose but be old ; certain she's old ; and had
Robin Nightwork by old Nightwork before I
came to Clement's Inn.
Sil That's fifty-five year ago.
SlujU. Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst
seeri that that this knight and 1 have seen !
Ha, Sir John, said I well ?
Fal We have heard the chimes at midnight.
Master Shallow. 229
Sluil. That we have, that we have, that we
have ; in faith. Sir John, we have : our watch¬
word wiis ' Hem boys I'. Come, let's to dinner;
come, let's to dinner : Jesus, the days that we
have seen I Come, come.
[Exeunt Falstaff and the Justices
Bull. Good Master Corporate Bardolph,
stand my friend ; and here's four Harry ten
shillings in French crowns for you. In very
truth, sir, I had as lief be hanged, sir, as go ;
and yet, for mine own part, sir, I do not care ;
but rather, because I am unwilling, and, for
mine own part, have a desire to stay with my
f riends ; else, sir, I did not care, for mine own
part, so much.
Bard. Go to ; stand aside.
Mmd. And, good master corjmral captain,
for my old dame's sake, stand my friend : she
has nobody to do any thing about her when I
am gone ; and she is old, and cannot help her¬
self : you shall have forty, sir.
Bard. Go to ; stand aside. 249
Fee. By my troth, I care not; a man can
die but once : we owe God a deatlr : I'U ne'er
bear a base mind : an't be my destiny, so ;
an't be not, so : no man is too good to seWe's
prince ; and let it go which way it will, he
that dies this year is quit for the next.
Bard. Well said ; thou'rt a good fellow.
Fee. Faith, I'll bear no base mind.
Re-enter Falstaff and the Justices.
Fal. Come, sir, which men shall I have 7
Shal. Four of which you please.
Bard. Sir, a word with you : I have three
pound to free Mouldy and Bullcalt 261
Fal. Go too ; well. [have 7
ShaL Come, Sir John, which four will you
Fat Do you choose for me.
Shot. Marry, then, Mouldy, BullcxUf, Feeble
and Shadow.
432
Fal. Mouldy and Bnllcalf: for yon, Mouldy,
stay at home till you are past service : and for
your iKirt, Bullcalf, grow till you come unto
It : I will none of you. 271
Shal. Sir John, Sir John, do not yourself
wrong: they are yoitr likeliest men, and I
would have you served with the best.
• Fal. Will yon tell me. Master Shallow, how
to choose a man ? Care I for the limb, the
thewes, the stature, bulk, and big assemblance
of a man ! Give me the spirit. Master Shallow.
Hei-e's Wart; yon see what a ragged appear¬
ance it is ; a' shall charge you and discharge
you with the motion of a iiewterer's hammer,
come off and on swifter than he that gibbets
on the brewer's bucket. And tliis same lialf-
taced fellow. Shadow ; give me this man : he
presents no mark to the enemy ; the foeman
may with as great aim level at the edge of a
penknife. And for a retreat; how swiftly
will this Feeble the woman's tailor run off !
O, give me the spare meu, and si>are me the
great ones. Put me a caliver into Wart's hand,
Bardolph. 290
Bam. Hold, Wart, traverse ; thus, thus,
thus.
Fal. Come, manage me your caliver. So :
very well : go to: very good, exceeding good.
O, give me always a little, lean, old, ehapt,
bald shot. Well said, i' faith. Wait ; thou'rta
good scab : hold, there's a tester for thee.
Shal. He is not his craft's master ; he doth
not do it right. I remember at Mile-end Green,
when I lay at Clement's Inn,-I was then Sir
Dagonet in Arthur's show,—there was a little
quiver fellow, and a' would manage you his
piece thus ; and a' would about and about, and
rome you in and come you in: ' rah, tah, tah,'
would a' say ; ' bounce' would a' say; and
away again would a' go, and again would a'
come : I shall ne'er see such a fellow.
Fal. These fellows will do well. Master
Shallow. God keep you. Master Silence : I
will not use many words with you. Fare yon
well, gentlemen both : I thank you : I mu.st
a dozen mile to-night. Bardolph, give the sol¬
diers coats. 311
Blml. Sir John, the Lord bless you ! God
prosper your affairs ! God send us peace ! At
your return visit our house ; let our old ac¬
quaintance be renewed ; peradventure I will
with ye to th.6 court.
Fal. 'Fore God, I would you would. Master
Shallow.
Shal. Go to ; I have spoke at a word. God
ke^you. 320
Fal. Fare you well, gentle gentlemen.
[Exeunt Justices.'] On, Bardolph; l^d the men
away. [Exeunt Bardolph, Recruits, <fec.] As
I return, I will fetch off these justices : I do
see the bottom of Justice Shallow. Lord, Lord,
how subject we old men are to this vice of
lying! 'rhis same starved justice haih done
nothing but prate to me of the wildness of his
.Touth, and the feats he hath done about Tuni-
bull Street; and every third word a lie, duer
(Act it.
^d to the hearer than the Turk's tribute. I
do remember him at Clement's Inn like a man
made after supper of a clmese-paring: wlien
a' was naked, he was, for all the world, likea
forked radish, with a head fantastically carved
upon it with a knife: a' was so forlorn, that
his dimensions to any thick sight were invinci¬
ble : a' was the very genius of famine ; vet
lecherous as a monkey, and the whores cahed
him mandrake: a' came ever in the rearward of
the fashion, and sung those tunes to the over-
scutched huswives that he heard the carmen
whistle, and swear they were his fancies or liis
good-nights. And new is this Vice's dagger
become a squire, and talks as familiarly of
John a Gaunt as if he had been sworn brother
to hira ; and I'll be sworn a' ne'er saw him but
once in the Tilt-yard ; and then be burst his
head for crowding among the marshal's
men. I saw it, and told John a Gaunt he beat
his own name ; for you might have thrust
him and all his apjrarel into an eel-skin ; the
case of a treble hautboy was a mansion for
him, a court: and now has he land and beefs.
Well, I'll be acquainted with him, if I return ;
and it shall go hard but I will make him a
philosopher's two stones tome; If the young
dace be a bait for the old pike, I see no reason
in the law of nature but! may snap at him.
Let time shape, and there an end. [Exit.
ACT IV.
Scene I. Yorkshire. GauUree Forest,
Enter the Archbishop op York, Mowbray,
Hastings, and others.
Arch. What is this forest call'd ?
Hast. 'Tis Gaultree Forest, an't shall please
your grace.
Arch. Here stand, my lords ; and send dis¬
coverers forth
To know the numbers of our enemies.
Hast. .We have sent forth already.
Arch. 'Tis well done.
My friends and brethren in these gieat af¬
fairs,
I must acquaint you that I have received
New-dated letters from Northumberland ;
Their cold intent, tenor and sutetance, thus:
Here doth he wish his person, with such pow¬
ers
As might hold sortauce with his quality, 11
The which he could not levy ; whereupon
He is retired, to ripe his growing fortunes.
To Scotland: and concludes in hearty prayers
That your attempts mgy overlive the hazard
And fearful meeting of their opposite.
Moiob. Thus do the hopes we have in him
touch ground ,
And dash themselves to pieces.
Enter a Messenger.
Hast. Now, what news?
Mess. West of this forest, scarcely off a
mile.
KING HENRY IV. PART II.
Scene iJ
Kma HENRY
IV. PART It.
481
In goodly form comes on the enemy ; 20
And, by the ground they hide, I judge their
number
Upon or near the rate of thirty thousand.
Mofwb. The just proportion that we gave
them out.
I.«t us sway oil and face them in the field.
Arch. What well-appointed leader fronts
us here ?
Enter Westmobblamd.
Mowb. I thinK it is my Lord of Westmore¬
land.
West. Health and fair greeting from our
general.
The prince, Lord John and Duke of Lancaster.
Arch. Say on, my Lord of Westmoreland,
in peace:
What doth concern your coming ?
West. Then, my lord, 30
Unto your grace do 1 In chief address
The substance of my speech. If that rebel¬
lion
Came like itself, in base and abject routs.
Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rags.
And countenanced by boys and beggary,
I say, if damu'd commotion so nppear'd.
In his true, native and most proper shape.
You, reverend father, and these noble lords
Had not been here, to dress the ugly form
Of base and bloody insurrection 40
With your fair honors. You, lord arch¬
bishop.
Whose see is by a civil peace maintain'd.
Whose beai'd the silver hand of peace hath
touch'd, tutor'd.
Whose learning and good lettei-s peace hath
Whose white investments figure innocence.
The dove and very bles.sed spirit of peace.
Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself
Out of the speech of peace that bears such
grace.
Into the harsh and boisterous tongue of war ;
Turning your books to t graves, your ink to
blood, iW
Your pens to lances and your tongue divine
To a loud trumpet and a point of war ?
Arch. Wherefore do I this ? so the question
stands.
Briefly to this end ; we are all diseased.
And with our surfeiting and wanton hours
Have brought ourselves into a bnniing fever.
And we must bleed for it; of which disease
Our late king, Bichai-d, being infected, died.
But, my most noble Lord of Westmorehind,
I take not on me here as a physician, 60
Nor do I as an enemy to peace
Troop in the throngs of military men ;
But rather show awhile like fearful war.
To diet rank minds sick of happiness
And purge the obstructions jvhich begin to
stop *
Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly.
I have in equal balance justly weigh'd
What wrongs our ai-ius may do, what wrongs
we suffer,
And find our griefs heavier than our offences.
We see which way the stream of time doth
run, 70
And are enforced from onr most quiet there
By the rough torrent of occasion ;
Aiid have the summary of all our griefs.
When time shall serve, to show in aitides ;
Wliich long ere this we offer'd to the king.
And might by no suit gain onr audience :
When we are wrong'd and would unfold out '
griefs.
We are denied access unto his person
Even by tliose men that most have done us
wrong.
The dangeivs of the days but newly gone, 80
Whose memory is written on the eiirth
With yet appearing blood, and the examples
Of every minute's instance, present now,,
l^th ptit us in these ill-beseeming arms.
Not to break peace or any branch of it,
But to establish here a i>eace indeed.
Concurring both in name and quality.
West. When ever yet was your appeal
denied ?
Wherein have you been galled by the king ?
What peer hath been sulram'd to grateon you.
That you should seal this lawless bloody book
Of forged rebellion with a seal divine
And consecrate commotion's bitter edge ?
Arch, t My brotlier general, the common¬
wealth.
To brother bom an household cruelty,
I make my quarrel in particular.
West. There is no need of any such re¬
dress ;
Or if theie were, it not belongs to you.
Mowb. Why not to him iu part, and to us
all
That feel the bruises of the days before, 100
And suffer the condition of these times
To lay a heavy and unequal hand
Upon our honors ?
West. O, my ^ood Lord Mowbray,
Construe the times to their necessities.
And you shall say indeed, it is the time.
And not the king, that doth you injuries.
Yet for your part, it not appears to me
Either from the king or in the present time
That you should have an inch of any ground
To build a grief on : were you iiotre.stored
To all the Duke of Norfolk's signories. 111
Your noble and right well remember'd father's?
Mowb. What thing, in honor, had my father
lost.
That need to be revived and breatlied in me ?
The king that loved him, as the state stood
then.
Was force perforce compell'd to banish him :
And then that Harry Bolingbroke and he.
Being mounted and both roused in their seats.
Their neighing coursers daring of the spur,
Their armed staves in charge, their beavers
down, 120
Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of
steel
And the loud trumpet blowing them together,
28
KING HENRY IV. PART II.
[Act ir
Then, then, when there was nothing could
have stay'd
My father from the breast of Bolingbroke,
O, when the kiug did throw his warder down,
His own life hung upon the staff lie threw ;
Then threw he down himself and all their
lives
That by indictment and by dint of sword
Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke.
West. You speak. Lord Mowbray, now yon
know not what 130
The Earl of Hereford was reputed then
In England the most valiant gentleman :
Who knows on whomfortnue would then have
smiled ?
But if your father had been victor there.
He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry:
For all the country in a general voice
Cried hate upon him ; and all their prayers
and love
Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on
And bless'd and graced indeed, more than the
king.
But this is mere digression from my purpose.
Here come I from our princely genei^ 141
To know your griefs ; to tell you from his grace
That he will give you audience; and wherein
It shall appear that your demands are just.
You shall enjoy them, every thing set off
That might so much as think you enemies.
Mowb. But be hath forced us to compel this
offer ;
And it proceeds from policy, not love.
West. Mowbray, you overween to take it
so ;
This offer comes from mercy, not from fear :
For, lo ! within a ken our army lies, 151
Upon mine honor, all too confident
To give admittance to a thought of fear.
Our battle is more full of names than yours,
Our men more perfect in the use of arms.
Our armor all as strong, our cause tlie best;
Then reason will our heart should be as good:
Say you not then our offer is compell'd.
Mowb. Well, by my will we shall admit no
parley.
West. That argues but the shame of your
offence: ICO
A rotten case abides no handling.
Hast. Hath the Prince John a full commis¬
sion.
In very ample virtue of his father.
To hear and absolutely to determine
Of what conditions we shall stand upon ?
West. That is intended in the general's
name: '
I muse you make so slight a question.
Arch. Then take, my Lord of Westmore¬
land, this schedule.
For this contains our general grievances:
Each several article herein redress'd, 170
AB members of our cause, both liere and
hence.
That are insiuew'd to this action,
Acq^uitted by a true substantial form
And present execution of our wUIs
To us and to our purposes confined.
We come within our awful banks again
Aud knit our powers to the arm of peace.
West. This will I show the general. Please
you, lords.
In sight of both our battles we may meet; 179
And either end in peace, which God so fiame I
Or to the place of difference call tlie swords
Which must decide it.
Arch. My lord, we will do so. [Exit West.
Mowb. There is a thing within my bosom
tells me
That no conditions of our peace can stand.
Hast. Fear you not that: if we can make
our peace
Upon such large terms and so absolute
As our conditions shall consist uix>u.
Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky moun¬
tains.
Mowb. Yea, but our valuation shall be such
That every slight and false-derived cause, 190
Yea, every idle, nice aud wanton yeason
Shall to the king ta.ste of this action ;
That, were ourVoyal faiths martyrs in love.
We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind
That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff
And good from bad find no partition.
Arch. No, no, my lord. Note this ; the
kiug is weary
Of dainty and such picking grievances ;
For lie hath found to end one doubt by death
Revives two greater in the heirs of life, 200
And therefore will he wipe his tables clean
And keep no tell-tale to his memory
That may i-epeat aud history his loss
To new remembrance ; for full well he knows
He cannot so precisely weed this laud
As bis misdoubts present occasion :
His foes are so enrooted with liis friends
That, plucking to unfix an enemy.
He doth unfasten so and shalie a friend :
So that this land, like an offensive wife 210
Thiit hath enraged him on to offer strokes,
As he is striking, holds his infant up
And hangs resolved correction in tiie arm
That was uprear'd to execution.
Hast. Besides, the kiug hath wasted all his
rods
On late offenders, that he now doth lack
The very instruments of rha.stisemeut:
So that his power, like to a fangless lion.
May offer, but not hold.
Arch. 'Tis very time :
Aud thei-efore be assured, my good lord mar-
' shal, 220
If we do now make our atonement well.
Our peace will, like a broken limb united,
Grow stronger for the breakiug. ,
Mowb. Be it so.
Here is retum'd my Lord of Westmoreland.
' ife-cntcr weststokeland.
West. The prince is hcae at hand : pleaseth
your lordship
To meet his grace just distance 'tween our
armies.
Gcxzc: ii.]
ifowb. Tour grace of York, in God's name,
then, set forward.'
Arch. Before, and greet his grace ; my lord,
we come. ' [ExeutU.
ScEKX n. Another part of the forest.
Enter, from, one side, Mowbpay, attended;
afterwards the Archbishop, Hastings,
and others; from the other side, Pbince
John of Lancaster, and Westmore-
i/and ; OfBcers, and others with them.
Lan. You are well enconnter'd here, my
cousin Mowbray :
Good day to you, gentle lord nrdibishop ;
And so to you. Lord Hastings, and to all.
My Lord of York, it better show'd with you
When that your flock, assembled by the beU,
Encircled you to hear with reverence '
Your exposition on the holy text
Thau now to see you here an iron man.
Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum, 9
Turning the word to sword and life to death.
That man that sits within a monarch's heart,
And ripens in the siuishine of his favor.
Would he abuse the countenance of the king.
Alack, what mischiefs might he set abrooch
In shadow of such greatness ! With you, lord
bishop.
It is even so. Who hath not heard it spoken
How deep you were within tlie books of God ?
To us the speaker in his parliament;
To us the imagined voice of God himself ;
Tiie very opener and intelligencer 20
Between tiie grace, the sanctities of heaven
And our dull workings. O, who shall believe
But you misuse the reverence of your place.
Employ the countenance and grace of heaven',
As a false favorite doth his prince's name.
In deeds dishonorable ? Yoli have ta'en up.
Under the counterfeited zeal of God,
'The subiects of his substitute, my father.
And both agaiust the peace of heaven and him
Have here up-swarm'd them.
Arch. Good my Lord of Lancaster, 30
I am not here against your father's peace ;
But, as I told my lord of Westmoreland,
The time misorder'd doth, in common sense,
Crowd us and crush us to this monstrous form.
To hold our safety up. I sent your grace
The parcels and particulars of oiir grief.
The which hath been with scorn shoved from
the court.
Whereon this Hydra son of war is bom ;
Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd
asleep
With grant of our most just and right desires.
And true obedience, of this madness cured.
Stoop tamely to the foot of ma jesty.
Mowb. If not, we ready are to try our for¬
tunes -
To the last man. •
Hast. And though we here fall down,
We have supplies to second our attempt:
If they miscarry, tiieirs shall second them ;
And so success of mischief shall be bom
485
And heir from heir sliall hold this quarrel up
Whiles England shall hiive generation.
Lan. You are too shallow, Hastings, much
too shallow, 50
To sound the bottom of the after-times.
West. Pleaseth your grace to answer them
directly
How far forth you do like their articles.
Lan. I like them all, and do allow them
well, ,
And swear here, by the honor of my blood.
My father's purposes have been roi^ok.
And some about him have too lavishly
Wrested his meaning and authority.
My lord, the.se griem sludl be with speed re-
dress'd ;
Upon my soul, they shall. If this may please
you, GO
Discharge your powers unto their several
counties.
As we will ours : and here between the armies
Let's drink together friendly and embrace.
That all their eyes may bear those tokens
home
Of our restored love and amity.
Arch. 1 take your princely word for these
redresses.
Lan. I give it you, and will maintain my
word:
And thereupon I drink unto your grace.
Hast. Go, captain, and deliver to the army
This news of peace : let them have pay, and
part: 70
I know it will well please them. Hie thee,
captain- [Exit Officer.
Arch. To you, my noble Lord of Westmore¬
land.
West. I pledge your grace; and, if you knew
what pains
I have bestow'd to breed this present peace.
You would drink freely ; but ray love to ye
Shall show itself more openly hereafter.
Arch. I do not dpubt you.
West. I am glad of it.
Health to my lord and gentle cousin, Mow¬
bray.
Motob. You wish me health in very happy
season ;
For I am, on the sudden, something ill., 80
Arch. Against ill cuances men are ever
merry ;
But heaviness foreruns the good event.
West. Tlierefore be merry, coz ; since sud¬
den sorrow
Serves to say thus, ' some good thing comes
to-morrow.'
Arch. Believe me, I am passing light in
spirit
Mowb. So much the worse, if your own
rulebetruei [Shouts within.
Lan. The word of peace is render'd: hark,
how they shout!
Moteb. This had been cheerful after victory.
Arch. A peace is of the nature of a con¬
quest ;
For then both parties nobly ate subdued, 90
KING HENRY IV. PART II.
486
neither party loser.
Lan. Go, my lord,
And let our army be discharged too.
[Exit Wettmordani.
And, good my lord, so please you, let our
trains
March by us, that we may peruse the men
We shomd have coped withal.
Arch. Go. good Lord Hastings,
And, ere they be dismiss d, lettliem march by.
[Exit Hastings.
Lan. I trust, lords, we shall lie to-night
together.
Reenter Wbstmobeuind.
^Tow, cousin, wherefore stands our army still ?
West. The leaders, having charge from you
to stan^
Will not go off until they hear you speak. 100
Lan. They.know their duties.
Re-enter Hastings.
Hast. My lord, our army is dispersed al¬
ready ;
Like youthful steers unyoked, they take their
courses
East, west, north, south ; or, like a school
^ broke up.
Each' hurries toward his home and sporting-
place.
West. Good tidings, my Lord Hastings ;
for the which
I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason :
And you, lord archbishop, and you, lord Mow¬
bray,
Of capital treason I attach you both.
Motob. Is this proceeding just and honor¬
able ? 110
West. Is your assembly so ?
Arch. Will you thus break your faith ?
Lan. 1 pawu'd thee none :
I promised you redress of these same griev¬
ances
Whereof you did complain ; which, by mine
honor,
t will perform with a most Christian care.
But for you, rebels, look to taste the due
Meet for rebellion and such acts as yours.
Most shallowiy did you these arms commence,
Fondly brought here and foolishly sent hence.
Strike up our drums, pursue the scatter'd
stray: 120
Sod, and not we,hath safely fought to-day.
Some guard these traitors to the block of
death.
Treason's true bed and yielder up of breath.
[Exeun!.
Scene 111. Another part of the forest.
Alarum. Excursions. Enter Falstaff
and CoLEVlLE, meeting.
Fat. What's your name, sir? of what condi¬
tion are you, and of what place, I pray ?
Cole. I am a knight, sir, and my name is
Colevile of the dale.
Fal. Well, then, Colevile is your name, a
[Act iv.
knight is your degree, and your place the dale:
Colevile shall be still your name, a traitor your
degree, and the dungeon your place, a place
deep enough ; so shall you be still Colevile of
tlie dale. 10
Cole. Are not you Sir John Falstaff 7
Fal. As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I
am. Do ye yield, sir ? or shall I sweat for
you ? If I do sweat, they are the drops of
thy lovers, and they weep for thy death:
therefore rouse up fejir and trembling, .and do
observance to my mercy.
Cole. I think you are Sir John Falstaff, and
in that thought yield me. 19
Fal. I have a whole school of tongues in
this belly of mine, and not a tongue of them
all speaks any other word but my name. An 1
had but a belly of any indifference, I were
simply the most active fellow in Europe : my
womb, my womb, my womb, undoes me.
Here comes our general.
Enter Prince John of Lancaster, We.st-
mobeland, Blunt, and others.
Lan. The heat is past; follow no furtliei
now ;
Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland.
[Exit Westmoreland.
Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this
while?
When every thing is ended, then you come: 30
These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life.
One time or other break some gallows' back.
Fed. I would be sorry, my loSl, but it should
be thus: I never knew yet but rebuke and
check was the reward of valor. Do yon tiiiiik
me a swallow, an arrow, or a bullet ? havp I,
in my poor and old motion, the ex))editiou of
thought ? I have speeded hither with the very,
cxtremest inch of possibility; I have foundered
nine score and odd posts : and here, travel-
tainted as I am, have, in my pure and Immac¬
ulate valor, taken Sir John Colevile of the dale,
a most furious knight and valorous enemy.
But what of that ? he saw me, and yielded ;
that I may justly say, with the hook-nosed
fellow of Rome, ' I came, saw, and overcame.'
Lan. It was more of his courtesy than your
deserving.
Fal. I kuow uot: here he is, and here I
yield him ; and I beseech your grace, let it be
booked with the rest of this day's deeds ; or,
by the Lord, I will have it in a particular Iwl-
lad else, with mine own picture on the top on't,
Colevile kissing my foot: to the which course
if I be enforced, if you do not all show like gilt
twopeuces to me, and I in the clear sky of
fame o'ershine you as much as the full moon
doth the cinders of the element, which show
like pins' heads to her, believe not the word of
the noble : therefore let me h ive right, and let
desert mount. • M
Lan. Thine's too heavy to mount
Fal. Let it shine, then.
Lan. Thine's too thick to shine.
Fal. Let it do something, my good lord,
KING HENRY IV. PART II.
Scene iii.|
KING HENRY
IV. PART 11.
that may do me good, and call it what you
will.
Lan. Is thy name Oolevile ?
Cole. It is, my lord
Lan. A famoi's rebel art thou, Colevile.
Fal. And a famous true subject took him. 70
Cole. I am, my lord, but as my betters are
That led me hither : had they been ruled by
me, ^
You should have wou them dearer than you
have.
i'al. I know riot how they sold themselves:
but thou, like a kind fellow, gavest thyself
away giatis ; and 1 thank thee fur thee.
Re-enter Westmoreland.
Lan, Now, have you left pursuit ?
West. Eetreat is made and execution stay'd.
Lan. Send Colevile with his confederates
To York, to present execution : 80
Blunt, lead him hence; and see you guard
him sure.
[Exeunt Blunt and others tcith Colevile.
And now dispatch we toward the court, my
lords:
I hear the king my father is sore sick :
Our news shall go before us to his majesty,
Which, cousin, you shall bear to comfort him.
And we with sober speed will follow you.
Fal. My lord, 1 beseech you, give me leave
to go
Through Gloucestershire: and, when you come
to court,
Stand my good lord, priy, in your good report.
Lan. Fare you well, FalstafC; 1, in my con-
. ditiou, 90
Shall better speak of you than you deserve.
[Exeunt all but Falstaff.
Fal. I would yon had but the wit: 'twere
better than your dukedom. Good faith, this
same young sober-blooded boy doth not love
me ; nor a man cannot make him laugh ; but
that's nc marvel, he drinks no wine. There's
never y oe of these demure b)ys come to any
proof • for thin drink doth so over-cool their
blooa, and making many fish-meiils, that they
fall Into a kind of male green-sickness ; and
then, when they marry, they get v/enches :
they are generally fools and cowards; which
some of us should be too, but for inflamma¬
tion. A good sherris sack hath a two-fold op¬
eration in it. It. ascends me into the brain ;
dries me there all the foolish and dull and
ourdy vapors which environ it; makes it ap-
prehen.<ive quick, forgetive, full of nimble
fiery and delectable shapes; which, delivered
o'er to the voice, the tongue, which is the birth,
becomes excellent wit. The secoird property
of your excellent sherris is, the warming of
the blood ; which, before cold and settled, left
the liver white and pale, whicil is the badge of
pusillanimity and cowardice ; but the sherris
warms it and makes it course from the in¬
wards to the parts extreme : it illumireth the
face, which as a beacon gives warning to aU
the rest of this little kingdom, maii, to arm;
and then the vital commoners and inland petty
spirits ixuster me all to their captain, the
heart, who, great and pufied up with this ret¬
inue, doth any deed of courage; and this valor
comes of sherris. So that sKiii in the weapon
is nothing without sack, for that sets it a-work;
and learning a mere hoard ox gold kept by a
devil, till sack commences it and sets it in act
and use. Hereof comes it that Prince Harry
is valiant; for the cold blood he did naturally
inherit of his father, he hath, like lean, sterile
and bare laud, manured, husbanded and tilled
with excellent endeavor of drinking good av i
good store of fertile sherris, that he is becom.?
very hot and valiant If I had a thoutfxt.i
sons, the first humane principle 1 would teach
them should be, to forswear thin potations;
and to addict themselves to sack.
Enter Bardolpu.
How now Bardolph ?
Bard. The army is discharged all and gone.
Fal. Let them go. I'll through Gloucester¬
shire ; and there will I visit Master Robert
Shallow, esquire : 1 have him already temper¬
ing between my finger and my thumb, and
shortly will I seal with him. Come away.
[Exeunt.
Scene IV. Westminster. The Jerusalem
Chamber.
Enter the King, the Frtnces Thomas or
Clarence and Humphrey of Glouces¬
ter, \VarWic;k, and others.
King. Now, lords, if God doth give sue--
cessful end
To this debate that bleed ;th at our doors.
We will our youth lead on to higher fields
And draw no swords 11 it what are sanctified.
Our navy is address'd, our jxiwer collected,
Our substitutes in abftnce well invested,
And every thing lies level to our wish :
Only, we want a little personal strength ;
And pause us, till these .-ebels, now afoot,
Come underneath the yoke of goveniment. 10
War. Both which we doubt not but your
majesty
Shall soon enjoy.
King. Humphrey, my son of Gloucester,
Where is the prince your brother ?
Glou. 1 think he's gone to hunt, my lord,
at Windsor.
King. And how accompanied ?
Glou. I do not know, my lord.
King. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clar¬
ence, with him ?
Glou. No, my good lord ; he is in presence
here.
Clar. What wonld my lord and father ?
King. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of
Clarence.
How chance thou art not with the prince thy
brother ? Sfc
He loves thee, and thou dost neglect tun,
Tliomas;
Thou hast a better place in his affection
439
EIJS^G HENRY IV. PART II.
[Act tv.
Than all thy brothers: cherish it, my boy,
And noble offices thou mayst effect
Of mediation, after I am dead.
Between his greatness and thy other brethren:
Therefore omit him not; blunt not his lore.
Nor lose the good advantage of his grace
By seeming cold or careless of his will;
For he is gracious, if he be observed: 30
He hath a tear tor pity and a hand
Open as day for melting charity:
Yet notwithstanding, l^ing incensed, he's flint.
As humorous as winter and as sudden
As flaws congealed in the spring of day.
His temper, therefore, must be well observed
Chide him for faults, and do it reverently.
When you perceive his blood inclined to mirth;
But, being moody, give him line and scope.
Till that his passions, like a whale on ground.
Confound themselves with working. Learn
this, Thomas, 41
And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends,
A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in.
That the united vessel of their biood.
Mingled with venom of suggestion—
As, force perforce, the age will pour it in—
Shall never leak, though it do work as strong
As aconitum or rash gunpowder.
CTar, I shall observe him with all care and
love.
King. Why art thou not at Windsor with
him, Thomas ?
Ciar. He is not there to-day; he dines in
London.
King. And how accompanied? canst thou
tell that?
Clor. With Poins, and other his continual
followers.
King. Most subject is the fattest soil to
weeds;
And he, the noble image of my youth.
Is overspread with them: therefore my grief
Stretches itself beyond the hour of death:
The blood weeps from my heart when I do
shape
In forms imaginary the unguided days
And rotten time that you shall look upon 60
When I am sleeping with my ancestors.
For when his headstrong riot hath no curb.
When rage and hot blood are his counsellors.
When means and lavish manners meet to¬
gether,
0, with what wings shall his affection fly
Towards fronting peril and opposed decay!
Wor. My gracious lord, you look beyond
him quite;
The prince but studies his companions
Like a strange tongue, whei-ein, to gain the
language,
'Tis needful that the most immodest word TO
Be look'd upon and learn'd; which once at-
tain'd.
Tour highness knows, come to no further use
But to be known and hated. So, like gross
terms.
The prince will in the perfectness of time
Cast off his followers ; and their memory-
Shall as a pattern or a measure live.
By which his grace must meet the lives of
others.
Turning past evils to advantages.
King. 'TIS seldom when the bee doth leave
her comb
In the dead carrion.
Enter Westmoreland.
Who's here? Westmorel.md ? 80
H'esf. Health to my sovereign, and new hap¬
piness
Added to that that I am to deliver !
Prince John, your son, doth kiss your grace's
hand:
Mowbra.v, the Bishop Scoop, Hastings and all
Are brought to the correction of your jaw ;
There is not now a rebel'ssword unsheath'd
But peace puts forth her olive everywhere.
The manner how this action hath been borne
Here at more leisure may your highness read.
With every course in his particular. 9C
King. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer
bird.
Which ever in the hunch of winter sings
The lifting up of day.
Enter HABCOtrRx.
Look, here's more news.
Hdr. From enemies heaven keep your ma-i
jesty;
And, when they stand against you, may they
fall
As those that I am come to tell you of!
The Earl Northumberland and the Lord Bar-
dolph.
With a great power of English and of Scots,
Are by the sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown :
The manner and true order of the fight 100
This packet, please it you, contains at large.
King. And wherefore should these good
news make me sick ?
Will fortune never come with both hands full
But write her fair words still in foulest letters?.
She either gives a stomach and no food;
Such are the poor in health; or else a feast
And takes away the stomach; such are the rich.
That have abundance shd enjoy it not.
I should rejoice now at this happy news; 109
And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy:
O me I come near me: now lam much ilL
Glou. Comfort, your majesty 1
Oar. O my royal father!
Welti. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself,
look up.
ITnr. Be patient, princes: you do know,
these fits
Are with his highness very ordinary.
Stand from him, give him air; he'll straight be
well.
Clar. No, no, he cannot long hold out these
pangs:
The incessant care and labor of his mind
Hath wrought the mure that should confine It
In
SC£MG v.]
KING HENRY
IV. PART Uf
^89
So thiu that life looks through and will breah
out.
Glou. The people fear me; for they do
observe
Uufather'd heirs and loathly births of nature:
The seasons change their manners, as the
year
Had found some months asleep and leap'd
them over.
Clar. The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb
between;
And the old folk, time's doting chronicles,
• Say it did so a little time before
- That our great-grandsire, Edward, sick'd and
died.
War. Speak lower, princes, for the king
recovers.
Glou. This apoplexy will certain be his end.
King. 1 pray you, take me up, and bear
me hence 131
Tuto some other chamber: softly, pray.
Scene V. Another chamber.
The King lying on a bed: Ceakence, Glou¬
cester, Warwick, and othwe in attendance.
King. Let there be no noise made, my
gentle friends ;
Unless some dull and favorable hand
Will whisper music to my weary spirit.
Wor. Call for the music in the other room.
King. Set me the crown upon my pillow
here.
Clar. His eye is hollow, and he changes
much.
lF«r. Less noise, less noise !
Enter Prince Henry,
Prince.' Who saw the Duke of Clarence ?
Clar. I am here, brother, full of heaviness.
Prince. How now ! rain within doors, and
none abroad !
How doth the king ? 10
Glou. Exceeding ill.
Prince. Heard he the good news yet 1
Tell it him.
Glou. He alter'd much upon the hearing it.
Prince. If he be sick with joy, he'll re¬
cover without physic.
War. Not so much noise, my lords: sweet
prince, speak low ;
The king your father is disposed to sleep.
Clar. Let us withdraw into the other room.
War. Will't please your grace to go along
with us ?
Prince. No ; I will sit and watch here by
the king. [ExeuiU all but the Prince. 20
Why doth tlie crown lie there upon his pillow.
Being so troublesome a bedfellow 1
O polish'd perturbation I golden care !
Tliat keep'St the ports of slumber open wide
To many a watchful night I sleep with it now !
Yet not so sound and Vialf so deeply sweet
As he whose brow with homely biggeu bound
Snores out the watch of night. O majesty !
When thou dost pinch thy bearer, tli^v: dost
sit
Like a rich armor worn in beat of day, 30
That sciilds with safety. By his ^tes of
breath
There lies a downy feather which Stirs not:
Did he susj|>ire, that light and weightless down
Perforce must move. My gracious lord ! my
father!
This sleep is sound indeed ; this is a sleep
'That from this golden rigol iiatli divorced
So many English kings. Thy due from me
Is tears and heavy sorrows of tlie blood.
Which nature, love, and filial tenderness,
Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteomsly: 40
My due from thee is this imperial crown.
Which, as immediate from thy place and
blood.
Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sits.
Which God shall guard :.and put the world's
whole strength
Into one giant arm, it shall not force
This lineal honor from me: this from thee
Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me. \_Exlt.
King. Warwick ! Gloucester ! Clarence 1
Re-enter Warwick, Gloucester, Clarence,
and the rest.
Clar. Doth the king call ?
War. What would your majesty ? Hoiy
fares your grace ? 60
King. Wriy did you leave me here alone,
my lords ?
Vlar. We left the prince my brother here,
my liege.
Who undertook to sit and watch by you.
King. The Prince of Wales 1 Wliere is
he ? let me see liim :
He is not here.
War '. This door is open ; he is gone thii'
way.
GUm. He came not through the chamber
where we stay'd.
King. Where is the crown? who took it
from my pillow ?
War. When we withdrew, my liege, we
left it here.
King. The prince hath ta'en-it hence: go,
seek him out. 00
Is he so hasty that he doth suppose
My sleep my death ?
Find him, my Lord of Warwick ; chide him
hither. [Exit Warwick.
This part of his conjoins with my disease,
And helps to end me. See, sous, what things
you are !
How quickly nature falls into revolt
When gold becomes her object!
For this the foolisli over-careful fathers
Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their
brains with care,
Tlieir Ixmes with industry ; Ti
For this they have engros.sed and piled up
The canker'd heaps of strange-achieved gold ;
For this they have been thoughtful to invest
eir sons with arts and marti:'! exercises:
When, like the bee, culling from every flowt;,
! '"he virtuous sweets.
446
KING HENRY IV. PART II.
[Act iv.
Our thighs pack'd with wax, our mouths with
honey,
We bring it to the hive, and, like the bees.
Are muraered for our pains. This bitter taste
Yield his engrossments to the ending father.
Re-enter Warwick.
Now, where is he that will not stay so long
Till his friend sickness hath determined me ?
War. My lord, I found the prince in the
next room.
Washing with kindly tears his gentle clieeks,
With such a deep demeanor in great sorrow
That tyranny, which never quatl'd but blood.
Would, by beholding him, nave wash'd his
knife
With gentle eye-drops. He is cominghither.
King. But wherefore did he take away
the crown ?
Re-enter Prince Henry.
Lo, where he comes. Come hither to me,
Harry.
Depart the chamber, leave ns here alone. 91
[Exeunt Warwiek and the rest.
Prince. I never thought to hear you speak
again. [thouglit:
King. Thy wish was father, Haily, to that
I stay "too long by thee, I weary thee.
Dost thou so hunger for mine empty chair
That thou wilt needs invest thee with my
honors
Before thy hour be ripe ? O foolish youth !
Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm
thee.
Stay but a little ; for my cloud of dignity
Is held from falling with so weak a wind 100
That it will quickly drop : my day is dim.
Thou hast stolen that which after some few
hours
Were thine without offence ; and at my death
Thou hastseal'd up my expectation ;
Thy life did manifest thou lovedst me not.
And thou wilt have me die assured of it.
Thou hides-t a thousand daggers in thy
thoughts.
Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart.
To stab at half an hour of my life.
What! canst thou not forbear me half an
hour ? 110
Then get thee gone and dig my grave thyself.
And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear
That thou art crowned, not that I am dead.
Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse
Be drops of balm to sanctify thy head :
Only compound me with forgotten dust;
Give tliat which gave thee life unto the
worms.
Pluck down my officers, break my decrees ;
For now a time is come to mock at form :
Harry the Fifth is crown'd : up, vanity 1 120
Down, royal state ! all you sag6 counsellors,
hence!
And to the Engli.sh court assemble now.
From evenr region, apes of idleness !
Now, neighbor confines, purge you of your
scum;
Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink,
dance.
Revel the night, rob, murder, and commit
The oldest sins the newest kind of ways ?
Be happy, he will trouble you no more ;
England shall double gild his treble guilt, 129
England shall give him office, honor, might ;
For the fifth Harry from curb'd license plucks
The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog
Shall flesh his tooth on every innocent.
0 my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows !
When that my care could not withhold thy
riots, I
Wliat wilt thou do when riot is tl y care ?
O, thou wilt be a wilderness again,
Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants !
Prince. O, pardon me, my liege 1 but for
my tears.
The moist impediments nnto my speech, 140
1 had forestall d this dear and deep rebuke
Ere you with grief had spoke and I had heard
The coui-se of it so far. There is your crown ;
And He that wears the crown immortally
Long guard it yours ! If I affect it more
Than as your honor and as your renown,
I..et me no more from this obedience rise.
Which my most inward true and duteous spirit
Teacheth, this prostrate and exterior bending.
God witness with me, when I here came in.
And found no course of breath within your
majesty, 151
How cold it struck my heart! If I do feign,
O, let me in my present wilduess die
And never live to show the incredulous world
The noble change that I have purposed !
Coming to look on yoUj thinking you dead.
And dead almost, my liege, to think you were,
I spake unto this crown as having sense.
And thus upbraided it; ' The care on thee de¬
pending
Hath fed upon the body of my father ; 160
Therefore, thou best of gold art worst of gold:
Other, less fine in carat, is more precious.
Preserving life in medicine potable ;
But thou, most fine, most honor'd, most re-
no wn'd.
Hast eat thy bearer up.' Thus, my most
royal liege.
Accusing it, I put it on ray head.
To try with it, as with an enemy
That had before my face murder'd my father,
The (juarrel of a true inheritor.
But if it did infect my blood with joy, 170
Or swell my thoughts to any strain of piide ;
If any rebel or vain spirit of mine
Did with the least affection of a welcome
Give enteitainment to the might of it.
Let God for ever keep it from my head
And make me as the poorest vas'sal is
That doth with awe and terror kneel to it!
King. O my son,
God put it in thy mind to take it hence.
That thou raightst win the more thy father's
love, 180
Pleading so wisel.y in excuse of it!
Come hither, Harry, sit thou by my bed ;
Scene i.]
And heai', I think, the very latest counsel
That ever I shall breathe. God knows, my son,
By wliat by-paths and indirect crook'd ways
I met this crown ; and I myself know well
How troublesome it sat upon niy head.
To thee it sliall descend with better quiet,
Better opinion, better confirmation ;
For all the soil of the achievement goes 190
With me into the earth. It seeiu'd in me
But as an honor snatch'd with boisterous hand.
And I had many living to upbraid
ify gain of it by their assistances ;
Wliich daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed.
Wounding supposed peace : all these bold fears
Thou see'st with peril I have answered ;
For all my reign hath been but as a scene
Acting that argument: and now my death
Changes the mode ; for what in me was pur-
cliased, 200
Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort;
So thou the garland wear'st successively.
Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I
could do.
Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are
green ; -
And all my friends, which thou must make
tliy friends,
Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'eu
out;
By whose fell working I was first advanced
And by whose power I well might lodge a fear
To be again displaced : which to avoid,
I cut them off; and had a purpose now 210
To lead out many to the Holy Laud,
Lest rest and lying still might make them look
Too neiir unto my state. Therefore, my Harry,
Be it thy course to busy giddy minds
With foreign quarrels ; that action, hence
borne out.
May waste the memory of the former days.
More would I, but my lungs are wasted so
That strength of sneech is utterly denied me-
How I came by the crown, O God forgive ;
And ^ant it may with thee in true peace live!
Prince. My gracious liege, 221
You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me ;
Then plain and right must my possession be :
Which I with more than with a common pain
'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain.
Enter Lord John of Lancaster.
King. Look, look, here comes my John of
Lancaster.
Lan. Health, peace, and happiness to my
royal father !
King. Thou bring'st me happiness and
peace, son John ;
But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown
From this bare wither'd trunk : upon thy sight
My worldly business makes a iieriod. 231
Where is my Lord of Warwick ♦
Prince. My Lord of Warwick !
Enter Warwick, and others.
King. Doth anv name particular beloir
Unto tne lodging where I fust did swc„n
441
War. 'Tis caU'd Jerusalem, my noble lord.
King. Laud be to God ! even there my life
must end.
It hath been projihesied to me many years,
I should not die but in Jerusalem ;
Which vain'y I supposed the Holy Land: 239
But bear me' to that chamber ; there I'll lie ;
In that Jerusalem shall Harry die, [Exenui
ACT V.
Scene I. Gtoucestershire. SRAEibw's house.
Enter Shai,i.ow, Falstafp, Bardoi.pH, mm
Page.
Shal. By cock and pie, sir, you shall not
away to-night. What, Davy, I say !
Fal. You must excuse me. Master Robcit
Shallow.
Shal. I will not excuse you ; you sliall not
be excused ; excuses sliall not be admitted ;
there is no excuse shall serve ; you shall not
be excused, Why, Davy!
Enter Davt.
Davy. Here, sir. 9
Shal. Davy, Davy, Davy, Davy, let me see,
Davy ; let me seq, Davy ; let me see : j ea,
marry, William cook, bid him come hither." Sir
John, you shall nut be excused,
Davy. Marry, sir, thus ; those precepts can¬
not be served : and, again, sir, shall we sow
tlie headland with wheat ?
SImI. With red wheat, Davy. But for
William cook : are there no young pigeons ?
Davy. Yes, sir. Here is now the smith's note
for shoeing and plough-irons. 20
Shal. Let it be cast and paid. Sir John,
you shall not be excused.
Davy. Now, sir, a new link to tlie bucket
must need be had : and, sir, do you meiin to
stop any of William'swages, about the suck he
lost the other day at Hinckley fair ?
• Shal. A' shall answer it. Some pigeons.
Davy, a couple of shorHegged hens, a joint of
mutton, and any pretty little tiny kickshaws,
tell William cook. 30
Davy. Doth the man of war stay all niglir,
sir ?
Shal. Yea, Dav^. I will use him well: :t
friend i' the court is better than a penny in
purse. Use bis men well, Davy ; for they are
arrant knaves, and will backbite.
Davy. No worse than they are backbitten,
sir ; for they have marvellous fonl linen.
Shal. Well conceited, Davy ; about th>
business, Davy. 4(
Davy. I beseech you, sir, to countenance
William Visor of Woncot against Clement
Perkes of the hill.
Shal. There is many complaints, Davy,
against that Visor : that Visor is an arrant
knave, on my knowledge.
Davy. I grant your worship that he is a
KING HENR Y IV. PART II.
442
kuave, sir ; but yet, God forbid, sir, but a
knave should have some countenance at his
friend's request. An honest man, sir, is able to
speak for Mmself,when a Imave is not. I have
served your worship truly, sir,this eight years;
and if I cannot once or twice in a quarter bear
out a knave against an honest man, I have but
a very little credit with your worship. The
knave is mine honest friend, sir ; therefore, I
beseech your worship,let him be countsnauced.
Shal. Go to ; I s^ he sliall have no wrong.
Look about, Davy. [ExitDainj.] Where are
you, Sir John ? Come, come, come, off with
your boots. Give me your hand. Master Bar-
doiph.
Bard. I am glad to see your worship.
Shal. I thank tliee with all my heart, kind
Master Bardolph : and welcome, my tall fellow
[to the Page]. Come, sir John.
Fat. I'll follow you, good Master Robert
Shallow. [Exit Shallow.] Bardolph, look to
our horses. [Exeunt Bardolph and Page.] If
I were sawed into quantities, I should make
four dozen of such bearded hermits' staves as
Master Shallow. It is a wonderful thing to see
the semblabk coherence of his men's spirits
and his ; they, by observing of him, do bear
themselves like foolish justices ; he, by con¬
versing with them, is turned into a justice¬
like serving-man : their spirits are so married
in conjunction with the particip.ation of society
that they flock together in consent, like so
many wild-geese. If I had a suit to Master
Shallow, I would humor his men with the
imputation of being near their master : if to
his men, I would curry with Master Shallow
that no man could better command his servants.
It is certain that either wise bearing or igno¬
rant cairiage is caught, as men faike diseases,
one of another : therefore let men take heed of
their company. I will devise matter enough
out of this Shallow to keep Prince Harry in
continual laughter the wearing out of six
fashions, which is four terms, or two actions,
and a' shall Laugh without intervallums. 0,it is
much that a lie withaslight oath and a jest with
a sad brow will do with a fellow that never
had the ache in his shoulders ! O, you shall
see him laugh till his face be like a wet cloak
ill laid up !
Shal. [WithirC\ Sir John!
Fal. I come. Master Shallow; I come. Mas¬
ter Shallow. [Exit.
Scene n. Westminster. Thepalaee.
Enter Warwick and the Lord Chief-Justice,
meeting.
War. How now, my lord chief-justice !
whither away ?
Ch. Just. How doth the king ?
War. Exceeding well; his cares are now
all ended.
Ch. Just. I hope, not dead.
War. He's walk'd the way at nature ;
And to our purposes he live* no more.
[Act v.
Ch. Just. I would his majesty had ctfll'd
■ me with him :
The service that I truly did his life
Hath left me open to all injuries.
War. Indeed I think the young king loves
you not.
Ch. Just. I know he doth not, and do ar-r
myself 11
To welcome the condition of the time.
Which cannot look more hideously upon me
Than 1 have drawn it in my fantasy.
Enter Lancaster, Clarence, Gloucester,
Westmoreland, and others.
War. Here come the heavy issue of dead
Harry: >
0 that the living Harry had the temper
Of him, the worst of these three gentlemen 1
How many nobles then should hold their places
That must strike sail to spirits of vile sort 1
Ch. Just. O God, I fear all will be over¬
turn'd !
Lan. Good morrow, cousin Warwick, good
morrov_ 20
Clar I morrow, cousin.
Lan. We meet like men that had forgot t
speak.
War. We do remember ; but our argume;-
Is all too heavy to admit much talk.
Lan. Well, peace be with him that hat'B
made us heavy !
Ch. Just. Peace be with us, lest we be
heavier I
Glon. O, good my lord, you have lost a
friend indeed ;
And I dare swear you borrow not that face
Of seeming sorrow, it is sure yoiir own.
Lan. Though no man be assured what grace
to find, ^
You stand in colde.st eimectation :
1 am the sorrier ; would 'twere otherwise.
Clar. Well, you must now speak Sir John
Falstaff fair ;
Which swims against your stream of quality.
Ch. Just. Sweet princes, wliat I did, I d:i
in honor.
Led by the impartial conduct of my soul:
And never shall you see that I will beg
A ragged and forestiiU'd remission.
If truth and upright innocency fail me,
I'll to the king my master that is dead, k
And tell him who hath sent me after him.
War. Here comes the prince.
Enter King Henry the Fifth, attended.
Ch. Just. Good morrow ; and God s.av3
your majesty 1
King. This new and gorgeous garment,
majesty,
Sits not so easy on me as you think.
Brotliei-s, you mix your sadness with some
fear :
This is the English, not the Turkish court ;
Not Amnrath an Amurath succeeds,
But Harry Harry. Yet be sad, good brothers,
KING HENRY IV. PART II.
SCEKB III.]
KING HENRY
IV. PART 11.
For, by my faith, it very well becomes yon: 30
Sorrow so royally in you appears
Tliat I will deeply put the fashion on
And wear it in my heart : why then, be sad ;
But entertain no more of it, good brothers,
Than a joint burden laid u^n us ali.
For me, by heaven, I bid you be assured,
I'h be your fatlier and your brother too ;
Let me but bear your iove, I'll bear your cares:
Yet weep that Harry's dead ; and so will I;
But Harry lives, that shali convert those tears
By number into hours of happiness. 61
Princes. We hope no other from your
majesty.
King. You all look strangely on me : and
you most;
You are, I think, assured I love you not.
Ch. Just. I am assured, if I be measured
rightiy.
Your majesty hath no just cause to hate me.
King. No !
How might a prince of my great hopes forget
So great indignities you laid ui)on ine ?
Wliat! rate, rebuke, and rouglily send to
prison
Tlie Immediate heir of England! Was this
easy?
May this be wash'd in Lethe, and forgotten ?
Ch. Just. I then did use the person of your
father;
The image of his power lay then in me :
And, in the adraiuistratioii of his law.
Whiles I was busy for tlie commonwealth.
Your highness pleased to forget my place.
The majesty and power of law and justice,
Tlie image of the king whom I presented.
And struck me in my very seat of judgment;
Whereon, as an offender to your father, 81.
I gave bold way to my authority
And did commit you.' If the deed wei-e ill.
Be yon contented, wearing now the garland.
To iiave a son set your decrees at iftmght.
To pluck down justice from your awfui bench.
To trip the course of law and blunt the sword
That guards the peace and safety of your per¬
son ;
Nay, more, to spuni at your most royal image
And mock your woi-kings in a secend body. W
Question your royai thoughts, make the case
yours;
Be now the father and propose a son.
Hear your own dignity so much profaned.
See your most dreadful laws so loosely
slighted.
Behold yourself so by a son disdain'd ;
And then imagine me taking your iiart
And in your jrower soft silencing your son :
After this cold considerance, sentence me ;
And, as you are a king, speak in your state
AVliat I have done that misbecame my place,
My person, or my liege's sovereignty. 101
King. You are right, justice, and you
weigh this well;
Therefore still bear the balance and the
sword :
And I do wish your honors may increase,
Till yon do live to see a son of mine
Offend you and obey you, as I did.
So shall I live to speak my father's words :
' Happy am I, that have a man so bold.
That dares do justice on my proper son ;
And not less liappy, having such a sou, 110
That would deliver up his greatness so
Into the hands of justice.' You did commi':
me :
For which, I do commit into your hand
The unstained sword that yon have used tc
bear; [same
With this remembrance, that yon use the
With the like bold, just and impartial spirit
As you have done gainst me. There is my
hand.
You shall be as a father to my youth : ^
My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine
ear.
And I will stoop and humble my intents 120
To your well-practised wise directions.
And, princes all, believe me, I beseech you ;
My father is gone wild into liis grave,.
For in his tomb lie my affectious ;
And with his spirit sadly I survive.
To mock the expectation of the world.
To frustrate prophecies and to raze out
Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down
xMter my seeming. The tide of blood in me
Hath proudly dow'd in vanity till now : 130
Now doth it turn and ebb back to the sea.
Where it shall mingle with the state of floods
And flow henceforth in formal majesty.
Now call we our high court of parliament:
And let us choose such limbs of noble coun¬
sel.
That the great body of our state may go
In equal rank with the best govem'd nation ;
That war, or peace, or both at once, may be
As things acquaint^ and familiar to us ;
In which you, fatlier, shall have foremost
hand. 140
Our coronation done, we will accite.
As I before remember'd, all our state :
And, God consigning to my good intents.
No prince nor peer shall have just cause to
say,
God shorten Harry's happy life one day !
[Exeunt.
«
Scene III. Gloucestershire. Shauxjw's
orchard.
Enter Faistaff, Shallow, Silence, Daw,
Barbolph, and the Page.
Shal. Nay, you shall see my orchard,
where, in an arbor, we will eat a last year's
pipijin of my own grading, with a dish of car¬
aways, and so forth : come, cousin Silence:
and then to bed.
I<\d. 'Fore God, you have here a goodly
dwelling and a rich.
Shal. Barren, barren, barren ; beggars all,
beggars all. Sir John : marry, good air.
Spread, Davy; spread, Davy: well said,
Davy. 10
iU
KING HENRY IV. PART II.
[Act v.
Foil. This Da\7- serves you for good uses ;
be is your serviiig-mau and your husbaud.
Shed. A good varlet, a good varlet, a very
food varlet, Sir John : by the mass, I have
ruuk too much sack at supper : a good var¬
let. Now sit down, now sit down: come,
cousin.
Sil. Ah, sirrah ! quoth-a, we shall
Do nothing but eat, and make good cheer,
{Singing.
And praise God for the merry year ;
When flesh is cheap and females dear, 20
And lusty lads roam here and there
So merrily.
And ever among so merrily,
Fed. There's a merry heart! Good Mas¬
ter Silence, I'll give you a health for that
anon.
Shal. Give Master Barc[olph some wine,
Davy.
Davy. Sweet sir, sit; I'll be with you auoq;
most sweet sir, sit. Master page, good luiister
page, sit. Proface ! What you want in meat,
woll have in drink : but you must bear ; the
heart's all. {Exit.
Shal. Be merry. Master Bardolph ; and,my
little soldier there, be merry.
Sil. Be merry, be merry, my wife has all;
{Singing.
For women are shrews, both short and tail:
'Tis merry in hall when beards wag a'l,
And welcome merry Shrove-tide.
Be merry, be merry.
Fal. I did not think Miister Silence had
been a man of this mettle. 41
SU. Who, 1 ? I have been merry twice and
once ere now.
Re-enler Davy.
Davy. There's a dish of leather-coats for
you. {To Bardolph.
Shal. Davy !
Davy. Your worship ! I'll be with you
straight [to BanXolph']. A cup of wine, sir ?
Sil. A cup of wine that's brisk and fine,
{Singing.
And drink unto the leman mine ;
And a merry heart lives long-a 50
Fal. Weil said. Master Silence.
Sil. An we shall be merry, now comes in
the sweet o' the night.
Fal. Health and long life to you. Master
Silence.
Sil. Fill the cup, and let it come ; {Singing.
I'll pledge you a mile to the bottom.
Shed. Honest Bardolph, welcome : if thou
wantest any thing, and wilt not ciill, heshrew
tliy heart. Welcome, my little tiny thief [to
the Page'\, and welcome indeed too. I'll drink
to Master Bardolph, and to all the cavaleros
about London.
Davy. I hope to see London once ere I die.
Bard. An I might see you there, Davy,—
Shal. By the mass, you'll crack a miart to¬
gether, ha ! will you not, Master Bardolph ?
Bard, Yea, sir, in a pottle-pot,
Sl>al. By God's liggens, I thank thee : the
knave will stick by^ee, I can assure thee
that. A' will not out; he is true bred, 71
Bard. And I'll stick by him, sir.
Slud. Why, there spoke a king. Lack
nothing : be merry. {Knocking within.] Lobk
who's at door there, no 1 who knocks ?
[Exit Davy.
Fal. Why, now you have done me right.
[To Silence, seeing him take off a bumper,
Sil. Do me right, [Singing,
And dub me knight:
Samingo.
Is't not so ? 80
Fal. 'Tis so.
Sil. Is't so ? Why then, say an old man
can do somewhat.
Re-enter Davy
Davy. An't plea.se your worship, there's
one Pistol come from the court with news.
Fal. From the court! let him-come in
Enter Pistol
How now, Pistol!
Pist. Sir John, God save you !
Fal. Wh.at wind blew you hither, Pistol 1
Pist. Not the ill wind which blows no man
to good. Sweet knight, thou art now one of
the greatest men in this realm. ^
SU. By'r lady, I think a' be, but goodman
Puff of Barson.
Pist. Puff!
Puff in thy teeth, most recreant coward basel
Sir John, I am thy Pistol and thy friend,
jVnd helter-skelter have I rode to thee,
And tidings do I bring and lucky joys
And golden times and happy news of price
Fal. I pray thee now, deliver them like a
man of this world. 101
Pist. A foutre for the world and worldlings
base I
I speak of Africa and golden joys.
Fal. 0 base Assyrian knight, what is thy
news 7
Let King Cophetua know the truth thereof.
Sil. And Kobin Hood, Scarlet, and John.
[Singing.
Pist. Shall dunghill curs confront ,tlie
Helicons ?
And shall good news be baffled 1
Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap. 110
Sil. Honest gentleman, I know not your
breeding.
Pist. Why then, lament therefore.
Shal. Give me pardon, sir : if, sir, you
come with news from the court, I take it
there's but two ways, either to utter them, or
to conce<'il them. I am, sir, under the king, in
some authority.
Pist. Under which king, Besonian ? speak,
or die.
Shal. Under King Harry. j
Pist. Harry the Fourth ? or Fifth ?
Shal. Harry the Fourth.
Pist. -V foutre for thine office ! 120
Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is king •
Scene v.]
Harry the Filth's the man. I spealc the
truth :
When Pistol lies, do this; and fig me, like
The bragging Snauiai'd.
Fal. What, is the old king dead ?
Pist. As nail in door : the tilings I speak
are just.
Fal. Away, Bardolph ! saddle my horse.
Ataster' Robert Shallow, choose what bfflce
thou wilt in the land, 'tis thine. Pistol, I will
double-charge thee with dignities. 130
Bard. O joyful day !
I would not take a knighthood for my for¬
tune.
Pist. What! I do bring good news.
Fal. Carry Master Silence to bed. Master
Shallow, my Loi-d Shallow,—be what thou
wilt; I am fortune's steward—get on thy
boots : we'll ride all night. O sweet Pistol !
Away, Bardolph ! [Exit Bard.] Come, Pis¬
tol, utter more to me; and withal devise
something to do thyself good. Boot, boot.
Master Shallow : I know the young king is
sick for me. Let us take any man's horses ;
the laws of England are at my command¬
ment. Blessed are they that have been my
friends ; and woe to my lord chief-justice !
Pist. Let vultures vile seize on his lungs
also !
' Wliere is the life that late I led ?' say they :
Why, here it is ; welcome these pleasant
days! [Exeunt.
Scene IV. London. A street.
Enter Beadles, dragginfj in Hostess Quick-
ey and Dole Teaksheet.
Host. No; thou arrant knave ; I would to
God that I might die, that I might have thee
hanged : thou hast drawn my shoulder out of
joint.
First Bead. The constables have delivered
her over to me ; and she shall have whipping-
cheer enough, I wan-ant her : there hath been
a man or two lately killed about her.
Dot. Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie. Come
on ; I'll tell thee what, thou damned tripe-
visaged rascal, an the child I now go with do
miscarry, thou werfr better thouhadst struck
thy mother, thou paper-faced villain.
Host. O the Lom, that Sir John we,re come!
he would make this a bloody day to somebody.
But I pray God the fruit of her womb mis¬
carry !
First Bead. If it do, you shall have a dozen
of cushions again ; you have but eleven now.
Come, I charge you both go with, me ; for the
man is dead that yon and Pistol beat amongst
you.
Dol. I'll tell you what, you thin man in a
censer, I will have you as soundly swinged for
this,—you blue-bottle rogue, yon filthy fam¬
ished correctioner, if you be not swinged, I'll
forswear half-kirtles.
First Bead. Come, come, you she knight-
emmt, come.
445
Host 0 God, that right should thus over¬
come might! Well, of sufferance comes ease.
J)ol. Come, you rogue; eome ; bring me to
a justice. 80
Host. Ay, come, you starved blood-hound.
Dol. Goodman death, goodman bones I
Host. Thou atomy, thou !
Dol. Come, ■ you thin thing ; come, you
rascal. /
First Bead, Very welL [Exeunt.
Scene V. A public place, near Westminster
Abbey.
Enter two Grooms, strewing rushes.
First Groom. More rushes, more rushes.
Sec. Groom. The trumpets have sounded
twice.
First Groom. .'Twill be two o'clock ere they
come from the coronation: dispatch, dispatch.
[Exeunt.
Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Pistol, Bar¬
dolph, and Page.
Fal. Stand here by me, Master Robert Shal¬
low; I will make the king do you grace: 1 will
leer upon him as a' comes by; and do but mark
the countenance that he will give me.
Pist. God bless thy lungs, good knight. 9
Fal. Come here. Pistol ; stand behind me.
O, if I had had time to have made new liveries,
1 would have bestowed the thousand pound I
borrowed of von. But 'tis no matter ; this
Foor show doth better: this doth infer the zeal
had to see him.
Shal. it doth so.
Fal. It shows my earnestness of affection,—
Shal. It doth so.
Fal. My devotion,—
Shal. It doth, it. doth, it doth. 20 -
Fal. As it were, to ride day and night; and
not to deliberate, not to remember, not to have
patience to shift me,—
Shal. It is best, certain.
Fal. But to stand stained with travel, and
sweating with desire to see him; thinking of
nothing else, xmtting all aff.airs else in oblivion,
as if there were nothinft else to be done but to
see him. 29
Pist 'Tis 'semper idem,' for'obsque hoc
nihil est:' 'tis all in every ^rt.
Shot 'Tis so, indeed. [liver,
Pist. My knight, I will inflame thy noble
And make thee rage.
Thy Doll, and Helen of thy noble thoughts.
Is in base durance and contagions prison ;
Haled thither
By most mechanical and dirty hand :
Rouse np revenge from ebon den with fell
Alecto's snake, 39
For Doll is in. Pistol speaks no'ight but truth.
Fal. I will deliver her.
[Shouts within, and the trumpets sound.
Pist There roar'd the sea, and trumpet-
clangor sounds.
Enter the Kino and his train, the Lord Chiep"
Justice among them
KINGffEmYlV. PAUT 11.
416
A'AVG JlJUyRY IV. PART It.
(Act v.
FaX. God save thy grace, King Hal! my
royal llal!
Put. The heavens thee guard and keep,
most royal imp of fame !
Fal. God save thee, mj' sweet boy !
King. My lord chief-justice, speak to that
vain man.
Ch. Just. Have you your wits ? know you
what 'tis to speak ?
Fdl, Mv king! my Jove ! I speak to thee,
my heart I 50
King. I know thee not, old man : fall to
thy prayers;
How ill white hairs become a fool and jester !
I have long dream'd of such a kind of man,
So surfeit-swell'd, so old and so profane ;
But, being awaked, I do despise my dream.
Make less thy body hence, and more thy grace;
Leave gormandizing; know the gi ave doth gape
For thee thrice wider than for other men.
Reply not to me with a fool-born jest:
Presume not that I am the thing I was ; 60
For God doth know, so shall the world per¬
ceive.
That I have turn'd away my former self ;
So will I those that kept me company.
When thou dost hear 1 am as I have been.
Approach me, and thou shalt be as thou wast,
The tutor and the feeder of my riots ;
Tiil then, I banish thee, on pain of death.
As I have done the rest of my misleaders.
Not to come near our person by ten mile.
For competence of life I will allow you, 70
That lack of means enforce you not to evil:
And, as we hear you do reform j'ourselves.
We will, according to your strengths and qual¬
ities, [my lord.
Give you advancement. Be it your charge.
To see perform'd the tenor of our word.
Set on. [Exeunt King, <f-c.
Fal. Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand
pound.
Shal. Yea, marry. Sir John ; which I be¬
seech you to let me have home with me. 80
Fal. That can hardly be, Ma,ster Shallow.
Do not you grieve at this ; I sliall be sent for
in private to him : look you, he must seem
thus to the world : fear not your advance¬
ments ; I will be the man yet that shall make
you great.
Hhal. I cannot well perceive how, unless
you should give me your doublet and stuff me
out with straw. I beseech you, good Sir John,
let me have five hundred of my thousand.
Fal. Sir, I will be as good as my word : this
that you heard was but a color. 91
Shal. A color that I fear you will die in.
Sir John.
Fal. Fear no colors; go with me to dinner;
come, Lieutenant Pistol; come, Bardolph; I
shall be sent for soon at night
Be-enter Pbiuce John, the Lokd Chief-
Justice ; OflScers with them.
Ch, Just. Go, carry Sir John Falstaff to the
Fleet;
Take all his company along with him.
Fal. My lord, my lord,—
Ch. Just. 1 cannot now speak: I will hear
you soon. 100
Take them away.
Put. Si fortuna me tormenta, spero con-
teuta.
[Exeunt all but Prince John and the
Chief-Justkx.
Lan. I like this fair proceeding of the kin^s:
He hath intent his wonted followers
Shall all be very well provided for;
But all are banish'd till their conversations
Appear more wise and modest to the world.
Uh. Just. And so they are. [my lord.
Lan. The king hath call'd his parliament,
Ch. Just, lie iiath. 110
Lan. I will lay odds that, ere this year ex¬
pire.
We bear our civil swords and native fire
As far as France: I heard a bird so sing.
Whose music, to my thinking, pleased the king.
Come, will you.lieuce ? [ExeurO,
EPILOGUE.
Spoken by a Dancer.
First my fear ; then my courtesy ; last my
speech. My fear is, your displeasure ; my
courtesy, my duty; and my speech, to b^
your pardons. If you look for a good speech
now, you undo me ; for what I have to say is
of mine own making; and what indeed I should
s.ay will, I doubt, piove mine own marrit^
But to the purpose, and so to the venture. Be
it known to you, as it is very well, I was lately
here in the end of a displeasing ^y, to pray
your patience for it and to promise you a bet¬
ter. I meant indeed to pay you with this;
which, if like an ill venture it come unluckOy
home, I break, and you, my gentle creditors,
lose. Here I promised you 1 would be and
here I commit my body to your mercies : bate
me some and I will pay you some and, as most
debtors do, promise you infinitely.
If my tongue cannot entreat yon to acquit
me, will you command me to use my legs ?
and yet that were but light payment, to dance
put of your debt. But a good conscience will
make any possible satisfaction, and so would
I. All the gentlewomen here have forgiven
me; if the gentlemen will not, then tlie gentle¬
men do not agree with the gentlewomen, which
was never seen before in such an assembly.
One word more, I beseech you. If you bo
not too much cloyed with fat meat, our humble
author will continue the story, with Sir Jolm
in it, and make you merry with fair Katharine
of France : where, for any tiling I know, Fal¬
staff shall die of a sweat, unless already a' be
killed with youi- hard opinions ; for Oldcastle
died a martyr, and this is not the man. My
tongue is weary; when my legs are too, I will
bid you good night; and so kneel down before
you ; but, indeed, to pray for the queen.
KING HENRY V.
(WRITTKK ABOUT 1599.)
INTRODUCTION.
This play is not mentioned by Meres, and the reference in the chorus of Act V. to Essex in Irs>
land, and in the -Prologue to " this wooden O," i.e. the Globe Theatre, built in lii99, make It probable
that 13U9 was the date of its production. A pirated imperfect quarto appeared in the following year.
In this play Shakespeare bade farewell in trumpet tones to the history of England. It was a fitting
climax to the great series of works which told of the sorrow and the glory of his country, embody¬
ing as it did the purest patriotism of the days of Elizabeth. And as the noblest glories of England
are presented in this play, so it presents Shakespeare's ideal of active, practical, heroic manhood.
If Hamlet exhibits the daugeis and weakness of the contemplative nature, and Prospero, its
calm and its conquest, Henry exhibits the utmost greatness which the active nature can attain. He
.'S not an astute politician like his father; having put every thing upon a sound substantial basis he
need not strain anxious eyes of foresight to discern and provide for contingencies arising out of
doubtful deeds ; for all that naturally comes within its range be has an unemng eye. A devotion
to great objects outside of self fills him with a force of glorious enthusiasm. Hence his religious
spirit and his humility or modesty—he feels that the strength he wields comes not from any clever
disposition of forces due to his own prudence, but streams into him and through him from his,
people, his country, his cause, his God. He can be terrible to traitors, and his sternness is without
a touch of personal revenge. In the midst of danger he can feel so free from petty heart-eating cares
r.s to enjoy a piece of honest, soldierly mirth. His wooing is as -plain,frank, and true as are his acts
of piety. He unites around himself in loyal service, the jarring nationalities of his father's time-
Englishmen, Scotchmen, Welshmen, Irishmen, ail are at Henry's side at Agincourt. Having pre¬
sented his ideal of English kinghood, Shakespeare could turn aside from history. In this play no
character except Henry greatly interest^ Shakespeare, unless it be the Welsh Fluellen, whom he
loves (as Scott loved the Baron of Bradwardine) for his real simplicity underlying his apparatus of
learning, and his touching faith in the theory of warfare.
DRAMATIS
King Henry the Fifth.
Duke of Gloucester, ) .v. k-ino-
Duke of Bedford, j Ijrothers to the King.
Duke op Exeter, uncle to the King.
luke of York, cousin to the King.
Earls of Salisbury, Westmoreland, and
Warwick.
Archbishop of Canterbury.
Bishop of Ely. .
Earl of Cambridge.
Lord Scroop.
Sir Thomas (Jrey.
Sir Thomas Erpingham, Gower, Fluellen,
Macmorbis, J amy, ofBcers in King
Henry's army. ^
Bates, Court, Williams, soldiers in the
< ' same.
Pistol, Nym, Bardolph. "
A Herald. ■ ' I ~
PERSON.®.
Charles the Sixth, King of France.
Lewis, the Dauphin.
Dukes of Burgundy, Orleans, and Bour¬
bon.
The Constable of France.
Rambures and Gkandprb, French Lords.
Governor of Harfleur.
Montjoy, a French Herald.
Ambassadors to the King of England.
IsABF.L, Queen of France.
Katharine, daughter to Charles and IsaheL
Alice, a lady attending on her.
Hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap, formerly
Mi.stress Quickly, and now married to
Pistol.
Lords, Ladies, OflBcers, Soldiers, Citizens, Mes¬
sengers, and Attendants.
Chorus.
Scene ; England; afterwardsFfaiu».
{.m
418
KING HENRY V.
[Act i.
PROLOGUE.
Enter Chorns.
Chor. 0 for a Muse of fire, that would as¬
cend
The brightest heaven of invention,
A kingdom for a stage, princes to act
And monarchs to behold the swelling scene !
Then should the warlike Harry, like himself.
Assume the port of Mars ; and at his heels,
Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword
and fire
Crouch for employment. But pardon, gentles
all.
The flat unraised spirits that have dared
On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth 10
So great an object: can this cockpit hold
The vasty fields of France ? or may we cram
Within this wooden O the very casques
That did affright the air at Agiucourt ?
O, pardon! since a crooked figure may
Attest in little place a million ;
And let us, ciphers to this great accomxrt, [
On your imaginary forces work. '
Suppase within the girdle of these walls
Are now confined two mighty monarchies, 20
Whose high upreared and abutting fronts
The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder :
Piece out our imperfectious with your
thoughts ;
Into a thousand parts divide one man,
And make imaginary puissance ;
Think when we talk of horses, that you see
them
Printing their proud hoofs .1' the receiving
earth ;
For 'tia y"!]'' thoughts thnt miTitd^ylryur -
~>kingjir>
Carry tKem here and there; jumping o'er
times.
Turning the accomplishment of many years 30
Into an hour-glass: for the which supply.
Admit me Chorus to this history ;
Who prologue-like your humble patience pray.
Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our x^lay.
[E'xit.
ACT I.
Scene I. London. An ante-chamber in the
King's paface.
Enter the Archbishop of Canterbury, and,
the Bishop of Ely.
Cant. My lord, I'll tell you ; that self bill
is urged,
Which in the eleventh year of the last king's
reign
Was like, and had indeed against us pMs'd,
But that the scambling and unquiet time
Di^ush it out of farther question.
Ely. But how, my lord, shall we resist it
now?
Camt. It must be thought on. If it pass
against us,
We lose the better half of our possession :
For all the temporal lauds which men devout
By testament have given to the church 10
Would they strip from us ; being valued thus :
As much as would maintain, to the king's
honor.
Full fifteen earls and fifteen hundred knights,
Six thousand and two hundred good esquires :
And, to relief of lazars and weak age.
Of indigent faint souls past corporal toil,
A hundred almshouses right well supplied ;
And to the coffers of the king beside,
A thousand pounds by the year : thus runs
the biiL
Ely. This would drink deep.
Cant. 'Twould drink the cup and all. 20
Ely. But what prevention ?
Cant. The king is full of grace and fair re¬
gard.
Ely. And a true lover of the.holy church.
Cant. The courses of his youth promised it
not
XhS-b^eath no sooner left his fatlier^Abody,
"^t thi^iis wildness. UibfH^d iu-him.^—
Seem'STtrdigtcw ; y^Tat tfiaiT^ry moment
^"CSfe^ration, like^j^eh «ime
LeiiviugRTS bt^v 5s a paiadise. ' j. 30
To envelop and contain celestial spirits, ff
Never was such a sudden scholar made r
Never came reformation in a flood,
With such a heady curKince, scouring fkults ;
Nor never Hydra-headed wilfuiness
So soon did lose his seat and all at once
As in this king.
Ely. We are blessed in the change.
Cant. Hear him but reason in divinity,
And all-admiring with an inward wish
You would desire the king were made a
prelate: 40
Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs.
You would say it hath been all in all his
study:
List his discourse of war, and you shall bear
A fearful battle render'd you in music :
Turn him to any cause of policy.
The Gordian knot of it he will unloose.
Familiar as his garter : that, when he speaks.
The air, a charter'd libertine, is still,
And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears,
To steal his sweet and honey'd sentences ; 50
So that the art and practic part of life
Must be the mistress to this theoric :
Which is a wonder how his grace should glean
it, «
Since his addiction was to courses vain.
His companies unletter'd, rude and shallow.
His hours flll'd up with riots, banquets, spo^
And never noted in him any study.
Any retirement, any sequestration
From open haunts and ^pularity.
Ely. The strawberry grows underneath the
nettle 60
And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best
Neighbor'd by fruit of baser quality :
And so the prince obscured his contemplation
Scene ii.]
Under the veil of wildness ; which, no doubt,
Grew like the summer grass, fastest by uiglil^
Unseen, yetcresclve in his facultj'.
Cant. It must be so ; for miracles are
ceased ;
And tlierefore we must needsadmit the means
How things are perfected.
Ely. But, ray good lord.
How now for mitigation of this bill 70
Urged by the commons ? Doth his majesty
Incline to it, or no ?
Cant. He seems indifferent,
Or rather swaying more upon our part
Than cherishing the e:(hibiters against us ;
For I have made an offer to his majesty.
Upon our spiritual convocation
And in regard of causes now in hand,
Wliich I cave open'd to his grace at large.
As touching France, to mve a greater sum
Than ever at one time the clergy yet , 80
Did to his predecessors part withal.
Ely. How did this offer seem received, my
lord 1
Cant. With good acceptance of his majesty;
Save that there was not time enough to hear.
As I perceived his grace would fain have done.
The severals and unhidden pas.sages
Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms
And generally to the crown and seat of France
Derived from Edward, his great-grandfather.
Ely. What was the impediment that broke
this off ? 90
Cant. The French ambassador upon that
instant
Craved audience; and the hour, I think, is
come
To give him hearing .* is it lour o'clock 1
Ely. It is.
Cant. Then go we in, to know his embassy;
'Which I could with a reMy guess declare.
Before the Frenchman speak a word of it.
Ely. I'll wait upon you, and I long to hear
it \Exeunt.
Scene II. 3^ same. The Presence chamber.
Enter King Henry, Gloucester, Bedford,
Exeter, Warwick, Westmoreland, and
Attendants.
K. Hen. Whefre is my gracious Lord of
Canterbury? '
Exe. Not here in presence.
K. Hen. Send for him, good uncle.
West. Shall we call in the ambassador, my
liege ?
K. Hen. Not yet, my cousin : we would be
resolved,"
Before we hear him, of some things of weight
That task our thoughts, concerning us and
France.
Enter the Archbishop of Canterbury, and
the Bisjhop oi^Ely.
Cant. God and his angels guard your
sacred throne
And make you long become it!
£ Hen. Sure, we thank you«
449
My learned lord, we pray you to proceed
And justly and religiously unfold 10
Why the law Salique that they have in France
Or should, or should not bar us in our claim :
And God forbid, my dear and faithful lord.
That you shoidd fashion, wrest, or bow your
reading.
Or nicely chaige your understanding soul
With opening titles miscreate, whose right
Suits notin native colors with the truth ;
For God doth know how many now in health
Shall drop their blood in approbation
Of what your reverence shall incite us to. 2('
Therefore take heed how you impawn our per¬
son.
How you awake our sleeping sword of war :
We charge you, in the nameof God, take heed ;
For never two such kingdoms did contend
Without much fall of blood ; whose guiltless
drops
Are every one a woe, a sore complaint
'Gainst him whose wrong gives edge unto the
swords
Tliat make such waste in brief mortality.
Under this conjuration, speak, my lord;
For we will hear, note and believe m heart
That what you speak is in your conscience
wash'd 31
As pure as sin with baptism.
Cant. Then bear me, gracious sovereign,
and you peers,
That owe yourselves, your lives and services
To this imperial throne. There is no bar
To make against your highness'claim to France
But this, which they produce from Pharamoud,
' In terram Salicam mulieres ne succedant:'
' No woman shall succeed in Salique land ;'
Which Salique laud the French unjustly gloze
To be the realm of France, and Pharamond 41
The founder of this law and female bar.
Yet their own authors faithfully affirm
That the land Salique is in Germa^,
Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe ;
Where Charles the Great, having subdued the
Saxons,
There left behind and settled certain French;
Who, holding in disdain the German wpmen
For some dishonest manners of their life,
Establish'd then this law; to wit, no female 60
Should be inheritrix in Salique land :
Which Salique, as I said, 'twixtElbe and Sala,
Is at this day in Germany call'd Meisen.
Then doth it well appear that Salique law
Was not devised for the realm of Fiance:
Nor did the French possess the Salique land
Until four hundred one and twenty years •
After defunction of King Pharamond,
Idly supposed the founder of this law;
Who died within the year of our redemption
Four hundred twenty-six ; and Charles the
Great ' 61
Subdued the Saxons, and did seat the French
Beyond the river Sala, in the year
Eight hundred five. Besides, their writers say,
King Pepin, which deposed Childeric,
Did, as peir general, "^iug descended
KING HENRY V.
450
KING HENRY V.
[Act i.
Of BUtUild, which was daugliter to Khig Clo-
thalr,
Make claim and title to the crown of France.
Ilngh Capet also, who usui:ped the crown
Of Charles the diike of Lorraine, sole heir
male 70
Of the true line and stock of Charles the Great,
To find his title with some shows of truth.
Though, in pure truth, it was corrupt and
naught,
Conrey'd himself as heir to the Lady Liugare,
Daughter to Charlemain, who was the son
To Lewis the emperor, and Lewis the son
Of Charles the Great Also King Lewis the
Tenth,
Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet,
Could not keep quiet in his conscience,
"Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied 80
That fair Queen Isabel, his grandmother,
"Was lineal of the Lady Ermengare,
Daughter to Charles the foresaid duke of Lor¬
raine :
By the which marriage the line of Charles the
Great
"Was re-nnited to the crown of France.
Sothht, as clear as is the summer's sun.
King Pepin's title and Hugh Capet's claim.
King Lewis his satisfaction, all appear
To hold in right and title of tlie female :
So do the kings of France unto this day ; 90
Howbeit they would hold up this Saiique law
To bar your highness claiming from the female,"
And rather choose to hide them in a net
Than amply to imbar their crooked titles
Usurp'dfrom you and your progenitors.
K. Hen. May I with right and conscience
make this claim ?
Cant. The sin upon my head, dread sover¬
eign !
For in the book of Numbers is it writ,
"When the man dies, let the inheritance 99
Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord.
Stand for your own ; unwind your bloody flag;
Look back into your mighty ancestors :
Go, my dread lord, to your great-gmndsire's
tomb.
From whom you claim ; invoke his warlike
spirit,
And your great-uncle's, Edward the Black
Priixce,
"Wlio on the French ground play'd a tragedy.
Making defeat on the full power of France,
"Whiles his most mighty father oc a >iiU
Stood smiling to behold his lion's whelp
Forage in blood of French nobility. 110
O noble English, that could entertain ■
"With half their forces the full pride of France
And let another half stand laughing by.
All out of work and cold for action !
Elff. Awake remembrance of tiiese valiant
dead
And With your puissant arm renew their feats:
You are their heir ; you sit upon their throne;
The blood and courage that renowned them
Runs in your veins ; and my thrice-puissant
liege - <»
Is in the very May-morn of his youth, 120
Kipo for exploits and migiity enterprises.
Eice. Your brother kings and monarchs of
the earth
Do all expect tiiat vou should rouse yourself.
As did the former lions of your blood.
West. They knoAV your grace hath cau:>
and means and miglit ;
So hath your liighness ; never king of England
Had nobles riciier and more loyal subjects,
"Whose hearts have left tiieir bodies her» in
England
And lie paviiion'd in the fields of France.
Cant. 0, let their bodies follow, my dear
liege, 130
With^ blood and sword and fire to win your
right;
In aid whereof we of the spiritualty
Will raise your highness such a mighty sum
As never did the clergy at one time
Bring in to any of your ancestors.
K. Ilcn. "We must not only arm to invade
tiie French,
But lay down our proportions to defend
Against the Scot, who will make road upon us
Witii all advantixges.
Cant. They of those marches, gracious
sovereign, 140
Shall be a wall sufficient to defend
Our inland from the pilfering borderers.
K. Hen. We do not mean the coursing
snatchei-s only,
But fear the main hitendment of the Scot,
Who hath been stUl a giddy neighbor to us ;
For you shall read that my great-grandfather
Never went with his forces into France
But that the Scot on his unfumish'd kingdom
Came pouring, like the tide into a breach.
With ample and brim fulness of his force, 150
Galling the gleaned land with hot assays.
Girding with grievous siege castles and towns;
That England, being empty of defence.
Hath shook and trembled at the ill neighbor¬
hood.
Cant. She liath been then more fear'd tlian
harm'd, my liege ;
For hear her but exampled by herself «
When all her chivalry hath been in Franco
And she a mourning widow of her nobles.
She hath herself not only well defended
But taken and impounded as a stray IGO
The King of Scots ; whom she did send vO
France,
To fill King Edward's fame with prisoner kings
-And make her chronicle as rich with praise
As is the ooze and bottom of tlie sea
With sunken wreck and sunless treasuries.
West. But there's a saying v^rf aud
true,
' If that you will France win.
Then with Scotland first begin :
For once the eagle England being in prey.
To her unguarded nest the weasel Scot 170
Comes snaking aud so sucks her princely eggs,
Playing the mouse in absence of the cat.
To tern: and havoc more than she caU' eatx < .
SC£KE 31.1
KING HENRY V.
4ul
Exe. It follows then the cat must stay at
home:
Tet tiiat i.s but a erush'd necessity,
Since we have locks to safeguard necessaries,
And i»ietty traps to catch the petty thieves.
While that tiie armed hand doth fight abroad.
The advised head defends itseif at florae ;
For goveinmeut, though high and low and
lower, 180
Put into parts, doth keep in one consent,
Congrceiiig in a full and natural close,
Like music.
Cant. Therefore doth heaven divide
The state of man in divei-s functions.
Setting endeavor in continual motion ;
To which is fixed, as an aim or butt,
Obedience : for so work the honey-bees.
Creatures that by a rule in nature teaeh
Tlie actof order to a peopled kingdom.
They have a king and officers of sorts ; 190
Wiiere .some, like magistrates, correct at home,
Otliers, like merchants, venture trade abroad,
Otliers, like soldiers, armed in their stings.
Make boot upon the summer's v elvet buds.
Which pillage they with merry march bring
home
To the tent-royal of their emperor ;
Who, busied in ills majesty, surveys
The singing masons building roofs oi gold,
The civii citizens kneading up the honey.
The poor mechanic jioners crowding in 260
Their lieavy burdens at his narrow gate,
The sad-eyed ju.stice, with his surly hum,
Delivering o'er to e.xecutors pale
The lazy yawning drone. I this infer,
That many things, having full reference
To one consent, may work contrariously
As many arrows, loosed several ways.
Come to one mark ; as many ways meet in one
town ;
As many fresh streams meet in one salt sea ;
As many lines close in the dial's centre ; 210
So may a thousand actions, once afoot.
End in one purpose, and be all well borne
Without defeat 'Therefore to France, my
"liege.
Divide your happy England into four ;
Wliereof take you one quarter into France,
And you withal shall make all Gallia shake.
If we, with thrice such powers left at hoiiie.
Cannot defend our own doors from the dog,
Let us be worried and our nation lose,
Tlie name of hardine.ss and policy. - 220
K. Hen. Call in tlie messengers sent from
the Dc.uphin. [Exeunt some Attendants.
Now are we well resolved ; and, by God's help,
And yours, tlie noble sinews of our power,
France being ours, we'll bend it to our awe.
Or break it all to pieces : or there we'll sit.
Ruling in large and ample empery
O'er France and all her almost kingly duke¬
doms.
Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn,
Tombless, with no remembrance over them :
Either our history shall with full mouth 230
Speak freely of our acts, or else our grave,
Like Turkish mute, shall have a tougueless
mouth.
Not worshipp'd with a waxen epitaph.
E?iter Ambassadors o/ France.
Now are we well prepared to know the pleas¬
ure
Of our fair cousin Dauphin ; for we hear
Your greeting is from him, not from the king.
First Amb. May't please your majesty to
give us leave
Freely to render what we have in charge ;
Or shall we sparingly show you far off
Th( Dauphin's meaning and our embassy ? 240
K. lien. \j[^ arqjio^'raut, but a Christian
Jthiff : >—
Unto wnose grace nnr pfl'ifiien liii an sMblect _
Si^tre oy wretches fetter'd iijjqur^pseinr:^
. T}i£{en5ro"'wlthr'*SEnk"'aua wrth uncurbed'
\ TiUlUuiws—^
Tell us the Da^liin's miwd
First Amb. T'hus, then, in few.
Your highness, lately sending into Fi-ance,
Dit. claim some certiiin dukedoms, in the right
Of your great predecessor. King Edward the
Third.
In answer of which claim, the prince our master
Says that you savor too much of your youth,
And bids you be advised there's nought in
France 261
That can be with a uinible galliard won ;
You cannot revel into dukedoms there.
He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit.
This tun of treasure ; and, in lieu of this.
Desires you let the dukedoms that you claim
Hear no more of you. This the Dauphin
speaks.
K. Hen. What treasure, uncle 1
Exe. Tennis-balls, my liege.
E. lien. We are glad the Dauphin is so
pleasant with us;
His present and your pams we thank you for :
When w e have niarch'd our rackets to these
balls, 261
We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set
Shall strike his father s crown into the hazard.
Tell him he hath made a match with such a
wrangler
That all the courts of France will be disturb'd
AVith chaces. And w e understand hira well.
How he comes o'er us with our wilder days,
Not measuring what use we made of theru.
We never valued this poor seat of England ;
And thereiore, living hence, did give ourself
To barbarous license ; as 'tis ever common
That men are merriest when they are fronc
home.
But tell the Dauphin I will keep my state.
Be like a king and show my sail of greatness
When I do rouse me in my throne of Fiance :
For that I have laid by my majesty
And plodded like a man for working-days.
But I will rise there with so full a glory
That I will dazzle all the eyes of France, 279
Yea. strike the Dauphin blind to look on us.
And tell the pleasant prince this mock of hia
462
KING HENRY V.
[Act u.
Hath tam'd his balls to gun-stones : and his
soul
Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful ven¬
geance
Tliat shall fly with them : for many a thou¬
sand widows
Shall thU his mock mock out of their dear
husbands ;
Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles
down ;
And some are yet nngotten and unborn
riiat shall have cause to cnrse the Danphin's
scorn.
But this lies all within the wiii of God,
To whom I do appeal ; and in whose name
Tell you the Dauphin I am coming on.
To venge me as 1 may and to put forth
My rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause.
So get you hence in peace ; and tell the
Dauphin
His jest will savor but of shallow wit,
Wlien thousands weep more tlian did laugh at
it.
Convey them with safe conduct Fare you
well. [Bixeuni Ambassadors.
Ere. This was a merry message.
K. Hen. We hope to make the sender blush
at it.
Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour 300
That ma.y give furtherance to our expedition;
For we have now no thought in us but France,
Save those to God, that run before our busi¬
ness.
Tlierefore let our proportions for these wars
Be soon collected and ail things thought upon
That may with reasonable swiftness add
More feathers to our wings ; for. God before.
We'll chide this Dauphin at nis father's door.
Therefore let every man now task his thought,
That this fair action may on foot be brought.
[Exeunt. Flourish.
ACT n.
PROLOGUE.
Enter Chorus.
Ckor. Now all the youth of England are on
fire.
And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies :
Mow tiirive the armorers, and honor's
thought
Reigns solely in the breast of every man :
They sell the pasture now to buy the horse.
Following the mirror of all Christian kings.
With winged heels, as English Mercuries.
For now sits Expectation in the air.
And hides a sword from hilts unto the point
With crowns imperial, crowns and coronets,
Promised to Harry and his followers. 11
The French, advised by good intelligence
Of this most dreadful preparation,
Slrake in their fear and with pale policy
Sbelr to divert the English purt^ses-
O England ! model to thy inward greatness,
Like little body with a mighty heart.
What mightst thou do, that honor would thee
do.
Were all thy children kind and natural!
But see thv fault ' Pranca hnt]f in tlipe found
^ 20
A peatof liollpw hnsnrns^hich he fills
"With treacherous crowasTOTd''thS!e corrupter
'' inen; ;
One, TttchajA-Earl of Cambridge, and ^lig.
HeiiryLSrrScroopjai Afiisham, and the third.
'StrThoraasTlrey, nmlierliind,
HiH e. lor llielriH-nrFi-nncp.—O guilt indeed.'
Confirm d ddllSllllUcv witl> fearful France ;
■ And_^^heirbands*Tliis grace of kliiga_ must
Ifhelf^^tr^son^old their promises,
Ere he take sliip for France, and in'South¬
ampton. .30
Linger your patience on ; tand we'll digest
The abuse of distance ; force a play :
The sum is paid ; the traitors are agreed ;
The king is set from London ; and the scene
Is now transported, gentles, to Soutliampton ;
There is the playhouse now, there must you
sit :
And thence to France shall we convey you
safe.
And bring yon back, charming the narrow
seas
To give you gentle pass ; fot, if we may, 39
We'll not offend one stomach with onr'play.
But, till the king come forth, and not till then.
Unto Southampton do we shift our scene.
[Exit.
Scene I. London. A street.
Enter Corporal Nvh and Lieutenant Bar-
dolph.
Bard. Well met, Corporal Nym.
Nym. Good morrow. Lieutenant Bardolph.
Bard. What, are Ancient Pistol and you
friends yet ?
Nym. For my part, I care not: I say little ;
but when time shall serve,there sliall be smiles;
but that shall be as it may, 1 dare not fight ;
but I will wink and hold out mine iron : it is
a simple one ; but what though ? it will toast
cheese, and it will endure cold as another
man's sword will; and there's an end. 11
Baxti.—F-wilLbestow a breakfa.st to m.akn
you friends and we'll be-all tlTree sworn?,
brotners toTlaMice24e«^it-be^g5iMrCbrpoi-.tl
Nym. Faith, I will live so long as I may,
that's the certain of it; and when I cannot
live any longer, 1 will do as I may : that is my
rest, that is the rendezvous of it.
Bard. It is cei-tain, corporal, that he is
married to Nell Quickly : and certainly she
did you wrong; for you. were troth-pliglit to
her. 21
Nym. I cannot tell: things must be as tbey
scenb i.]
KING HENRY V.
163
may: men may sleep, and they may have
their throats about them at that time; and
some say knives have edges. It must be as it
may: tlioimh patience be a tired mare, yet
she will plod. There must be conclusions.
Well, I cannot tell.
Enter Pistoi, and Hostess.
Bard. Here comes Ancient Pistol and his
wife : good corporal, be patient here. How
now, mine host Pistol! 30
Pist. Base tike, calTst thou me host ?
Now, by tills hand, I swear, I scorn the term ;
Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers.
Host. No, by my troth, not long ; for we
cannot lodge and board a dozen or fourteen
gentlewomen tliat live honestly by the prick
of their needles, but it will be thought we
keep a bawdy house straight. [jVj/ot and
'Pistol draw).] O well a day. Lady, if he be
not drawn now ! we shall see wilful adultery
and murder committed. 40
Bwd. Good lieutenant! good corporal!
offer nothing here.
Nym. Pish!
Pist. Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou
prick-ear'd cur of Iceland !
Host. Good Corporal Nym,show thy valor,
and put up your sword.
Nym. Will you shog off ? I would have
you solus.
Pist. ' Solus,' egregious dog ? 0 viper
vile!
The ' solus' in thy most mervailous face •, 50
Tiie ' solus' in thy teeth, and in thy throat,
And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw,
perdy.
And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth!
I do retort the ' soius' in thy bowels ;
For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up.
And flashing fire will follow.
Nym. I am not Barbason ; you cannot
conjure me. I have an humor to knock you
indifferently well. If you grow foul with me,
Pistol, I will scour you with my rapier, as I
may, in fair terms : if you would walk off, I
would prick your guts a little, in good terras,
as I may : and tliat's the humor of it.
Pist. O braggart vile and damned furious
wight!
Tlie grave doth gape, and doting death is
near;
Therefore exhale.
Bard. Hear me, hear me what I sajr : he
that strikes the first stroke, I'll run him up
to the hilts, as I am a soldier. ' [Draws.
Pist. An oath of mickle might; and fury
shall abate. 70
Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to ihe give :
Thy spirits are most tall.
Hym. I will cut thy throag, one time or
other, in fair terms : that is the humor of it.
Pist. ' Couple a gorge I'
That is the word. I thee defy again.
O hound of Crete, think'st thou my spouse to
get?
No ; to the spital go.
And from the powdering tub of iufamv
Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind, 80
Doll Tearsheet she by name, and her espouse:
I have, and 1 will hold, tiie quondam Quickly
For the only she : and —pauca, there's enough.
Go to.
Enter the Boy.
Boy. Mine ho.st Pistoi, you must come to
my master, and you. hostess : lie is very sick,
. and would to. bed. Good Bardolph, put thy
face between liis slieets, and do the oflice of a
warming-pan. Faith, he's very ill.
Bard. Away, you rogue ! 90
Host. By my troth, lie'li yield the crow a
pudding one of these days. The king has
killed his heart Good husband, come home
presently. [Exeunt Hostess and Boy.
Bard. Come, shall I make you two friends ?
We must to France togetlier : why the devil
should we keep knives to cut one another's
throats ?
Pist. Let floods o'ersweli, and fiends for
food howl on !
Nym. You'll pay me the eiglit shillings I
won of you at betting ?
Pist. Base is the slave that pays. 100
Nym. Tiiat now I will have : that's the
humor of it.
Pist. As manhood shall compound ; push
home. [They draw.
Bard. By this sword, he th.'it makes the
first thrust, I'll kill tiim ; by tiiis sword, I will.
Pist. Sword is an oatli, and oaths must
have their course.
Bard. Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be
friends, be friends: an thou wilt not, why,
then, be enemies witli me too. Prithee, put
up.
Nym. I shall have my eight shiiiings I won
of you at betting ? Ill
Pist. A noble shalt thou have, and present
pay ;
And liquor likewise will I give to thee.
And friendship shall combine, and brother¬
hood :
I'll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me ;
Is not this just. 7 for 1 shall sutler be
Unto the camp, and profits will accrue.
Give me thy hand.
Nym. I shall have my noble ?
Pist. In cash most justly paid. 120
Nym. Well, then, that's the humor oft.
Re-enter- Hostess.
Host. As ever you came of women, come
in quickly to Sir John. Ah, poor heart I he
is so shaked of a burning quotidian tertian,
that it is most lamentable to behold. Sweet
men, come to him.
Nym. The king hath run bad humors on
the knight; that's the even of it.
Pist. Nym, thou hast .spoke the right;
His heart is fracted and corroborate. 130
Nym; The king is a good king : but it must
464
KING HENRY V.
[ACT/I.
lie as it may ; be passes some bttmors and
careers.
Pist. Let us condole the knight; lor, lamb¬
kins we will live.
Scene II. SuiUhampton. A council-chamber.
Enter Exeter, Bedford, and Westmore¬
land.
Bed. 'Fore God, his grace is bold, to trust
tliese traitors.
Exe. They shall be apprehended by and by.
West. How smooth and even they do bear
themselves !
As il allegiance in their bosoms sat,
Crowned with faith and constant loyalty.
Bed. 'the king hath note oLnll'--tfaat..t^v
iptei
BV-inteniSution which t.liey.d»eam not of
ExeT" NHy, "Diitthe man that was his bed¬
fellow,
Whom he hath dull'd and cloy'd with gracious
favors.
That he should, for a foreimi purse, so sell 10
His sovei-eign's life to death and treachery.
Trumpets sound. Enter King Henrv,
Scuo )p, Cambridge, Grey, and Attendants.
K. Hen. Now sits the wind fair, and we
will aboard.
My Lord of Cambridge, and my kind Lord of
Masham,
And yon, my gentle knight, srive me your
thoughts ;
Think you not tliat the powers we bear with
us
Will cut their passage through the force of
France,
Doing the execution and the act
For which we have in head assembled them ?
Scroop. No doubt, my liege, if each man
do his best.
K. Hen. I doubt not th.at ; since we are
well persuaded 20
We carry not a heart with us from hence
Tiiat grows not in a fair consent with ours.
Nor leave not one behind that doth not wish
Buccess and conquest to attend on us.
Cum. Never wc monnivh fear'd and
pCbaa-iaj^r^maieotv i there'ji uot. I tliink,^
Tli.at sits 111 heart-grief and uneasine.ss
' True^i^liose timt were your father's
enemies
Have steep'd their galls in honey and do serve
you 30
With hearts create of duty and of zeal.
K. Hen. We therefore have great cause of
thankfulness ;
And shall forget the oflice of our hand.
Sooner than quittance of desert and merit
According to the weight and worthiness.
Scroop. So service shall with steeled sin¬
ews toil, '
And labor shall refresh itself with hope,
To do your grace incessant services.
K. Hen. We judge no less. Uncle of Ex¬
eter,
Enlarge the man committed yesterday, 40
That rail'd against our person : we consider
It was excess of wine that set him on ;
And on his more advice we pardon him.
Scroop. That's mercy, but too much secu¬
rity :
Let him be punish'd, sovereign, lest example
Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind.
K. Hen. 0, let us yet be merciful.
Cam. So may your highness, and yet pun¬
ish too.
Grey. Sir,
You snow great mercy, if yon gjive him life, 50
After the taste of much correction.
K. Hen. Alas, your too much love and care
of me
Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch 1
If littie faults, proceeding on distemjier.
Shall not be wink'd at, bow shall we stretch
our eye
When capital crimes, chew'd, swallow'd and
digested, [man.
Appear before us 1 We'll yet enlarge thai
Though Cambridge, Scroop and Grey, in their
dear care
And tender preservation of our person.
Would have him punished. And now to our
• French causes: 60
Who are the late commissioners 7
Cam. I one, my lord ;
Tour highness bade me ask for it to-day.
Scroop. So did you me, my liege.
Grey. And I, my i-oyal sovereign.
K. Hen. Then, Richard Earl of Cambridge,
there is yours ;
There yours. Lord Scroop of Masham ; and,
sir knight.
Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours:
Read them ; and know, 1 know your worthi¬
ness.
My Lord of We.stmoreland, and tmcle Exeter,
^^'e will aboard to night. Why, how now,
gentlemen! 71
What see you in those papers that you lose
So much complexion? Look ye, how they
change !
Their cheeks are paper. lYhy, what read you
there
That hath so cowarded and chased your blood
Out of appearance 7
Cam. I do confess my fault;
And do submit me to your highness' mercy.
Sc^op j ■which we all appeal.
K. Hen. The mercy that was quick in us
bu't lato.
By ycur own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd: 80
You; uist nol dare, for shame, to talk of mercy;
For your 0'.. u reasons turn into your bosoms.
As dogs upon their masters, worrying you.
See you, my princes, and miy nobie jieers,
These Ei^lisn monsters ! My I^ord of Cam¬
bridge here,
Scene hi.]
KING HENRY V.
You know how ajjt our love was to accord
To furnish him with all appertinenta
Belonging to his honor ; and this man
Hath, lor a few light crowns, ligiitly conspired,
And sworn unto the practices of France, 90
To kill us here in Hampton ; to tlie wiiich
Tliis knight, no less for bounty bound to us
Thau Cambridge is, hath likewise sworn.
But, O,
What shall I say to thee. Lord Scroop ? tliou
cruel,
Ingrateful, savage and inhuman creature !
Thou that didst bear the key of ail my coun¬
sels.
That knew'st the very bottom of my soul,
Timt almost mightst have coin'd me into gold,
Wouldst thou have practised on me for tliy use,
M.ay it be }K>ssible, that foreign liire 100
Could out of thee extract one spark of evil
Tliat might annoy my finger ? ^tis so strange.
That, thougli tlie trutli of it stands off as gross
As black and white, my eye will scarcely
see it.
Treason aud murder ever kept together.
As two yoke-deviis swom to eitlier's purpose.
Working so ^ossly in a natural cause.
That admiration did not whoop at them;
But tliou, 'gainst ail proportion, didst bring in
Wonder to wait on treason and on murder; 110
And wiiatsoever cunning fiend it was
That wrougiit upon tiiee so preposterously
0ath got the voice in hell for excellence :
Ail other devils tliat suggest by treasons
Do botch and bungle up damnation
With patches, colors, and with forms being
fetch'd
From glistering semblances of piety ;
But he that temper'd thee bade tliee stand up.
Gave thee no instance why thou shouidst do
treason,
TTiiless to diih thee wi") The nnme of traitoft-120
If tliafStme demon tli.it hath guU'd ^lee-tluis
ShuiiUl Willi wrnop woi'ld,
He^ight-rettTPnto^^H^-TJai'liii' baclf, ,
Ai.Afoll flio '
A Squjso 63"??^ that EjjglialuMn'sTJ—^
O, tliouJV-Ull 'lealousyjufected
The.s»:Mtness of affiance! ShowjneilMutiful?
Why, SO' didst thou ■ seem—tney grave and
learned ?
Why, so didst thou ; come they of noble fam¬
ily ?
Why, so didst thou : seem they reMgions ? l.SO
Why, so didst thou : or are tliey spare in diet.
Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger.
Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood,
Gamish'd and deck'd in modest complement.
Not working with the eye witliout the ear.
And but in purged iudg'ment trusting neither?
Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem :
And thus thy fail hath left a kiNid of blot,
'^o mark the full-fraught man and best indued
W>th some suspicion. I will weep for thee; 140
For r«voIt of thino, methinks, is like
Auotlrer fall of i.-Kg;- Their faults are open :
Arrest them to the atiswor of the Jaw ;
And God acquit them of their practices !
Eze., I arrest thee of high treiison, by the
name of Richard Earl of Cambridge.
I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of
Henry Lord Scroop of Masham.
I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of
Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberiand. 150
Scroop. Our purposes God justly hatli dis-
cover'd ;
And I re])ent my fault more than my death ;
Which I beseech your liighness to forgive.
Although my body pay the price of it.
Cam. For me, the gold of France did not
seduce ;
Although I did .admit it as a motive
The sooner to effect what I intended :
But God be thanked for prevention ;
Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice, ,
Beseeching God and yon to pardon me. 160
Grey. Never did faithful subject more re¬
joice
At the discovery of most dangerous treason
Tiian I do at this hour joy o'er myself.
Prevented from a damned enterprise :
My fault, but not mv body, imrdon, sovereign.
K. Hen. God quit yon in his mercy I Hear
your sentence.
You have conspired against our royal person,
Join'd with an enemy prociaim'd aud from his
coffers
Received the golden earnest of our death ;
Wherein you would have sold your king to
slaugliter, 170
His princes and his peers to servitude.
His subjects to oppre.ssion and contempt
And his whole kingdom into desolation.
Touching our person seek we no revenge;
But wo our kingdom's safety must so tender.
Whose ruin you have sought, that to her laws
We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence.
Poor miserable wretches, to your death i
The taste whereof, God of his mercy give 179
You ijatience to endure, and true repentance
Of all your dear offences ! Bear them iience.
[Exeunt Cambridge, Scroop and Grey,
guarded.
Now, lords, for France; the enterprise whereof
Shall be to you, as v\s, like glorious.
We doubt not of a fair and lucky war.
Since God so graciously hath brougiit to light
This dangerous treason lurking in otir way
To hinder our beginnings. We doubt not now
But every rub is smoothed on our way.
Then forth, dear countrymen: let us deliver
Our puissance into the hand of God, 19*
Putting it straight in expedition.
Cheeriy to sea ; the signs of war advance:
No king of England, if not king of France.
[jBxewnJ,
Scene HI. London. Before a tavern.
Enter Pistol, Hostess, Ntm, Baedolph, ani
Boy,
Host. Pritliee, honey-sweet husband, let
me bring thee to Staines.
456
KiNG HENRY V
[Act zi.
Pist. No ; for my manly heart doth yearn.
Bardolph, be blithe : Nym, ronse thy vaunt¬
ing veins :
Boy, bristle thy courage up ; for Falstafi he is
dead,
And we must yearn therefore.
Bard. Would 1 were with him, wheresome'er
he is, either in heaven or in hell!'
Host. Nay, sure, he's not in hell; he's in
Arthur's bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's
bosom. A' made a finer end and went away
au it had been any christom chiid ; a' parted
even just between twelve and one, even at the
turning o' the tide : for after I saw him fumble
with the sheets and play with flowers and smile
upon his fingers' ends, 1 knew there was but
one way ; for his nose was as sharp as a pen,
and a' babbled of green fields. ' How now, sir
John !' quoth I : ' what, man ! be o' good
cheer.' So a' cried out • Giod, God, God!'
three or four times. Now I, to comfort him,
bid him a' should not think of God ; I hoped
there was no need to trouble himself witlr any
juch thoughts yet. So a' bade me lay more
clothes on liis feet: I put my hand into the
bed and felt them, and they were as cold as
any stone ; then I felt to his knees, and they
were as cold as any stone, and so upward and
upward, and all was as cold as any stone.
Nijm. They say he cried out of sack.
Host. Ay, that a' did. 30
Bard. And of women.
Host. Nay, that a' did not.
Boy. Yes, that a' did ; and said they were
devils incarnate.
Host. A' could never abide carnation ; 'twas
a color he never liked.
Boy. A' said once, the devil would have
him about women.
Host. A' did in some sort, indeed, handle
women; but then he was rheumatic, and
talked of the whore of Babylon. 41
Boy. Do you not remember, a' saw a flea
stick upon Bardolph's nose, and a' said it was
a black soul burning in hell-fire ?
Bard. Well, the fuel is gone that raaintaiued
that fire : that's all the riches 1 got in his ser¬
vice.
Nym. Shall we shog ? the king will be
gone from Southampton.
Pist. Come, let's away. My love, give me
thy lips.
Look to my chattels and my movables : 50
Let senses rule ; the word is ' Pitch and Pay;'
Trust none ;
For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-
cakes.
And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck :
Therefore, Caveto be thy counsellor.
Bo, clear thy crystals. Yoke-fellows in arms.
Let us to France ; like horse-leeches, my boys.
To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck !
Boy. And that's but unwholesome food they
say. 60
Pist. Touch her soft mouth, and march.
Bard. Farewell, hostess,^ [Kissing her.
Nym. I cannot kiss, that is the humorof it;
but, adieu.
Pist. Let housewifery appear : keep close,
I thee command.
Host. Farewell; adieu. [Exeunt.
Scene IV. France. The King's palace.
Flourish. Enter the French King, the Dao-
phin, the Dukes of Beuri and Bbetagnb,
the Constable, and others.
Fr. King. Thus comes the English with full
power upon us ;
•And more than carefully it us concerns
To answer royally in our defences.
Therefore the' Dukes of Berri and of Bretague,
Of Brabant and of Orleans, shall make forth.
And you. Prince Dauphin, with all svyift dis¬
patch.
To line and new repair our towns of war
With men of courage and with means defend¬
ant ;
For England his approaches makes as fierce
As waters to the sucking of a gulf 10
It fits us then to be as provident
As fe.ar tqay teach us out of late examples
Left by the fatal and neglected English
Upon our fields.
Bau. My most redoubted father,
It is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe ;
For peace itself should not so dull a kingdom,
Though war nor no known quarrel were in
question.
But that defences, musters, preparations.
Should be maintain'd, assembled and col¬
lected.
As were a war in expectation. 20
Therefore, I say 'tis meet we all go forth
To view the sick and feeble parts of France :
And let us do it with no show of fear ;
No, with no more than if we heard that Eng¬
land
Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance :
For, my good liege, she is so idly king'd.
Her sceptre so fantastically borne
By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth.
That fear attends her not.
Con. O peace, Prince Dauphin !
You are too much mistaken in tliis king : 30
Question your grace the late ambassadors.
With what great state he heard their em¬
bassy.
How well supplied with noble counsellors.
How modest in exception, and withal
How terrible in constant resolution.
And you shall find his vanities forespent
Were but the outside of the Itoman Brutus,
Covering discretion with a coat of folly ;
As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots
That shall first spring and be most delicate. 40
Dau. Well, 'tis not so, my lord high con¬
stable ;
But though we think it so, it is no matter :
In cases of defence 'tis best to weigh
The enemy more mighty than he seems:
So the proportions of defence are fill'd ;
SCENB IV.]
Which of a weak or niggardly projection
Doth, like a miser, spoil nis coat with scautine
A little cloth.
Ft. King. Think we King Harry strong ;
And, princes, look you strongly arm to meet
nim.
The kindred of him hath been flesh'd npon ns;
And he is bred out of that bloody strain 61
That haunted us in our familiar paths :
Witness our too much memorable shame
When Cressy battle fatally was struck,
And all our princes captived by the hand
Of that black name, Edward, Black Prince of
Wales ;
Whiles that his mountain sire, on mountain
standing.
Up in the air, crown'd witli the golden sun.
Saw his heroical seed, and smiled to see him.
Mangle the work of nature and deface 60
The patterns that by God and by French
fathers
Had twenty years been made. This is a stem
Of that victorious stock ; and let us fear
The native mightiness and fate of him.
Enter a Messenger.
Me»s. Ambassadors from Harry King of
England
Do crave admittance to your majesty.
Ft. King. We'll give them present audience.
,Go, and bring tliem.
[Exeunt Messenger- and certain Lords.
You see this chase is hotly follow'd, fiiends.
Dau. Turn head, and stop pursuit; for
coward dogs
Most spend their mouths when what they seem
to threaten 70
Runs far before them. Good my sovereign.
Take up the English short, and let them know
Of what a monarchy you are the head :
Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin
As self;neglecting.
Re-enter Lords, with Exeteb atid train.
Fr. King. From our brother England ?
Exe. From him ; and thus he greets your
majesty.
He wills you, in the name of God Almighty,
That you divest yourself, and lay apart
The borrow'd glories that by gift of heaven.
By law of nature and of nations, 'long 80
To him and to his heirs ; namely, tlie crown
And all wide-stretched honors that pertain
By custom and the ordinance of times
Unto the crown of France. That you may
know
'Tis no sinister nor no awkward claim, [days,
Pick'd from the worm-holes of long-vauish'd
Nor from the dust of old oblivion raked.
He sends you this most memorable line.
In every branch truly demonstrative ;
Willing you overlook this pedigree: 90
And when you find him evenly derived
From his most famed of famous ancestors,
Edward the Third, he bids you then resign
"Your crown and kingdom, mdireetiy held
From him the native and true challenger.
467
Fr. King. Or else what follows ?
Exe. Bloody constraint; for if you hide the
crown
Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it:
Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming.
In thunder and in earthquake, like a Jove, 100
That, if requiring fail, he will compel;
And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord,
Deliver up the crown, and to take mercy
On the poor souls for whom this hungry war
Opens his vasty jaws ; and on your head
Turning the widows' tears, the o^hans' cries.
The dead men's blood, the pining maidens'
groans.
For husbands, fathers and betrothed lovers.
That shall be swallow'd in this controversy.
This is his claim, his threatening and my mes-
sitge; 110
Unless the Dauphin be in presence here.
To whom expressly I bring greeting too.
Fr. King. For us, we will consider of this
further:
To-morrow shall you bear our full intent
Back to our brother England.
Dau. For the Dauphin,
I stand here for him : what to him from Eng¬
land ?
Exe. Scorn and defiance ; slight regard,
contempt.
And any thing that may not misbecome
The mighty sender, doth he prize you at.
Thus says my king ; an' if your father's high¬
ness 120
Do not, in grant of all demands at large.
Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty.
He'll call you to so hot an answer of it.
That caves and womby vaultages of Fiiince
Shall chide your trespass and return your
mock
In second accent of his ordnance.
Dau. Say, if ray father render fair return.
It is against my will ; for I desire
Nothing but odds with England : to that end.
As matching to his youth and vanity, 130
I did present him with the Paris balls.
Etx. He'll make your Paris Louvre shake
for it.
Were it the mistress-court of mighty Europe :
And, be assured, you'll find a difference.
As we his subjects have in wonder found.
Between the promise of his greener days
And these he masters now : now he weighs
time
Even to the utmost grain : that you shall read
In your own losses, if he stay in France.
Fr. King. To-morrow shall you know our
mind at full. 140
Exe. Dispatch ns with all speed, lest that
our king
Come here himself to question our delay ;
For he is footed in this land already.
Fr. King. You shall be soon dispatch'd with
fair conditions :
A night is but small breath and little pause
To answer matters of this consequence.
[Flourish. Exeunt.
KING HENRY V.
KING HENRY V.
(Aox III.
ACT IIL
PROLOGUE.
Enter Chorus.
Chor. Thus with imagined wing our swift
scene flies
In motion of no less celerity
Than that of thought. Suppose that you have
seen
The well-appointed king at Hampton pier
Embark his royaity ; and his brave fleet
With siiken streamers the young Phasbus fan¬
ning :
Piay with your fancies, and in them behold
Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys clirabuig ;
Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give
To sounds confused; heboid the threaden
saiis, 10
Borne with the invisible and creeping wind,
Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd
sea,
Breasting the lofty surge : O, do but think
You stand upon the rivage and behold
A city on the inconstant billows dancing ;
For so apijears this fleet majestical.
Holding due course to Hiirfleor. Follow, fol¬
low :
Grapple your minds to stemage of this navy.
And leave your England, as dead midnight
still.
Guarded with grandsires, babies and old wo¬
men.
Either pastor not arrived to pith and puis¬
sance ;
For who is he, whose chin is bnt enrich'd
With one appearing hair, that wili not follow
These cull'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to
France ?
Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a
siege ;
Behold the ordnance on their carriages.
With fatal months gaping on girded Harfleur.
Suppose theambassador from the French comes
back ;
Telis Harry that the king doth offer him
Katharine his daughter, and with' her, to
dowry, 30
Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms.
The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner
Witli linstock now the devilish cannon touch¬
es, [Alarum, and chambers go of.
And down goes all before them. Still be kind.
And eke out our performance with your mind.
[Exit.
Scene I. France. Before Harfleur.
Alarum. Enter Kino Henrv, Exetek, Bed-
fobd, Gloucester, and Soldiers, with scal¬
ing-ladders.
K. Hen. Once more unto the breach, dear
friends, once more ;
Or close the wall up with our EngUsh dead.
In peace there's nothing so beeomes a man
As jnodest^stillness and humility :
PiT hlwft^f Wpr 1rV-i^ fii ears,
Theuiiititato thoabtion ortllbTiger;
Stiffen tftwEirfew^ sunune^ip flieilaaSi.
Disgnise^airjiature wjtbAwrckfavotid-Jage;
Then lend llioR^a terribli».aspect: ^
LefttTir? thr^gbtl»5~portiigp "I thy head 10
EIEe the braSstgimon : let the brow o*erwhelm
~ it"" P «
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swili'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wid^
Hoid hard the bre^h and bend up every yiirit
To his full height. ( On, on, you noblest Eng¬
lish, "l ^
Whose bloouis fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these i>arts from mom tiil even fought
And sheathed tiieir swords for lack of argu¬
ment • .21
Dishonor not your mothers ; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget
you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood.
And teach them how to war. And you, good
yeomen.
Whose limbs were made in England, show us
here
The mettle of your pasture ; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding ; which I
doubt not ;
For there is none of yon so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eves. 30
1 see yon stand like greyhounds in tlie .slips.
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
tJFollow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry ' God for Harry, Engiand, and Saint
George !' "A
[Exeunt. Jaarum, and chambei-s go off.
Scene II. The same.
Enter Nvm, Bardolph, Pistol, and Boy.
Bard. On, on, on, on, on ! to the breach, to
the breach !
Ngm. Pray thee, corporal, stay : the knocks
are too hot ; and, for mine own part, 1 have
not a case of lives : the humor of it is too hot,
that is the very plain-song of it
Pist. The plain-song is most just; for hu¬
mors do abound :
Kuocks go and come ; God's vassals drop and
die ;
And sword and shield.
In bloody field, 10
Doth win immortal fame.
Boy. Would 1 were in an alehouse in Lon¬
don ! I would give all my fame lor a pot of
ale and safety.
Pist. And 1 :
If wishes would prevail with me,
My purpose should not fail with me.
But thither would 1 hie.
Boy, As duly, but not as ti-uly.
As bird doth sing on bough. 20
Scene ii'.]
Kim HENRY V.
4o9
Enter Fluixlen.
Flu. _Up to the breach, you doge I avauut,
yOu cnllions 1 [Driving them forward.
Put. Be merciful, g^af duke, to men of
mould.
Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage.
Abate thy rage, great duke !
Good bawcock, bate thy rage ; use lenity,
sweet chuck !
Nym. These be good humors ! your honor
wins bad humors. [Exeunt all btU Boy.
Boy. As young as I am, I have observed
these three swashers. I am boy to them all
three : but all they three, tliough they would
serve me, could not be man to me ; ' ' " "
was against a post when he was drunk. They
will steal any thing, and call it purchase.
Bardolph stole a lute-case, bore it twelve
league.s, and sold it for three half pence. Nym
and Bardolph are sworn brothers in filching,
and in Calais they stole a fire-shovel: I knew
by that piece of service the men would carry
coals. They would have me as familiar with
men's pockets as their gloves or their hand-
kerchers: which makes much against my
manhood, if I should take from another's
liocket to put into mine ; for it is plain pock¬
eting up of wrongs. I mnst leave them, and
seek some better service : their villany goes
against* my weak stomach, and therefore I
must cast it up. [Exit.
Re-enter Feuemton, Gower following.
Oow. Captain Fluellen, you roust come
presently to the mines ; the Duke of Glouces¬
ter would speak with you. 60
Flu. To the mines! tell you the duke, it is
not so good to come to the mines ; for, look
you, the mines is not according to the disci¬
plines of the war : the concavities of It is not
sufficient; for, look you, th' athversary, you
may discuss unto the duke, look you, is digt
himself four yard under the countermines : by
Cheshu, I think a' will plow up all, if there is
not better directions.
Gow. The Duke of Gloucester, to whom
the order of the siege is given, is altogether
directed by an Irishman, a very valiant gen¬
tleman, i' faith. #
Flu. It is Captain MacmorHs, is it not ?
Goto. I think it be.
Flu. By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the
world: I will verify as much in his beard : he
has no more directions in the true disciplines
of the wars, look you, of the Roman disci¬
plines, than is a puppy-dog.
Enter Machorris and Captain Jami".
Gow. Here a' comes ; and the Scots cap¬
tain, Captain Jaray, witli him. 80
Flu. Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous
gentleman, that is certain ; and of great ex¬
pedition and knowledge in th' aunclueutwars,
upon my particular knowledge of his direc¬
tions : by Cheshu, he will maintain his argu¬
ment as well as any military man in the
world, in the disciplines of the pristine wars
of the Romans.
.Tamy. I say gud-day. Captain Fluellen.
Flu. God-den to your worship, good Cap¬
tain James. 00
Goto. How now. Captain Macrnorris I have
you quit the mines 1 have the pioneers given
o'er ?
Mac. By Chrish, la! tish ill done : the
work ish give over, the trompet sound the re¬
treat. By my hand, I swear, and my father's
soul, the work ish ill done ; it ish give over :
•f-WDuld have blowed up the town, so Chrish
siive me, la ! in an hour ; O, tish iil done,
tish ill done; by ray hand, tish ill done ! 99
Flu. Captain Macrnorris, I beseecli you
now, will you voutsafe me, look you, a few
disputiitions with you, as partly touching or
concerning the disciplines of the war, the Ro¬
man wars, in the way of argument, look yon,
and friendly communication ; partly to sat¬
isfy my opinion, and partly for the satisfac¬
tion, look you, of my mind, as touching the
direction of the military discipline ; that is
the point.
Jamy. It sail be vary gud, gud feith, gud
captains bath : and I sail quit you with gud
leve, as I may pick occarion ; that sail I,
marry. ^ ill
Mae. It is no time to discourse, so Chrish
save me : tlie day is hot, and the weather,
and tlie wars, and the king, and the dukes :
it is no time to discourse. The town is be-
seeched, and the trumpet call us to the
breach ; and we talk, and, be Chrish, do noth¬
ing : 'tis shame for ns all : so God sa' me, 'tis
shame to stand still ; it is shame, by my
hand : and there is throats to be cuti and
works to be done ; and there ish nothing
done, .so Chrish sa' me, la! 121
Jamy. By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine
take themselves to sloniber, ay'll de gud ser¬
vice, or ay'll lig i' the grund for it ; ay, or go
to death ; and ay'll pay't as valorously as I
may, that sail I suerly do, that is the breff
and the long. Marry, I wad full fain hear
some question 'tween you tway.
Flti. Captain Macrnorris, I think, look yon,
under your correction, there is not many of
your nation— 131
Mac. Of my nation ! What ish my nation t
Ish a villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and
a rascal. What ish my nation 1 Who talks
of my nation 7
460
KING HENRY V.
Flu, Look you, if you take the matter
ethei'wise than is meant. Captain Macmorris,
peradveiiture I shall think you do not use me
with that affability as in discretion you ouglit
to use me, look you ; beiiis; as good a man as
yourself, both in tiie disciplines of war, and
in the derivation of my birth, and in other
particularities.
Mac. 1 do not know you so good a man as
myself : so Chrish save me, I will cut oft
your head.
Gfoio. Gentlemen both, you will mistake
each other.
Jamy. A ! that's a foul fault.
[A parley sounded.
Oov). The town sounds a parley. 149
Flu. Captiiiu Macmorris, when there is
more better opportunity to be required, look
you, I will be so bold as to toll you I know
the disciplines of war ; and there is an end.
[Exeunt.
Scene III, The same. Before the gates.
The Governor and some Citizens on the walls ;
the English forces below. Enter Kino Henkv
and his train.
K. Hen. How yet resolves tlie governor of
the town ?
This is tlie latest parlo we will admit;
Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves ;
Or like to men proud of destruction
Defy us to our worst: for, as I am a soldier,
A name that in my thoughts becomes me
best,
If I begin the battery once again,
I will not leave the half-achieved Hariieur
Till in her ashes she lie buried.
The gates of mercy shall be all shut up, 10
And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of
heart.
In liberty of bloody hand shall range
With conscience wide as hell, mowing like
grass
Your fresii-fair virgins and your flowering in¬
fants.
What is it then to me, if impious war,
Array'd in flames iike to the prince of fiends.
Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell
feiits *
Enlink'd to waste and desolation 1
What is't to me, when you yourselves are
cause,
If your pure maidens fall into the hand 20
Of hot and forcing violation ?
What rein can hold licentious wickedness
When down tlie hill he liolds his fierce career?
We may as bootless spend our vain command
Upon the enraged soldiers in their sjxiil
As .send precepts to the leviathan
To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Har-
fleur.
Take pity of your town and of your people.
Willies yet ray soldiers are in my command ;
Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of
grace 30
O'crblows the filthy and contagions clouds
[Act lit.
Of heady murder, spoil and villany.
I f not, why, in a moment look to see
The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand
Defile the Jocks of your shrill-shrieking daugh¬
ters ;
Tour fatliers taken by the silver beards.
And their most reverend heads dash'd to tlie
walls.
Your naked infants spitted upon iiikes.
Whiles the mad mothers with their howls con¬
fused
Do break the clouds^ as did the wives of
Jewry 40
At Herod's bloody-huntiiig slaughtermen.
What say[ you ?' will you yield, and tliis
avoid.
Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd ?
Gov. Our expectation hath tliis d.ay an end:
The Dauphin, wiioni of succors we entreated,
Retunis us that his powers are yet not rejidy
To i-aise so great a siege. Therefore, great
king,
We yield our town and lives to thy soft
mercy.
Enter our gates ; dispose of us and ours ;
For we no longer are defensible. 50
K. Hen. Open your gates. Come, uncle
Exeter,
Go you and enter Harfleur ; there remain.
And fortify it strongly 'gainst the French :
U.se mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle.
The winter coming on and sickness growing
Upon our soldiei-s, we will retire to Calais.
To-night in Harfleur we will be your guest;
To-morrow for the march are we addrest.
[Flourish. The King and his train enter
the town.
Scene IV. The French Kino's palace.
Enter Katharine and Alice.
Kath. Alice, tn as ete en Angleterre, et tu
paries bien le laugage.
Alice. Un pen, madame.
Kath. Je te prie, m'enseignez : il fant que
j'apprenne i parler. Comment appelez-vous
la main en Anglois ?
Alice. La main ? elle est appelee de hand.
Kath. De hand. Et les doi^ ?
Alice. Les doigts? ma foi, j'oublie les
doigts ! mais je me souvieiidrai. Les doigts ?
je pense qu'ils sont appeles de fingres ; oui,
de fingres. li
Kath. La main, de hand; les doigts, de
fingres. Je pense que je suis le bon ecolier ;
j'ai gagnd deux mots d'Anglois vitement.
Comment appelez-vous les ongles ?
Alice. Les ongles ? nous les appelous de
nails.
Kath. De nails. Econtez -, dites-moi, si je
parle bien : de hand, de fingres, et de nails.
Alice. C'est bien dit, madame; il est fort
bon Anglois. id
Kath. Dites-moi 1'Anglois pour le bras.
Alice. De arm, madame.
Kath, Et le conde ?
SOBVB V.I
KING HENRY V.
461
Alice. De elbow.
KaXhj De elbow. Je m'en lus la i4petition
de tous les mots que vous m'avez appris dte a
present.
Alice. 11 est trop difflclle, madame, comme
je pense.
Kath. Excusez-mol, Alice ; ^coutez : de
hand, de fingres, de nails, de arma, de bil-
bow. 31
Alice. De elbow, madame. '
Kath. O Seigneur Dieii, jem'en oublie.' de
elbow. Comment appelez-vous le col 1
Alice. De neck, madame.
Kath. De nick. Et le menton ?
Alice. De chin.
Kath. De sin. Le col, de nick ; de menton,
de sin. 39
Alice. Oui. Saul votie houueur, en verite,
vous prononcez les mots aussi droit que les
natifs d'Jfngleterre.
Kath. Je ne doute point d'apprendre, par
la grace de Dieu, et en pen de temps.
Alice. N'avez vous pas deja oublie ce que
je vous ai enseigue' ?
Kath. Non, je reciterai a vous prompte-
ment: de baud, de fingres, de mails,—
Alice. De nails, madame.
Kath. De nails, de arm, de ilbow. 50
Alice. Saul votre honneur, de elbow.
Kath. Aiusi dis-je ; de elbow, de nick, et
desin. Comment api elez-vous le pied et la
robe ?
Alice. De foot, madame ; et de couu.
Kath. De foot et de coun! O Seigneur
Dieu! cesont mots desou manvais, corruptible,
gros, et impudique, et non pour les dames
d'honneur d user : je oe ' oi drais prononcer
ces mots devant les seigueuii. de France pour
tout le monde. Fob! le foot et le comi!
Ndanmoins, je reciterai une autra fois ma
leqon ensemble : de band, de fingres, de nails,
de arm, de elbow, de nick, de sin, de foot, de
coun.
Alice. Excellent, madame !
Kath. C'est assez pour mie fois : allons-
nous a diner. [Exeunt.
Scene V. The same.
Enter the King or France, the Dauphin, the
Duke or BouRBoer, the Constable or
France, and others.
Fr. King. *Tis certain he hath pass'd the
river Somme.
Con. And if he be not fougiit withal, my
lord.
Let us not live in France ; let us quit all
And give our vineyards to a barbarous people.
Dau. O Dieu vivaut! shaU a few sprays of
us.
The emptying of our fatbers*luxury,
Our scions, put in wild and savage stock,
Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds.
And overlook tbeir'grafters ?
Rotfr. Normans, but bastard Normans,
Nonnan bastards! 10
Mort de ma vie ! if they march along
Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom.
To buy a slobbery and a dirty larm
In that nook-sliotten isle of Albion.
Con. Dieu de batailles ! where have they
this mettle ?
Is not their climate foggy, raw and dull.
On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale,
Killing their fruit with frowns? Can sodden
water,
A drench for sur-rein'd jades, their barley-
broth, 19
Decoct their cold blood to sucli valiant heat ?
And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine.
Seem frosty ? O, for honor of our land.
Let us not hang like roping icicles
Upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty
people
Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields!
Poor we may call them in their native lords.
Dau. By faith and honor,
Our madams mock at us, and plainly say
Our mettle is bred out and they will give
Their bodies to the lust of English youth 30
To new-store France with bastard warriors.
Bour. They bid us to the English dancing-
schools,
And teach lavoltas high and swift corautos ;
Saying our grace is oniy in our heels.
And that we are most lofty runaways.
Fr. King. Where is jilontjoy the herald ?
speed him hence :
Let him greet England with our sharp defiance.
Up, princes ! and, with spirit of honor edged
More sharper than your swords, hie to the
field : 39
Charles Delabi-eth, high constable of France ;
You Dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of
Berri, '
Aleiifon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy ;
Jaques Chatilkm, Hambures, Vaudemont,
Beaumont, Graudpre, Roussi, and Faucon-
berg,
Foix, Lestrale, Bouciquait, and Charolois ;
High dukes, great princes, barons, lords and
knights.
For your gi'eat seats now quit you of great
shames.
far Harry England, that sweeiis through our
land
'ith pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur:
lush on his liost, as d;'tli the melted snow 50
I poll th% valleys, whose low vassal seat
The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon :
Go down upon him, you have power enough.
And in a captive chariot into Rouen
Bring him our priso^-.
Con. ^^his becomes the great.
Sorry am I his numlVrs are so few.
His Koidiers sick and faniish'd in their march.
For I am sure, when he shall see our arnm
He'll drop his heart into the sink of fear ll
And for achievement offer us his ransom.,^0
Fr. King. Therefore, lord constable, haste
ou Montjoy,
And let him say to England that we send
462
To know what willing lansom he will give.
Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in
Ro icn.
Dau. Kot .so, I do beseech your majesty.
Fr. Kbig. Be patient, for you shall remain
with us.
Now forth, lord constable and princes all.
And quickly bring us word of Eiiglaud's fall.
[^ExeunU
i Scene VI. The English camp in Picardg.
Enter Gower and Fluellen, meeting.
Goto. How now. Captain Fluellen ! come
you from the bridge ?
Fill. I assure you, there is very excellent
services committed at the bridge.
Goto. Is tlie Duke of Exeter .safe ?
Flu. The Duke of Exeter is as magnani¬
mous as Agamemnon ; and a man that I love
and honor with my soul, and my heart, and
my duty, and my iife, and my living, and
my uttermost power : he is not—God be praised
and blessed !—any hurt m the world ; but keeps.
the bridge most valiantly, with excellent dis¬
cipline. There is an aunchient lieutenant there
at the pridge, 1 think in my very conscience he
is as valiant a man as Mark Antony; and he
is a man of no estimation in the world ; but I
did see him do as gallant service.
Goto. What do you call him ?
Flu. He is called Aunchient Pistol.
Goto. 1 know him not.. 20
Enter Pistol.
Flu. Here is the man.
Pist. Captain, I thee beseech to do me fa¬
vors :
The Duke of Exeter doth love thee well.
Flu. Ay, I praise God ; and I have merited
some love at his hands.
Pist. Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound
of heart,
And of buxom valor, hath, by cruel fate.
And giddy Fortune's furious fickle wheel.
That goddess blind, 30
That stands upon the rolling restless stone—
Flu. By your patience, Aunchient Pistol.
Fortune is painted blind, with a muffler afore
her eyes, to signify to you that Fortune is
blindand she is painted also with a wheel,
to signify to you, which is the moral oMt, tha*
she is turning, and inconstant, and mutability,
and variation : and her foot, look you, is fixed
upon a spherical stone, which rolls, and rolls,
and rolls : in good truth, the poet makes a most
excellent description of it: Fortune is an ex¬
cellent moral. 40
Pist. Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns
on him ;
For he hath stolen a pax, and hanged must a'
be :
A damned death!
Let gallows gape for dog ; let man go free
And let not hemp his wind-pipe suffocate :
E?eter bafr givep the doomof death
[ACT 111.
For pax of little price.
Therefore, go speak : the duke will liear thy
voice :
And let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut
With edge of penny cord and vile reproach i
Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee
requite. 51
Fht. Aunchient Pistol, 1 do partly undeiv
stand your meaning.
Pist. Why then, rejoice therefore.
Flu. Certainly, aunchient, it ie not a thing
to rejoice at: for if, look you, he were my
brother, 1 would desire the duke to use his
good pleasure, and put him to execution ; for
discipline ought to be used.
Pist. Die and be damn'd I and figo for thy
friendship ! 60
Flu. It is well.
Pist. The fig of Spain ! [Exit.
Flu. Very good. *
Gow. Why, this is an arrant counterfeit
rascal ; I remember him now ; a bawd, a cut-
purse.
Flu. I'll assure you, a' uttered as brave
words at the bridge as you shall see in a sum¬
mer's day. But it is very well; what he has
spoke to me, that is well, I warrant you, when
time is serve. 69
Gow. Why, 'tis a gull, a fool, a rogue, that
now and then goes to the wars, to grace him¬
self at bis return into London under the form
of a soldier. And such fellows are perfect in
the great commanders' names : and they will
leani you by rote where services were ^one :
at such and such a sconce, at such a breach, at
such a convoy ; who came off bravely, who
was shot, who disgraced, what terms tlie
enemy stood on ; and this they con perfectly
in the phrase of war, which they trick up with
new-tuned oaths : and what a beard of the
general's cut and a horrid suit of the camp will
do among foaming bottles and ale-washed
wits, is wonderful to be thought on. But you
must learn to know such slanders of the age,
or else you may be marvellously mistook.
Flu. 1 tell you what, Captain Gower ; 1 do
perceive he is not the man that he would gladly
make show to the world he is : if I find a hole
in his coat, 1 will tell him iny mind. [Drum
heard.] Hark you, the king is coming, and 1
must speak with him from the pridge. 91
Drum and colors. Enter King Henry,
Gloucester, and Soldiers.
God pless your majesty !
K. Hen. How now, Fluellen ! earnest thou
from the bridge ?
Flu. Ay, so please your maje.sty. The
Duke Of Exeter has very gallantly maintained
the pridge : Ihe French is gone off, look you ;
and there is gallant and most prave iiassages ;
marry, th' athversary was have possession of
the pridge ; but he is enforced to retire, and
the Duke of Exeter is master of the pridge ; 1
can teil youj majesty, the duke is a prave
UWtt. lOJ
laWG HENRY V.
Scene th.]
KING HENRY V.
463
K. Hen. What men have you lost, Fluellen?
Elu. The perdition of tli' athversary hath
been very great, reasonable great: marry, for
my jmrt, I think the duke hath iost never a
man, but one that is like to be executed for
robbing a church,one Bardolph, if your majesty
know the man : his face Is all bubukles, and
whelks, and knobs, and flames o' fire : and his
lips blows at his nose, and it is like a coal of
fire, sometimes plue and sometiines red ; but
his nose is executed and his fire's out.
K. Hen. We would have all sucli offenders
so cut off : and we give express (jharge, tliat
in our marches through the country, there be
nothing compelled from the villages, nothing
taken but paid for, none of the French upbraid¬
ed or abused in disdainful language ; for when
lenity and cruelty play for a kingdom, the
gentler gamester is the soonest winner. 1^
Tucket. Enter Montjoy.
Mont. Yon knew me by my habit.
K. Hen. Well then I know thee : what shall
I know of thee ?
Mont. My master's mind.
K. Hen. Unfold it.
Mont. Thus says my king : Say thou to
Harry of England ; Though we seemed dead,
we did but sleep : advantage is a better anlrfipr
thau-i3tshne.ss. 'Tel'lisye rebtik-~
ed him at firi hut thnti wn thniiijlit net
godlttgCBfiuiie an injury till it wmy full rine
JI19 rrm—^jjtiin niniiiiii
him-th6T6Tore nonsider of liis ransom ; which
must proportion the losses we have home; the-,
subjects we have lost, the disgrace we have
digested ; which in weight to re-answer, his
Iiettiness would bow under. For our losses,
lis exchequer is too iioor ; for the effusion of
our blood, the muster of his kingdom too faiut
a number ; and for our disgrace, his own
person, kneeling at our f^, but a weak
and worthless satisfaction, ijo this add defi¬
ance : and tell him, for condusion, he hath
betrayed his followers, whose condemnation is
pronounced. So f^MSy king and m.aster ; so
much ray office. ( [quality.
K. Hen. What is^y name? I know thy
Mont. Montjoy.
K. Hen. Thou dost thy office fairly. Turn
theebaek,
A.nd tell thy king I do not seek him now ;
But could be willing to march on to Calais 150
Without impeachment: for, to«ay tlie sooth.
Though 'tis no wisdom to confess so much
Unto an enemy of craft and vantage.
My peopieare with sickness much enfeebled.
My numbers lessened, and those few I have
Almost no better than so mavy French ;
(Fho when they were in health, 1 tell tliee,
herald,
1 thought upon one pair of English legs
Did march three Frenchmen. Yet, forgive
me, Godr 169
That I do brag thus l) This your air of France
Hath blown that vice m~lue ; I must repent.'
Go therefore, tell thy master here I am ;
My ransom is this frail and worthless trunk.
My army but a weak and sickly guard ;
Yet, God before, tell him we will come on.
Though France himself and such another
neighbor
Stand in our vrayit There's for thy labor,
Montjoy. ^
Go, bid thy masterwell advise himself :
If we may jrass, we will; H we be hinder'd.
We shall your tawny ground with your red
blo<Kl 170
Discolor : and so, Montjoy, fare you well.
The sum of all our answer is but this :
We would not seek a battle, as we are ;
Nor, as we are, we say we will not shun it: •
So tell your master.
Mont. I shall deliver so. Thanks to your
highness. [Emt.
Glou. I hope they will not come upon us
now.
K. Hen. We are in God's hand, brother,
not in theirsj
March to the bridge ; it now draws toward
night:
Beyond the river we'll encamp ourselves, 180
_And on to-morrow, bid them march away.
" [ExeuKi.
Scene'YII. TheFrench Camp, near Ayincourt.
Enter the Constable of, Fr.ince, the Lord
- Rambures, Orleans, Dauphin, loith others.
Con. Tut! I have the best armor of the
world. Would it were day I
Orl. You have an excellent armor ; but let
my horse have his due.
Coth It is the best horse of Europe.
Orl. Will it never be morning ?
Dau. My lord of Orleans, and my lord high
con.stable, you talk of horse and armor ?
Orl. You are as well provided of both as
any prince in the world. 10
l)au. What a long night is this ! f will
not change my horse with any that treads but
on four pa.sterns. Ca, ha ! he bounds from
the earth, as if his entrails were hairs ; le
cheval volant, tlie Pegasus, chez les narines
de feu ! When I bestride him, 1 soar, I am a
hawk she trots the air; the earth sings when
he touches it; the biisest horn of his hoof is
more musical than the pipe of Hermes.
Orl. He's of the color of the nutmeg. 20
Dau. And of the heat of the ginger. It is a
beast for Perseus : he is pure air and fire ; and
the dull elements of earth and water never
appeiir in him, but only in patient stillness
while his rider mounts him : he is indeed a
horse; and All other jades you may call beasts.
Con. Indeen, my lord, it is a most absolute
apd excellent horse.
Dau. It is the prince of palfreys ; his
neigh is like the bidding of a monarch an^
his countenance enforces homage. 81
464
KING HENRY V.
[ACT III.
Orl. No more, coosiu.
'Dau. Nay, the man hath no wit that caU''
not, from tlie rising of the lark to the lodging
of the lamb, vary deserved praise on my pal¬
frey : it is a theme as fluent as the sea : turn
the sands into eloquent tongues, and my horse
is argument for them all ; 'tis a subject for a
sovereign to reason on, and for a sovereign's
sovereign to ride on; and fqr the world, familiar
to us and unknown to lay'apart their particu¬
lar functions and wonder at him. I once
writ a sonnet in his praise and began thus ;
'Wonder of nature,'—
Orl. I have heard a sonnet begin so to
one's mistress.
Dau. Then did they imitate that which I
composed to my courser, for my horse is my
mistress.
Orl. Your mistress bears well.
"Dau. Me well ; which is the prescript
praise and jrerfection of a good and particular
mistress.
Con. Nay, for methought yesterday your
mistress shrewdly shook your back.
Dau. So perhaps did youis.
Con. Mine was not bridled.
Dau. O then belike she was old and gentle;
and you rode, like a kern of Ireland, your
French hose off, and in your straight strossers.
Con. You liave good judgment in horse¬
manship. 59
Dau. Be warned by me,' then : they th.at
ride so and ride not warily, fall into foul bogs.
I had rather have ihy horse to my mistress.
Con. I had as lief have my mistress a jade.
Dau. 1 tell thee, constable, my mistress
wears his own hair.
Con. I could m.ake as true a boast as that,
if I had a sow to ray mistress.
Dau. ' Le chien est retoiirne a son propre
vomissement, et la truie lavee au bourbier ;'
thou makest use of any thing. 70
Con. Yet do I not use my horse for my
mistress, or any such proverb so little kin to
the purpose.
Rum. My lord constable, the armor that I
saw in your tent to-night, are those stars or
suns upon it ?
Con. Stars, ray lord.
Dau. Some of'them will fall tomorrow,.!
hope.
Con. And yet my slcy shall not wairt.
Dau. That" may be, tor you bear a many
superfluously, and 'twere more honor some
were aww. 81
Con. Even as yonr horse bears your
praises ; who would trot as weU, were soi
of your brags dismounted.
Dau. Would I were hble to load him with
his desert 1 Will it never be day ? I will
trot to-morrow a mile, and my way shall be
paved with English faces.
Con. I will not say so, for fear I should b®
faced out of my way: but I would it were
morning ; for I would fain be about the ears
of the English.
Ram. Who will go to hazard with me for
twenty prisoners ?
Con. You must first go yourself to hazard,
ere you have tliem.'
Dau. ' ris midnight ; I'll go arm myself.
lExil.
Orl. The Dauphin longs for morning.
Ram. He longs to eat the English.
will eat all he kills. 100
hand of my lady, he's a
. Ram. He longs to e
fcrfeten. I think he will
1 \)rl. By the white li
gSTlant prince.
Con. Swear by her foot, that she may tread
out the oatli.
Orl. He is simply the most active gentle¬
man of France.
Con. Doing is activity ; and he will still be
doing.
Orl. He never did harm, that I heard of.
Con. Nor will do none to-morrow : he will
keep that good name still. Ill
Orl. I know him to be valiant.
Con. I was told that by* one that knows
him better than you.
Orl. What's he ?
Con. Marry, he told me so himself ; and
he said he cared not who knew it.
Orl. He needs not; it is no hidden virtue
in him. \ 119
Con. By my faith, sir, but it is : never
any body saw it but his lackey : 'tis a hooded
valor ; and when it appears, it will bate.
Orl. Ill will never said well.
Con. I will cap that proverb with ' There is
flattery in friendship.'
Orl. And I will take up tlidt with ' Give
the devil his due.'
Con. Well placed : there stands your friend
for the devil: have at tlie very eye of that
proverb with ' A pox of the devil.' 130
Orl. Yon are tlie better at proverbs, by
how much ' A fool's bolt is soon shot'
Con. You have shot over.
Orl. 'Tis not the first time you were over¬
shot
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. My lord high constable, the English
lie within fifteen hundred pares of your tents.
Con. Who hath mea,sured the ground ?
Mess. The Lord Grandpre.
Coti. A valiant and most exiiert gentleman.
Would it were day I Alas, poor Harry of
England ! he longs not for the dawning as we
" 141
wretched and peevish fellow
England, to mope with his fat-
Irained followers so far out of his knowledge !
^ i Con. If the English had any apprehension,
they would run away.
Orl. That they lack ; for if their heads
had any intellectual armor, they could never
wear such heav^v head-pieces. 149
Ram. That island of Englarta breeds very
valiant creatures ; their mastiffs are of un-
matchable courage.
Orl. Foolish curs, that run winking into
i<.ngiand I be loin
do.
I Oil.r^iatA-V
lis this Ring of En
SCi^ENB 1.]
.—j
th«L mouth of a Russian hear and have their
helads cruslied like rotten apples ! You may
astwell say, that's a valiant ilea thatdare eat
biik breakfast on the lip of a lion.
iCon. Just, just; a^ the men do sympa-
tUKze with the mastiffs in robustious and
rokigh coming on, leaving their wits with their
wives: and then give them great meals of
beof and iron and steel, they will eat like
wolves and fight like devils.
Oti. Ay, but these English are shrewdly
out of beef.
Con. Then shall we find to-morrow they
have only stomachs to eat and none to figlib
Now is it time to arm : come, shall we atout
it?
Orl. It is now two o'clock : but, let me
see, by ten
We shall have each a hundred Englishmen.
[Exeunt,
ACT IV.
PROLOGUE-
Enter Chorus.
Char. Now entertain conjecture of a time
When creeping murmur and the poring dark
Fills the wide vessel of the universe.'
From camp to camp through the foul womb
of night
The hum of either army stilly sounds.
That the fixed sentinels almost receive
■The secret whispers of each other's watch :
Fire answers fire, and through their x>tly
flames -
Each battle sees the other's umber'd face ;
Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful
neighs 10
Piercing the night's dull ear, and froin the
touts
Tlie armorers, accomplishing the knights,
With busy hammers closing rivets up.
Give dreadful note of prei-aration :
The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll,
And the third hour of drowsy morning name.
Proud of their number^ and secure in soul.
The confident and over-lusty French
Do the low-rated English play at dice ;
And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night 20
Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limi)
So tediously away. The poor condemned
English,
Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires
Sit patiently and inly ruminate
The morning's danger, and their gesture sad
Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats
I^eseuteth them unto thg gazing moon
So many horrid ghosts.f O now, who will be¬
hold U_ •
The royal captain of this ruin'd band
Walking from watch to watch, from tent to
tent, ^ 30
Let him cry ' Praise and glory on his head !'
For forth be goes and visits all his host,
466
Bids them good morrow with a modest smile
And calls them brothers, friends aud country¬
men.
Upon his royal face there is no note
How dread an army hath enrounded him ;
Nor doth he dedicate one jot of color
Unto the weary and all-watched night.
But freshly looks and over-bears attaint
With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty ;
That every wretch, pining and pale before, 41.
Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks:
A largess univei'sal like the sun ^
His liberal eye doth give to every one.
Thawing cold fear, fthat mean and gentle all.
Behold, as may unworthiness define,
A little touch of Harry in the night
And so our scene must to the battle fly ;
Where—0 for pity !—we shall much disgrace
With four or five most vile and ragged foils.
Right ill-disposed in brawl ridiculous, 51
The name of Agincoui-t. Yet sit aud see.
Minding true things by what their mockeries
be. . [Exfl.
Scene I. The English camp at Aglncowt.
«Enter Kino Henby, Bedford, and Glou¬
cester.
K. Hen. Gloucester, 'tis true that we are in
great danger ■, v
The greater therefore should our courage be.
Good morrow, brother Bedford. G^ Al¬
mighty !
There is some soul of goodness in things evil.
Would men ob.servingly distil it out.
For our bad neighbor makes us early stirrers.
Which is both healthful and good husbandry:
Besides, they are our outward consciences.
And preachers to us all, admonishing
That we should dress us fairly lor our end. 10
Thus may we gather honey from the weed,
Aud make a moral of the devil himself.
Enter Erpingham.
Good morrow, old Sir Thomas Eipingham :
A good soft pillow for that good white head
Were better than a churlish turf of France.
Eip. Not so, my liege : this lodging likes
me better.
Since I may say ' Now lie I like a king.'
K. lien. 'Tis good lor men to loie their
.■ present pains
Upon e.xample ; so the spirit is eased : 19
And when the mind is quicken'd, out of doubt.
The org.ms, though defunct and dead before.
Break up their drowsy ^rave and newly move,
With casted slough and fresh legerity.
Lend me thy cloak. Sir Thomas. Brotliers
hoth.
Commend me to the princes in our camp ;
Do my good morrow to them, and anon
Desire them all to m.v pavilion.
G/ou. We shall, my liege.
Eip. Shall 1 attend your grace ?
E. Hen. No, my good knight;
Go with my brothers to my lords of England :
30
KING HENRY V.
466
KING HENRY V.
[Act iff
I and my bosom mast debate awhile, 31
And then I would no other company.
Erp, The Lord in heaven bless tliee, noble
Harry 1 [Eiceunt all but Kin//.
K. Hen. God-a-mercy, old heart I thon
speak'st cheerfully.
Enter Pistol.
Pist. Qui va U ?
K. Hen. A friend.
Pist. Discuss unto me ; art thou officer 1
Or ait thou ba.se, common and popular ?
K. He)U I am a gentleman of a company.
Pist. TraiTst thou the puissant pike? 40
K. Hen. Even so. What are you ?
Pist. As good a gentleman as the emperor.
K. Hen. Then you are a better than the
king.
Pisf^fte king's a bawcock, and a heart of
A lad of life, an imp of fame ; —-i
Of parents good, of fist most valiant. V
kiss his dirty shoe, and from heart-stfing
love the lovely bully. What is thy name ?
K. Hen. Harry le Roy.
Pist. Le Roy f a Cornish name : art thou
of Cornish crew ?
K. Hen. No, I am a Welshman.
Pist. Know'st thou Fluellen ?
K. Hen. Yes.
Pist. Tell him, I'll knock his leek about
his pate
Upon Saint Davy's day.
K. Hen. Do hot you wear your dagger in
your cap that day, lest he knock that about
yours.
Pist. Art thou his friend ?
K. Hen. And his kinsman too.
Pist. The figo for thee, then ! 60
K. Hen. I thajik yon : God be with you !
Pist. My name is Pistol call'd. [Exit.
K. Hen. It sorts well with your fierceness.
Enter Fluellen and Gower.
Gow. Captain Fluellen !
Flu. So ! in the name of Jesu Christ, speak
lower. It is the greatest admiration of the
universal world, wheu the true and aunchleut
prerogatifes and laws of the wars is not kejA:
if you would take the pains but to examine
the ware of Pompey tlie Great, you shall find,
I wan-ant you, that there is no tiddle taddle
nor pibble pabble in Pompey's camp ; I war¬
rant you, you shall find the ceremonies of*the
wars, and the cares of it, and the forms of it,
and the sobriety of it, and the modesty of it,
to be otherwise.
Gow. Wliy, the enfemy is loud ; you hear
him all night.
Fill. If the enemy is an ass and a fool and
a prating coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that
we should also, look you, be an ass and a fool
and a prating coxcomb? in your own con¬
science, now ?
Gow. I will speak lower.
Flu. I pray you and beseech you that you
will. [Exetent Gofoer and Fluellen,
K. Hen. Though it apxiear a little out' of
fashion.
There is much care and valor in this Wei ih-
man.
Enter three soldiers, John Batrs, Alexa n-
der Court, and Michael Williams.
Court. Brother John Bates, is not that t he
morning which breaks yonder ? >
Bates. I think it be : but we have no great
cause to desire the approach of day. !lO
Will. We see yonder tlie beginning of the
day, but I think we shall never see the end of
it. Wiio goes there ?
K. Hen. A friend.
Will. Under what captain serve you ?
K. Hen. Under Sir Thomas Erpiugham.
Will. A good old commander and a most
kind gentleman : I pray you, what thinks he
of our estate ?
K. Hen. Even as men wrecked upon a sand,
that look to be washed off the next tide. 101
Bates. He hath not told his thought to tlie
king ?
K. Hen. No ; nor it is not me^ he should.
For, though I speak it to yon,U think the
king is but a man, as 1 am ; the mlet smells
to him as it doth to me : the element shows to
him as it doth to me ; all his senses have but
human conditions : his ceremonies laid by, in
his nakedness he appears but a man ^nd
though his affections are higher mounted uian
ours, yet, when they stooj), they stoop with
the like wing. Therefore when he sees reason
of fears, as we do, his fears, out of doubt, be
of the same relish as ours are : yet, in reason,
no man should |x>ssess him with any appear¬
ance of fear, lest he^by showing it, should
dishearteu his arm.v. j
Bates. He may show what outward courage
he will; but I believe, as cold a night as 'tis,
he could wish himself in Thames up to the
neck ; and so I would he were, and I by him,
at all adventures, so we were quit here.
K. Hen. By my troth, I will speak my con¬
science of the king ; I think he would not wish
himself any where but where he is.
Bates. Then I would he were here alone ;
so should he be sure to be ransomed, and a
many poor men's lives saved.
K. Hen. I dare say you love him not so ill,
to wish him here alone, howsoever you speak
this to feel other men's minds : methinks I
could not die any where so contented as in the
king's company ; his cause being just and his
quarrel honorable.
Will. That's more than we know.
Bates. Ay, or more than we should seek
after; for we know enough. If we know we are
the king's .snbjects: if his cause be wrong,
our ob^ieuce to the king wipes the crime of
it out of us.
Will. But if the cause be not good, the
king himself hath a heavy reckoning to make,
wheu all those legs and arms and heads,
chopped off in battle, shall join together at the
SCBKE 1.)
KING HENRY V.
407
latter day and cry all ' We died at such a
place some swearing, some crying for a
surgeon, some upon their wives left poor be¬
hind them, some upon the debts they owe,
some upon their chiidren rawly left. I am
afeard there are few die weli that die in a bat¬
tle; for how can they charitably dispose of any
thing, when blood is their argument ? Now,
if these men do not die well, it will be a black
matter for the king that led them to it; whom
to disobey were against all proportion of sub¬
jection.
K. Hen. So, if a son that is by his father
sent about merchandise do sinfully miscarry
upon the sea, the Imputation of his wickedness,
by your rule, should be imposed upon his
father that sent him : or if a servant, under
his master's command transporting a sum of
money, be assailed by robbers and die in
many irreconciled iniquities, you may call the
business of the master tlie author of the ser¬
vant's damnation : but this is not so : the king
is not bound to answer the particular endings
of his soldiers, tlie father of his son, nor the
master of his servant; for they purpose not
their death, when they purpose their services.
Besides, there is no king, be his cause never so
spotless, if it come to the arbitrement xof
iwurds, can try it out with all unspotted sol¬
diers : some peradventure have on them the
guilt of premeditated and contrived murder ;
some, of beguiling virgins witli the broken
seals of penury ; some, making the wars their
bulwark, that have before gored the gdntle
bosom of peace with pillage and robbery.
Now, if these men have defeated the law and
outrun native punishment, though tliey can
outstrip men, they have no wings to fly from
God : war is.his beadle, war is his vengeanqe;
so that here men are punished for before-
breach of the king's laws in now the king's
quarrel: where they feared the death, tliey
have borne life away ; and where they would
be sale, they perish : then if they die unpro¬
vided, no more is the king guilty of their dam¬
nation than he was before guilty of those im-
f ies for the which they are now visited,
iry subject's duty is the king's ; but every
ject'ssoul is his Own."vTherefore should
every soldier in the wars d»*s every sick man
in his bed, wash every mote out of his con¬
science : and dying so,' death is to him advan¬
tage ; or not dying, the time was blessedly lost
wherein such preparaGon was gained: and in
him that esca^, it were not sin to think that,
making God so free an offer. He let him out¬
live that day to see His greatness and to teach
others how they should prepare.
Will. 'Tis certam, every man that dies ill,,
the ill npon his own head, the king is not to
answer it. • 199
Batet. But I do not desire he should answer
for me ; and yet I determine to fight lustily
lor «im.
K. Hen. 1 myself heard the king say he
Woidd not be ransomed.
Will. Ay, he said so, to make us flg'iit
cheerfully : but when our throats are cut, he
may be ransomed, and we ne'er the wiser.
K. Hen. If I live to see it, I will never trust
his word after.
Will. You pay him then. Th.at's a perilous
shot out of an elder-gun, that a poor and
private displeasure can do against a monarch!
you may as well go about to turn the sun to
ice with "fanning in his face with a peacock's
feather. You'll never trust his word after !
come, 'tis a foolish saying.
K. Hen. Your reproof is something too
round: I should be angry with you, if the
time were convenient.
Will. Let it be a quarrel between us, if you
live. 220
K Hen. I embrace it.
Will. How shall I know thee again ?
K. Hen. Give me any gage of thine, and
I will wear it in my bonnet: then, if ever thou
darest acknowledge it, I will make it my
quarrel.
Will. Here's my glove : give me another of
thine.
K. Hen. There.
Will. This will I also wear in my cap : if
ever thou come to me and say, after to-mor¬
row, ' This is my glove,' by this hand, I will
take thee a box on the ear."
K. Hen. If ever I live to see it, I will chal¬
lenge it.
WUl. Thou darest as weli be hanged.
K. Hen. Well, I will do it, though I take
thee ill the king's company.
Will. Keep thy word : fare thee well.
Bates. Be friends, you English fools, be
friends : we have French quarrels enow, if you
could tell how to reckon. 241
K. Hen. Indeed, the French may lay twenty
FYench crowns to one, thev will beat us ; for
they bear them on their shoulders ; but it is
no English treason to cut French crowns, and
to-morrow the king himself will be a clipper,
r-v [Ef-exint aoldiei-s..
Upon the king ! let us our lives, our souls,
•.Qur debts, our careful wives.
Our children and our sins lay on the king !
We must bear all. O hard condition, 250'
Twin-born with greatness, subject to the
breath
Of every fool, whose sense no more can feel
But his own wringing 1 What infinite heart's-
ease
Must kings neglect, that private men enjoy !
Andlwhat have kiiigs, that privates have not
' teo,
Save ceremony, save general ceremony ?
And what art thou, thou idol ceremony ?
What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more
Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers? » «
What are thy rents ? what are thy comings in ?
O ceremony, show me but thy worth ! 261
. tWhat is thy soul of adoration ?
f Art thou aught else but place, degree and form,
Creating awe and fear in other men ? f
KING HENRY V.
[Act iv.
Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd
Thau tiiey in fearing.
What drink'st tliou oft, instead of homage
sweet,
But poison'd flattery ? 0, be sick, great great¬
ness.
And bid thy ceremony give thee cure !
Thiuk'st thou the fiery fever wiii go out 270
With titles blown from adulation ?
Will it give place to flexure and low bending ?
Canst thou, wlicn thou command'stthe beggar's
knee,
Command the health of it ? No, thou proud
dream,
That play'st so subtly with^ king's repose ;
I am a king that find thee,|tud 1 know
' ris not the balm, the sceptre and the ball.
The sword, the mace, the crown imperial.
The intertissued robe of gold and pearl.
The farced title running 'fore the king, 280
The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp
That beats upon the high shore of this world.
No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony.
Not all these, laid in bed inajestical.
Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave.
Who with a body fill'd and vacant mind
Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful
bread ;
Never sees horrid night, the child of hell,
But, like a lackey, from the rise to set
Sweats in the eye of Phcebus and all night 290
Sleeps in Elysium ; next day after dawn.
Doth ri.se and help Hyperion to his horse.
And follows so the ever-running year.
With profitable labor, to his grave :
And, but for ceremony, such a wretch.
Winding up days with toil and nights with
sleep.
Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king.
The slave, a member of the country's peace.
Enjoys it; but in gro.ss brain little wots
What watch the king keeps to maintain the
peace,
Whose hours the peasant best advantages. I
Enter Ekpingham.
Erp. Jly lord, your nobles, jealous of your
absence.
Seek through your camp to find you.
K. Hen. Good old knight.
Collect them all together at my tent :
I'll be before thee.
Efp. I shall do't, my lord. [Exit.
K. Hen. O God of battles ! st^ my soldiers'
hearts;
Possess them not with fear ; take from them
now
The sense of reckoning, if the opposed num¬
bers
Pluck their hearts from them. Not to-day, O
Lord,
0, not to-day, think not upon the fault 310
Mv father niade in compassing the crown !
1 flichard's body have interred anew ;
And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears
Than from it issued forced drpps of blood ■
Five hundred poor I have in yearly iKiy,
Who twice a-day their withePd hands hold up
Toward heaven, to pardon blood ; and 1 have
buUt
Two chantries, where the sad and solemn
priests
Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do ;
'Though all that I can do is nothing worth, 320
Since that my penitence comes after all.
Imploring pardon.
Enter Gloucestek.
Glou. My liege!
K. Hen. My brother Gloucester's voice 7
Ay;
I know thy errand, I will go with thee;
The day, my friends and all things stay for
me. [Exennt.
Scene II. The French camp.
Enter the D.auphin, Orleans, Rambubes,
and others.
Orl. The sun doth gild our armor ; up, my
lords !
Dau. Montez a cheval I My horse ! varlet!
laquais ! ha!
Orl. 6 brave spirit!
Dau, Via I les eaux et la terre.
OrL Rien puis 7 I'air et la feu.
Dau. Ciel, cousin Orleans.
Enter Constable.
Now, my lord constable !
Con. Hark, how our steeds for present ser¬
vice neigh !
Dau. Mount them, and make incision in
their hides, 9
That their hot blood may spin in English eyes,
And doutthem with superfluous courage, ha !
Ram. What, will you have them weep our
horses' blood ?
How shall we, then, behold their natural tears?
Enter Messenger.
Mess. The English are embattled, you
French peers.
Con. To horse, you gallant princes 1 straight
to horse 1
Do but behold yon poor and starved baud,
And your fair show shall suck away their
souls,
Leaving them but the shales and husks of
men.
There is not work enough for all our hands ;
Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins 20
To give each naked curtle-axe a stain.
That our French gallants shall to-day draw
out.
And sheathe for lack of sport: let us but blow
on them.
The vapor of our valor will o'ertum them.
'Tis pos'tive 'gainst ail exceptions, lords.
That our superfluous lackeys and our peasants.
Who in unnecessary action swarm
About our squares of battle, were euow
To purge this field of such a hilding foe.
Though we upon this mountain's l^is by 30
ScEKB m.]
KING HENRY V.
Took stand for idle speculation :
But that our honors must not. What's tosay ?
A very little little let us do,
And all Is done. Then let tlie trumpets sound
The tucket sonance and the note to mount j
For our approach shall so much dare the field
That England shall couch down lu fear and
yield.
Enter Grandprb.
Grand. Why do you stay so long, my lords
of France ?
You Island carrions, desperate of their bones,
lll-favoredly become the morning field : 44
Their raggM curtains poorly are let loose.
And our air shakes them passing scornfully :
Big Mars seems bankrupt In their beggar'd
host
And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps :
The horsemen sit Tike fixed candlesticks,
With torch-staves In their hand ; and their
poor jades
Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and
hips.
The gum down-roping from their pale-dead
eyes
And In their pale dull mouths the glmroal bit
Lies foul with chew'd grass, still and motion¬
less ; 50
And their executors, the knavish crows.
Fly o'er them, all Imjiatient for their hour.
Description cannot suit Itself in words
To demonstrate the life of such a battle
In life so lifeless as it shows itself.
Can. They have said their prayers, and
they stey for death.
Dau. ^halT we go send them dinners and
fresh suits-
And give their fasting horses provender,
And after fight with them ?
Con. I stay but for my guidon : to the
field! 60
I will the banner from a trumpet take.
And use It for my haste. Come, come, away !
The sun Is high, and we outwear the day.
[Exeunt,
Scene III. The English camp.
Enter Gloucester, Pedford, Exeter, Er-
finguam, with all his host: Salisbury and
W estmoreland.
Olou. Where Is the king ?
Bed. The king himself is rode to view their
battie.
West. Of fighting men they have full three
score thousand.
Exe. There's five to one ; besides, they all
are fresh.
Sal. God's arm strike with us ! 'tis a fear¬
ful odds.
God be wl' you, princes all ; I'll |p my charge:
If we no more meet till we meet in heaven.
Then, joyfully, my noble Lord of Bedford,
My dear Lord Gloucester, and my good Ixird
Exeter,
And my kind kinsman, warriors all, adieu ! 10
Bed. Farewell, good Sallsbnry ; and good
luck go with thee !
Exe. Farewell, kind lord ; fight valiantly
to-day :
And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of It,
For thou art friuued of the firm truth of valor.
[Exit Salishvry.
Bed. He Is full of valor as of kindness ;
Princely In both.
Enter the King.
West.' 0 that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men lu Eng¬
land
That do no work to-day!
K. Hen. What's he that wishes so ?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair
cousin .*
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow 20
To do our country loss ; and If to live.
The fewer men, the greater share of honor,
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man
, more.
I By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Ttbr care I who doth feed upon my cost; "
It yearns me not If men my garments wear ;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires :
But if it be a sin to covet honor, ^
I am the most offending soul allveTV
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man 'flora Eng¬
land : 60
God's peace I I would not lose so great an
honor
As one man more, methlnks, would share
from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one
more!
Rather proclaim It, Westmoreland, through
my host.
That he which hath no stomach to this, fight.
Let him depart; his passport shall be made
And crowns for convoy put Into his purse :
We would not die in that man's com|iany
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the feast of Crispian : 40
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home.
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named.
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age.
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors, ,
And say ' To-morrow Is Saint Crispian :'
Then will be strip his sleeve and show his
. scars.
And say ' 'These wounds I had on Crispin's
day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot.
But he'll remember with advantages 60
What feats he did that day : then shall our
names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words,
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter.
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups fi esbly reraeraber'd.
This stoi-y shall the good man teach his son ;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by.
From this day to the ending of the world.
470
KING HENRt 'V.
[Act iv.
But we in it shall be remembei'd ; '
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers ;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother ; be he ne'er so vile.
This day shall gentle his condition ;
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not
here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any
speaks
That fought with us'upon Saint Crispin's day.
Re-enter Salisbubt.
Sal. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself
with speed :
The French are bravely in their battles set.
And will with all expedience charge on ns. 70
K, Hen. All things are ready, if our minds
be so.
Weit. Perish the man whose mind is back¬
ward now !
K. Hen. Thou dost not wish more help from
England, coz ?
West. God's will! my liege, would you and
I alone.
Without more help, could fight this royal battle!
K. Hen. Why, now thou hast unwish'd five
thousand men ;
Which likes me better than to wish us one.
You know your places : God be with you all!
Tucket. Enter MoirrjOY.
Mant. Once more I come to know of thee,
King Harry,
If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound, 80
Before thy moi^t assured overthrow :
For certainly thou art so near the gulf,
Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in
mercy,
The constable desires thee thou wilt mind
Thy followers of repentance ; that their souls
May make a peaceful and a sweet retire
From off these fields, where, wretches, tlieir
poor bodies
Must lie and fester.
K. Hen. 'Who hath sent thee now ?
Mont. The Constable of France.
K. Hen. 1 pray thee, bear my former an¬
swer back : 90
Bid them achieve me and then sell my bones.
Good God ! why should they mock poor fellows
thus ?
The man that once did sell the Tion's skin
While the beast lived, was killed with hunting
him.
A many of our bodies shall no doubt
Find native graves ; upon the whicli, I trust.
Shall witness live in brass of this day's work :
And those that leave their valiant bones in
France,
Dying like men, though buried in your dung¬
hills.
They shall be famed ; for there the sun shall
greet them, 100
And draw their honors reeking up to heaven ;
Leaving their earthly parts to choke your
clime. I
The smell whereof shall breed a plague in
France.
Mark then abounding valor in 'our English,
That being dead, like to the bullet's grazing,
Bre.ak out into a second course of mischief.
Killing in relapse of mortality.
Let me speak proudly ; tell the constable
We are but warriors for the workiug-^ay ;
Ourgayuess and ourgiltareall besmirch'd 110
With rainy iparchiug in the painful field ;
Tliere's not a piece of featiier in our host—
Good argument, I hope, we will not fly—
And time hath worn us into slovenry:
But, by the mass, our. hearts are in the trim >
And my poor soldiers tell me, yet ere night .
Tliey'll bein fresher robes, or they will pluck
The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers'
heads
And turn them out of service. If they do this,—
As, if God please, they shall,—my ransom then
WUl soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy
labor; 121
Come thou no more for ransom,gentle herald:
They shall have none, I swear, but these my
joints ;
'Wliich if they have as I will leave 'em them, .
Shall yield them little, tell the constable.
Mont. I shall. King Harry. And so fare
thee well:
Thou never shalt hear herald any more. [Exit.i
K. Hen. I fear thou 'It once more come
again for ransom.
Enier Tobk.
York. My lord, most humbly on my knee I
beg
The leading of the vaward. 130
K. Hen. Take it, brave York. Now, sol-
dieiB, march away:
And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day I
[Exewnt.
Scene LF. The feld of battle.
Alarum. Excursions. Enter Pistol, French
Soldier, and Boy.
Pist. Yield, cur!
Fr. Sol. Je pense que vous etes gentilhomme
de bonne quality.
Pist. Qualtitie calmie cnsture me ! Art
thou a gentleman ? what is thy name ? discuss.
Fr. Sol 0 Seigneur Dieu!
Pist. O, Signieur Dew should be a gentle¬
man :
Perpend my words, O Signieur Dew, and
mark;
O Signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox,
Except, 0 signieur, thou do give to me 10
Egregious ransom.
Fr. Sol. O, prenez misericorde ! ayez pitid
de moi !
Pist. Moy shall not serve ; I will have forty
moys ;
Or 1 will fetch thy rim out at thy throat
la drops of crimson blood.
Fr. Sol. Est-il impossible d'echapper Lt
force de ton biMl
SCENB TI.]
Pist. Brass, car I
Thou damned and loxorious mountain eoat, 20
Offer* st me brass ?
Fr. Sol. O pardonnez moi!
Pist. Say'st thou me so ? is that a ton of
rnoys?
Come hitlier, boy : ask me this slave in French
What is his name.
Boy. Ecoutez : comment Otes-vous appel^ ?
Fr. Sol. Monsieur le Fer.
Boy. He says his name is Master Fer.
Pist. Master Fer! I'll fer him, and firk him,
and ferret him ; discuss the same in French
unto him. 31
Boy. ' I do not know the French for fer, and
ferret, and firk.
Pist. Bid him prepare ; for I wUl cut his
throat
Fr. Sol. Que dit-il, monsieur ?
Boy.' II me commande de vous dire que vous
faites vous pret; car ce soldat ici est dispose
tout i cetteheure de couper votre gorge.
Pist. Owy, cuppele gorge, permafoy,
Peasant, unless fliou give me crowns, brave
crowns; 40
Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword.
Fr. Sol. O, je vous supplie, pour I'amour
de Dieu, me ^rdonner ! Je suis gentilhomme
de bonue maison : gardez ma vie, et je vous
donnerai deux cents dcus.
Pist. What are his words ?
Boy. He prays you to save his life; he is a
gentleman of a good bouse ; and for his
ransom he will give you two hundred crowns.
Pist. Tell him my fury shall abate, and I
The crowns will take. 51
Fr. Sol. Petit monsieur, que dlt-il ?
Boy. Encore qu'il est contre son jiiremeut
de pardonner aucuu prlsonnier, neanmoins,
pour les dcus que vous I'avez promis, il est
content de vous donner la liberte, le ftauchise-
ment.
Fr. Sol. Snr mes genoux je vous donne
mille rbmercimens; etjem'estlmeheureuxque
je suis tombd entre les mains d'un chevalier,
je pense, le plus brave, valltant, et tres dls-
tiu^d seigneur d'Angleterre. 61
Pist. Expound unto me, boy.
Bm/. He gives you, upon his knees, a thou¬
sand thanks ; and he esteems himself happy
that he hath fallen into the hands of one, as
he thinks, the most brave, valorous, and thrice-
worthy simieur of England.
Pist. As 1 suck blood, I will some mercy
show.
Follow me! 69
Boy. Suivez-vons le grand capitalne. {Exeunt
Pistol, and French SoWier.] I did never know
so full a voice issue from so empty a heart:
but the saying is true, 'The empty vessel
makes the greatest sound.' Bait^lph and Nym
had ten times more valor than this roaring
devil i' the old play, that every one may pare
his nails with a wooden dagger ; and they are
both hanged ; and so would this be. If he durst
steal any thing adventurously. I must stay
471
with the lackeys, wltli thelugjmge of our camp-,
the French might have a good prey of us, if he
knew of it ; for there is none to guard it but
boys. {Exit.
Scene V. Another part of the field.
Enter Constable, Orleans, Bourbon,
Dauphin, and Rahbures.
Con. O diable !
fJrl. O seigneur! le jour est perdu, tout e.st
perdu!
Duu. Mort de ma vie ! all is confounded,
aUI
Reproach and everlasting shame
Sits mocking in our plumes. O m^hante for¬
tune !
Do not run away. {A short alarum.
Con. . Why, all our ranks are broke.
Dau. O perdurable shame ! let's stab our¬
selves.
Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice
for?
Orl. Is this the king we sent to for his
ransom ? , - i
Bour. Shame and eternal shame, nothing
but shame ! ,10
Let us die in honor : once more back again ;
And he that will not follow Bourbon now,
Let him go hence, and with his cap in hand.
Like a base pander, hold tlie chamber-door
Whilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog.
His fairest daughter Is contaminated.
Con. Disorder, that hath spoiTd us, friend
us now !
Let us on heaps go offer up our lives.
Vrl. We are enow yet living in the field
To smother up the English in our throngs, 20
If ally order might be thought upon.
Bour. The devil take order now ! I'll to tlie
throng:
Let life be short; else shame will be too long.
{Exeunt.
Scene VI. Another part of the field.
Alarums. Enter KUig Henry and forces,
Exeter, and others.
K. Hen. Well have we done, thrice valiant
countrymen :
But all's not done : yet keep the French the
field.
Exe. The Duke of York commends him to
your majesty. -
K. Hen. Lives he, good uncle ? thrice within
t this hour
I saw him down ; thrice up again and fighting;
From helmet to the spur all blood he was.
Exe. In which array, brave soldier, doth he
lie.
Larding the plain ; and by his bloody side.
Yoke-fellow to his honor-owing wounds.
The noble Earl of Suffolk also lies. 10
Suffolk flnst died : and York, all haggled over.
Comes to him, where in gore he lay lijsteep'd.
And takes him by the beard ; kisses the gashes
KING HENRY .F.
472
KING HENRY Y.
[Act xv.
That bloodily did yawn upon his face ;
And cries aloud • Tarry, uear cousin Suffolk !
Hy soul shall thine keep company to heaven ;
Tany, sweefsoul, for mine, then fly abreast,
As in this glorious an.l well-foughten field
We kept together in our chivalrv !' 19
Upon these words 1 came and cheer'd him up:
He smiled me in the face, raught me his hand,
And, with a feeble gripe, says ' Dear my lord.
Commend my service to my sovereign.'
So did he turn and over Suffolk's neck
He threw his wounded arm and kiss'd his lips ;
And so espoused to death, with blood he seai'd
A testament of noble-ending love.
The pretty and sweet manner of it forced
Those waters from me which' 1 would have
stopp'd ;
But I had not sO much of man in me, 30
And all my mother came into mine eyes
And ^ve me up to tears.
K. Hm. I blame you not;
For, hearing this, I must perforce compound
With mistful eyes, or they will issue too. '
[Alarum.
But, hark! what new alarum is this same ?
The French have reinforced their scatter'd
men:
Tlien every soldier kill his prisoners :
Give the word through. [Exeunt.
ScembYII. Another part of the jield.
Enter Fluellek arid Gower.
Flu. Kill the poys and the luggage! 'tis ex¬
pressly against the law of arms: tis as arrant a
piece of knavery, mark you now, as can be
offer't; in your conscience, now, is it not ?
Goto. 'Tis certain there's not a boy left
alive ; and the cowardiy rascals that ran from
the battle ha' dune this slaughter: besides,
they have burned and carried away ail that
was in the king's tent; wherefore the king,
most worthily, bath caused every soldier to
cut his prisoner's throat. O, 'tis a gallant
king! 11
Flu. Ay, he was pom at Monmouth, Cap¬
tain Gower. What call you the town's name
where Alexander the Pig was bom !
Gow. Alexander the Great.
Flu. Why, I pray you, is not pig great ? the
pig, or the great, or tlie mighty, or the huge,
or the magnanimous, are aU one reckonings,
save the phrase is a little variations. 19
Goto. I think Alexander the Great was bom
in Macedon ; his father was called Philip of
Macedon, as I take it.
Flu. I think it is in Macedon where Ale:C-
ander is pom. I tell you, captain, if you look
in the maps of the 'orld, I warrant you sail
find, in the r/>mparisons between M.acMonand
Monmouth, that the situations, look you, is
botli alike. There is a river in Macedon ; and
there is also moreover a river at Monmouth :
it is called Wye at Monmouth ; but it is out
of my prains what is the name of the other
tivor; but 'tis all one, 'tis alike as my fingers
is to my fingers, and there is salmons in both.
If you mark Alexander's life well, Harry of
Monmouth's life is come after it indlfferen'*
well; for there is figures in all things, Alex¬
ander, God knows, and you know, in his rages,
and his furies, and his wrjiths, and his cholers,
and his moods, and his displeasures, and his
indignations, and also being a little intoxicates
in his prains, did, in his ales and his angers,
look you, kill his best friend, Cleitus. 41
Gow. Our king is not like him in that: lie
never killed any of his friends.
Fhe. It is not well done, mark you now, to
take the tales out of my month, ere it is made
and finished. I speak but in the figures and
comparisons of it: as Alexander killed his
friend Cleitus, being in his ales and liis cups ;
so also Harry Monmouth, being in his riglit
wits .and his good jud^pnents, turned away the
fat knight with the great beiiy-doubiet: he
was full of jests, and gipes, and knaveries, and
modes ; I have foreot bis name,
Gow. Sir John Falstaff.
Flu. That is he: I'll tell you there is good
men porn at Monmouth,
Gow. Here comes his majesty.
Alarum. Enter King Henrv, and forces,
Warwick, Gloucester, Exeter, and others.
K. Hen. I was not angry since I came ts
France
Until this instant. Take a trumpet, herald ;
Hide thou unto the horsemen on yon hill: 60
If they will fight with us, bid them come down.
Or void the field ; they do offend our sight:
If they'll do neither, we will come to them,
And make them skirr away, as swift as stones
Enforced from the old Assyrian slings :
Besides, we'll cut tlie throats of those we have.
And not a man of them that we shall take
Shall taste our mercy. Go and tell them so.
Enter Montjov.
Exe. * Here comes the herald of the French,
my liege.
Glo. His eyes are humbler than they used
to be. 70
K. Hen. How now! what means tliis,
herald ? know'st thou not
That I have fined these bones of mine for ran¬
som ?
Oomest thou again for ransom ?
Mont. No, great king :
I come to thee lor charitable license.
That we may wander o'er this bloody field
To look our dead, and then to bury them ;
To sort our nobles from our common men.
For many of our princes—woe the while !—
Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood ;
So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs ^
In blood of princes; and their wounded steeds
Fret fetlock deep in gore and with wild rage
Yerk out their armed heels at their dead mas¬
ters.
Killing them twice. 0, give us leave, gresi
king,
SCENli Till.]
To yiew the field in safety and dispose
Of their dead bodies I
K. Hen. I tell thee truly, herald,
1 know not if the day be oars or no ;
For yet a many of your horsemen peer
And gallop o'er the field.
Mont. The day is yours.
K. Hen. Praised be God, and not our
- strength, for it! ' 90
What is this casfie call'd that stands hard by ?
Mont. I They call it Aginconrt
K. Hen. Then call we this the' field of
Agincourt,
Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus.
Fiu. Tour grandfather of famous memory,
an't please your majesty, and your great-uncle
Edward the Piack Prince of 'Wales, as I have
read in the chronicles, fought a most prave
pattle here in France;
K. Hen. They did, Fluellen. 100
Flu. Your majesty says very true : if your
majesties is remembered of it, the Welshmeii
did good service in a garden where leeks did
grow, wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps ;
which, your majesty know, to this hour is an
honorable badge of the service ; and I do be¬
lieve your majesty takes no scorn to wear the
leefc u^n Saint Tavy's day.
K. Hen. I wear it for a memorable honor ;
For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman.
I^u. All the water in Wye cannot wash
your majesty's Welsh plood out of your pody,
I can tell you that: Gm pless it and preserve
it, as long as it pleases his grace, and his maj¬
esty too!
K. Hen. Thanks, good my countryman.
Flu. By Jeshu, I am your majesty's coun¬
tryman, I care not who know it; I will con¬
fess it to all the 'orld: Ineed not to be ashamed
of your majesty, praised be God, so long as
your majesty is an honest man. 120
K. Hen. God keep me sol Our heralds go
with him :
Bring me just notice of the numbers dead
On both our parts. Call yonder fellow hither.
[Pofnls to Williams. Exeunt Heralds
with Montjoy.
Exe. Soldi^, you must come to the king.
K. Hen. Soldier, why wearest thou that
glove in thy cap ?
Will. An't please your majesty, 'tis the
gi^ of one that I should fight withal, if he be
alive.
K. Hetu An Englishman ? 129
Will. An't please your majesty, a rascal
that swaggered with me last night; who, if
alive andever dare to challenge this glove, t
have sworn to take him a box o' th' ear ; or if
I can see my glove in his cap, which he swore,
as he was a soldier, he would wear if alive, 1
will strike it out soundly, g
K. Hen. What think you. Captain Fluellen'f
is it fit this soldier keep his oath ?
Flu. He is a craven and a villain else, an't
llease your majesty, in my conscience. 140
^mav w his enemy is a gentleman
478
of great sort, quite from the answer of his
degree.
F^u. Though he be as good a gentleman as
the devil is, as Lucifer and Belzebnb himself,
it is necessarv, look your grace, that he keep
his vow and his oatli: if he be perjured, see
you now, his reputation is as arrant a villain'
and a Jacksauce, as ever his black shoe trod
upon God's ground and his earth, in my con¬
science, la 1 150
K. Hen. Then keeji thy vow, sirrah, when
thou meetest the fellow.
Will. So I will, my liege, as i live.
K. Hen. Who servest thou under ?
Will. Under Captain Gower, my liege.
Flu. Gower is a good captain, and is good
knowledge and literatured in the wars.
K. Hen. Call him hither to me, soldier.
Will. I will, my liege. [Exit.
K. Hen.: Here, Fluellen ; wear thou this
favor for mo and stick it in thy cap : when
Alen^on and myself were down together, I
plucked this glove from his helm : if any man
diallenge this, he is a friend to Alen(;on, and
an enemy to our person ; if thou encounter
any such, apprehend him, an thou dost me
love.
Flu. Your grace doo's me as great honors
as can be desired in the hearts of his subjects:
I would fain see the man, that has but two
legs, that shall find hiiuself aggriefed at this
glove ; that is all; but I would fain see it
once, an please God of his grace that I might
see.
K. Hen. Knowest thou Gower ?
Flu. He is my deiir friend, an please you.
K. Hen. Pray tliee, go seek him, and bring
him to my tent.
Flu. 1 will fetch him. [Exit.
K. Hen. My Lord of Warwick, and my
brother Gloucester,
Follow Fluellen closely at the heels :
The glove which I have given him for a favor
May haply purchase him a box o' th' ear ; 181
It is the soldier's ; I by bargain should
Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin War¬
wick :
If that the soldier strike him, as I judge
By his blunt beaiing he will keep his word.
Some sudden mischief may arise of it;
For I do know Fluellen valiant
And, touched with choler, hot as guuxiowder.
And quickly will return an injury :
Follow, and see there be no harm between
them. 1!K<
Go'you with me, uncle of Exeter. [Exeunt,
Scene 'VIIL Before King Henky's pavilion.
£nfer Gowek and Williams.
Will. I warrant it is to knight you, captain.
Enter Fluellen.
Flu. God's will and his pleasure, captain,
I beseech you now, come apace to the king :
there is more good toward you peradventure
than is in your knowledge to dream of.
KING HENRY V.
474 KING
Witt. Sir, :iBOW yon this glove 'I
Flu. Know the glove I 1 know the glove Is
a glove.
Witt. 1 know this ; and thus I challenge It.
[6'tnA:es him.
Flu. 'Sblood ! an arrant traitor as any is
in the universal world, or in France, or in
^gland! 11
Goto. How now, sir ! you villain !
Will. Do you think I'll be forsworn ?
Fin. Stand away, Captain Gower ; I will
give treason his payment into plows, I warrant
you.
Will. I am no traitor.
Flu. That's a lie in thy throat. I charge
you in his majesty's name, apprehend him :
he's a friend of the Duke Alen^^'s. 19
Enter Waewick and Gloucester.
War. How now, how now! what's the
matter ?
Flu. My Lord of Warwick, here is—upraised
bei God for it!—a most contagious treason
come to light, look you, as you shall desire in
a summer s day. Here is his majesty.
Enter King Henrv and Exeter. , ,
K. Hen. How now ! what's the matter ?
Flu. My liege, here is a villain and a traitor,
that, look your grace, has struck the glove
which your majesty is take out of the helmet
of AlenQon.
Will. My liege, this was my glove ; here is
the fellow of it ; aud he that Tgave it to in
change promised to wear it in his cap : 1 prom¬
ised to strike him, if he did : 1 met this man
with my glove in his cap, and I have been as
good as my word.
Flu. Your majest}' hear now, saving your
majesty's manhoM, what an arrant, rascally,
beggarly, lousy knave it is : I hope your maj¬
esty is pear me testimony and witness, and
will avouchment, that this is the glove of
Aleneon, that your majesty is give me ; in
your conscience, now ? 40
E. Hen. Give me thy glove, soldier : look,
here is the fellow of it.
'Twas I, indeed, thou promised'st to strike ;
And thou hast given me mo.st bitter terms.
Flu. An please your majesty, let his neck
answer for it, if there is any martial law in the
world.
K. Hen. How canst thou make me satisfac¬
tion ?
Will. All offences, my lord, come from the
heart: never came any from mine that might
offend your majesty. 51
K. Hen. It was ourself thou didst abuse.
Will. Your majesty came not like yourself:
you appeared to me but as a common man ;
witness the night, your garments, your low¬
liness ; and what your highness suffered under
that shape, I beseech yoii take it for your own
fault and not mine; for had you been as I
took yon for, I made no offence ; therefore, I
beseech your highness, pardon me. 60
V, [Aor IT.
K. Hen. Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove
with crowns.
And give it to this f^low. Keep it, feUov;
And wear it for an honor in thy cap
Till I do challenge ib Give Iiim the crowns:
And, captain, you must needs be friends with
him. ;
Flu. By tliis.day and this light, the fellow
has mettle enough in his belly. Hold, there
is twelve pence for you ; and I pray .you to
serve Got, and keep youout of prawls,and prab-
bles, and quarrels, and dissensions, and, 1 war¬
rant you. It is the better for you. 71
WiU. I will none of your money.
Flu. It is with a good will; 1 can tell you,
it will serve you to mend your shoes : come,
wherefore should you be so pashful ? your
shoes is not so good : 'tis a good silling, I war¬
rant you, or I will change it
Enter an English Herald.
K. Hen. Now, herald, are the dead num-
ber'd ?
Her. Here is the number of the slaughter'd
French.
K. Hen. What prisoners of good sort are
taken, uncle ? ^
Exe. Charles Duke of Orleans, nephew to
the king ;
John Duke of Bourbon, and Lord Bouciqualt:
Of other lords and barons, kuights and squires,
Full fifteen hundred, besides common men.
K. Hen. This note' doth teU me of ten thou¬
sand French
That in tiie field lie slain: of princes, in tliis
number,
And nobles bearing banners, ithere lie dead
One hundred twenty six: added to these.
Of knights, esquires, and galLantgeutlemen,89
Eight thousand and four hundred ; of the
which.
Five hundred were but- yesterday dubb'd
knights :
So that, in these ten tliousand they have lost.
There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries ;
The rest are princes, barons, lords, knights,
squires.
And gentlemen of blood and quality.
The names of those their nobles that lie dead:
Charles Delabreth, high constable of France;
Jacques of Chatillon, admiral of France ;
The master of the cross-bows, Lord Ramburea;
Great Master of France, the brave Sir Guichard
Dolphin, I XOO
John Duke of Aleneon, Anthony Duke of Bra¬
bant, J
The brother of Gie Duke of Burgundy,
And Edward Duke of Bar : of lusty'earls,-
Grandprd and Roussl, Faucouberg and Foix, <
Beaumont and Marie,Vaudemont and Lestraie.
Here was a royal fellowship of death !
Where is tlie number of our Enghsh dead 1
{Herald sheios him another paper.
Edward the Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk,
Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire :
None else of name ; .tuid of all otlier mm> 'LV*
SOBNB'' I.]
KING HENRY. V.
475
Bat five and tvreAty.. 0 God, thy. arm was
Itere;
And hot to as, hut to thy arm alope.
Ascribe we all 1 When, without stratagem,,
But in plain shock and even nlay of battle,
Was ever known so great and .little loss
On one part and On tlie other,? Tak^ it, God,
For it is none but thine !
Exe. - ' 'Tis wonderful I
K. Hen. Come, go we in procession to the
viiia"®:' ■ 1 •
And be it death proclaimed through our host
To boast of this or take the praise from God 11:0
Which is his only.
Flu. Is it not lawful, an please your maj*
esty, to tell how many is killed ?
K. Hen. Mfes, captain ; but with this ac-.
knomedgment, —. ■
That God fought for us. j
Flu. Yes, my conscieftce, be did us great
good.
K. Hen. Do we ail holy rites ;
Let there be sung ' Non nobis' and ' Te Deum;'
The dead with charity enclosed in clay:
And then to Calais ; and to England then : 1.10
WhMO ne'er from France arrived more happy
men. [Exeunt.
ACTV.
PROLOGUE.
Enter Chorus.
Chor. Vouchsafe to those that have not
read the story.
That I may prompt them ; and of such as have,
I hnmbly pray them to admit the excuse
Of time, of numbers and due course of things.
Which cannot in their huge and proper life
Be here presented. Now we bear the king
Toward Calais : grant him there ; there seen.
Heave him away upon your winged thoughts
Athwart the sea. Behold, the English b^h <
Pales in the flood with men, with wives and
boys, 10
Whose tmouts and claps out-voice the deep-
' moutii'd sea, <
Which like amiighty whiffler 'fore the king
Beems to prepare his way; so let him land,
.Vnd solemnly see him set on to London.
So swift a pace hath thought that even now
You may hnagine him upon Blackheath ;
Where that his lords desire him to have borne
His braised helmet and his bended sword
Before him through the city; he forbids it, Id
Being free from vainness and self-glorious
pride ;
Giving full trophy, signal ai)d ostent
Quite from himself to God. But now behold.
In the quick forge and working-house of
thought,
How London doth pour out her citizens !
The mayor and all his brethren in best sort.
Like fo the senators of the antique Rome,
With the plebeians swarming at their heels,
Gro forth and fetch their conquering Ceesar in;
As, by a lower but loving likelihood, 2!)
Were now the general of our gracious empress.
As in good time he may, from Ireland coming.
Bringing rebellion broached on his sword.
How many would the peaceful city quit.
To welcome him ! mu<m more, and much more
cause.
Did they this Harry. Now in Londob place
him ; >
.Vs yet the lamentation of the French
invites the King of England's stay at home ;
The emperor's coming in behalf of France,
To order peace between them ; and omit
All the occurrences, whatever chanced, 40
Till Harry's back-return again to France;
There must we bring him ; and myself have
piay'd
The interim, by remembering you 'tis past. .
Then brook abridgment, and your eyes ad¬
vance.
After your thoughts, straight back again to
France. . [Exit.
SCEMB. I. France. The English eamp.
Enter FLtJEbLBN and Gowbr.
Gow. Nay, that's, right; put why wear you
your leek to-day ? Saint Davy's day is past.
Flu. There is occasions and causes why and'
wherefore in all things : I wiU tell you, asse
my friend. Captain Gower : the rascally, scald,
beggarly, lousy, pragging knave. Pistol,which
you and. yourself aud all the world know to be
no petter than a fellow, look you now, of no
merits, he is come to me and prings roe prcad
and salt yesterday, look you, and bid me eat
my leek : jt was in a place where I could not
breed no contention with him ; but I will bo
so bold as to wear it in my cap till I see him
once again, and then I will tell him a little
piece of my desires.
Enter PisTon.
Gow. Why, here he comes, swelling like a
turkey-cock. >
Flu. 'Tis no matter for his swellings nor
his turkeyMJocks. God pless you, Aunchient
Pistol I you scurvy, lousy knave, God pless
you I
Pist. Ha! art thou bedlam ? dost Ibou
thirst, base Trojan, ' 20
To have me fold up Parca's fatal web ?
Hence ! I am qualmish at the smell of leek.
Flu. I peseech you heartily, scurvy, lousy
knave, at my desires, and my requests, aud my
petitions, to eat, look you, this leek : because,
look you, you do not love it, nor your affec¬
tions and your appetites and your disgestions
doo's not agree witli it, I would desire you tc ■
etit it
Pist. Not for Cad wallader and all his goats.
Flu. There is one goat for yon. 30
[Strides him.}
Will you be so good, scauld knave, as eat it ?
47b
KING HENRY V.
IAct v.
Pist. Base Trojan, thou shalt die.
Flu. You say very true, scauld kuave,wben
God's will is : I will desire you to live in the
mean time, and eat your victuals: come, there
is sauce for it. \tilrikes him.] You called me
yesterday mountain-squire ; but 1 will make
you to-day a squire of low degree. I pray you,
fall to: if you ciin mock a leek, you can eat a
leek. [him. 41
Gow. Enough, c.ii>taiii; you have astonished
Flu. I say, I will make him eat some i>art
of ray leek, or I will peat his pate four days.
Bite, I pray you ; it is good for your green
wound and your ploody coxcomb.
Pisf. Must I bite ?
. Flu. Yes, certainly, and out of doubt and
out of question too, and ambiguities.
Put. By this leek, I will most horribly re-
venge: I eat and eat, I swear— 60
Flu. Eat, I pray you : will you have some
more sauce to your leek 7 there is not enough
leek to swear by.
Pist. Quiet thy cudgel; thou dost see I eat
Flu. Much good do you, scauld knave,
heartily. Nay, pray you, throw none away;
the skm is good for your broken coxcomb.
When you take occasions to see leeks hereafter,
I pray you, mock at 'em; that is al^
Pist. Good. 60
Flu. Ay, leeks is good : hold you, there is
a OToat to heal your pate.
Pist. Me a groat!
Flu. Yes, verily and in truth, you shall
take it; or I have another leek iu my pocket,
which you shall eat.
Pist. I take thy groat in eame.st of revenge.
Flu. If I owe you any thing, I will pay you
in cudgels : you shall be a woodmonger, and
buy nothing of me but cudgels. God b' wi'
you, and keep you, and heal your pate. 71
[Exit.
Pist. All hell shall stir for this.
Goto. Go, go; you are a counterfeit cowardly
knave. Will you mock at an ancient tradition,
begun iqjon an houomble respect, and worn as
a memorable trophy of predeceased valor and
dare not avouch iu your deeds any of your
words ? I have seen you gleekiug and galling
at tliis gentleman twice or thrice. You thought,
because he could nut speak English iu the native
garb, he could not therefore handle an English
cudgel : you find it otherwise ; and henceforth
let a Welsh correction teach you a good Eng¬
lish condition. Fare ye well. [Exit.
Pist. Ooth Fortune play the huswife with
me now 7
News have I, that my Nell js dead i' the spital
Of malady of France ;
And there my rendezvous is quite cut oft.
Old I do wax ; and from my weary limbs
Honor is cudgelled. Well, Imwd I'll turn, 90
And something le.an to cutpurse of quick hand.
To England will I steal, and there I'll steal:
And patches will I get unto these cudgell'd
scars.
And swear I got them in the Gallia wars. [Exit.
ScEiTB II. France. Aroyalpalace.
Enter, at one door, King Henry, Exeter,
Bedford, Gloucester, Warwick, West¬
moreland, and other Lords; at another, the
■ French King, Queen Isabel, the Princess
Katharine, Alice and other Ladies ; the
Duke of Burgundy, and his train.
K. Hen. Peace to this meeting, wherefore
we are met !
Unto our brother France, and to our sister.
Health and fair time of day; joy and good
wishes
To our most fair and princely cousin Katharine;
And, as a branch and member of this royalty.
By whom this great assembly is contrive.
We do salute you, Duke of Burgundy;
And, princes French, ^nd peers, health to you
all I
Fr. King. Ri^t joyous are we to behold
your face.
Most worthy brother England ; fairly met: 10
So are you, princes English, every one.
Q. Isa. & happy be the issue, brother Eng-.
land.
Of this good day and of tills gracious meeting.
As we are now glad to behold your eyes ;
Your eyes, which hitherto have borne in them
Against the French, that met them in their
bent,
The fatal balls of murdering basilisks :
■IThe venom of such looks, we fairly hope.
Have lost their quality, and that this day
Shall change ail griefs and quarrels into love.
K. Hen. To cry amen to tliat, thus we ap¬
pear. 21
Q. Isa. You English princes all, I do salute
you.
Bur. My duty to yon both, on equal love.
Great Kings of France and England I That I
have labor'd,
With all my wits, my psjns and strong en¬
deavors.
To bring your most imperial majesties
Unto tills bar and royal interview.
Your mightiness ou both parts best can wit¬
ness.
Since then my office hath so far prevail'd
That, face to face and royal eye to eye, 30
You have congreeted, let it not disgrace me.
If I demand, before this royal view.
What rub or what impediment there is.
Why that the naked, poor and mangled
Peace,
Dear nurse of arts, plenties and joyful births.
Should not in this best garden of the world
Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage 7
Alas, she hath from France too long been
chased.
And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps,
Corrupting in its own fertility. 40
Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart,
Unpruned dies ; her hedges even-pleach'd.
Like prisoners wildly overgrown with h^r.
Put forth disorder'd twigs ; her fallow leas
The darnel, hemlock and tank fumitory
ScESii r
TfVP 7) i-:]^Kr"V,y
471
Doth root npou, while that the eoulter nuts
Tliat should deiaciuate such savagery ;
The even mead, that erst brought sweetly
forth
The freckled cowslip, burnet and green clo¬
ver.
Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, 50
Conceives by idleness and nothing teems
But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies,
burs.
Losing both beauty and utility.
And as our vineyards, fallows, meads ana
Defective in their natures, grow to wildness,
Even so our bouses and ourselves and chil¬
dren
Have lost, or do not learn for want of time.
The sciences that should become our country;
But grow like savages,—as soldiers will
That nothing do but meditate on blood,— 60
To swearing and stern looks, diffused attire
And every thing tliat seems unnatural.
Which to reduce into our former favor
Tou are assembled : and my speech entreats
Thirt I may know the let, why gentle Peace
Should not expel these inconveniences
And bless us with her former qualities.
K, Hen. If, Duke of Burgundy, you would
the peace,
Whose want gives growth to the imperfec¬
tions
Which you have cited, you must buy that
peace. 70
With full accord to all our just demands ;
Whose tenors and (^articular effects
You have enscheduled briefly in your hands.
Bur. The king hath heard them ; to the
which as yet
There is no answer made.
K. Hen. Well then tlie peace.
Which you before so urged, lies in his an¬
swer.
Fr. King. I have but with a cursorary eye
O'erglanced the articles : pleaseth your grace
To appoint some of your council presently
To sit with us once more, witli better he^ 80
To re-survey them, we will suddenly
Pass our accept and peremptory answer.
K. Hen. Brother, we shall. Go, uncle Ex¬
eter,
And brother Clarence, and you, brother Glou¬
cester,
Warwick and Huntingdon, go with the king ;
And take with you free power to ratify,
Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best
Shall see advantageabie for our dignity.
Any thing in or out of our demands.
And we'll consign thereto. Will you, fair sis¬
ter, SX)
Go with tlie princes, or stauliere with us ?
otuer, ■
them :
Q. isa. Our gracious bromer, I will go with
Haply a woman's voice may do some good.
When articles too nicely urged be stood on.
K. Hen. Yet leave our cousin Katharine
here with us:
She u onr capital demand, comprised
Within the fore-rank of our articles.
Q. Isa. She hath good leave.
{Exeunt cut except He^, Katkarint^^
and Alice.
K. Hen. Fair Katharine and most fair.
Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms
Such as will enter at a lady's ear 100
And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart ?
Kath. Your majesty shall mock at me ; I
cannot speak your England.
K. Hen. O fair Katharine, if you will love
me soundly with your French heart, I will be
flad to hear you confess it brokenly with your
inglisb tongue. Do you like me, Kate ?
Kath. Pardonnez-moi, 1 caunot tell vat is
' like me.'
K. Hen. An angel is like you, Bfate, and
you are like an angei. Ill
Kaih. Que dit-il ? que je suis semblable h
les anges ?
Alice. Oui, vraiment, sauf votre grace,
ainsi dit-il.
K. Hen. I said so, dear Katharine ; and I
must not blush to aflirm it.
Kath. O bou Dieu 1 les langues des hommes
sout pleines de tromperies.
K. Hen. What says she, fair one ? that the
tongues of men are full of deceits ? 121
Alice. Oui, dat de tongues of de mans is be
full of deceits : dat is de princess.
K. Hen. The princess is tiie better English¬
woman. r faith, Kate, my wooing is fit for
thy understanding : 1 am glad thou canst
speak no better English ; for, if thou couldst,
thou wouldst find me such a plain king that
thou wouldst think 1 had sold my farm to
buy my crown. I know no ways to mince it
in love, but directly to say ' I love you ;' then
if you urge me farther than to say ' do you in
faith ?' I wear out my suit. Give me your
answer ; i' faith, do : and so clap hands and
a bargain : how say you, lady 1
Kath. Sauf votre nonneur, me understand
veil.
K. Hen. Marry, if you would put me to
verses or to dance for your sake, Kate, why
you undid me : for the one, I have neither
words nor measure, and for the other, I have
no strength in measure, yet a reasonable
measure in strength. If I could win a lady at
leap-frog, or by vaulting into my saddle with
my armor on my back, under the correction
of bragging be it spoken, I should quickly
leap into a wife. Or if I might buffet for my
love, or bound my horse for her favors, I
could lay on like a butcher and sit like a jack-
an-apes, never off. But, before God, Kate, I
cannot look greenly nor gasp out my elo¬
quence, nor I have no cunning in protesta¬
tion ; only downright oaths, which I never
use till urged, nor never break for urging. If
thou canst love a fellow of this temper, Kate,
whose face is not worth sun-buming, that
never looks in his glass for love of any thing
he sees there, let thine eye be thy cook I
478
KING HENRY V.
[Act v.
speak to thee plain soldier : if thou canst love
me for this, take me ; if not, to say to thee
that I shall die, is true ; but for 1^ love, by
the Lord, no ; yet I love thee too. ^nd while
thou livest, dear Kate, take a felloW of plain '
and uncoined con.stancy; for he perforce
must do thee right, because he hath not the
gift to woo in other places : for these feUows
of mfiuite tongue, that can rhyme themselves
into ladies' favors, they do always reason
themselves out again. What! a speaker is
but a prater : a rhyme is but a ballad. A
good leg will fall ; a straight back will stoop ;
a black beard will turn white ; a curled pate
will grow bald ; a fair face will wither ; a full
eye will wax hollow : but a good heart, Kate,
is the sun and the moon ; or rather the sun
and not the moon ; for it shines bright an^
never changes, but keeps his course truly3
If thou would have such a one, take me ; ancr
take me, take a soldier; take a soldier, take a
king. And what sayest thou then to my love ?
speak, my fair, and fairly, 1 pray thee.
Kath. Is it possible dat I sould love de
.enemy of France ? 179
K. lien. No ; it is not possible you should
love the enemy of France, Kate : but, in lov¬
ing me, you should love the friend of France;
for I love France so well that I will not part
with a village of it; I will have it all mine :
and, Kate, when France is mine and I am
yours, tlien yours is France and you are mine.
Kath. I cannot tell vat is dat.
K. Hen. No, Kate ? I will tell thee in
French ; which I am sure will hang upon my
tongue like a new-married wife about lier hus¬
band's neck, hardly to be shook off. Oe quand
sur le possession de France, et quand vous
avez le possession de moi,—let me see, what
then ? Saint Denis be mjr speed !—done votre
est France et vous etes mienne. It is as easy
for me, Kate, to conquer the kingdom as to
speak so much more French : I shall never
move thee in French, unless it be to laugh at
me.
Kath. Sauf votre honneur, le Francois que
vous parlez, 11 est meilleur que I'Anglois le-
quel je parle. 301
K. Hen. No, faith, is't not, Kate : but thy
speaking of my tongue, and I thine, most
truly-falsely, mast needs be gi-anted to be
much at one. But, Kate, dost thou under¬
stand thus much English, canst thou love m--"
Kath. I cannot tell.
K. Hen. Can any of your neightCTs tell,
Kate ? I'll ask them. Come, I know thou
lovest me : and at night, when you come into
your closet, you'll question this gentlewoman
about me ; and I know, Kate, you will to her
dispraise those parts in me that you love with
your heart: but, good Kate, mock me merci¬
fully ; the rather, gentle princess, because I
love thee cruelly. If ever thou beest mine,
Kate, as I have a saving faith within me tells
me thou shalt, I get thee with scambling, and
thou must therefore needs prove a good sol¬
dier-breeder : shall not thou and 1, between
Saint Denis and Saint George, com]x>und a
boy, half French, half Englisli, that shall go
to Constantinople and take the Turk by the
beard ? shall we not ? what sayest thou, my
fair flower-de-luce ?
Kath. I do not know dat.
K. Hen. No ; 'tis hereafter to know; but
now to prombe : do but now promise, Kate,
you will endeavor for your French part of
such a boy ; and for my English moiety take
the word of a king and a bachelor. How an¬
swer you, la plus belle Katharine du moude,
mon tree cher et devin deesse ?
Kath. Your majestee ave feusse French
enough to deceive de most sage demoiselle d:it
is en France.
K. Hen. Now, fie upon my false French !
By mine honor, in true EngUsb, I love thee.
Kate : by which honor I dare not swear thou
love.st me ; yet my blood begins to flatter me
that thou dost, notwithstanding the poor and
untempering effect of my visage. Now, be-
shrew my father's ambition 1 be was thinking
of civil wars when he got me : therefore was
I created with a stubborn outside, with an
aspect of iron, that, when I come to woo
ladies, I fright them. But, in faith, Kate, the
elder I wax, the better I shall appear : my
comfort is, that old age, that ill layer up of
beauty, can do no more spoil upon my face :
thou hast me, if thou hast me, at the worst;
and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear me, bet¬
ter and better : and therefore tell me, most
fair Katharine, will you have me ? Put off
your maiden blushes ; avouch the thoughts of
your heart with the looks of an empress ; take
me by the hand, and say ' Harry of England,
1 am thine :' which word thou shalt no soon¬
er bless mine ear withal, but I will tell thee
aloud 'England is thine, Ireland is'thine.
France b thine, and Harry Plantagenet is
thine who, though I speak it before his
face, if he be not fellow with the best king,
thou shalt find the best king of good fellows.
Come, your answer in broken music ; for thy
voice is music and thy English broken ; there¬
fore, queen of all, Katharine, break thy mind
to me m broken English ; wilt thou have me?
JCafh. Dat is as it sail please de I'd mon
pere.
K. Hen. Nay, it ■will please him well, Kate;
it shall please him, Kate.
Kath. Den it sail also content me. 370
K. Hen. Upon that I kiss your hand, and I
call you my queen.
Kath. Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, lais-
sez : ma foi, je ne veux point que vous abdis-
siez votre grandeur enbaisantla maind'une
de votre seigneurie indigne serviteur ; ex-
cusez-mpi, je vous snpplie, man trfes-imissaut
seigneur.
K. Hen. Then I will kbs your lips, Kate.
Kath. Les dameS et demoisSlles ^ur etre
b-iisees devant leur noces, il n'est pas la cou«
tume de Fiance. ggj
soshb ii.]
KING HENRY V.
m
K. Hen. Madam in}' interpreter, what toys
she 7
' AUoe. Dat it is not bode fashion ponrles
ladies of France,—1 cannot tell vat is baiser
en Anglish.
K. Hen. To kiss.
Alice. Your majesty entendre bettre que
moi.
K. Hen. It is not a fashion for the maids in
France to kiss before they are married, would
she say 7
^Allce. Oui, vraiment.
\^. Hen. O Kate, nice customs curtsy to
grtot kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot be
confined within the weak lito of a country's
fashion : we are the makers of manners, Kate;
and the liberty that follows our places stops
the mouth of all flnd-faults ; as I will do yours,
for ni>holdiug the nice fashion of, your country
in denying me a kiss : themfore, patiently ana
yielding. [Kissin;j Aer.j^You have witch¬
craft in your liirs, Kate ; <fiere is more elo¬
quence in a sugar touch of them than in the
tongues of the French council; and they should
sooner ^rsuade Harry of England than a gen¬
eral petition of monarchs. Here comes your
iather.
Re-enter the Fkench Kikg and his Queen,
Bukgundy, and other Lords.
Bur. God save your majesty ! my royal
cousin, teach you our princess English 7
K. Hen. I would have her learn, my fair
cousin, how perfectly I love her ; and that is
good English.
Bur. Is she not apt 7
K. Hen. Our tongue js rough, coz, and my
condition is not smooth; so that, having neither
the voice nor the heart of flattery about me,
I cannot so conjure up the spirit of love in her,
that he will appear in his true likeness.
Bur. Pardon tlie frankness of my mirth, if
I answer you for that. If you would conjure
in her, you must make a circle ; if conjure up
love in her in his true likeness, he must nx>
'vear naked and blind. Can you blame her
fhen, being a maid yet rosed over with the
virgin crimson of modesty, if she deny the ap¬
pearance of a naked blind boy in her naked
seeing self 7 It were, my lord, a hard condi¬
tion for a maid to consign to.
K. Hen. Yet they do wink and yield, as
love is blind and enforces.
Bur. They are then excused, my lord, when
thw see not what they do. 430
K. Hen. Then, good my lord, teach your
cousin to consent winking.
Bur. I will wink on her to consent, my
Isrd, if you will teach her to know my mean¬
ing : for maids, well summered and warm kexit,
are like flies at BarttK)lomew-tide, blind,
though they have their eyes ; and then they
will endure handling, which before would not
abide looking on.
jr. Hen. This moral ties me over to time
and a hot summer; and so I shall catch the
fly, your cousin, in the latter end and she must
be blind too.
, Bur. As love is, my lord, before it loves.
K. Hen. It is so : and you may, some of
you, thank love for ray blindness, who cannot
see many a fair French city for one fair French
maid that stands in my way.
Fr. King. Yes, my lord, you see them fier-
spectively, the cities turned into a maid ; for
they are all girdled with maiden walls that war
hath never entered. 450
K. Hen. Shall Kate be my wife 7
Fr. King. So please you.
K. Hen. I am content; so the maiden cities
you talk of may wait on her : so the maid that
stood in the way for my wish shall show me
the way to my will.
Fr. King. We have consented to all terras
of reason.
■ K. Hen. Is't so, my lords of England 7-
West. The king hath granted every article:
His daughter first, and then in sequel all, 4(>1
According to their firm xiroposed natures.
Exe. Only he hath not yet subscribed this :
Where your majesty demands, that the King
of France, having any occasion to write for
matter of grant, shall name your highness"fn
this form and with this addition in French,
Notre trescher fils Henri, Roi d'Angletei-re,
HcritierdeFrance; and thus in Latin, Praeclar-
kssimus fiiius noster Henricus, Rex Auglise, et
Hieres Francise.
Fr. King. Nor this I have not, brother, so
denied,
Bnt your reque.st shall make me let it x>asa.
K. Hen.. 1 pray you then, in love and dear
alliance.
Let that one article rank with the rest;
And thereupon give me your daughter.
Fr. King. Take her, fair son, and from her
blood raise up
Issue to me ; that the contending kingdoms
Of France and England, whose very shores
look pale
With envy of each other's happiness,
May cease their hatred, and this dear conjunc¬
tion 480
Plant neighborhood and Christian-like accord
In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance
His bleeding sword 'twixt England and fair
France.
All. Amen !
K. Hen. Now, welcome, Kate : and bear
me witness all.
That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen. ■
[Flourish.
Q. Isa. God, the best maker of all mar¬
riages.
Combine your hearts in one, your realms in
one !
As man and wife, being two, are one in love.
So be there 'twixt your kingdoms such a
spousal.
That never may ill olflce, or fell jtolousy.
Which troubles oft the bed of blessed mar¬
riage.
480
KING HENRY V.
[Act
Thruat in between the paction of these king¬
doms,
To make divorce of their incorporate league ;
That English may as French, French English¬
men,
Receive each other. God speak this Amen !
All. Amen!
K. Hen. Prepare we for our marriage—on
which day.
My Lord of Burgundy, we'll take your oath,
And all the peers , for surety of our leagues. 500
Then shall t swear to Kate, and you to me ;
And may our oaths well kept and pro»)eruus
be I {Senruzt. Exeunt.
EPILOGUE.
Enter Chorus.
Char. Thus far, with rough and all-anable
pen,
Our bending author hath pursued the story,
In little room confining mighty men.
Mangling by starts the full course of their
gbry.
Small time, but in that small most greatly
lived
This star of England : Fortune made bis
sword ;
By which the world's best garden he achieved.
And of it left his son imperial lord.
Henry the Sixth, in infant bands crown'd King
Of France and England, did this king, suc¬
ceed ; 10
Whose state so many had the managing.
That they lost France and made his England
bleed :
Which oft our stage hath shown; and, for
their sake.
In your fair minds let this acceptanoe take.
[ExU.
THE TAMING OF' .THE SHREW.
(written about 1597.)
INTRODUCTION.
This comedy first appeared in the folio of 1623, but It is in some way closely connected with a play
Siiblished in ISM, and bearing the almost identical title, The Taming gf A Shrew. Pope was of
le opinion that Shakespeare wrote both plays, but this is hardly plausible. The play in the folio is
certainly an enlargement and Alteration of the earlier play, and it only remains to ask, was Shake¬
speare the sole reviser and adapter, or did his task consist of adding and altering certain scenes, so
as to render yet more amusing and successful an enlarged yersioii of the play of 1691, already made
by some unknown hand ? The last seems upon the whole the opinion best supported by the inter¬
nal evidence, in The Taming of the Shrew three parts may be distinguished : (1) The humorous
Induction, in which Sly, the drunken tinker, is the chief person ; (2) A comedy of character, the
Shrew ami he tamer, PetrUchio, being the hero and heroine; (3) A comedy of intrigue—the story of
Bianca and her rival lovers. Now the old play of A Shrew contains, in a rude form, the scenes of
the Induction and the chief scenes in which Petruchio and Katharina (named by the original writer
Ferando and Kate) appear; but nothing in the old play corresponds with the intrigues of Bianca's
disguised lovers. It is, however, in the scenes concerned with these intrigues that Shakespeare's
hand is least apparent. It may be said that Shakespeare's genius goes in and out with the person of
Kathariita. We would therefore conjecturally assign the intrigue-comedy to the adapter of the old
Slay, reserving for Shakespeare a title to those scenes—in the main enlarged from the play of A
hrew—in which Katharina, Petruchio, and Grumio are speakers. Turning this statement into
figures we find that Shakespeare's part in The Taming of the Shrew is comprised in the following
portions: Induction : ActII.,Sc.I., L. 169-326; Act III., Sc. Ii., L. 1-125,and 151-241 ; Act IV.,Sc.i.ii.
and in. J Act V., Sc. ii., L. 1-180. Such a division, it must be borne in mind, is no more than » «<»'-
jecture, but it seems to be suggested and fairly indicated by the style of the several parts of the
comedy. However this maybe, it is clear that Shakespeare cared little for the other charac¬
ters in comparison with Sly, Katharina, and Petruchio. The play is full of energy and bu^
tling movement; and the characters of Katharina and Petruchio in particular, are firmly and
finely drawn, the scenes in which they appear, though infinitely amusing, never quite passing into
downright farce. Widely separated dates have been assigned for The Taming of the Shrew, from
1594 to 1606. The best portions are in the manner of Shakespeare's comedies of the second periM;
and attributing tte Bianca intrigue-comedy to a writer intermediate between the author of the play
of A Shrew and Shakespeare, there is no difficulty in supposing that the Shakesprare scwra were
written about 1597. Fletcher wrote a humorous continuation of Shakespeare's play, entitled The
Woman's Prize, or the Tamer Tamed, in which Petruchio reappears.
DRAMATIS PERSON.®.
Persons in
the Induc¬
tion.
A Lord.
Chbistopheb Suy, a tinker.
Hostess, Page, Players, HnntS'
men, and Servants.
Baptista, a rich gentleman of Padua.
ViNCENTio, an old gentleman of Pisa.
Litcbntio, son ,to Vince«tio, in love with
Bianca.
Petruchio, a gentleman of Verona, a suitor
to Katharina.
HoSsio. (suito™ to Bianca.
BmNDELi.0, i servants to Lncentio.
Grumio, I gervants to Petruchio.
A Pedant.
Katharina, the shrew,) daughters to Bap-
Bianca, ) tista.
Widow.
Tailor, Haberdasha, and Servants attending on
Baptista and Petruchio.
Scene; Padua, and Petruchio's country house.
81 (481)
482
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
[Induction.
INDUCTION.
Scene I. Before an alehouse on a heath.
Enter Hostess and Slt.
Slu- I'll pheeze you, iu faith.
Host. A pair of stoeks, yon ro[^! 1 ,
Sly; Ye are a baggage tiie"S4ys4kre no
rogues; look iu the chronicles; we came in
with Richard Conqueror. Therefore paucas
pallabris ; let the world slide ; ses^al .,
Host. You will not pay for the glasses you
have burst ?
Sly. No, not a denier. Go by, Jeronimy :
go to thy cold bed, and warm thee. 10
Host. I know my remedy ; I must go fetch
the third-borough. , \^Exit.
Sly. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll
answer him by law ; I'll not budge an inch,
boy: let him come, and kindly. [Falls asleep.
Horns winded. Enter a Lord from hunting,
with his train.
Lord. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender
well my hounds :
tBrach Merriman, the poor cur is emboss'd ; '
And couple Clowder with the deep-mouth'd
brach.
Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good
At the hedge-corner, in tlie coldest fault ? 20
I would not lose the dog for twenty pound.
First Hun. Wliy, Belin.an is as good as he,
my lord |
He cried upon it at the merest loss
And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent:
Trust me, I take him for the better dog.
Lord. Thou art a fool: if Echo were as
fleet,
I would esteem him worth a dozen such.
But sup them well and look unto them all :
To-morrow I intend to hunt again.
First Hun. I will, my lord. 30
Lord. What's here ? one dead, or drunk ?
See, doth he breathe ?
See. Hun. He breathes, my lord. Were he
not warm'd with ale.
This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly.
Lord. Q monstrous beast! how like a swine
he lies ! [image !
Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thiue
Sirs, I will practice on this drmiken man.
What think you, if he were convey'd to bed,
Wrapp'd iu sweet clothes, rings put upon his
fingers,
A most delicious banquet by his bed.
And brave attendants near him when he
wakes, 40.
Would not the beggar then forget himself ?
FirsTHun. Believe me, Tord, I think he
cannot choose.
See. Hun. It would seem strange unto him
when he waked.
Lord. Even as a fla.ttfiring dream or warth-
less fancy.
Then_Jakfi_him up an4 manage well thq
jest:
Carry Tiim gently to my fairest chamber
And hang it round with all my wanton pic¬
tures :
Balm his foul head in warm distilled waters
And burn sweet wood to make the lodging
sweet:
Procure me music ready when- he wakes, 50
To make a dulcet and a heai'enly sonn4
And if he chance to speak, be ready straight
And with a low submissive reverence
S<ay ' What is it your honor will command ?'
Let one attend him with a silver basin
Full of rose-water and bestrew'd with flowers;
Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper.
And s.ay ' Will't please your lordship cool your
hands 7'
! Some one be ready with a costly suit
And ask him what apparel he will wear ; 60
Another tell him of his hounds and horse,
And tlmt his hidy mourns at his disease :
Persuade him that he hath been lunatic ;
f And i^hen he says he is, say that he dreams,
For he is nothing but a mighty lord.
This do and do it kindly, gentle sirs:
It will beimstlrne psfssing excellent,'
If it be husbanded with modesty.
First Hun. My lord, I warrant yon we will'
. play our part.
As he shall think by our true dUigence 70
He is no less than what we 6<ay he is.
Lord. Take him up gently and to bed with
him ;
And each one to his office when he wakes.
[Some hear out Sly. A trumpet sounds.
Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds :
[Exit Servinrpnatu
Belike, some noble gentleman that means, -
Travelling some journey, to repose him here.
Be-enter Servingman.
How now 1 wlio is it 7
Serv. Ant please your honor, players
That offer service to your lordship.
Lord. Bid them come near.
Enter Players.
Now, fellows, you are welcome.
Players. We thank your honor.
2x)rd. Do you intend to stay with me to¬
night 7
A Player. So please your lordship to accept
our duty:
Lord. With all my heart. This fellow I re'
member.
Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son :
'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so
well:
I have forgot your name ; but, sure, that part
Was aptly fitted and naturallyperform'd.
A Player. I think 'twas Soto that your
hoiior means.
Ijord. 'Tis very true : thou didst it excel¬
lent.
Well, you are come to me in happy time ; 90
The rather for I have some sport in hand
Wlterein your cunning can assist me much-
There is a lord will hear you play to-night -•
Scene ii.]
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
483
But I am doubtful of your^iodestles i>
Lest over-eveing of his odd behavior,—
For yet his honor never heard a play—
You break into some merry passion
And so offend htm ; for I tell you, sirs.
If you should smile he grows impatient.
A Player. Fear not, my lord : we can con¬
tain ourselves, 100
Were he the veriest antic in tlie world.—
Lord. Go, sirrah, take them to thtiuitte^,
And give them friendly welcome every one :
Let them want nothing that ray house affords.
' [Exit one teitli the Players.
Sirrah, go you to Barthol'mew my page.
And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady :
That done, conduct him to the drunkard's
chamber;
And call him ' madam,' do him obeisance.
Tell him from me, as he will win my love.
He bear hhnself with honorable action, 110
Such as he hatli observed in noble ladles
Unto their lords, by them accomplished :
Such duty to the drunkard let him do
With soft low tongue and lowly courtesy,
And say ' What is't yonr honor will command.
Wherein your lady and your humble wife
May show her duty and make known her
lore ?' [kisses,
And then with kind embraeements, tempting
And with declining head into his bosom.
Bid him shed tears, as bemg overjoy'd 120
.To see her noble lord restored to health.
Who for this seven years hath esteem'd him
No better than a poor and loathsome beggar :
And if the boy have not a woman's gift
To rain a shower of commanded tears,
Anouion wi'l d"
Which in a napl^n being close convey'd
Shall in despite eiiTofeu a watery eye.
See this dispatch'd with all the haste thou
' canst:
Anon I'll give thee more instructions. ISO
[Exit a Servinyman.
I Imow the boy will well usurp the grace,
Toice, gait and action of a gentlewoman :
I long to hear him call the drunkard husband.
And how my men will stay themselves
from laughter
When thoy .tr, homage to this simple peasant.
I'll in to counsel them ; haiuy my presence
May well abate the over-merry spleen
Y^ich otherwise would grow into extremes.
' [Exeunt.
Scene 11. A bedchamber in the Lord's house.
Enter aloft Sly, with Attendants ; some with
apparel, others with basin and ewer and
other appurtenances; and Lord.
Sly. For God's sake, a pot of small ale.
First Serv. Will't ricase your lordship
drink a cup of sack ?
Sec. Serv. Will't please your honor taste of
these conserves 7
Third Serv. What raiment will your honor
wear to-day 7
Sly. I am Christophero Sly ; call not me
' honor' nor ' lordship :' I ne'er drank sack
in my life ; and if you give me any conserves,
give me conserves of beef : ne'er ask me what
raiment I'll wear ; for I have no more doub¬
lets than backs, no more stockings than legs, ■
nor no more shoes than feet; nay, sometimes
more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes
look through the over-leather.
Lord. Heaven cease this idle humor in your
honor I
0, that a mighty man of such descent, i
Of such possessions and so high esteem.
Should be infused with so foul a spirit!
Sbf. What, would you make me mad 7. Am
not ^Christopher Sly, old Sly's son of Burtou-
mlikeW"tij™trapsitnwtat{6tt a. hPari-h^d,Zh^
now by present nrofeaaion a. tinker 7 Ask
Marian Ua^etj the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if
she know me not: if she say 1 am not fourteen
pence on the score for sheer ale, score me up
for the lyiugest knave in Christendom. What 1
I am not bestraught: here's—
Third Serv. ■ O, this it is that makes your
lady mourn 1
Sec. Serv. O, this is it that makes your ser¬
vants droop !
Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred
shuns your house, 30
As beaten hence by your strange lunacy.'
O noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth,
CMl home thy ancient thoughts from banish¬
ment
And banish hence tliese.abject lowly dreams.
Look how thy servants do attend on thee.
Each in his office ready at thy beck.
Wilt thou have music ?_harkj_^ Apollo ^ys
.aiOg :
we 11 have tliee to a
And twenty caged nil
' sleep
couch
Softer and sweeter than the losttuLbed 40
On purpose trimm'd up for<Semiramfa
Say thou wilt walk ; we wilT besftew the
ground »
Or wilt thou ride 7 thy horses shall be trapp'd.
Their haniess studded all with gold and pearl.
Dost thou love hawking 7 thou hast hawks
will soar
Above the morning lark: or wilt thou hunt 7
Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer
And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth.
First Serv. 'Say thou wilt course ; thy grey¬
hounds are as swift
As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe. 50
Seat Serv. Dost thou love pictures 7 we will
fetch thee straight
Adonis painted by a running brook, •
And Cytherea all in sedges hid,. '
Which seem to move and wanton with her
breath.
Even as the waving sedges play with wind. .
Lord. We'U sliow thee lo as she was a
maid,
i84
Aud how she was beguiled aud surprised,
As Uvely painted as the deed was done.
Third Serv. Or Daphne roaming through
a thorny wood,
Scratching her legs that one shall swear she
bleeds, 60
And at that sight sliall sad Apollo weep,
So workmauly the blood and tears are drawn.
Lord. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a
lord:
Thou hast a lady far more beautiful
Than any woman in this waning age.
Firtt Serv. Aud till the tears that she hatii
shed for thee
Like envious floods o'er-run her lovely face,
She was the fairest creature in the world ;
Aud yet she is inferior to none. 69
aiy. Am I a lord ? and have I such a lady?
Or do I dream ? or have I dream'd till now ?
I do not sleep : I see, I hear, I sp^k ;
I smell sweet savors and 1 feel soft things :
Upon my life, I am a lord indeed
And not a tinker nor Cbristophero Sly.
Well, bring our lady hither to our sight;
And once again, a pot o' the smallest ale.
Sec. Serv. Will't please your mightiness to
wash your hands ?
O, how we joy to see your wit restored !
O, that once more you knew but what you
are! 80
These fifteen years you have been in a dream ;
Or when you waked, so waked as if you slept.
Sly. These fifteen years 1 by my fay, a
goodly nap.
But did I never speak of all that time ?
First Serv. O, yes, my lord, but very idle
words: [ber.
For though you lay here in this goodly cham-
Tet would you say ye were beaten out of door;
And rail upon the hostess of the house ;
And say you would present her at the leet.
Because she brought stone jugs and no seal'd
quarts: 90
Sometimes yon would call out for Cicely
Hacket.
Sly. Ay, the woman's maW of the house.
Third Serv. Why, sir, you know no house
nor no such maid.
Nor no such men as you have reck'on'd up.
As Stephen Sly and old John Naps of Greece
Aud Peter Turph and Henry Pimpemell
And twenty more such names and men as
these
Which never were nor no man ever saw.
Sly. Now Lord be thanked for my good
amends!
All. Amen. 100
Sly. I thank thee: thou shalt not lose by it
Enter the Page as a lady, with attendants.
Page. How fares my noble lord ?
Sly. Marry, I fare well; for here is cheer
enough.
Where is my wife ?
Page. Here, noble lord : what is thy will
with her ?
[Act j.
Sly. Are you my wife and will not call me
husband ?
My men should call me ' lord :' I am your
good man.
Pa(7e. My husband and my lord, my Jord
and husband ;
I am your wife in all obedienoe.
Sly. I know it well. What must 1 call her?
Lord. Madam. Ill
Sly. Al'ce madam, or Joan madam ?
Lord. ' Madam,' and nothing else: so
lords call ladies.
Sly. Madam wife, they say that I have
dream'd
And slept above some fifteen year or more.
Page. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto
me.
Being all this time abaudou'd from your bed.
Sly. "Hs much. Servants, leave me and
her alone..
Madam, undress you and come now to bed.
Page. Thrice noble lord, let me entreat at
you 120
To paraou me yet for a night or two.
Or, if not so, until the sun be set:
For your physicians have expressly charged.
In iterilto incur your former malady.
That I should yet absent me from your bed :
1 hope this reason stands for my excuse.
S^. Ay, it stands so that I may hardly
tarry so long. But I would be loath to fall into
my dreams again : I will therefore tarry in
despite of the flesh and the blood, 139
Fnter a Messenger.
Jl/ess. Your honor's players, hearing your
amendment.
Are come to play a pleasant comedy ;
For so your doctors hold it very meet.
Seeing too much sadness hath congeal'd your
blood.
And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy:
Therefore they thought it good you hear a play
And frame your mind to mirth and merriment.
Which bars a thousand harms and lengthens
Ufe.
Sly. Mar^, I will, let them play it. Is not
a coraonty a Christmas gambold or a tumbling-
trick ? 141
J'age. No, my good lord ; it is mote pleas-
ingstuff.
Sly. What, household stuff ?
Page. It is a kind of history.
Sly. Well, we'll see't. Come, madam wife,
sit by my side aud let the world slipwe shall
ne'er be younger.
Flourish.
ACT I.
ScbkeI. Padua. A public place.
Enter Lcobntio and his man Tkanio.
Luc. Tranio, since for the great desire I
had
To see fair Padua, nursery of arvii
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
Scene i.|
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
485
I am arrived for frnitfiil Lombardj,
The pleasant garden of great Italy ;
And by my father's love and leave am arm'd
With his good vill and thy good comj>auy,
My trusty servant, well approved in all,
Here let us breathe and haply institute'
A course of learning and ingeuions studies.
Pisa tenown'd for grave citizens 10
Gave me my being and my father first,
A merchant of great traftic through the world,
Vincentlo, come of the Beiitivolii.
Vincentio's son brought up in Florence
It shall become to serve all hopes conceived.
To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds ;
And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study.
Virtue and that part of philosophy
Will I apply that treats of happiness
By virtue specially to be achieved. 20
Tell me thy mind ; for I have Pisa left
And am to Padua come, as he that leaves
A shallow plash to plunge him in the deep
And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst.
Tra. Mi perdonato, gentle master mine,
I am in all affected as yourself ;
Glad that yon thus continue your resolve
To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy.
Only, good master, while we do admire
This virtue and this moral discipline, 30
Let's be no stoics nor no stocks, 1 pray ;
Or so devote to Aristotle's checks
As Ovid be an outcast quite abjured :
Balk logic with acquaintance that you have
And practise rhetoric in your common talk ;
Music and poesy use to quicken vou ;
The mathematics and the metaphysics.
Fall to them as you find your stomach serves
you ;
Ho profit grows where is no pleasure ta'eu :
In brief, sir, study what you most affect. 40
Luc. Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou
advise.
If, Biondello, thou wert come ashore.
We could at once put us in readiness.
And take a lodging fit to entertain
Such friends as time in Padua shall beget.
But stay a while : what company is this ?
Tra. Master, some show to welcome us to
town.
Enter Baptista, kATHABiNA, Bianca, Gre-
Mio, and Hortbnsio. LtrcBMTio and
Tranio stand by.
Bap. Gentlemen, importune me no far¬
ther.
For how I firmly am resolved you know ;
That is, not to bestow my youngest daughter
Before I have a husband for the elder : 51
If either of you both love Katharina,
Because I know you well and love you well.
Leave shall you have to court her at your
pleasure. *
Ore. [Aside! To cart her rather: she's
too rough for me.
There, there, Hortensio, will you any wife ?
£d(A. I pray you, sir, is it your will
To make a stale of me among^ these mates 7
Hor. Mates, maid ! how mean you that ?
no mates for yon,.
Unless you were of gentler, mUder mould. 60
Kat/i. I'faith, sir, you sluill never need to
fear :
I wis it is not half way to her heart;
But if it were, doubt not her care should be
To comb your noddle with a three-legg'd stool
And paint your face and use you like a fool.
Hor, From all such devils, good Lord de¬
liver us I
Ore. And me too, good Lord I
Tra. Hush, master I here's some good pas¬
time toward :
That wench is stark mad or wonderful Iro-
ward.
Luc. But in the other's silence do I see 70
Maid's mild behavior and sobriety.
Peace, Tranio I
Tra. Well said, master ; mum ! and gaze
your fill
Bap. Gentlemen, that I may soon make
good
<Vhat I have said, Bianca, get yon in :
And let it not displease thee, good Bianca,
For I will love thee ne'er the less, my girl.
Kath. A pretty peat! it is best •
Put finger in the eye, an she knew why.
Bian. Sister, content you in my discon¬
tent. 80
Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe :
My books and instruments shall be my com¬
pany.
On them to look and practise by myself.
Jaic. Hark, Tranio I thou may'st hear
Minerva speak.
Hor. Signior Baptista, will you be so
strange ?
Sorry am I that our good will effects
Bianca's grief.
Ore. Why will you mew her up,
Signior Baptista, for this fiend of hell.
And make her bear the penance of her
tongue ?
Bap. Gentlemen, content ye; I am re¬
solved : 90
Go in, Bianca : \ErU Bianca.
And for I know she taketh most delight
In music, instruments and poetry,
Schoolmasters will I keep within my house.
Fit to instruct her youth. If you, Hortensio,
Or Signior Gremio, you, know any such.
Prefer them hither ; for to cunning men
I will be very kind, and liberal
To mine own children in good bringing up :
And so farewell. Katharina, you may stay ;
For I have more to commune with Bianca. 101
[Exit.
Kath. Why, and I tru.st I may go too,
may I not? What, shall 1 be appointed hours;
as though, belike, I knew not what to take,
and what to leave, ha ? [Exit.
Ore. You may go to the devil's dam : your
gifts are so good, here's none will hold you.
Their love is not so great, Hortensio, but we
may blow our nails together, and fast it fairly
486
out: our cake's dough on both sides. I'are-
■well: yet, for the love I bear my sweet Bianca,
if I can by any means light on a fit man to
teach her that wherein she delights, I will
wish him to her father.
Hor. So will I, Signior Gremio ; but a^
word, I pray. Though tlie nature of our
quarrel yet never bro<nced iiarle, laiow now,
upon advice, it toucheth us both, that we maj'
yet again have access to our fair mistress and
be happy rivals in Bianca's love, to labor and
effect one thing specially. 121
Ore. What's that, 1 pray 7 [sister.
Hor. Marry, sir, to. get a husband for her <
Ore. A husband ! a devil.
Hor. I say, a husband.
Ore. I say, a devil. Thiukest thou, Hor-
teusio, though her father be very rich, any
man is so very a fool to be married to hell 7
Hor. Tush, Gremio, though it pass ^our
patience and mine to endure her loud alarums,
why, man, there be good fellows in the world,
an a man could light on them, would take her
with all faults, and money enough.
Ore. 1 cannot tell ; but I bad as lief take
her dowry with this condition, to be whipped
at the high cross every morning.
Hor. Faith, as you say, there's small clioice
in rotten apples. But come ; since tliis bar in
law makes us friends, it sliall be so far forth
friendlv maintained till by helping Baptista's
eldest daughter toahusband we set his young¬
est free for a husband, and then have to't
afresh. Sweet Bianca ! Happy man be his
dole ! He that runs fastest gets the rhig.
How say you, Signior Gremio 7
Ore. I am agreed ; and would I had given
him the best horse in Piidua to begin his
wooing tiiat would thoroughly woo her, wed
her and bed her and rid the house of her!
Come on. [Exeunt Gremio and Hortensio. 150
Tra. I pray, sir, tell mo, is it possible
That love should of a sudden take such hold 7
i«c. O Tranio, till I found it to be true,
I never thought it iwssible or likely ;
But see, while idly I stood looldng on,
I found the effect of love in idleness:
And now in plainness do confess to thee.
That art to me as secret and as dear
As Anna to tlie queen of Carthage was,
Tranio, I burn, I pine, I perish, Tranio, 160
If I achieve not this young modest girl.
Counsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst;
Assist me. 'Tranio, for I know thou wilt.
Tra. Masterj it is no time to chide ycui
now ;
Affection is not rated from the heart:
If love have touch'd you, nought remains but
so,
' Redime te captum quam queas minimo.'
Luc. Gramercies, lad; go forward; this
contents :
■Jhe rest will comfort, for thy counsel's sound.
2Va. Master, you look'd so longly on the
maid, ' 170
fierhaps you mark'dnot what's the pith of all.
[Act i.
Luc. 0 yes, I Saw sweet beauty in hor
face.
Such as the daughter of Agenor had,
Tlrat made great Jove to humble him to her
hand.
When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan
strand.
Tra. Saw yon no more 7 mark'd you not
how her sister \
Began to scold and raise up such a storm
Tliat mortal ears might haraly endure the diu ?
Luc. Tranio, I saw her coral lips to move
And with her breath site did iierfume the air ;
Sacred and sweet was all 1 saw in her. 181
2>-a. Nay, then, 'tis time to stir him from
his trance.
I pray, awake, sir : if yon love the maid.
Bend thoughts and' wits to achieve her. Thus
it stmds;
Her eldest sister is so curst and shrewd
That tiU the fatiier rid his hands of her,
Master, your love must live a maid at home ;
And therefore has he closely mew'd her up.
Because she will not be annoy'd with suitors.
Luc. Ah, Tranio, what a cruel father's he!
But art thou not advised, he took some care
To get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct
her 7
Tra. Ay, marry, am I, sir ; and now 'tis
plott^.
Luc. I have it, Tranio.
Tra. Master, for my hand.
Both our inventions meet and jump in one.
Luc. Tell me tliine first.
Tra. You will be schoolmaster
And undertake the teaching of the maid :
That's your device.
Ltic. It is! may it be done 7
Tra. Not possible ; for who shall bear
your part.
And be in Padua here Yiucentio's sou, 200
Keep house and ply his book, welcome his
friends.
Visit his countrymen and banquet them 7
Luc. Basta; content thee, fur I have it
full.
We have not yet been seen in any house.
Nor can we be distiuguish'd bv oux faces
For man or master ; then it follows thus ;
Thou Shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead.
Keep house and port and servants, as I should:
I will some other be, some Florentine,
Some Neaimlitan, or meaner man of Pisa. 210
'Tis hatch'd and shall be so : Tranio, at once
Uncase tliee ; take my .color'd hat and cloak ;
When Biondello comes, he waits on thee ;
But I will charm him first to keep bis tongue.
Tra. So had you need. i
In brief, sir, sith it your pleasure is.
And I am tied to be obedient;
For so your father charged me at our parting,
' Be serviceable to my son,' quoth ho.
Although I think 'twas in another sense ; 228
I am content to be Lueentio, >
Because so well I love Lueentio.
Luc,' Tranio, be so, because Lueentio loves*
THE TAJ/LVG OF THE SHREW.
SCXNB II.J
THE TAMINii OF THE SHRE[*.
487
And let me be a slave, to aohlave that maid
Whose sudden sight bath thrall'd my wounded
eye.
Here comes the rogue.
Enter Bioin>ixix>.
Sirrah, where have you been ?
BUnu Vfhete have I been! Nay, how
now ! where are yon ? Master, has my tellow
Trauio stolen your clothes? Or you st^en
his ? or both ? pray, what's the news ? 230
Luc. Sirrali, come bither;'(3S,no time to
And therefore frame your manners ,'to tlie
time.
Your fellow Yranio here, to save my life.
Puts my apparel and my countenance on.
And I for my escape have put on his ^
For in a quarrel since 1 came ashore
1 kill'd a man and fear I was descried :
Wait you on him, I charge you, its becomes.
While 1 make way from hence to save my
life :
You understand me ?
Bion. I, sir ! ne'er a whit. 240
Tuc. And not a jot of Tranio in. your
month: ,
Trauio is changed into Luceutio,
Bion. The better for him; would, 1 were
so too !
Tra. So could I, faith, boy, to have the
next wish after.
That Lncentio indeed had Baptista's youngest
daughter.
But, sirrah, not for my sake^ but your ma.s-
ter's, I ad\ise
You use your manners discreetly in all kind
of comiranics :
When I am alone, why, then I am Tranio ;
But in all places else your niiistcr Buceutio.
Lnc. 'fi-anio, let'b go: wie thing more
rests, that thyself execute, to make one among
these wooers': if thou ask me why, sufflceth,
my reasons are boUi good and weigh^.
[Exeunt.
T%e presenters abore speak.
First Serv. My lord, you nod ; you do not
mind the play.
Sly. Yes, by Saint Anne, do 1. A good
matter, surely : comes there any more of it ?
Page. My lord, 'tis but begun.
Sty. "Tis a very excellent piece of work, ■
madam lady : would 'twere done! 239
[They sit and mark.
Scene 11. Padua. Before Hortensio'S
house.
Enter 1'ktbuchio and his man Grumio.
Pet. Verona, for a while Ltake my leave.
To see my friends in Padua, Tuit of all
best beloved and approved friend,
Hortensio ; aim I irow this is his house.
Here, sirrah Grumio ; knock, I say.
Oru. Knock, si; 1 whom should I knock ?
V there any man has rebused your worsliip ?
Pet. Villaik. . say, knock me here soundly
Gru. Knock->'..u liere, sir ! why, sir, what'
am I, sir, that I i.i.ould knock you here, sir ?
Pet.. Villain, 1 say, knock me at this gate
And rap me well, or I'll knock your knave's
pate.
Gru. My master is grown quarrelsome. 1
should knock you first.
And tlieu I know after who comes by the
Pet. Will it not be ?
Faith, sirrah, an you'll not knock, I'll ring it;
I'll try how you ran sol, fa-, and sing it.
[He wrings him by the ears.
Oru. Help, masters, help! my master is
mad:
Pet. Now, knock when I bid you, sirrah
villain I
• Enter Hortensio.
Hor. How now ! what's the matter ? My
old friend Grumio! and my good friend
Petruchio !
How do you all at Verona ?
Pet. Signior Hortensio, come you to part
the fray 7
' Con tutto il more, ben ta-ovato,' may I say.
Hor. ' Alia nostra casa ben venuto, molto
honorato signer mio Petruchio.'
Rise, Grumio, rise : we will compound this
quarrel.
Orik Nay, 'tis no matter, sir, what he
'leges in Latin. If this be not a lawful cause
for me to leave his service, look you, sir, he
bid me kuock him and rap him sonndiy, sir:
well, was it fit for a servant to use his mustei'
so, being perhaps, for aught I see, two and
thirty, a pip out ?
Whom would to God 1 had well knock'd at
first.
Then Irad nut Grumio come by the worst.
Pet. A senseless villain ' Good Hortensio,
I bade the rascal kuock U|x)n your gate
And could not get him for iny heart to do
it.
Gru. Knock at the gate ! O heavens!
Spake you not these wor'ds, plain, 'Sirrah,
knock me heie, raj) ine here, knock me well,
and knock me soundly' ? And come you now
with, ' knocking at the gate' ?
Pet. Sirrah, be gone, or tiUk not, I advise
J oil.
//or. Petruchio, patience ; I am Grumio's
pledge:
Why, this's a heavy chance 'twixt him and
yon.
Tour ancient, trmsty, pleasant servant Grumio
And tell me now, sweet friend, what happy
gale
Blows you to Padua here from old Verona ?
Pet. Such wind r,« scatters young men
through the World SO
To seek their fortunes farther than at home
Where small experience grows. But in a few
Signior Hortensio, thuL It stands with me '■
Antonio, 'my father, is "deceased ;
48f THE
And I have thrust myself iuto this maze,
Haply to wive aud thrive as best I may :
Crowus in my purse I have and goods at home,
And so am come abroad to see the world.
Hor. Petruchio, shall I then come roundly
to thee 5!)
And wish thee to a shrewd ill-favor'd wife ?
Thou'ldst tliank me but a little for my coun¬
sel:
And yet I'll promise thee she shall be rich
And very rich: but thon'rt too much my
friend.
And I'll not wish thee to her.
Pet. Siguier Hortensio, 'twixt such friends
as we
Few words suffice; aud therefore, if thou
know
One rich enough to be Petruchio's wife.
As wealth is burden of my wooing dance.
Be she as foul as was Floreutius' love, '
As old as Sibyl and as curst and shrewd 70
As Socrates' Xanthippe, or a worse,
^he moves me not, or not removes, at least.
Affection's edge in me, were she as rough
As are the swelling Adriatic seas :
I come to wive it wealthily in Padua ;
If wealthiW, tlien happily in Padua.
Gru. Nay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly
what his mind is: why, give him gold enough
and marry him to a puppet or an aglet-baby ;
or an old trot with ne'er a tooth in her head,
though she have as mau^ diseases as two and
fifty horses: why, nothing comes amiss, so
money comes withal.
Hyr. Petruchio, since we are stepp'd thus
far In,
1 will continue that I broach'd in jest
I can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife
With wealth enough aud young and beauteous.
Brought up as best becomes a gentlewoman:
Her only fault, and that is faults enough.
Is that she is intolerable curst
And shrewd and froward, so beyond all meas¬
ure ,
That, were my state far worser than it is, 91
1 would not wed her for a mine of gold.
Pet. Hortensio, peace! thou know'st not
gold's effect:
Tell me her father's name aiid 'tis enough ;
For 1 will board her, though she chide as loud
As thunder when the clouds in autumn crack.
Ilor. Her father is Baptista Minola,
An affable and courteous gentleman :
Her name is Katliarina Minola,
Kenown'd in Padua for her scolding tongue.
Pet. I know her father, though I know not
her; 101
And he knew my deceased father well.
I will not sleep, Hortensio, till 1 see her ;
And therefore let me be thus bold with you
To give you over at this first encounter.
Unless you will accompany me thither.
Gru. 1 pray you, sir, let him go while the
humor lasts. 0' my word, an she knew him
MS well as 1 do, sue would think scolding
would do little good upon hint: she may per¬
TUE SHREW. .Act t.
haps call him lialf a score k.!. es c: . . t why,
that's nothing ; an he begin once, he x rail in
his rop^tricks. I'll tell you what, sir, an she
stand him but a little, he will throw a figure
in her face aud so disfigure her with it that she
shall have no more eyes to see withal than a
cat Yo'i know him not, sir.
Hor. Tarry, Petruchio, 1 most go with thee,
For in Bautista's keep my treasure is :
He hath the jewel of my life in hold,
Hi:^ youngest daughter, beautiful Bianca, 120
.And her withholds from me and other more.
Suitors to her and rivals in my love,
Supposing it a thing impossible.
For those defects 1 have before rehearsed,
That ever Katliarina will be woo'd :
Therefore this order hath Baptista ta'en.
That none shall have access onto Bianca
Till Katharine the curst have got a husband.
Gru. Kathaiine the curst!
A title for a maid of all titles tlie worst 130
Hor. Now shall my friend Petruchio do me
• grace,
And otter me disguised in sober robes
To old Baptista as a schoolmaster
Well seen in music, to instruct Bianca ;
That so I'may, by this device, at least
Have leave and leisure to make love to her
And unsuspected court her by herself.
Gru. Here's no knavery ! See, to beguile
the old folks, how the young folks lay their
heads together! 140
ErUer Gremio, and Luoentio disguised.
Master, master, look about you: who goes
there, ha ?
Hor. Peace, Gmmio ! it is the rival of my
love.
Petruchio, stand by a while.
Gru. A proper stripling and an amorous !
Gre. O, very well; 1 have perused the note.
Hark you, sir: I'll have them very fairly
bound :
All books of love, see that at any hand ; i
And see you read no other lectures to her ;
You understand me : over and beside
Signior Baptista's liberality, 150
I'll mend it with a largess. Take your papei
too.
And let me have them very well perfumed :
For she is sweeter than ^rfume itself
To whom they go to. What will you read to
her?
Luc. Whate'er I read to her, I'll plead for
you
As for my patron, stand you so assured,
As firmly as yourself were still in place :
Yea, and perhaps with more successful words
Than you, unless you were a scholar, sir.
Gre. O this learning, what a thing it is! 16C
Gru. O this woodcock, what an ass it is!
Pet. Peace, sirrah 1
Hor. Grumio, mum! God save you, Sig¬
nior Gremio.
Gre. And you are well met, Siguio: Hop
tensio.
SCBNB n.|
Trow jou whither I am going ? To Baptista
Minola.
I promised to iuqnire carefully
Ahout a schoolmaster for the fair Bianca :
And by good fortune I have lighted well
On this young man, for learning and behavior
Fit for her turn, well read in poetry 170
And other books, good ones, 1 warrant ye.
Uw. 'Tis well; and I have met a gentle¬
man
Hath promised me to help me to another,
A fine musician to instruct our mistress ;
So shall I no whit be behind in duty
To fair Bianca, so beloved of me.
Gre. Beloved of me ; and that my deeds
shall prove.
Gru. And chat his bags shall prove.
J9br. Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our
love i
Listen to me, and if you speak me fair, 180
I'll tell you news indiiferent good for either.
Here is a gentleman whom by chance I met,
Upon agreement from us to his liking,
Wiii undertake to woo curst Katharine,
Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry please.
Gre. So said, so done, is well.
Hortensio, have yon told him all her faults ?
Pet, I know she is an irksome brawling
soold:
If that be all, masters, I hear no harm.
Gre. Ko, say'st me so, friend ? What coun¬
tryman ? 190
Pet. Bom in Verona, old Antonio's son : '
My father dead, my fortune lives for me ;
And I do hope good days and long to see.
Gre. O sir, such a life, with such a wife,
were strange!
But if yon have a stomach, to't i' God's name:
You sl^ have me assisting you in ail.
But will you woo this wild-cat ?
Pet. Will I live ?
Gru. Win he woo her? ay, or I'll hang her.
Pet. Why came I hither but to that intent ?
Think yon a little din can daunt mine ears ?
Have I not in my time heard lions roar ? 201
Have I not heard the sea pufTd up with winds
Rage like an angry boar chafed with sweat ?
Have 1 not heara great ordnance in the field,
And heaven's artillery tiinnder in the skies ?
Havel not in a pitchM battle heard
Loud 'larams, neighing steeds, and trumpets'
clang?
And do you tell me of a woman's tongue.
That gives not half so great a blow to hear
As will a chestnut in a farmer's fire ? 210
Tush, tush ! fear boys with bugs.
Gru. For he fears none.
Gre. Hortensio, hark:
•This gentleman is happily arrived.
My mind presumes, for his own good and ours.
Hot. I promised we wouldTie contributors
And bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe'er.
Gre. And so we will, provided that he win
her.
Gru. I would I woe as sure of a good din¬
ner.
489
Enter Tbawio brave, and Biondelix).
Tra. Gentlemen, God save yom If 1 may
be bold.
Tell me, I beseech yon, which is the readiest
way
To the house of Signior Baptista Minola ? 221
Bion. He tliat has the two fair daughters:
is't he you mean ?
Tra. Even he, Biondeiio.
Gre. Hark you, sir ; you mean not her to—
Tra. Perhaps, him and her, sir : what have
you to do ?
Pet. Not her that chides, sir, at any hand,
I pray. '
Tra. 1 love no chiders, sir. Biondeiio, let's
away.
Imc. Well begun, Tranio.
Hor. Sir, a word ere you go;
Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea
or no ? 230
Tra. And if I be, sir, is it any offence ?
jCfre. No ; if without more words you wil.
get you hence.
Tra. Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets
as free
For me as for you ?
Gre. But so is not she.
Tra.. For what reason, I beseech yon ?
Gre. For this reason, if you'll know,
That she's the choice love of Signior Gremio.
' Hor.- That she's the chosen of Signior Hor¬
tensio,
Tra. Softly, my masters 1 if you be gentle¬
men.
Do me this right; hear me with patience.
Baptista is a noble gentleman, 240
'To whom my father is not ail unknown ;
And were his daughter fairer than she is.
She may more suitors have and me for one.
Fair Lena's daugliter had a thousand wooers :
Then well one more may fair Bianca have ;
And so she shall; Lucentio shall make one,
Though Paris came in hope to speed alone.
Gre. Whst! this gentleman will out-talk
ns all.
Luc. Sir, give him head: I know he'll prove
a jade.
Pet. Hortensio, to what end are all tliese
words ? 250
Hor. Sir, let me be so bold as ask you.
Did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter ?
Tra. No, sir ; but hear I do that he hath
two.
The one as famous for a scolding tongue
As is the other for beauteous modesty.
Pet. Sir, sir, tlie first's for me; let her
go by.
Gre. Yea, leave that labor to great Hei^
cules ;
And let it be more than Alcides' twelve.
Pet. Sir, understand you this of me in
sooth:
The youngest daughter whom yon hearken for
Her father keeps from all access of suitors, 261
And will not promise her to any man
Until thq ^dcr lister first be wm :
THE TAMING OP THE SHREW.
490
The younger then is free and not before.
Tra. If it be so, sir, that you are the man
Must stead ns ail and lue amongst the rest.
And if you break the ice and do this feat.
Achieve tlie elder, set the younger free
For our access, whose hap shall be to have her
Will not so graceless be to be ingrate. 270
Hor. Sir, you say well and well you do con-
cwve ;
And since you do profess to be a suitor.
You must, as we do, gratify tliis gentleman,
To whom we all rest generally beholding.
Tra. Sir, 1 shall not be slack : in sign
whereof,
Please ye we may contrive this afternoon.
And quaff Ciirouses to our mistress' hc^iltn,
And do as adversaries do in law.
Strive mightily, but eat and driitk as friends.
Gru. Bion. O excellent motion ! Fellpws,
let's be gone. 280
Hor. The motion's good indeed and be
it so,
Petrnchio, I shall be your ben venuto.
[Exeunt.
ACT n.
ScENK L Padua. A room in Baptista's
house.
Enter Eathabuta and Biakca.
Bian. Good sister, wrong me not, nmr wrong
yourself,
To make a bondmaid and a slave of me;
"That 1 disdain : but for these other gawds,
Unbind my hands, I'll pull them off myself,
Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat;
Or what you will command me will 1 do.
So well 1 know my duty to my elders.
Kath. Of all thy suitors, here 1 charge tiiee,
tell
Whom thou lovest best: see thou dissemble
not.
Bian. Believe me, sister, of aU the men
alive 10
I never yet beheld that special face
Which 1 could fancy more than any other.
KatJi. Minion, thoii liest. Is't not Hor-
tensio ?
Bian. If you affect him, sister, here 1 swear
I'll plead for you myself, but you shall have
him. [more :
Kath. O then, belike, you fancy riches
You will have Gremio to keep you fair.
Bian. Is it for him you do envy me so ?
Nay then you jest, and now 1 well perceive
You have but .ie.sted with me all this while: 20
j pritoee, sister Kate, untie my hands.
Kath. If that be jest, then all the rest was
so. [Strikes her.
Enter Baptist/ ,
Sap. Why, how now, dame! whence grows
this insolence ?
Bianca, stand aside. Poor girl! she weeps.
Go ply thy needle j meddls^gtot with hei.
[Act 11.
For shame, thou hilding of a devilish s/Hrit,
Why dost thou wrong her that did ne'er wrong
thee 1 ■
When did she cross thee with a bitter word?
Kath. Her silence flouts me, and I'll be re¬
venged. [Flies after Bianca.
Bap. What, in my sight? Bianca, get
thee iu. [Exit Bianca. .30
Kath. What, will you not suffer me ? Nay,
now 1 see
She is your treasure, she must have a husband'
1 must dance bare-foot on her wedding day
And for your love to her lead apes iu hell,
Talk not to me: 1 will go sit and weep
Till I can find occasion of revenge. [Extt
Bap. Was ever gentleman thus grieved as I'?
But who.comes here 7
Enter Gremio, Lucentio in the habit of a
mean man; Petruchio, with Hortensio
as a mvMcian; attd Tranio, with Bion-
DELLO hearing a lute and books.
Gre. Good morrow, neighbor Baptista.
Bap. Good morrow, neighbor Gremio. Gpd
save you. gentlemen ! 41
Pet. And you, good sir! Pray, have you
not a daughter
Call'd Katharina, fair and virtuous ?
Bap. 1 have a daughter, sir, called Katharina,
Gre. You are too blunt: go to it orderly.
-Pet. You wrong me, Signior Gremio : give
me leave.
I am a gentleman of Verona, sir.
That, hearing of her beauty and her wit.
Her affability and bashful modesty.
Her wondrous qualities and mild behavior, 50
Am bold to show myself a forward guest
Within your house, to make mine eye Gie
witness
Of that report which I so oft have heard.
And, for an entrance to my entertainment,
1 do present you witli a man of mine,
[PnsetUing Hortensio.
Cunning in music and the mathematics.
To instruct Iier fully in titose sciences,
WItereof 1 know slie is not ignorant:
Accept of him, or else you do me wrong :
His name is Licio, born iu Mantua. 00
Bap. You're welcome, sir ; and he, for
your good ssike.
But for my daughter Katharine, this I know,
She is not for your turn, the more my grief.
Pet. 1 see you do not mean to part with her.
Or else you like not of my company.
Bap. Mistake me not; I speak but as I find.
Whence are you, sir ? what may 1 call your
name ?
Pet. Petruchio is my name ; Antonio's son,
A man well known throughout all Italy.
Bap. 1 know him well : you are welcome
for his sake. 7,
Gre. Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray,
Let us, that are poor petitioners, speak too :
Baccare ! you are marvellous forwarC.
Pet. O, pai-doL .ue, Signior Gremio ; I would
foin be doius
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
SOBNli!!.]
TBB TAMlhb OB THE SHREW.
491
Gre. I donbt it not, sir; bnt yea will curse
your wooing.
Neighbor, this is a gift very grateful, I am
sure of it. To express the like kindness, myself,
that have been more kindly beholding to yuu
than any, freely give unto you this ybiing
scholar \presentlng Lucentidi, that hath been
long studying at Rheims; as cunning in Greek,
Latin, and other languages, as the other in
music and mathematics : his name is Cambio;
pray, accept his service.
Bap. A thousand thanks, Signior Greinio.
Welcome, good Gambio. [To Tmnio] But,
gentle sir, methinks you walk like a stranger;
may I be so bold to know the cause of your
coming ?
Tra. Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine
own.
That, being a stranger in this city here, 90
Do make myself a suitor to your daughter.
Unto Bianca, fair and virtuous.
Nor is your nrm resolve unknown to me.
In the preferment of the eldest sister.
' This libei'ty is all tiiat I request.
That, upon knowledge of my parentage, '
I may have welcome'nr.ongst the rest that woo
And free access and favor as the rest:
And, toward the education of your daughters,
I here bestow a simple instrument, > 100
And this small packet of Greek and Latin
books :
If you accept them, then their worth is great.
Bap. Lucentio is your name ; of whence, I
pray ?
7^a. Of Pisa, sir ; son to Vincentio.
Bap. A mighty mmt' of Pisa ; by report
I know him well: you are very welcome, sir.
Take you the lute, and you the set of books ;
You shall go see your pupils presently.
Holla, within !
Enter a Servaiit.
Sirrah, lead these gentlemen
To my danghters ; and tell them both, 110
These are their tutors : bid them use them
welL
[Exit Servant, with Lucentio and Hortensio,
B iondelto following.
We will go walk fi little in the orchard.
And then to dinner. You are passing welcome.
And so I pray you all to think yourselves.
Pet. Signior Baptista, my business asketh
haste.
And every day 1 cannot come to woo.
Yon knew my father well, and in him me.
Left solely heir to all his lands and goods,
Which 1 have better'd rather than decreased :
Then tell me, if I get your daughter's love, 120
What dowry shall I have with her to wife ?
Bap. After my death the one half of my
lands, •
And in possession twenty thousand crowns.
Pet. And, for that dowry, I'll assure her of
Her widowhood, be it that she survive me.
In all my lands and leases whatsoever :
Let specialties be therefore drawn between as,
Tlrat covenants may be kept Oil sithtir hand.
Bap. Ay, when the special thing is well
obtain'd.
That is, her love ; for that is all in all. 139
Pet. Why, that is nothing ; for I tell yot,
father,
1 am as peremptory as she proud-minded ;
And where two raging fires meet together
They do consume the thing that feeds their fury.
Though littie fire grows great with little wind.
Yet extseme gusts will blow out fire and all:
So 1 to her and so she yields to me ;
For 1 am rough and woo not like a babe.
Bap. Well mayst thou woo, and happy be
thy speed!
But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words.
Pet. Ay, to the proof ; as mountains are for
winds. 111
That shake not, though they blow perpetually .
Re-enter Hosteitsio, with his head broke.
Bap. How now, my friend ! why dost thou
look so pale ? '
Hor. For fear, I promise you, if 1 look pale.
Bap. What, will my daughter prove a good
musician ?
Hor. 1 think she'll sooner prove a soldier :
Iron may hold with her, but never lutes.
Bap. Why, then thou canst not break her
to the lute?
Hor. Why, no ; for she hath broke the
lute to me.
I did but tell her she mistook her frets, 150
And bow'd her.hand to teach her fingering ;
When, with a most impatient devilish spirit,
' Frets, eall you these ?' quoth she ;' I'll fume
witii them ;'
And,:witb that word, slie struck me on. the
head.
And'through the instrument my pate made
way;
And there I stood amazed for a while.
As on a pillory; looking through the lute ;
While she did call me rascal fiddler
And twangling Jack; with twenty such vile
terms,
As had she studied to misuse me so. 160
Pet. Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench;
I love her ten times more than e'er 1 did :
O, how I long to have some chat witii her !
Bap. Well, go with me and be not so dis-
aomfited :
Proceed in practice with my younger daughter;
She's apt to learn and thankful for good turns.
Signior Petnichio, will you go with us.
Or shall 1 send my daughter Kate to you ?
Pet. I pray you do. [Exeunt all but Petni¬
chio.] 1 "will attend her here, 169
And woo her with some spirit when she comss.
Say that she rail ; why then I'll tell her plain
She sings as sweetly as a nightingale :
Say that she frown ; I'll say she looks as clem
As morning roses nrwly wash'd with dew :
Say she be mute and will not speak a word ;
Then I'll commend her volubility,
And say she uttereth piercing eli^ueuce;
02
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
[Act It
If she do bid me pack, I'll give her thanks,
As though she hid ine stay by her a week ;
If she deny to wed, I'll crave' the day 180
When I shall ask the bauus and when be niai-
rled.
But here she comes ; and now, Petruchio,
speak.
Enter Kathabina.
Good morrow, Kate ; for that's your name, I
hear.
Kath. Well have you heard, but something
hard of hearing ;
They call me Katharine that do talk of me.
Pet. You lie, In faith; for you are call'd
plain Kate,
And bomiy Kate and sometimes Kate the cnr.st;
)tut Kate, the prettiest Kate In Christendom
Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate,
Fur dainties are all Kates, and therefore, Kate,
Take this of me, Kate of my consolation ; 191
Hearing thy mildness prabed in every town.
Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded,
fet not so deejJy as to thee belongs,
Myself am moved to woo thee for my wife.
Kath. Moved ! In good time: let him that
moved yon hither
Remove you hence : I knew you at the first
You were a moveable.
Pet. Why, wh.at's a moveable?
Kath. A joln'd-stool.
Pet. Thou hast hit It: come, sit on me.
Kath. Asses are made to bear, and so are
you.
Pet. Women are. made to bear, and so are
yon.
Kath. ' No such jade as you. If me you mean.
Pet. Alas 1 good Kate, I will not burden
thee ;
For, knowing thee to be but young and light—
Kath, Too light for such a swain as you to
catch ;
And yet as heavy as my weight should be.
Pet. Should be ! should—buzz !
Kath. Well ta'eu, and like a buzzard.
Pet. Oslow-wlng'd turtle 1 shall a buzzard
take thee ?
Kath. Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buz¬
zard.
Pet. Come, come, you wasp ; i' faith, you
are too angry. 210
Kath. If I be waspish, best beware my sting.
Pet. My remedy is then, to pluck it out.
Kath. Ay, if the fool could find it where it
lies.
Pet. Who knows not where a wasp does
wear his stliig ? In his tail.
Kath. In his tongue.
Pet. Whose tongue ?
Kaih. Yours, if you talk of tails: and so
farewell.
Pet. What, with my tongue In your tall 1
r.ay, come again.
Good Kate ; I am a gentleman.
Kath. That I'll try. [SAe strikes him. 220
Pet. I swear I'll cufi yoi^ if strike again.
Kath. So may you lose your arms : -
If you strike me, you are no gentleman ;
And If no gentleman, why then no arms.
Pet. A herald, Kate ? O, put me in thy
books t
Kath. What Is your crest ? a coxcomb 7
Pet. A combless cock, so Kate will be my
ben.
Kath. No cock of mine ; you crow too like
a craven.
Pet. Nay, come, Kate, come ; you must not
look so sour.
Kath. It is my fashion, when I see a crab.
' Pet. Why, here's no crab ; and tiierefore
look not sour. 231
Kath. There is, there is.
Pet. Then show it me.
Kath. Had 1 a glass, I would.
Pet. What, you mean my face ?
Kath. Well alm'd of such a young one.
Pet. Now, by Saint George, I am too young
for you,
Kath. Yet you are witber'd.
Pet. 'Tis with cares. 240
Kath. I care not.
Pet. Nay, hear you, Kate : In sooth you
scape not so.
Kat/i. I chafe you, if I tarry : let me go.
Pet. No, not a whit: 1 find you i>assing
gentle.
'Twas told me you were rough and coy and
sullen,
.4.nd now I find report a very liar;
For thou are pleasant, gamesome, passing cour¬
teous.
But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time
fiowers :
Thou canst not frown, thou canst not lo>k
askance.
Nor bite the Hp, as angry wenches will, 250
Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross In talk.
But thou with mildnessentertain'st thy wooers.
With gentle conference, soft and a liable.
Why does the world re)xn-t that t^tedoth
limp?
0 slanderous world ! Kate like the hazel-twig
Is straight and slender and as brown in hue
As hazel nuts and sweeter than the keniels.
O, let me see thee walk : thou dost not halt;
Kath. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st
command.
Pet. Did ever Dlan so become a grove 200
As Kate this diambcr with her ])iincely gait ?
O, be thou Dlan, and let her be Kate ;
And then let Kate be chaste and Dlan sportful!
Kath. W^here did you study all this goodly
speech ?
Pet. It is extempore, from my mother-wit
Kath. A witty mother ! witless else her sou.
Pet. Am I not wise ?
Kath. Yes ; keep you warm.
Pet. Marry, so I memi, sweet Katharine,
in thy bed t
And therefore, setting all this chat aside, 270
Thus in plain terms : your father hath con«
eeuted
5eBirEL]
THE TAMING Of THE SUliEW.
498
That you shall be my wife ; your dowry 'greed
on;
And, will you, nill you, I will marry you. ,
Now, Kate, I am ahusbaKd Cor your turn ;
For, by this light, wliereUy i see thy beauty.
Thy beauty, that doth make me like tliee well.
Thou must be married to no man but me ;
For I am he am bom to tame you I^te,
And bring yo^ from a wild Kate to a Kate
Conformame as other household Kates. 280
Here comes your father : never make denial;
1 must and will have Katharine to my wife.
J8e-e«fer Baptista, Gremio, and Tkanio.
Bap. Now, Signior Petruchio, how speed
you with my daughter ?
Pet. How but well, sir ? how but well ?
It were im^sibie I should speed amiss.
Bap. Why, how now,daughter Katharine!
in your dumps 1 [ise you
KaBi. Call you me daughter ? now, 1 prom-
Tou have show'd a tender fatherly regard.
To wish me wed to one half lunatic ;
A mad-cup raffian and a swearing Jack, 290
That thinks with oaths to face the matter out.
Pet. Father, 'tis thus : yourself and all the
world,
That talk'd of her, have talk'd amiss of her :
If she be curst, it is for policy.
For she's not froward, but modest as the dove;
^ She is not hot, but temperate as the mom ;
' For patimice she will prove a second Grissel,
And Roman Lucrece for her chastity :
And to conclude, we have 'greed so well to¬
gether.
That upon Sunday is the wedding-day. 300
Kath. I'll see thee hang'd on Sunday first.
Gre. Hark, Petruchio •, she says she'll see
thee hang'd first.
Tra. Is this your speeding? nay, then,
good night our part I
Pet. Be patient, gentlemen; I choose her
for myself:
U she and I be pleased, what's tliat to yon ?
Us bargain'd 'twixt us twain, being alone.
That she shall still be curst in company.
I tell you, 'tis incredible to believe
How much she loves me : O, the kindest Kate!
She hung about my neck ; and kiss on kiss
She vied so fast, protesting oath on oath, 311
That in a twink she won me to her love.
O, you are novices 1 'tis a world to see.
How tame, when men and women are alone,
A meacock wretch can make the curstest
shrew.
Give me thy hand, Kate : I will unto Venice,
To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day.
Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests ;
I will be sure my Katharine shall be fine.
Bap. I know not what to say : but give me
your hands; ^ 320
God send you joy, Petruchio r'tis a match.
Ore. Tra. Amen, say we ; we wiU be wit¬
nesses.
Pet. Father, and wife, and gentlemen,,
adieu;
I will to Veuire ; Sunday comes amce :
We will have rings and things ana fine array;
And kiss me, Kate, we will be married o'Sun¬
day.
[Exeunt Petruchio and Katharina severally.
Ore. Was ever match clapp'd up so sud¬
denly 7
Bap. Faith, gentlemen, now I play a mer¬
chant's part.
And venture madly on a desperate mart.
Tra. 'Twas a commodity lay fretting by
you: 330
'Twill bring you gain, or perish on tlie seas.
Bap. The gain 1 seek is, quiet in the match.
Ore. No doubt but he liatli gut a qiuet
catch.
But now. Baptists, to your younger daughter:
Now is the day we long have looked for :
1 am your neighbor, and was suitor first.
Tra. And 1 am one that iove Bianca more
Thau words can witness, or your thoughts can
guess.
Ore. Youngling, thou canst not iove so dear
as I.
Tra. Greybeard, thy love doth freeze.
Ore. But tliiiie doth fry. 340
'Stoper, stand back : 'tis age that nounsheth
21X1. But youth in iadies' eyes tliat flour-
isheth.
Bap. Content you, gentlemen : I will com¬
pound this strife:
'Tis deeds must wui the prize ; and he of both
Tliat can assure my daughter greatest dower I
Shall have my Bianca's love.
Say, Signior Gremio, what can you assure her?
Ore. First, as you know, my house within
the city
Is richiy fumis]^ with plate and gold;
Basins and ewein to lave her dainty hands ;
My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry ;
In ivory coffers 1 have stuff'd my crowiis ;
In cypress chests my arras counterpoints.
Costly apparel, tents, and canopies.
Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss'd with pearl.
Valance of Venice gold in needlework.
Pewter and brass and all things that belong
To house or housekeeping : then, at my farm
I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail,
SixBCore fat oxen standing in my stalls, 360
And all things answerable to this portion.
Myself am struck in years, I must confess ;
And if I die to-morrow, tliis is hers.
If whilst I live she will be only mine.
Tra. That ' only' came well in. Sir, list
to me:
I am my father's heir and only son :
If I may have your daughter to my wife,
I'll leave her houses three or four as good.
Within rich Pisa walls, as any one
Old Signior Gremio has in Padua ; 370
Besides two thousand ducats by the year
Of fruitful land, all which shali be her joint¬
ure.
What, have I pinch'd you, Signior Gremio ?
Ore. Twc thousand ducats by the year of
land I
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
[Acj IIL
My land amounts not to so much in all:
That she shall have ; besides an argosy
That now Is lying in Marseilles' road.
What, have I choked you with an argosy ?
TVa. Gremlo, 'tis known my fother hath
no less
Than three great argosies ; besides two gal-
llases, 380
And twelve tight galleys : these I will assure
her,
And twice as much, whate'er thou ofter'st
next.
Ore. Nay, I have offer'd all, I have no
more ;
And she can have no more than all I have ;
If you like me, she shall have me and mine.
IVo. Why, then the maid is mine from all
the world.
By your firm promise : Gremlo Is out>vled.
Bap I must confess your offer Is the best;
And, let your father make her the assurance,..
She is your own ; else, you must pardon me.
If you should die before him, where's her
dower ? . 391
Tra. That's bnt a cavil: he Is old, I young.
Ore. And may not young men die, as w^
as old ?
Bap. Well, gentlemen,
I am thus resolved : on Sunday next you know
My daughter Katharine Is to be married ;
Now, on the Sunday following, shall Bianca
Be bride to you, If you make this assurance ;
If not, to Slgnlor Gremlo :
And so, I take my leave, and thank you both.
Ore. Adieu, good neighbor. 400
[Exit Baptista.
Now I fear thee not:
Sirrah young gamester, your father were a fool
To give thee all, and In his waning age
Set foot under thy table : tut, a toy!
An old Italian fox Is not so kind, my boy.
[Exit. •
Tra. A vengeance on your crafty wither'd
hide 1
Yet I have faced It with a card of ten.
'Tls In my '..ead to do my master good :
I see no reason but supposed Lucentlo
Must get a father, call'd ' supposed Vincentlo;'
And that's * wonder : fathers commonly 411
D(- get their children ; but In this case of woo¬
ing,
A child diall get a sire, if I fail not of my cun¬
ning. [Exit.
ACT ra.
ScENB I. Padua. Baptista'S hxmse.
Enter Lucentio, Hortensio, a«(i,BiANC,\.
Luc Fiddler, forbear ; you grow too for¬
ward, sir:
Have you so soon forgot tlie entertainment
Her sister Katharine welcomed you withal ?
Hor. But, wrangling pedant, this is
The patroness of heavenly harmony : • ' r.
Then give me leave to have prerogative ;
And when In mu.sic we have spent an nonr,'
Your lecture shall have leisure for as muchv
Luc. Preposterous ass, that never read so
far
To know the cause wh v music was ordain'd !
Was it not to refresh the mind of man i I 11
After his studies or his usual pain?
Then give me leave to read philosophy, -
And while I pause, serve In your harmony.
Hor. Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of
thine.
Bian. Why, gentlemen, you do me double
wrong.
To strive for that which restetli in my choice :
I am no breeching scholar In the schools ; '
I'll not be tied to hours nor 'pointed times.
But leam my lessons as I please myself. 20
And, to cut off all strife, here sit we down :
Take you your instrumeut,play you the whiles.
His lecture will be done ere you have tuned.
Hor. You'll leave bis lecture when I am in
tune ? ■
Luc. That will be never : tune your instru¬
ment.
■ Bian. Where left we last ?
Luc. Here, madam:
* Hlc ibat Slmols ; hlc est Slgeia tellus ;
Hlc steterat Priami regla celsa senis.'
Bian. Construe them. 30
Luc. ' Hlc Ibat,' as 1 told yon before, ' Si-
mols,' I am Lucentlo, ' hlc est,' son unto Vin¬
centlo of Pisa, 'Sigela tellus,' disguised thus
to get your love ; ' Hlc steterat,' and that
Lucentlo that comes a-woolug,' Priami,' is my
man Tranio, ' regia,' bearing my port, ' cem
senls,' that we might beguile tiie old panta¬
loon.
Hor. Madam, my Instrument's in tune:
Bian. Let's hear.' O lie ! the treble jars.
Luc. Spit in the hole, many and tune again.
Bian. Now let me see If I can construe It:
' Hlc Ibat Slmols,' I know you noty ' hie est
Sigela tellus,' I trust you not; ' Hlc steterat
Priami,' take heed he hear us not, 'regla,'
presume not, ' celsa senls,' despair not.
Hor, Madam, 'tis now in tune.
Luc. All but the base.
Hor. The base is right; 'tis the base knave
that jars.
[Aside] How fiery and forward our pedant Is I
Now, for my life, the knave doth court my
love :
Pedascule, I'll watch you better yet. 60
Bian. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust
Luc. Mistrust it not: for, sure, .^acldes
Was Ajax, call'd so from his grandfather.
Bian. I must believe my master ; else, f
promise you,
I should be arguing still upon that doubt:
But let It rest. Now, Llclo, to you : •
Good roasters, take it not unkindly, pray,
That I have been thus pleasant with you both.
Hor. You may go walk, and give me leave
a while:
SCEKH 1]
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
495
My lessons inake no mUsic in three parts. 00
Luc. Are you so formal, sir V well, 1 must
wait,
[Aside] And watch withal ; for, but I be de¬
ceived.
Our fine musician groweth amorous.
Hor. Madam, before you touch the instru¬
ment,
To learn the order of my fingering,
I must begin with rudiments of art ;
To teach you gamut in a briefer sort.
More pleasant, pithy and elTectual,
Thau hath been taught by any of my tmde ;
And there it is in writing, fairly drawn. TO
Bian. Why, I am past my gamut long ago.
Hor. Yet read the gamut of Horteusio.
Biani (Beads] '"Gamut" I am, the ground
of all accord,
' A re,' to plead Hoi-tensio's passion ;
'B mi,' Bianca, take him for thy lord,
' C fa ut,' that loves with all affection :
* D sol re,' one clef, two notes have I:
' E la mi,' show pity, or I die."
Call yo'i this gamut ? tut, 1 like it not:
Old fashions please me best; 1 am not so
niee.
To change true rules for old inventions. 81
Enter a Servant.
Serv. Mistress, your father prays you leave
your books
And help to dress your sister's chamber up :
You know to-morrow is the wedding-day.
Bian. Farewell, sweet masters both; I must
be gone. [Exeunt Bianca and Servant.
Luc. Faith, mistress, then I have no cause
to stay. [Exit.
Haf. But I have cause to pry into this pe¬
dant :
Methinks he looks as though he were in love :
Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble
To cast thy wandering eyes on every stale, 90
Seize thee fhat list: if once 1 find thee rang¬
ing,
Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing.
[Exit.
ScENB II. Padua. Before Baptista's house.
Enter Baptista,'C1remio, Tbanio, Katha-
RiNA, Bianca, Lucent40, and others, at¬
tendants. '
Bap, [To Tranio] Signior Lncentio, this is
the 'pointed day.
That Katharine and Petrnehio should be mar¬
ried.
And yet we hear not of our son-in-law.
What will be said ? what mockery will it be.
To want the bridegroom when ttie priest at¬
tends
To s)>eak the ceremonial rit^ of marriage !
What says Lueentio to this shame of ours ?
Kath. No shame but mine: I must, forsooth,
be forced
To give my hand opposed against my heart
Unto a mad-brain rudesby full of spleen * 10
Who woo'd in haste and means to wed at leis¬
ure.
I told you, I, he wag a frantic fool.
Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behavior :
And, to be noted for .a merry man.
He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of mar¬
riage.
Make feasts, invite friends, and proclaim the
banns ;
Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd.
Now must the world point at poor Katharine,
And say, ' Lo, there is mad Petruchio's wife.
If it would please him come and marry her !'
Tra. Patience, good Katharine, aiid Bap-
tista too. 21
Upon my life, Petruchio me.aBS but well.
Whatever fortune stays him from liis word :
Though he be blunt, I know him ^ssing wise;
Though he be merry, yet withal he's honest.
Kath. Would Katharine had never seen him
though !
[Exit iveeping, followed hy Bianca and others.
Bap. Go, girl ; I cannot blame thee now to
weep ;
For such an injury would vex a very saint.
Much more a shrew of thy impatient.humor.
■Enter Biondello.
Bion. Master, master ! news, old news, and
such news as you never heard of ! 31
Bap. Is it-new and old too ? how may that
be ?
Bion. Why, is it not news, to hear of Petru¬
chio's coming ?
Bap. Is he come ?
Bixm. Why, no, sir.
Bap. What then 1
Bion. He is coming. ^
Bap. When will he be here ?
Bion. When he stands where I am and sees
you there. 41
Tra. But say, what to thine old news ?
Bion. Why, Petruchio is coming in a new
hat and an old jerkin, a pair of old breeches
thrice turned, a pair of boots that have been
candle-cases, one buckled, another laced, an
old rusty sword ta'en out of the town-armory,
with a broken hilt, and clrapeless ; with two
broken points : his horse hipped with an old
mothy saddle and stirrups of no kindred ; be¬
sides, possessed with the .glanders and like to
mose in the chine ; troubled-with the lampttss,
infected with the fashions, full of windoalls,
sped with spavins, rayed with the yellows,
jKist cure of the fives, stark spoiled with the
staggers, begnawn with the' bots, swayed in
the back and shoulder-shotten ; near-legged
before and with a half-checked bitand ahead-
stall of sheep's leather which, being restrained
to keep him from stumbling, hath been olten
burst and now repaired with knots ; one girth
six times pieced and a woman's crupper of vel-
ure, which hath two letters for her name fairly
set down in studs, and here and there pieced
with packthread.
Bap Who comes with him ?
490
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
fAor ui
Bimi. O, sir, his lackey, for all the world
caparisoned like tlie horse ; with a linen stock
on one leg and a kersey boiit-hose on the other,
gartered with a red and blue list; an old hat
and ' the humor of forty fancies' pricked in't
for a featlier : a monster, a very monster in axj-
)arel, and not like a Christian footboy or a
i^ntleman's lackey.
Tra. 'Tis some odd humor x^ricks hira to
this fa.shiou ;
Yet oftentimes he goes but mean-apirarell'd.
Bap. 1 am glad he's come, bowsoe'er he
comes.
Bion. Why, sir, he comes not.
Bap. Didst thon not .say he comes ?
Bion. Who ? that Petruchio came ?
Bap. Ay, that Petruchio came. 80
Bion. Ko, sir ; 1 say his horse comes, with
him on his back.
Bap. Why, that's all one.
Bion. Nay, by Saint Jamy,
I hold you a x>«nny,
A horse and a man
Is more than one.
And yet not many. -
Enter Petkuchio and Grumio.
Pet. Come, where be these gallants 1 who's
at home ?
Bap. You are welcome, sir.
Pet. And yet I come not well. 90
Bap. And yet you halt not.
Tra. Not so well api>areird
As 1 wish yon were.
Pet. Were it better, I should rush in thus.
But where is Kate ? where is my lovely bride?
How does my father ? Gentles, methmks you
frown :
And wherefore gaze this goodly company.
As if they saw some wondrous monument.
Some comet or unusual prodigy ?
Bap. Why, sir, yon know this is your wed¬
ding-day :
Pirst were we sad, fearing you would not
come; 100
Now sadder, that you come so unprovided.
Fie, doff this habit, shame to your estate.
An eye-sore to our solemn festival!
Tra. And tells us, what occasion of imxrort
Hath all so long detaiu'd yon from your wife.
And sent you hither so unlike yourself ?
Pet. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to
hear:
Sufflceth, I am come to keep my word.
Though in some part enforced to digress ;
Which, at more leisure, 1 will so excuse 110
As you shall well be satisfied witlial.
But where is Kate ? I stay too long from her:
The morning wears, 'tis time we were at
church.
Tra. See not your bride in these unrever-
ent robes:
Go to my chamber; put on clothes of mine.
Pet. Not 1, believe me : thus I'li visit her.
Bap. But thus, I trust, you will not marry
her.
Pet. Good Bootli, even thus ; therefore ha'
done with words :
To me she's married, not unto my clotlies :
Could 1 repair what she will wear in me, 120
As I can change these x)oor accoutrements,
'Twere well for Kate and better for myself.
But what a fool am 1 to chat with you.
When 1 should bid good morrow to my bride.
And seal the title with a lovely kiss !
[Exeunt Petruchio and Grumio.
Tra. He hath some meaning in his mad at¬
tire :
We will persuade him, be it xx>ssible.
To put on better ere he go to church.
Bap. I'll after him, and see tlie event of
this.
[ETceunt Baptista, Gremio, and attendants.
Tra. But to her love coueerneth us to add
Her father's liking : which to bring to pass.
As 1 before imxKiited to yoiu: worship,
I am to get a man,—wlmte'er he be, ^
It skills not much, we'll fit him to our turn
And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa;
And make assurance here in Padua
Of greater sums than 1 have promised.
So shall you quietly enjoy your hoxie.
And marry sweet Biauca with consent
Lue. Were it not that my fellow-school¬
master 140
Doth watch Bianca's stex>s so narrowly,
'Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage;
Which once perform'd, let aU the world say
no,
I'll keep mme own, desinte of all tlie world.
Tra. That by degrees we mean to look
into.
And watch our vantage in this business :
We'll over-reach the greybeard, Gremio,
The uarrow-prjnng father, Minola,
The quaint musician, amonius Licio ;
All for my master's sake, Lucentio. 150
Re-enter Gremio.
Siguier Gremio, came you from the church 7
Gre. As willingly as e'er I came from
school.
Tra. And is the bride and bridegroom com-
mg home 7
Gre. A bridegroom say you 7 'tis a groom
indeed,
A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall
find.
Tra. Curster than she 7 why, 'tis impos.
sible.
Gre. Why, he's a devil, a devil, a very
fiend.
T-a. Why, she's a devU, a devil, the devil's
dam.
Gre. Tut, she's a lamb, a dove, a fool to
him !
I'll tell you. Sir Lucentio : when the priest IfiO
Should ask, if Katharine should be his wife,
' Ay, by gogs-wouus,' quoth he ; and swore so
loud.
That, all-amazed, tlie priest let fall the book;
And, as he stoop'd again to take it ua
0CBNB I.]
T he mad-biain'd bridegroom took him each n
cuff
hat down fell priest and book and book and
priest:
Kow take them up,' quoth he,' if any list.'
Tra. What said the wench when he rose
again ?
Gre. Trembled and shook; for why, he
stamp'd and swore,
kjs if the vicar meant to cozen him. 170
But after many ceremonies done.
He calls for wine : ' A health !' quoth lie, .is
He had been aboard, carousing to his mates
After a storm ; qnaff'd off the muscadel
And tltrew the sops ail in the sexton's face ;
Having no other reason
But tliat his beard grew thin and hungeriy
And seem'd to ask him sops as he was drink¬
ing.
This done, he took the bride about the neck
And kiss'd her lips with such a clamorous
smack 180
Tiiat at the parting all the church did echo :
And I seeing this came thence for very shame;
And after me, I know, the rout is coming.
Such a mad marriage never was before :
Hark, hark i I hear the minstrels play.
Re-enter Petruchio, Katharina, Bianca,
Baftista, Hortensio, Grumio, ond Train.
Pet. Gentlemen and friends, I thank you
for your pains:
I know you think to dine with me to-day.
And have prepared great store of wedding
cheer;
But so it is, my haste doth call me hence, 189
And therefore here i mean to take my leave.
Bop. Is't possible you will away to-night ?
Pet. I must away to-day, before night
come: '
Make it ne wonder ; if you knew my business.
You would entreat me rather go than stay.
And, honest company, 1 thank you ail.
That have beheld me ^ve away myself
To tills most patient, sweet and virtuous wife:
Dine with my father, drink a health to me ;
Yor I must hence ; and farewell to you all.
Tra. Let us entreat you stay till after din¬
ner.
Pet. It may not be.
Ore. Let me entreat yon.
Pet. It cannot be.
Kath. Let me entreat you. 201
Pet. I am content
Kalh. Are you content to stay ?
Pet. I am content you shall entreat me
stay ;
But yet not stay, entreat meJtow you can.
Rat/i. Now, if you love me, stay.
Pet. Grumio, my horse.
Oru. Ay, sir, they be ready ;tiie oats have
Mten the liorses.
JTafA. Nay tlen,
497
Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day ; 210
No, nor to-morrow, not till 1 please myself.
The door is open, sir ; there lies your way ;
You may be jogging whiles your boots are
green;
For me. Til not be gone till I please myself :
'Us like you'll prove a jolly surly groom.
That take it on you at the first so roundly.
Pet. O Kate, content thee ; prithee, be not
angry.
RatA. I will be angry : wliat hast thou to
do 7
Father, be quiet; he shall stay my leisure. 219
Gre. Ay, marry, sir, now it begins to work.
RatA. G^tiemen, forward to the bridal
dinner;
I see a woman ma^ be made a fool,
If she had not a spirit to resist.
Pel. They shall go forward, Kate, at thy
command.
Obey the bride, you that attend on her ;
Go to the feast, revel and domineer.
Carouse fuU measure to her maidenhead.
Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves:
But for my bonny Kate, she must with me.
Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor
fret; 230
I will be master of what is mine own :
She is my goods, my chattels ; she is my
house.
My household stuff, my field, my b. 'u,
My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing ;
And here she stands, touch her whoever dare ;
I'll bring mine action on the proudest he
Th'.istops my way in Padua. Grumio,
Draw forth thy weapon, we are beset with
thieves ;
Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man.
Fear not, sweet wench, they shall not touch
thee, Kate : 240
I'll buckler thee against a million.
[Rzeunt PetrucAio, RatAarina, and Grumio.
Bap. Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet
ones.
Gre. Went they not quickly, I should die
with laughing.
Tra. Of all mad matches never Was the
like.
Imc. Mistress, what's your opinion of your
sister 7
Bian. That, being mad herself, she's madly
mated.
Gre. I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated.
Bap. Neighbors and friends, though bride
and bridegroom wants
For to supply the places at the table,
You know there wants no junkets at the
feast. ■LH'.
Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom'.«
place :
And let Bianca take her sister's room.
Tra. Shall sweet Bianca practise how to
bride it ?
Bap. She shall, Lucentio. dome, gent'
men, let's go. [fxeu
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
m
ACT IV, '
SCBMB I. Pbtbuchio's country ho^.
Enter GRtTMio.
Grn. Fie, fie on all tired jades, on all mad
masters, and all foul ways 1 Was ever man so
beaten? was ever man so rayed? was ever
man so weary ? I am sent before to make a
fire, and they are coming after to warm them.
Now, were not I a little pot and soon hot, my
very lips might freeze to my teeth, my tongue
to the roof of my mouth, my heart in my belly,
ere I should come by a fire to thaw me : but
I, with blowing the fire, shall warm myself;
for, considering the weather, ataller man than
I will take Col£ Holla, ho 1 Curtis. .
Enter Cuetis.
Curt. Who is that calls so coldly ?
Oru. A piece of ice : if thou doubt it, thou
mayst slide from my shoulder to my heel with
no greater a run but my head and my neck. A
fir^ good Curtis.
Curt. Is my master and his wife coming,
Grumio ?
Gru. O, ay, Curtis, ay : and therefore fire,
fire ; cast on no water. 21
Curt. Is she so hot a shrew' as she's re¬
ported ?
Gru. She was, good Curtis, before this
frost: but, thou knowest, winter tames man,
woman and beast; for it hath tamed my old
master and my new mistress and myself, fel¬
low Curtis. [no b^t.
Curt. Away, you three-inch fool! I am
Gru. Am I but three inches? why, thy
hom is a foot; and so long am I at the least.
But wilt thou make a fire, or shall I complain
on thee to our mistress, whose hand, she being
now at hand, thou shalt soon feel, to thy co)d
comfort, for being slow in thy hot office ?
Curt. I prithee, good Grumio, tell me, how
goes the world ?
Gru. A cold world, Curtis, in every office
but thine J and therefore fire : do thy duty,
and have thy duty ; for my master and mistress
are almost frozen to death. 40
Curt. There's fire ready ; and therefore,
good Grumio, the news.
Gru. 'Why, ' Jack, boy ! ho ! boy !' and as
much news as will tliaw.
Curt. Come, you are so full of cony-catch-
iug!
Gru. llVhy, therefore fire; for I have caught
extreme cold.- liVhere's the cook ? is supper
ready, the house trimmed, rushes strewed,
cobwebs swept; the serving-men in their new
fustian, their white stockings, and every officer
his wedding-garment on ? Be the jacks fair
within, the iills fair without, the carpets laid,
and every thing in order ?
Curt, .^r^y ;andtherefore,Ipraythee,
news.
Gru. First, know, my hor.se is tire<^ ; my
master and mistress fallen out,.
[Act IV.
Curt. ■ How?
Gru. Out of their saddles into the dirt; and
thereby hangs a tale. 00
Curt. Let's ha't, good Grumio.
Gru. Lend thine ear.
Curt. Here.
Gru. There. {Strikes him.
Curt. This is to feel a tale, not to hear a
tale.
G)-u. And therefore 'tis called a sensible
tale : and this cuff was but to knock at your
ear, and beseech listening. Now I begin:
Imprimis, we came down a foul hill, my ma.ster
riding behind my mistress,— 70
Curt. Both of one horse 7
Gi~u. IVh.at's that to thee ?
Curt. Why, a horse.
Gru. Tell tliou the tale : but hadst thou not
crossed me, thou shouldst have heard how her
horse fell and she under her horse ; thou
shouldst have heard m how miry a place, how
she was beraoiled, how he left her with the
horse upon her, how he beat me because her
horse stumbled, how she waded through the
dirt to pluck him off me, how he swore, how
she prayed, that never prayed before, how I
crie£ how the horses rau kway, how her
bridle was burnt, how I lost my crupper, with
many tilings of worthy memory, which now
shall die in oblivion and thou return unexperi¬
enced to thy OTave. [than she.
Curt. By this reckoning he is more shrew
Gru. Ay ; and tliat thou and the proudest
of you all shall find when he comes home.
But what talk I of this ? Call forth Nathaniel,
Joseph, Nicholas, Philip, Walter, Sugarsop and
the rest: let their he^s be sleekly combed,
their blue coats brushed' and their garters of
an indifferent knit: let them curtsy with their
left legs and not presume to touch a hair of
ray master's horse-tail till they kiss their haud,s.
Are they all ready ?
Curt. They are. ,,
Gru. Call them forth.
Curt. Do you hear, ho ? yon must meet my
master to'countenance my mistress. 101
Gru. Why, she hath a face of her own.
Curt. Who knows not that ?
Gru. Thou, it seems, that calls for com¬
pany to countenance her. ' '
Curt. I call them forth to credit her.
Gru. 'Why, she comes toborrow nothin ; o,
them ,
Enter four or Jive Serving-men.
Nath. Welcome home, Grumio !
Phil. How now, Grumio j ' no
Jos. What, Grumio!
Eich. Fellow Grumip!
Nath. How now, old lad 7
Gru. . Welcome,^ you ;—how now, you ;—
what, you ;—fellow, you ;—and thus much for
greeting. Now, my spruce companions, is all
ready, and all tilings neat ?
Nathi All things is ready. How near is our
master ? 119
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
Sc-JN-i; 11
Qm. E'en at hand, alighted by tliis ; and
tlieiefore be not—Cock's passion, sU^e ! 1
hear my master.
Ei^ter Pbtruchio and Katbarima.
Pet. Where be these knayes? What, no
man at door
To hold my stirrup nor to take my horse !
Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip ?
All Serv.. Here, here, sir : here, sir.
Pet Here, sir ! here, sir i here, sir 1 here,
sir!
Vou lo^er-headed and unpolisli'd grooms 1
Y/hat, no attendance ? no regard ? no duty ?
Wliere is the foolish knave 1 sent before ? loO
Gru. Here, sir ; as foolish as I was before.
Pet. You peasant swain 1 you whoreson
midt-horse drudge !
Did I not bid thee meet me in the park,
.^ nd bring along these rascal knaves with
thee?
Gnf. Natlianiel's coat, sir, was not fully-
made.
And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i' the
heel' '
There -was no link to ooloi: Peter's hat,
And Walter's dagger was not come from
sheathing:
Tliere were none fine but Adam, Ralx)h, and
Gregory ;
Tlie rest were ragged, old, and beggarly ; 140
Yet, as tlrey are, here are they come to meet
you.
Pet. 6ro, rascals,-go, and fetch my supper
in. [Exeunt Hervants.
[Sinffinff] Wherfc is tlie life th.at late I led—
Where are those—Sit down, Kate, and wel¬
come.—
Sond, good, sond, Soud.!
Be-enter Servants with supper.
Why, when, I say ?• Nay, good sweetKate, be
merry.
Off with my boots, you rogues 1 you villains,
when ?
[i'inflfs] It was the friar of orders grey,
As he forth walked on his way :—
Out, you rogue ! you pluck my foot awry: 150
T.ike that, and meua the plucking off the
other. , , . [Stiikes him.
lie merry, Kate. Some water, Jiere-; what,
ho 1
Where's my spaniel Troilus ?. Sirrah, get you
hence.
And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither :
One, I^tej that you' must kiss, and be ac¬
quainted with.
Where are my slippers ? Shall I have some
water?
Enter one vjith wa^r.
Come, Kate, and wash, and ■\mcome heartily.
You whoreson villain ! will you let it fall ?
[S'frjX'cs him.
Kath. Patience, I pray you ; 'twas a fault
unwilling.
499
Pet. ' A whoreson beetle-headed, flap-ear'd
knave I 160
Come, Kate, sit down ; I )cuow you have a sto¬
mach.
Will you give thanks, sweet Kate *, or else
shall I ?
What's this ? mutton ?
FirM. Serv. Ay.
Pet 'Whobrought it?
Peter. L
Pet. 'Tis burnt; and so is all the meat.
What do^ are these I Where is the rascal
cook ?
How durst you, villains, bring it from the
dresser.
And serve it uus to me that love it not ?
There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all;
[Throws the meat, <fec. about the stage.
Y'ou heedless joltheads and unraauner'd
slaves 1
What, do you grumble ? I'll be with you
straight 170
Kath. I pray you, husband, be not so dis¬
quiet :
The meat was well, if you were so contented.
Pet. I tell thee, Kate, 'twas burnt and dried
away ;
And I expressly am forbid to touch it.
For it engenders pholer, planteth anger ;
And better 'twere that both of us did fast.
Since, of ourselves, ourselves are choleric.
Than feed it with such over-roasted flesh.
Be patient ; to-morrow 't shall be mended.
And, forthis night, we'll fast for company: 180
Come, I will bring thee to thy brid.al chamber.
[Exeunt.
Re-enter Servants severally.
Kath. Peter, didst ever .see the like ?
Peter. He kills her in her own humor.
Re-enter Curtis.
Gru. Where is he ?
Curt. In her chamber, making a sermon,
of continency to her ;
And rails, and swears, and rates, that slie,
poor soul.
Knows not which way to stand, to look, to
speak,
And gits as one new-risen from a dream.
Away, away ! for he is coming hither. 200
[Exeunt
Re-enter Petruchio.
Pet. Thus have I i-)oliticly begun my reign.
And 'tis my hope to end successfully.
My falcon now is sharp and passing empty ;
And till she stoop she must not be full-gorged.
For then she never looks upon her lure.
Another way I have to man my haggard, ,
To make her come and know her keeper's
call,
Tliat is, to watch her, as we watch these kites
That bate and beat and will not be obedient.
She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat:
Last night she slept not, nor to-night she shall
not; 'v
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
500
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
[Act iv.
As witli the raent, some undeserved fault
FIX find about the making of the bed ;
And here I'll fling the pillow, there the bol¬
ster,
This way the coverlet, another way the
sheets :
Ay, and amid this hurly I intend
That all is done in reverend care of her ;
And ill conclusion she shail watch ail night:
And if she chance to nod I'll rail and brawl
And with the ciaraor keep her still awake. 220
This is a way to kill a wife with kindness ;
And thus I'll curb her mad and headstrong
humor.
He that knows better how to tame a shrew.
Now let him speak : 'tis charity to show.
[Exit.
Scene II. Padva. B^ore Baptista's house.
Enter Tkanio and Hortensio.
Tra. Is't possible, friend Licio, tliat Mis¬
tress Biauca
Doth fancy any other but Lucentio ?
I tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand.
Hor. Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said.
Standby and mark the manner of his teach¬
ing.
Enter Bianca and Lucentio.
Luc. Now, mistress, profit you in what you
read ?
BUtn. What, master, read you 7 first re¬
solve me that.
Luc. I read that I profess, the Art to Love.
Bian. And may you prove, sir, master of
your ait!
Luc. While you, sweet dear, prove mistress
of my heart! ^ 10
Hor. Quick proceeders, marry ! Now, tell
me, I pray.
Ton that durst swear that your mistress
Bianca
Loved none in the world so well as Lucentio.
Tra. 0 despiteful love ! uuconstant woman-
land !
I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful.
Hor. Mistake no more : I am not Licio,
Nor a mu.sician, as I seem to be ;
But one tliat scorn to live in this disguise,
For such a one as leaves a gentleman.
And makes a god of such a cullion : 20
Know, sir, that I am call'd Hortensio.
Tra. Signior Hortensio, I have often heard
Of your entire affection to Bianca ;
And since mine eyes are witness of her light¬
ness,
I will with you, if you be so contented.
Forswear Bianca and her love for ever.
Hor. See, how they kiss and court! Signior
Lucentio,
Here is my hand, and here I firmly vow
Never to woo her more, but do forswear her.
As one unworthy all the former favors ^
That I have fondly flatteFd her withal.
Tra. And here I take the like unfeigned
oatlb
Never to marry with her though she would
' entreat:
Fie on her ! see, how beastly she doth court
him! I
Hor. Would all the world bnt he had quite
forsworn I
For me, that I may surely keep mine oath,
1 will be married to a wealHiy widow.
Ere three days pass, which h^ as long loved
me
As I have loved this proud; disdainful hag¬
gard.
And so farewell, Signior Lucentio. 40
Kindness in women, not their beauteous
looks,
Shall win my love : and so I take my leave.
In resolution as I swore before. [Exit.
Tra. Mistress Bianca, bless you with such
grace
As 'longeth to a lover's blessed case !
Nay, I have ta'en you napping, gentle love.
And have forsworn you with Hortensio.
Bian. Tranio, you jest: but have you both
forsworn me 7
Tra. Mistress, we have.
Luc. Then we are rid of Licio.
Tra. I'faith, he'll have a lusty widow now.
That shall be woo'd and wedded in a day. 51
BUtn. God give him joy !
Tra. Ay, and he'll tame her.
Bian. He says so, Tranio,
2Va. Faith, he is gone unto the taming-
school.
Bian. The taming-school! what, is there
such a place 7
Tra. Ay, mistress, mid Petruchio is the
master;
That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long.
To tame a shrew and charm her chattering
tongue.
Enter biondeiiixi.
Bion. O master, master, I have watch'd so
long
That I am dog-weary ! bnt at last I spied 60
t An ancient angel coming down the hill,
Will serve the turn. '
Tra. What is he, Biondello 7
Bion. Master, a mercatante, or a pedant,
I know not wiiat; but formal in apparel,
In gait and countenance sureiy like a father.
Luc. And what of him, Tranio 7
Tra. If he be credulous and trust my tale,
I'll make him glad to seem Yincentio,
And give assurance to Baptista Mhiola,
As if he were the right Yincentio. 70
Take in your love, and then let me alone.
[Erxunt Lucentio and Bianca.
Enter a Pedant.
Pcd. God save you, sir I
Tra. And yon, sir I you are welcome.
Tiavel you far on, or are yon at the farthest?
Ped. Sir, at the farthest for a week or two:
But then un farther, and an far as Rome ;
And so to Tripoli, if God lend me life.
Tra, What countryman, I pray ?
Sgeme IIL.]
Pei. I ' - I ■ 1 Of Mantua.
Tra. Ot Mantua, sir ? marry, God forbid t
And come to Padua, careless of your life ? i
Fed. My life, sir I how, I pray ? for that
goes hard. 80
Tra. 'Tia death for any one in Mantua
To come to Padua. Know you not tlie cause 9
Your ships are stay'd at Venice, and the
duke.
For private quarrel 'twixt your duke and him.
Hath publlsn'd and proclaim'd it openly :
'Tis marvel, but that you are but newly come,'
You miglit have heard it else proclaim'd
about. ,
Fed. Alas ! sir, it is worse lor me than so ;
For I have bills for money by exchange
From Florence and must here deliver them. 90
Tra. Well, sir, to do you courtesy.
This will I do, and this I will advise you :
First, tell me, have you ever been at. Pisa ?
Fed. Ay, siij in Pisa have I often been,
Pisa renowned lor grave citizens.
Tra. Among them know you one Vin-
' oentio 9
Fed. I know him not, but I have heard of
him; i i. i
A merchant of incomparable wealth.
Tra. He is my father, sir ; and, sooth to
say, 99
In countenance somewhat doth resemble you.
Fion. [Aside] As much as an apple doth
an oyster, and all one.
•TVa. To save your life in this extremity.
This favor will I do you for his siike ;
And think it not the worst of all your foiw
' tunes '
That you are'like to Sir Vtncentio.
His name and credit shall you undertake,
And in my house you shall be friendly lodged:
Look tliat yon take upon you as you should ;
You understand me, sir : so shall you stay
"Till you have done your business in the city:
If this be courtesy, sir, accept of it. ' 111
Fedi O sir, I do ; and will repute you ever
The patron of my life and liberty.
Tra. Then go with me to make the matter
, good.
This, by the way, I let you understand ;
My father is here look'd for every day.
To jKiss assurance of a dower in marriage '
'Twixt me and one Baptista's daughter here :
In all these circumstances I'll instruct you :
Go with me to clothe you as becomes you. 120
J [Exeunt.
Scene HI. A room in Petruchio's house'.
Enter Eathabin4 and Grij.mio,
No, no, forsooth ; I dare not for my
life-
Kath. The more my wronf, the more hie
spite appears ;
What, did he marry me to famish me 9
Beggars, that come nnto my father's door.
Upon entreaty have a present alms ;
If not, elsewhere they meet with charity :
601
But I, who never knew how to entreat,'
Nor never needed that I should entreat,,
Am starved for meat, giddy for lack of sleep.
With oaths kept waking and with brawling
fed: . .10
And that which spites me more than tdl these
wants, I .11.
lie does it under name of perfect love ;
As who should say, if I should sleep ox eatj i
'Twere deadly sickness or else present death.
I prithee go and get me. some repast;
1 care not what, so it be wholesome food.
Gru. What say you to a neat's foot ? '.
Kath. 'Tis passing good : I prithee let me
have it. ^
Gru. I fear it is too choleric a meat. ,
How say you to a fat tripe findy broil'd 9 20
Kath. I like it well : good Grumio, fetch
it me.
Gru. I cannot tell; I fear 'tis choleric.
What say you to a piece of beef and mustard?
Kath. A dish that I do love to feed upon.
Gru. Ay, but the mustard is too hqt a lit¬
tle.
Kath. Why then, the beef, and let the mus-,
tard rest ;
CfTti. Nay then, I will not: you shall have .
the mustard, . ,
Or else you get no beef of Grumio. > j
Kath. Then both, or one, or any thing thou
wilt . .1
Gru. Why then, the mustard without tlie
beef. . sO
Kath. Go, get thee gone, thou false delud.,
ing slave, ■■ i [Beats him.
That feed'st me with the very name of meat A
Sorrow on thee and all the pack of you,
That triumph thus upon my misery '
Go, get thee gone, I say. , r ■>, ,
Enter Petbuchio onii Hortensio wtth meat.
Fet., How fares my Kate 9. What, sweet* i
ing, all amort ? . . .
Hor. Mistress, what cheer ?
Kath. . Faith, as cold as can bei,
Fet. Pluck up thy spirits ; look cheerfully
upon me. i .
Here, love ; thou see'st how diligent I am 89
To dress thy meat myself and bring it thee :
I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits
thanlrs. . . ' I '
What, not a word 9< i Nay, tlien thou lovest it
not; : ' 1
And all my pains is sorted to no proof.
Here, take away tliis dish.
Kath. I pray you, let it stand..
Fet. The poorest service is repaid with
. thanks ; ' : i' <
And so shall mine, before you touch the meat.
Kath, I thank yoiv sir. ■ ' ..
Jfor. Signior Petruchio, fie I you ate to
blame. ' ■ " u
Comb, MistTe,ss Kate, I'll bear ybm company.
Fet. [Aside] Eat it up all, HorteimiD, if
thou lovest me. ' i . 50
Much good do it unto thy gentle heart!
THE TAMING OF THE SHREWs
602
Kate, eat apace : and now; my honey love,
Will we return unto thy father's house
And revel It as bravely as the best,
With Silken coats and oaixs and golden rings.
With ruffs and cuffs and fardlngales and
thinp ;
With scarfs and fans and double change of
bravery, ■
With amber bracelets, beads and all this
knavery.
What, hast thou dined ? The tailor stays thy
leisure, 69
To deck t4»y body with his rufiling treasure.
Enter Tailor.
Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments ;
Lay forth the gown.
Enter Haberdasher.
Wliat news with you, sir ?
Hab. Here Is the cap your worship did
b^j^k. '
Pet. Why, this was moulded on a porrin-
ger;
A velvet dish : fle, fle ! 'tis lewd and filthy :
Why, 'tis a cockle or a walnut-shell,
A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap :
Away with It 1 come, let me have a bigger.
Kath. I'll have no bigger ; this doth fit the
time.
And gentlewomen wear such caps as these. 70
Pet. When you are gentle, you shall have
one too.
And not till then.
Hor. [Aside] That will not be in haste.
JTatk.' Why, sir, I trust 1 may have leave to
speak;
And speak I will; I am no chlld^ no babe :
Your betters have endured me say my mind.
And If you cannot, best you stop your ears.
My tongue will tell the anger of my heart.
Or else my heart concealing it will break.
And rather than it shall, I will be free
Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words.
Pet. Why, thou say'st true ; It is a paltry
cap, 81
A custard-coffin, a bauble, a silken pie:
I love fiiee well. In that thou llkest It not
Kath. Love me or love me not, 1 like the
cap ;
And It I will have, or I will have none.
i ■ i ' [Exit Haberdasher.
Pet. Thy gown ? why, ay : come, tailor,
let us see't
O mercy, God ! what masqulug stuff Is here ?
What's this 7 a sleeve 7 'tis like a demi-
cannon:
What, up and down, carved like an apple-
tart7
Here's snip and nip and cut and sllsh and
' slash, 90
Like to a censer in a barber's shop :
Why, what, 1' devil's name, tailor, call'stthou
this 7
JElbn [Aside] I see she's like to have nether
cap nor gown,
[Act it.
Tai. Ton bid me make it orderly and well,
According to the fashion and the time.
Pet. Marry, and did ; but If you be remem-
ber'd,
I did not bid you mar It to the time.
Go, hop me over every kennel home,
For yon shall hop without my custom, sir : 37
I'll none of It: hence I make your best of It
Kath. I never saw a better-fashion'd gown.
More qnalnt m(«e pleasing, nor more com-
meudable;
Belike you mean ■to make a puppet of me.
Pet. Why, true ; he means to make a pup¬
pet of thee.
Tai. She says your worship means tomake
a puppet of her.
Pet. O monstrous arrogance! Thou liest,
thou thread, thou thimble.
Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter,
nail!
Thou flea, thou nit, thou winter-cricket thou 1
Braved In mine own house with a skein of
thread 7
^ Away, thou rag, thou Quantity, thou remnant;
Or I shall so be-mete thee with thy yard
As thou shalt think on prating whilst thou
llvest 1
I tell thee, I, that thou hast marrid her gown.
Tai. Your worship Is deceived; the gown
is made ,
Just as my master had direction :
Grumlo gave order how It should be done.
Gru. I gave him no order; I gave hlni the
stuffi
Tai. But how did yon desire It should be
made 7 120
Gni. Marry, sir, with needle and thread.
Tai. But old you not request to have It
cut 7
Gru. Thou hast faced many things.
Tai. I have.
Gru. Face not me : thou hast braved many
men ; brave not me ; I will neither be faced
nor braved. ■ I say unto tliee, 1 bid thy master
cut out the gown ; but I did nqt bid him cut it'
to pieces : ergo, thou liest.
Tai. Why, here Is the note of the fashion
to testify. 131
Pet. Bead It.
Gru. The note lies in's throat, if he say I
said so. [gown :'
TaL [Reads'] 'Imprimis, a loose-bodied
Gru, Master, If ever I said loose-bodied
gown, sew me In the skirts of It, and beat me
to death with a bottom of brown thread: I
said a gown.
Pet. Proceed.
Tai. [ffeads] 'With a small compassed
cape110
Gru. I confess the cape.
Tai. [ffcads] ' With a trunk sleeve :
Gru. I confess two sleeves.
Tai. [ifeads] ' Tlie sleeves curiously cut.'
Pet. Ay, there's the vUlany.
Grn. Error 1' the bill, sir ; error 1' the bill.
I commanded the pleeves should be cut out
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
SCEMB IV.]
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
m
and 8«wed np again ; and tliat I'll prove upon
thee, tiiongn thy little finger be armed m a
thimble.
Tai. This is true that I say : an I had thee
in place where, thou shonldst know it. 151
Om. I am for thee straight: take thon the
bill, give me thy mete-yard, and spare not me.
Hor. God-a-mercy, Grumio ! tWn he shall
have no odds.
Pet. Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for
me. [mistress.
Gru. You are i' the right, sir : 'tis for my
Pet. Go, take it np unto thy master's use.
Gru. Villain, not for thy life : take up my
mistress' gown for thy master's use ! 101
Pet. Why, sir, what's jrour conceit in th.at 7
Gru. O, sir, the conceit is deeper than you
think for : [use !
Take np my mistress' gown to his master's
O, fie, fie, fie!
Pet. [Aside] Hortensio, say thou wilt see
the tailor paid.
Go take it hence ; be gone, and say no more.
Hor. Tailor, I'll pay thee for thy gown to¬
morrow :
Take no nnkindness of his hasty words :
Away ! I say ; commend me to thy master. 170
[Exit Tailor.
Pet. Well, come, my Kate ; we will unto
your father's
Even in these honest mean habiliments :
Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor ;
For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich ;
And as the sun breaks through the darkest
clouds.
So honor peereth in the meanest habit.
What is the jay more precious tlian the lark.
Because his feathers are more beautiful 7 '
Or is the adder better than the eel.
Because his painted skin contents the eye 7 180
O, no, good Kate ; neither ait thou the worse
For this poor furniture and mean array.
If thou account'st it shame, lay it on me ;
And therefore frolic : we will hence foithwith.
To feast and sport us at thy father's house.
Go, call my men, and let lis straight to him ;
And bring our horses unto Long-lane end ;
There will we mount, and thither walk on
foot
Let's see; 1 think 'tis now some seven o'clock,
And well we may come there by dinner-time.
Kath. 1 dare assure you, sir, 'tis almost two;
And 'twill be supper-time ere you come there.
Pet. It shall be seven ere 1 go to horse
Look, what 1 speak, or do, or think to do,
Yon are still crossing it. Sirs, let't alone:
I will not go to-day ; and ere 1 do,
It shall be what o'clock 1 say it is.
Hor. [Aside] Wliy, so this gallant will com¬
mand the sun". ^ [Exeunt.
Scene iV. Padua. Before ^vptista's house.
Enter Tbanio, and the Pedant dressed like
■ VlNCENTlO.
Tra. Sir, this is the house : please it you
that 1 call 7
Ped. Ay, what else 7 and but 1 be deceived
Signior Baptists may remember me,
Near twenty years ago, in Genoa,
Where we were lodgers at the P^sus.
Tra. 'Tis well; and hold your own, in any
case.
With snob austerity as 'longeth to a father. '
Ped. I warrant you.
Enter Biondello. ^
But, sir, here comes your boy ;
'Twere good he were school'd.
Th-a. Fear you not him. Sirrah Biondello,
Now do your duty throughly, 1 advise you : 11
Imagine 'twere the right Vincentio.
Bion. Tut, fear not m& ;
Ti-a. But hast thou done thy errand to
Baptista 7
Bion. 1 told him that your father was at
Venice,
And that yon look'd for him this day in Padua.
Tra. 'Thou'rt a tall fellow : hold thee that
to drink.
Here comes Baptista : set your couutepanee,
sir.
Enter Baptista and Locbntio.
Signior Baptista, yon are happily met.
[2o the Pedant] Sir, this is the gentleman 1
told yon of : 20
I pray you, stand good father to me now.
Give me Bianca for my patrimony. . i
Ped. Soft, son I
Sir, by your leave : having come to Padua
To gather in some debts, my son Lucentio
Made me acquainted with a weighty cause
Of love between vour daughter and himself ;
And, for the good report 1 hear of you
And for the love he beareth to your daughter
And she to him, to stay him not too long, 20
1 am content, in a good father's care.
To have him match'd ; and if yon please to
like
No worse than 1, upon some agreement
Me shall yon find ready and willing
With one consent to have her so bestow'd ;
For curious 1 cannot be with you,
Signior Baptista, of whom 1 hear so well.''
Baji. Sir, pardon me in whatl have to-say ;
Your plainness and your shortness please me
well.
Right true it is, your son Lucentio here 40
Doth love my daughter and she loveth him,"
Or both dissemble deeply their affections ;
And therefore, if yon say no more than this.
That like a father yon will deal with him
And pass my daughter a sufficient dower.
The match is made, and all is done ;
Your son shall have my daughter with con¬
sent.
Tra. 1 thank you, sir. 'Wliere then do yon
know best
We be allied and such assurance ta'en
As shall with either part's agreement stand 7
Bap. Not in my bouse, Lucentio • for, yon
know, 51
504
Phchem have eart, and I have many servants;
Besides, old Gremio is hearkening still;
And liappiiy vre might be interrupted.
T)ra. Then at my lodging, an it like yon i
There doth my father lie; and there, this
night,
We'll pass tile business privately and well.
Send for your daughter by your servant here :
My boy sns*l fetch the scrivener presently.
The worst is this, that, at so slender warning.
You are like to have a thin and slender
pittance. ■61
Bap. It likes me well. Biondello, hie you
home, ' '
And bid Biauca make her ready straight; >
And, if you will, tell what hath happened,
Lucentio's father is arrived in Padua,
And how she's like to be Lucentio's wife.
Bion'. '■ I pray the gods she may with all' my
heart!
Trd. Dally not with the gods, but get thee
■ 'gone. ■ ' ' [Exit Bion.
Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way ?
Welcome ! one mess is like to be your cheer :
Come, sir ; we will bettec.it in Pisa. 71
Bap. 1 follow you.
[Exeunt Tranio, Pedant, and Baptista.
Be-enter Biompeux).
Bion. Cambio!
Luc. What sayestthou, Biondello ?
Bion. You saw my master wink and laugh
upon you ?
liuo. ' Biondello, what of that ?
BUm. Faith, nothing ; but has left me here
behind, to expound the meaning or moral of
his signs and tokens. 80
Luc. I pray thee,;nK>ralize them.
Bion. 'Then thus. Baptista is safe, talking
with the deceiving father of a deceitful son.
Luc. And what of him ?
Bion. His daughter is to be brought by yon
to the supper.
Luc. And then ?
Bion. The old priest of Saint Luke's church
is at your command at all hours.
Luc. And what ot all this ? 90
Bion. 1 cannot tell; expect they are busied
about a Counterfeit assurance: take you
assurance other, ' cum'privilegioad imprimen-
dum solum:' to the church ; take the priest,
clerk, and some sufficient honest witnesses :
If .this be not that you look for, I have no more
to say, r ■
But bid Bianea farewell for ever and a day.
Lm. Hearest thou, Biondello ?
Bion. I cannot tarry : I knew a wench mar¬
ried in an afternoon as she went toi the garden
for parsley to stuff a rabbit; and so. may yon,
sir ; and so, adieu, sir. My master hath ap¬
pointed me to go to Saint Luke's, to bid the
priest be ready to come against you come with
your appendix. • • ■ " [Exit.
Luc. 1 may, and will, if she be so contented:
She will be pleased : then wherefore should I
doubt ?
[Act iv.
Hap what hap may, I'll roundly go about her :
It snail go hard if Cambio go without her.
[Exit
Scene T. A puUic road.
Enter Petbuchio, Katharina, Hobtbnsio,
and Servants.
Pet. Come on, i' God's name ; dnce more
toward our father's.
Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the
moon!
Kath. The moon! the sun i it is not moon¬
light now. ' [briglit.
Pet. 1 say it is' the moon that shines so
Kath. I mow it is the sun tliat $hines 'Mo
bright. ' [myself.
Pet. Now, by my mother's son, and tliat's
It shall be moon, or star, or what I list.
Or ere I journey to your father's house.
Go on, and fetch our horses back again.
Evermore cross'd and cross'd ; nothing but
cross'd ! 10
Hor. Say as he says, or we shall never go.
Kath. Forward, I pray, since we have
come so far.
And be it moon, or sun, or what yon please;
An if you please to call it a rush-caudle,
Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me.
Pet. I say it is the moon.
Kath. I know it is the moon.
Pet. Nay, then you lie : it is the blessed
sun. [sun :
Kath. Then, God be bless'd, it is the blessed
But sun it is not, when you say it is not;' ■ ■
And the moon changes even as your mind. 20
'What you will have it named, even that it is ;
And so it shall be so for Katharine.
Ilor. Petruchio, go thy ways ; the field is
won.
Pet. Well, forward, forward! thus ttie bowl
should run.
And not unluckily against the bias.
But, soft! company is coming here.
Enter 'V'incentio. ' '
['FoVincentio.'] Good morrow, gentle mistress :
where away ?
Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too,
Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman 1
Such war of white and red within her cheeks!
What stars do spangle .heaven with such
beauty, 31
As those two eyes become that heavenly face?
Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee. -
Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's
sake.
Hor. A' will make the man mad, to malce
a woman of him.
Kath. Young budding virgin, fair and fresh
and sweet.
Whither aWay, or where is thy abode ?
Happy the parents of so fair a child ;
Happier the man. whom favorable stars ' 40
Allot thee for his lovely bed-fellow I
Pel. Why, how now, Kate 11 hope thou ait
not mad: !
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
Sc)at»ji.]
This is A soAU, old, wibilded, fivded, withoi^'d,
And not a maiden, as thoa say'st he is.
fi'Xath.', Pardon, old lather, my mistaking
eyes'
Tlui^haTe been so bedazzled with the sun
That everything I look on seeiueth green : ,
Now I perceive thou art a reverend father ;
Parden, '! pray thee, for my mad mistaking.
Pet. Do, good old, gtandsire ; and withal
make known . , ' 50
Which way thou travellest: if along withi us.
We shall be joyful of thy company.
Vin. Fair su:, and you my merry mistress,
That with your strange encounter much amaz-
1 edme, ■ , /
My name is call'd Tincentio; my dwelling
r PisaI , , , ,
And hound I am to Padua ; there to visit ,, |
A sonof mine, which long t have not seein
Pet. What is his name ?
Vin.J I 1 ■ n Lucentio, gentle sir.
Pet. Happily met; the happier for thy son.
And now by law, as well as reverend age, 60
1 may entiue thee my loving father :
The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman.
Thy son by this hath married. Wonder hot.
Nor be not grieved : she is of good esteem.
Her dowry weakhyjand of worthy birth ;
Beside, so qualified as may beseem
The spouse of any noble gentleman.'
liCt me embrace with old Vincentio,
And wander we to see thy honest son,
Who will of thy arrival be full joyous. ■ 70 '
"Fin. But is tins hme ? or is it else your i
' pleasure, i
like pleasant travellers, to break a. jest ' i
Upon die company you overtake ? '
■ffor. I do assure thee, father, so it is.
Pet. Come, go along, and sco the truth
hereof;
F<w one first merriment hath made thee jeal- '
ous. [Pxeunt all but Hortemio. '
• Hot. Well, Petmcbio, this hag put me in
heart.
Have to my widow I and if she be froward, '
Then hast thon taught Hortensio to he nn-
toward. ' > i • {Exit, i
fl—n . I
1 ACT V.
SoBNE I. Padua. Before Luceniio's house.
Gremio dfscoocj'ed. B^^'behindBiammvuo,
• LuceNtio, and Bianca.
BUm,. , Softly end swiftly, sir; for the priest
Is ready. . i '
Luc. I fly, Bionaello : but tliey may chance
to need tbee at home ; therefore leave us.
Bion., Nay, faith, I'll see tlie church o' yopr
back ; and then come back to my master^ as
soon as lean. ^
[Exeunt Lucentio, Bianca, and Biondello.
Gre. I marvel Cambio comes hot all this
while.
JBiter PetrwhiO; K.\thabina, "ViNCEidip,
GRtiaoo, uiith At.teu<lauts. , , |
505
I'et... Sir, here's die dooi^ this ij Lucentio's
house : '
My father's bears more toWard the market¬
place ; • • I . ■ ,10
Thither must I, and here I leave jron, sir.
' Tin. You sltaU not choose but drink before
you go ;
I think I shall commabd your welcome here,
And, by all likelihood, tome cheer is toward.
[Knocks.
Ore. niey-re busy withhi i yon were best
knock,louder.
Pedant looks out qf the toindow. '
Ped. What's he diat knocks as he would
beat down die gate ? ■
Vin. Is Signior Luceudo within, sit ?
Ped. He's within, fiir, but not to be spoken
withal. . ' "
Vin. What if a ihail bring him a hundred
pound or two, to make merry witlial ?
Ped. Keep your hundred pounds to your¬
self : be shall need none, so long as 1 live.
Pet. Nay, I told you your son was well be¬
loved in Padua. Do you hear, sir t To leavfe
frivolous circumstances, I pray yon, tell Sig¬
nior Lucentio that his father is come from
Pisa, and is here at tbe door to speak with
him, ' , .'50
Ped. Thou liest: his father is come from
Padua and here looking out at the window. '
Vin. Art thou his father ? ' ',
Ped. Ay, sir ; so his mbthef says, if I may
believe her. '
Pet. [To Vincentio'] Why, how now, gen¬
tleman I why, this is flat knavery, fo bike
upon yqu another man's name.
Pea.' Lay hands on the villain : I believe
a' means to cozen somebody in this city under
jqy CQiiutenance. . . ' 41
" , Re-enter Biordelia).
BiOn. I have seen them in the Church to¬
gether ; God send 'em good shipping ! Bnt
who is here ? mine old master Vincentio'!
now we are undone and brought to nothing.
Vin. [Seeing; Biondello] Come hither, crack-
hemp.
Bion. I hope I may choose, sir.
Vin. Come hither, you rogue. YHiat, h.avo
you forgot me 7 ' ' ot
Bion. Foigot you ! no, sir ,: I could not for¬
get you, for I npver saw you before in all niy
life. ' ■ ■'
Vin, Wliat, you notorious villain, didst
thou never see thy master's father, Vincentio?
Bion. What, my old worshijifuf old mas¬
ter? yes, marry, sir : see where he looks or.t
of the window.
Viit- Is't so, indeed. [Beats Biondello. HO
. Bion. Help, help, help)! here's a madman
will murdegme. . . , [Exit.
Ped, Help, son ! help, Signioi? Baptisbi !
[Exit from above.
I Pet. Prithee, Kate, let's stand aside and
see the end of this controversy, retire.
THE TAHim or THr rHitEvi(.
006
Be-mUr Pedant hehw; Tbanio, Baptist a,
cmd Servants.
Tra. Sir, what are you that offer to beat
my servant ?
Via. What am I, sir I nay, what are you,
sir 'I O immortal gods 1 O fine villaiu I A
silken doublet I a vmvet hose I a scarlet cloak j
and a copatain hat I 0,1 am undone 1 1 am
undone! while I play the good husband at
home, my son and my servant spend all at the
university.
Tm. How now I what's the matter ?
Bap. What, is the man lunatic 7
Tra. Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentle¬
man by your nabit, but your words show you
a madman. Why, sir, what 'cerus it you if I
wear pearl and gold ? I thank my good father,
1 am able to maintain it 79
Fin. Thy father! 0 villaiu! he is a sail-
maker in Bergamo.
Bap. You mistake, sir, you mistake, sir.
Pray, what do you think is his name 7
Vin. His name 1 as if I knew not his name :
I have brought him up ever since he was three
years old. and his name is Trauio.
Bed. Away, away, mad ass 1 his name is
Luceutio ; and he is mine only son, and heir
to the lands of me, Signior Yincentio. 89
Vin. Lucentio I O, he hath murdered his
master! Lay hold on him, I charge you, in
the duke's name. O, my son, my son 1 Tell
m^ thou villain, where is my son Lucentio 7
Tra. Call forth an officer.
Enter one ioith an QffUxr.
Carry this mad Imave to the gaol. Father Bap-
tista, I charge you see that be be forthcoming.
Vin. Carry me to the gaol!
Ore. Stay, officer : he shall not go to prison.
Bap. Talk not, Signior Gremio ; I say he
shall go to prison. 100
Ore. Take heed, Signior Baptista, lest you
be cony-catched in this business : I dare swear
this is the right Yincentio.
Bed. Swear, if thou darest.
Ore. Kay, I dare not swear it.
3Va. Then thou wert best say that I am hot
Lucentio. [ceutio.
Ore. Yes, I know thee to be Signior Lu-
Bap. Away with the dotard! to the gaol
with him ! 110
Vin. Thus strangers may be hailed and
abused: O monstrous villain !
Re-enter Biondello, leith Htcentxo ond.
Bianca.
Bion. O ! we are spoiled and—yonder he
U : deny him, forswear him, or else we are ad
■ndone.
Luc. [Km«ling\ Pardon, sweet father.
Vin. Lives my sweet son?
[Exeunt Biondello, Tranio, and Bedant,
as/asl as may 6e.
BUm. Pardon, dear father.
B<q>. How hast thou offended 7
Where is Lncentio 7
Y.
Luc. Here's Lucentiw, ,
Right son to the right Yincentio;
That have by marriage made uiy danghlei*
mine.
While counterfeit supposes bleaFd thine eyne
Ore. Here's packing, with a witness to de
ceive us all!
Vin. Where is that damned villain Tranio
That faced and braved me in this matter so 7
Bap. Why, tell me. is not this my Cambio i
Bian. Cambio is manged into Lncentio.
Luc. Love wrought these miracles. Bianca'i
love
Made me exchange my state with Tranio,
While he did bear my countenance in thf
town ;
And happilv I have arrived at the last 180
Unto the wished haven of my bliss.
What Tranio did, myself enforced Mm to ;
Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake.
Vin. I'll slit the villain's nose, that would
have sent me to the gaol.
Bap. But do you near, sir 7 have yon mar-
ried my daughter without asking my good will 7
Vin, Fear not, Baptista ; we will content
yon, go to: but i Will in, to be revenged for
this viliany. [Exit. 140
Bap. And I, to sound the depth of this
knavery. [Exit.
Lue. Look not pale, Bianca; tiiy father
will not frown. [Exeunt Lticentio and Biatma.
Ore. My cake is dough ; but Pli in among
the rest.
Out of hope at all, but my share of the feast
[Exit.
KatJu Husband, letfs follow, to see the end
of this ado.
Bet. First kiss me, Kate, and we will.
Kath. What, in the midst of the street 7
Bet. What, art thou ashamed of me 7 150
Kath. Ko, sir, God forbid; but ashamed
to kiss.
Bet. Why, thmi let's home again. Come,
sirrah, let's away.
Kath. Kay, I will give thee a kiss: now
pray thee, love, stay. [Kate ;
Bet. Is not this well 7 Come, my sweet
Better once than never, tor never too late.
[ETsennt.
scenb XL Badua. Lucentio's house.
Enter Baptista, Yincentio, Gremio, the
Pedant, Lucentio, Bianca, Petbuchio,
Katharina, Hoktensio, and Widow,
'I^anio, Biondello, and Gbumio: the Ser¬
ving-men with Tranio bringing in a banqueL
Luc. At last, though long, our jarring notes
agree:
And time it is, when raging war is done.
To smile at scapes and perils overblown.
My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome.
While 1 with self-same Idndness welcome
t'line.
Brothel Petrnchio, sister Katharina,
And tliou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow.
Feast with the best, and welcome to my house:
TBE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
Scsra
Mr ban^net is to cIom our stomachs up,'
Atter OUT great good cheer. Pray yea, sU
I ' down ; 10
now we sit to chat as well as eat
Pet. Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and
eat I '
Padua affords this kindness, son
Petrnchia [kind.
Pet. Padua affords nothing but wliat is
ffor. For botli our sakes, 1 would that word
were true. [widow.
Pet. Now, tor my life, Hortensio fears his
IFid. Theu never trust me, if I be afeard.
Pet. You are very sensibie, and yet you
miss my sense:
I mean, Hortensio is afeard of you.
Wid, He that is giddy thinks the world
turns round. 20
Pet. Roundly replied.
JldtA, Mistress, how mean you that ?
Wid. Thus I conceive by him.
Pet. Conceives by me! How likes Hor¬
tensio that ?
Hor. Hy widow says, thus she conceives
her tale.
Pet. Very weil mended. KUs him for that,
good widow.
XdtA. ' He that is giddy thinks the world
turns round :'
i pr^ you, tell me what you meant by that.
IFm. Your husband, Ming troubled with a
shrew,
Measures my husband's sorrow by his woe :
And now you know my meaning. 30
XdtA. A very mean meaning.
Wid. Right, I mean you.
Kat/u And I am mean indeed, respecting
you.
Pet. To her, Kate!
ffor. To her, widow 1
Pet. A hundred marks, my Kate does put
her down.
ffor. That's my olflce.
Pet. Spoke like an officer; ha* to thee, lad!
(^Orinkt to Hortensio.
Bap, How likes Gremio these quick-witted
folks 1 [well.
Ore. Believe me, sir, they butt together
BUin. Head, and butt ! an hasty-witted
' body
Would say your head and butt were head and
horn.
Fin. Ay, mistress bride, hath that awakeu'd
you 7
Bim. Ay, but not frighted me ; therefore
I'll sleep again.
'Pei. Nay, that you shall not: since you
have begun.
Have at yon for a bitter jest or two!
Bian. Am I your bird 7 I mean to sliilt
my bush; m
And then pursue me as you draw your bow.
Yon are welcome ail.
[Exettnt liianca, Katharina, and Widow.
PeU She hath prevented me. Here, Signior
Trank).
sot
This bird you aim'd at, Ihoagli you hit he^
not; 60
Therefore a hcaltii to ail tliat siiot aiid miss'd.
Pra. O, sir, Luceutio siipp'd me like his
' greyhound.
Which runs himself and catches for his master.
Pel. A good swift simile, but something
currish.' [soli:
Tra. 'Tis weil, sir, that you hunted for your-
'Tis thought your deer doe,s hold you at a hay.
Bap. U ho, Petrucluo! Trauio Idu: you
now.
Luc. I thauk tliee for that gird, good Tmnio.
Hor. Confess, confess, liatli lie not hit you
here 7
Pet. A' lias a little gall'd ine, I confess ; 60
And, as the jest did glance away from me,
'Tis ten to one it niaim'd you two outright.
Bap. Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio,
I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all.
P^t. Well, I say no : and therefore for as¬
surance
, Let's each one send unto his wife ;
And he whose wife is most obedient
To come at first when he dotli send for her.
Shall win the wager which we will propose.
Hor. Content. What is the wager 7 ,
Ltic. Twenty crowns. 70
Pet. Twenty crowns !
Fll venture so mucli of my hawk or hound.
But twenty times so much upon my wife.
Luc. A hundred then.
Hor. Content.
Pet. A match ! 'tis done.
Hor. Who shall begin 7
Luc. That will I.
Go, Bioudello, bid your fnistress come to me. .
Bion. I go. [Exit.
Bap. Son, I'll be your half, Bianca comes.
Luc. I'll havq no halves ; I'll bear it all
myself.
JRe-enter Biondello.
, How now 1 what news 7
Bion. , Sir, my mistress send^ you word
That she is busy and she cannot come.
Pet. How! she is bu^y and she cannot come!
Is that an answer 7
Ore. Ay, and a kind one too :
Pniy God, sir, your wife send you not a worse.
Pet. I hope, better. [wife
Ilor. Sirrah Biondelio, go and entreat my
To come to me forthwith. [Exit Bion.
Pet. 0, ho ! entreat her t
Nay, theu she must needs come.
Hor. I am afraid, sir,
Do what you can, yours will not be entreated.
He-enter Biomdello.
Now, Where's my wife' ? 90
Bion. She says you have some goodly jest
in hand ;
She will not come ; she bids you come to her.
Pet. Worse and worse ; she will not oomej
O vile.
Intolerable, not to be endured!
Sirrah Grumio, go to your mistress;
THE TAMING OP THE SHREW*
608
8sy, I command her to come to niei
[lixit Gfruniio.
Bar, I know her answer.
Pet, What ?
Hor. She will not.
Pet, The Ibnler fortune mine, and there an
end.
Bap. Now. by my holidame, here comes
Katharina I
i?e-en<er Kathabina. '
Kath. What is your will, sir, that you send
for me ? 100
Pet. Where is your sister, and Hortensio's
wife?
Kath. They sit conferring by the parlor fire.
Pet. Go fetch them hither : If they deny to
come. [bands:
Swinge me them soundly forth unto their hus-
Away, I say, and bring them hither straight.
[Exit Katharina.
Lws^ Here is a wonder, if yon talk of a
wonder.
Hor, And so it is : I wonder what it bodes.
Pet. Mari^, peace it bod», and love and
■ quiet life.
And awful rqle and right supremacy;
And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and
happy ? 110
Bap. Now, fair befal thee, good Petruchio!
The wager thou hast won ; and I will add
Uuto their losses twenty thousand crowns;
Another dowry to another daughter.
For she is changed, as she had never been.
■ Pet. Nay, I will wia ray wager better yet
jlnd show more sign of her obedience.
Her new-built virtue and obedience,
fiee where she comes and brings your froward
wives
As prisoners to her womanly persuasion. ' 120
Re-enter Katharina, with Bianca and
Widow.
Katharina, that cap of yours becomes you not:
OS with that bauble, throw it under-ioot.
Wid. Ix)rd, let me never have a cause to sigh,
fill I be bronglit to such a silly pass I
Bian. Fie I what a foolish duty call you
this ?
Luc. I would your duty were as foolish too;,
fhe wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca,
Hath cost me an hundred crowns since supper-
time. [duty.,
Bian. The more fool you, for laying on my'
Pet. Katharine, I charge thee, tell these
headstrong women '' 130
What duty they do owe their lords and hus-
' bands.
Wid. Come, come, you're mocking : we
r will have no telling.
.Pet. Come on, I say; and first begin with
her.
Wid. She sliall not
I say she shall: and first begin with
her.
Katk. Fie, fie 1 unknit that threatening un¬
kind brow, . ■ L I ■
I (Aot vl
I And dart not soMttful glances from those «yeat
To wound thy lord, thy king, tliy governor
Itiblots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads.
Confounds tiiy fame as whirlwiuds shake fait
buds, , IdO
And in no sense is meet or amiable.
A woman moved is like a fountain troubled,
Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty;
And while it is so, none, so dry or thirsty
Will deign to sip or toucli one drop of it..
Thy husband is thy lord, tliy life, thy keeper,
Thy .head, thy sovereign; one tliat cares lor
thee, I I ■! I
' And for thy maintenauco commits his body'i
To painful labor both by sea and land.
To watch the night in storms, tiie day in coldy
Whilst thou.liestwarm.at home, secure and
safe; .i 151
And craves no other tribute at thy hands
But love, fair looks and true obedience ; '
Too little iiay meut for so great a debt. '
Such duty as tlie subject owes' the prince ' i
Even such a woman oweth to her husband ;
And when sheisfioward, peevish, sullen, sour,
And not obedient to his hpnest will,
Wliat is she but a foul contending rebel
And graceless traitor to her lov^iug lord ? 160
I am ashamed that women are so simple
To offer war where they should kneel for peace.
Or seek for rule, supremacy and sway, , ) i
Wlien they are bound to serve, love and obey.
Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth.
Unapt to toil and trouble in tlie workl, I
But that our soft conditions and our hearts
Should well agree with our external p.arts ?
Come, come, you froward and unable worms .
My mind h.ath been as big aa one of yours, 170
My he.art as great, my reason haply more.
To bandy word for word and frow.n for frown;
But now I see our lances are but straws.
Qui; strength as weak, our weakness past com¬
pare.
That seeming to be most which we indeed least
. are. , . • •
Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot.
And place your hands below your husband's
foot:
In token of which duty, if he please.
My hand is ready; may it do him ease.. . '
Pet. Why, there's a wench ! Comeon, and
' kiss me, Kate. ' : .18W
Luc. Well, go thy ways, old lad ; for thou
shalt ha't. •, - • [toward.
Vin. 'Tis a good hearing when children are
Luc. But a harsh bearing when women are
froward. ii
Pet. Come, Kate, we'll to bed. , , *
We three are married, but you two are sped.
[To Lik.] 'Twas I won the wager, though yofSl
hit the white
And, being a winner, God give you good night
[ExeMnt PetrtMio and Katharine '
Hor. Now, go thy ways ; thou hast tamf, 1
a curst siirew.
Luc. 'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she wIB
iMtnaedM {Axevnt.
TMB TAMTIfe OF THR SHREW,
" THE '
MBKRY WIVES OF WINDSOR
, (written about 1598.) ,
' INTRODUCTION. ,
' & an olfelioot from tlM3 comedy of King HeM-ff IV., \ihn« King Henry K. is the direct contin-
witlon of the history. Dennis, in 1702, reports a tradition that this play was written in fourteen
*»»ys, ^ order of the Queen ; and Kowe adds : '' She was so well pleased with that admirable charao-
ts'of Falstaff, in the two parts ot Henry / V:, that she commanded Mm to continue it for one play more,
and to show him in love." This may have been the cause why Shakespeare does not fuliill the prom¬
ise made iu the Epilogue of Uemy 1V., that Falstall should re-appear with Henry V. in France ;
bat, indeed, among the great deeds of the victor of Agincourt there would be small room for a Fal-
stan. The choice of Windsor as the scene, and> the compliments to the owner of Windsor Castle,
and to the wearers of the Order of the Gaiter, suggest that the play was meant especially for Eliza-
'beth and her courtiers. An early sketch of The merry (Fiees was published in quarto, 1602; some
'touches in the play, as given in the folio, were evidently made after the accession of James I. (1603);
dhe word "council is altered to "king" (Act 1., Sc. I., L. 113); " these knights will hack," exclaims
Mrs. Page (Act II., Sc i., L. 02), and the allusion to James's too liberal creation of kirfghts in 1604 was
iPiobably appreciated. Some critics have held that the first sketch of The Mehry Wives was written
as early as 1592. A German duke is spoken of by Bardolph as about to visit Windsor, and his gen¬
tlemen ride off with mine hostof the Garter's horses unpaid for. In the early sketch (Act IV., Sc. v.,
of the revised play), instead of " cousin-germans," where Evans puns upon the words coeen and Oer-
man, eecurs the str<vnge " cosen garmombles:" Now, i^unt Frederick of Mbmpelgard, had visiled
England and accompanied the Queen to Windsor, Aug. 1592; and in the passport which he received
for Ms Journey back to the Continent, we read that heshali be furnished with post-horses, and shall
pay nothing for the same. Next year the (iount became Dulte of Wirtemberg, and in 1695 he craved
that, in accordance with n promise given, Elizabeth would confer upon him the Order of the Garter,
yhich Elizabeth, on various pretext, declined. " Garmomhles " obviously reverses the true name
" Mfimpelgardbut the inference that the date of the play is 1392, because it refers to the visit of
the Germans, is unwarrantable, for such an event would be remembered, and the more so because of
the Duke's subsequent unavailing attempt to obtain the honor of the Garter. If we try to make out
exact relations between the characters of The Merry Wives and the same characters as they appear
in the historical plays, we shall fail. The comedy has a certain independence of the histories, and
cannot be pieced on to tliem in any way: the persons are the same and not the same. Mrs. Quickly,
servant of Dr. Caius, has a different history from the Mrs. Quickly of the Boar's Head Tavern. Nor
is Falstaff conceived in quite the same manner as the Falstaff of Henry IV. Here the knight is
fatuous, his genius deserts him ; the never-defeated hangs his head before two country dames; the
buck-basket, the drench of Thames water, the blows of Ford's cudgel, are reprisals too coarse upon
the mod inimitable of Jesters. Yet the play is indeed a mqrry one, with well-contrived incidents
and abundance of broad mirth. A country air breathes over the whole; nowhere else has Shake¬
speare represented English middle-class life in the country, and he has here done it with a vigorous,
nAoleVkve .'W A A YA ^ AA 1.——^ AvAVvVvrV/VA fllA
laugliing looks, their apple-red cheeks, their brows the lines whereon look more like the work of
mirth than of years and Slender, inost brainless of youths, most incapable of lovers, is dear for
sake of the laugli at him which pretty Anne Page must have when alone. Altogether, if we can
accept Falstaff's discomfituies, it is a merry play to laugh at if not to love.
t I
DRAMATIS PERSONJE.
f , I ' f ♦
Fmtton'it geuUenmih ' Faor' } gentlemen dwelling at Windsor.
Shau.ow, a countriy Justice. i ,i
IarndeRi fousin to SlWiUov. I
William Paoe, ahoy, son to Page.
Sir ^uaH Evans, r Welpli parson.
(609)
610
THE MERRY WIVES OP WINDSOR.
[Act i.
Doctok Caius, a French physician.
Host of the Garter Inn.
BARDOIJPH, )
Pistol, > sharpers attending on Falstaff.
nym, )
Robin, page to Faistaff.
SiHPLB, servant to Siender.
Rdgby, servant to Doctor Cains.
Mistress Ford.
Mistress Page.
Anne Page, her daughter.
Mistress Quickly, servant to Doctor Caina
Servants to Page, Ford, &c.
Scene ^ Windtor, and the neighborhood
ACT L
Scene I. TTtndsor. Before Page's koute.
Enter Justice Shallow, SLENioiR, and Sir
Hugh Evans.
Shal. Sir Hugh, persnade Ine not; I will
make a Star-cliainber matter of it: if he were
twenty Sir John Falstaffs, lie shall not abuse
ilobert Shallow, esquire.
Slen. In the county of Gloucester, justice of
peace and ' Coram.'
Shal. Ay, cousin Slender, and ' Custa-
lorum.'
Slcn. Ay, and ' Rato-lorum' too ; and a
gentleman bom, master parson ; who writes
himself ' Armigero,' in any bill, warrant, quit¬
tance, or obligation, ' Armigero.' 11
Shal. Ay, that I do ; and have done any
time these three hundred years.
Slen. All his successors gone before him
hath done't; and all his ancestors that come
after him may : they may give the dozen white
luces in their coat.
Shal. It is an old coat.
Evans. The dozen white louses do become
an old coat well; it agrees well, passant; it is
a familiar beast to man, and signifies love. 21
Shal. The luce is the fresh fish ; the salt
fish is an old coat.
Slen. I may quarter, coz.
Shal. You may, by marrying.
Evans. It is marring indeed, if he quarter
it.
Shal. Not a whit.
Evans. Yes, py'r lady : if he has a quarter
of your coat, there is but three skirts for your¬
self, in my simple conjectures : but that'is all
one. If Sir John Faistaff have comnaitted dis¬
paragements unto you, I am of the church,
and will be glad to do my benevolence to make
atonements and compremises between yon.
Shal. The council shall hear it; it is a riot
Evans. It is not meet the council hear a
riot; there is no fear of Got in a riot: the
council, look yon, shall desire to hear the fear
of Got, and not to hear a riot; take your viza-
ments in that.
Shal. Ha! o' my life, if I were young again,
the sword should end it , 41
Evans. ■ It is petter that friends is the sword,
and end it: and mere is also another device
in my prain, which peradventnre prings gont
discretions with it: there is Aane Page, which
is daughter to Master Thomas Page, which is
pretty virginity.
Slen, Mistress Anne Page 7 She has brown
hair, And speaks small like a woman.
Evans. It is tliat fery person for all the
orld, as just as you will desire ; and seven
hundred pouuds of moneys, and gold and sil¬
ver, is her grandsire upon his deatb's-bed—
Got deliver to a joyful resurrections '—^give,
when she is able to overtake seventeen yean
old: it were a goot motion if we leave our
pribbles and prabbles, and desire a marriage
between Master Abraham and Mistress Anne
^^len. Did her grandsire leave her seven
hundred pound 7 60
Evans. Ay, and her father is make her a
petter penny.
Slen. I know the young gentlewoman ; she
has good gifts.
Evans. Seven hundred pouuds and possi¬
bilities is goot gifts.
Shal. Well, let us see honest Master Page.
Is Faistaff there 7
Evans. Sliall I tell yon a lie 7 I do despise
a liajr as I do despise one that is false, or as I
despise one tliat is not trUe. The knight. Sir
John, is there ; and, I beseech you, be ruled
by your well-willers. 1 will peat tlie door for
Master Page. [Knoc1cs.'\
What, hua! Got pless your house here !
Page. [ Within] Who's there 7
Enter Page.
Evans. Here is Got's plessing, and your
friend, and Justice Shallow ; and here young
Master Slender, that peradventures shall teu
you another tale, if matters grow to your lik¬
ings.
Page. I am glad to see yOur worshijts well.
I thank you for my venison. Master Shallow.
Shal. I Master Page, I am glad to see you :
much good do it your good heart ! 1 wished
your venison better ; it was ill killed. How
doth good Mistress Page 7—and I thank you
always with my heart, la ! with my heart
Page. Sir, I thank you.
Shal. Sir, I thank you ; by yea and no, I
do.
Page. I am glad to see you, good Master
Slender. 90
Shn. How does your fallow grevhonnd,
si:- 7 I heard say he was outrun on Cdts.all.
Page. It could not be judged, sir.
Steni. You'll out confess, you'll not confcM
TBB MERRY WIVES OF WINVSOR.
611
Shdl, That be will not 'Tis your fault,
'tis your Ihult; 'tis a good dog.
I Page. A cur, sir.
Stud. Sir, he's a good dog, and.a fair dog :
can there be more said t he is good and fair.
Is Sir Johu Falstaff here ? 100
Page. Sir, he is within; and I would 1
could do a good office between you.
Evans. It is spoke as a Christians onght to
speak.
SlwL He hath wronged me, Master Page.
Page. Sir, he doth in some soit confess it
Shid. If it be confessed, it is not redress'd:
is not that so. Master Page ? He hath wronged
me ; indeed he hath ; at a word, he hath, be¬
lieve me: Robert SlialloWi esquire, saith, he
is wronged. 110
Page. Here comes Sir John., '
Enter Sm John Falstafn, Babdolph, Htm,
' andPiSTOu
F<d. Now, Master Shallow,. you'U com¬
plain of m to the king ?
Shot. Knight, you tiave beaten my men,
killed my deer, and broke open my lodge.
Fal. But not kissed your keeper's &ugh-
ter?
Shot. Tut, a pin ! this shall be answered.
Fal. I will answer it straight; 1 have done
all this.
That is now answered.
ShaL The council shall know this. 120
F<d. 'Twere better for you if it were known
in counsel: you'll b; laughed at.
Evans. I^uca verba. Sir John ; goot worts.
Fal. Good worts 1 good cabbage. Slender,
I broke your head : what matter have yon
against me ?
Sten. Miurry, sir, I have matter in my head
against you : and against your cony-catching
rascals, Bardolnh, Nyra, and Pistol.
, Bard. Ton Banbury cheese! 130
Slen. Ay, it is no matter.
Pist. How now, Mephostophilus!
Sten. Ay, it is no matter.
Nym. Slice, I say 1 pauca, pauca: sUce !
tliat's my humor.
Slen. Where's Simple, my man ? Can you
tell, cousin ? <•
' Evans. Peace, I pray you. Now let us un¬
derstand. There is three umpires in this mat¬
ter, as I understand ; that is. Master Page,
fidelicet Master Page ; and there is myself,
fidetk^ myself ; and the three party is, lastly
and finally, mine host of the Garter.
Page. We three, to hear it and end it be¬
tween them.
Evans. Fery goot: I will make a prief of
It in my note-book ; and we will afterwards
ork upon the cause with as great discreetly as
we can. m
Fal. Pislol 1
Pist. He hears ears. 150
Evasm.' Tbetevlt and his tarn t what phrase
ia this, ' He bears with ear*? why, it te afiec-
attcoa
Fal. Pistol, did you pick Masthr Slender'*
purse?
Slen. Ay, by these gloves,' did he, or I
would 1 might never come in mine own gr^t
cliamber again else, of seven groata in mill-
sixpences, and two Edward shovel-boardsi
that cost me two shilling and two pence a-
piece of Yead Miller, by these gloves. 161
Fal. Is this true, Pistol ?
Evans. No ; it is false, if it is a pick-purse.
Pist. Ha, thou mountain-foreigner 1 Sir
John a Master mine,
I combat cha^.en' ;e of this latten bilbo.
Word of denial iii thy labras here !
Word of d'^nial: froth and scum, then liest!
Slen. By these gloves, then, 'twas be.
Nym. Be a sea, sir, and pass good hu¬
mors ; I v/ill say ' marry trap' with you, if
you run the nu ook's humor on me ; tiiat is
th>' very note of it.
Slen. By this hat, then, he in the red fare
had it; for though 1 cannot remember what I
did when you made me drunk, yet 1 am nut
altogether an ass.
Fal. Wtiat say you. Scarlet and John ?
Bard. Why, sir, for my part, I say the gen¬
tleman had drunk himself out of bis five seU'l
tences. 180
Evans. It is his five senses : fie, what the
ignorance is!
Bard. And being fap, sir, was, as they say,
cashiered ; and so conclusions passed the
careires.
Slen. Ay, you spalce in Latin then too ; but
'tis no matter : I'll ne'er be drunk whilst 1 live
i^in, but in honest, civil, godly company, for
this trick: if I be drunk, I'll be drnnk with
those that have the fear of God, and not with
drunken knaves. liK)
Evans, So Got udge me, that is a virtuous
mind.
Fal. You bear all these matters denied,
gentlemen ; you hear it
Enter Anns Page, with wine; Mistbess
Fobd and Mistress Page, following.
Page. Nay, daughter, .carry the wine in ;
we'll drink within. {Exit Anne Page.
Slen. O heaven! this is Mistress Anne
Page.
Page. How now. Mistress Ford !
Fal. Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are
very Jvell met; by your leave, good mistress.
[N/iscs her. 200
Page. Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome.
Come, wehaveia hot venison pasty to din¬
ner : come, gentlemen, I hope we shall drink
down all unkindness.
\Exeuntall except Shal, Slen., and Evans.
Skn. I had rather than forty shillings 1
had my Book of Songs and Sonnets here.
Enter Simpj.e.
How now. Simple ! where have you been ? I
must wait on myself, must I ? You have not
the Book of Riddles about you, have you ?
Slen. Book of Riddles 1 why, did yon not-
THE MERRY WIVES OF WllTDSOS.
f lAo* f.
lend it to Shortcake upon Al-h^Uow-
mas last, a fortnight afore Michaelmas?
^ Shal, < Come, coS'; come, coz; we stay for
you. A word with you, coz; marrr, tliis, coz :
there is, as 'twere, a tender, a kind of' tender,
made afar oil by Sir Hugh here. Do you UU'^
derstaud me ? ' i ^
Blen. Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable;
if it be so, I shall do that that is reason.
Shal. Nay, but understand me.
Sletii Soldo, sir. 220
Ecatu. Give ear to his motions. Master
Slender c I will description the matter to you,
if you be capacity of it
Sleii. Nay, 1 will do as my cousin Shallow
says : I pray you, pardon me ; he's a justice
of peace in his country, simple tliohgh I stand
here,
Evans. But that is not the question : the
question is concerning your marmge <
Shot. Ay, tiiere's the mint, sir.
. Evans. Marry, is it; the very point of it:
to Mistress Anne Page. '231
Slen. Why, if it bo so, I- will marry her
upon any reasonable demands.
Evans. But can you affection the 'oman ?
Let us command to know that of your mouth
or of your lips ; for divers philosophers hold
that the lips is parcel of the mouth. There¬
fore, precisely, can you carry your good will
to the maid i [love her? 240
Shal. Cousin Abraham Slender, icau' you
Slen, I hope, sir, I will do as it sliall be¬
come one that would do reason.
Evans. Nay, Got's lords and his ladies I
you must speak possitable, if you can carry
uer your desires towards her.
Siml. That you must Will yon, upon
good dowry, marry her ?
Slen, I will do a greater thing than that,
upon your request, cousin, in any reason.
Shal. Nay, conceive me, conceive me, sweet
eoz: what I do is to pleasure you, coz. Can
you love the maid ?
Slen. I will marry her, sir, at your r^nest:
but if tl)ere he no great love ut the beguining,
yet heaven may decrease it upon better ac-
quaintaucej when we are married and have
more occasion to know one another ; I hope,
upon familiarity will grow more contempt:
but if you say, Marry her,* I will marry her;
that I am freely dissolved, and dissolutely. 260
Evans.' It Is a fery discretion answer;
save the fall is in the ort ' dissolutely :' the
ort is, according to our meaning, 'resolutely:'
his meaning is good.
Shal. Ay, I think my cousin meant well.
Slen. Ay, or else 1 would I might be
hanged, la!
Shal. Here comes fair Mistress Anne.
Re-enter Amot Page.
Would I were young for your sake, Mistress
Auuet
Anne. The dinner fo cm the tablet my
lather desires your warritOje* omiqjany. SIX
Shal. 1 will walt 'iotl' him, 'fair Mfetatoe
Anne. ' i i« c; .
Evans. Od's plessed will! I iHll not be
absence at the grace,'
[Exeunt Shattau} and Evans'
' Anne. Will't please your worship to come
hi, sir ? '
Slen. No, I tliank yon, forsooth,'heartily;
I am very weU. . > \ .
Anne. The dinner attends yon. sir.
Slen. I am nota-hungry; I thank yon, for¬
sooth. Go, arrah, for all you are my man, go
wait upon my cousiu Shailow, [Exit Simple. ]
A ju^ce of peace sometimes may be be¬
holding to his friend for A man. I keep but
three men and a boy yet, till my* mother be
dead : but what though ? yet I live like a poor
gentleman born. ' '
Arnie. I may not go in without your wor^
ship : they will not sit till you come.'
Slen.. I faith, I'll eat nothing ; I thank
you as inuch as though I did. ' ' 391
Anne. I pray you, sir, walk In. '
Slen.' I had rather walk here, I thank you.
I bruised my shin th' other day with playing
at sword and dagger with a master of fence
three veneys for a dish of stewed prunes ; and,
by my troth, I eaiinot abide the' smell of hot
meat since. Why do your dogs bark so ? be
there bears i' the town ?
Anne. I think there are, sir; I hearclthem
talked of. ' ' 301
Slen. I love fiie sport well -j but I shall as
soon quarrel at it as any man in England.'
You are afraid, if you see the hear loose, are
you not ? ' ,
Anne. Ay, indeed, sir.
Slen. That's meat and drink to me, how. ■
I have seen Sackerson loose twenty times, and
have taken him by the chain t but, I warrant
you, the women have so cried and shrieked at
it, that it passed : but women, indeed, cannot
abide 'em : they are very in-favored rough
things. '
Re-enter Page.
Page. Come, gentle Master Slender, come;
we stay for you. •.
Slen. I'll eat nothing, I thank you, sir. .
Page. By cock and pie^ you shall nut
choose, sir I come, come.
Slen. Nay, pray you, lead the way.
Page. Come on, sir. • ,
Skn. Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first.
Anne. Not I, sir ; pray you, keep on. ^1
Slen. Truly, I. .will not go first; truly, la!
I will not do you that wrong. ,,
Anne. 1 pray yon, sir. ^
Slen. I'll rather be unmannerly than tcon*
bles^me. You do yourself wrong, indeed, lal
[Exeunlm
Scene n. jtftc same
Enter Sm Htraa Evaks and Sums.
- Evans. Go* your ways, and ask of DooJ
toi Cains' ho'me which is the way : and tome
SCEKE III.]
dirells one Mistress Qniokly, wluch is in the
manner oi his nurse, or his dry nurse, or his
cook, or his laundry, his waslier, and Ids
I wringer, '
6'm. Well, sir.
Emns. Nay, it is iietter yet. Give her tins
letter ; for it is a 'oman that altogether's ac¬
quaintance with Mistress Anne Page ; and the
letter is, to desire and require her to solicit
your master's desires to Mistress Anne Page.
I pray you, be gone : I will make an end of
my dinner-; there's- pippins and cheese to
come. [Exeunt.
Scene III. A room in the Garter Inn. ^
' Enter PAtsTArF, Host, Bardolfh, Nym,
Pistol,, «ucl Pobin.
Fal. Mine host of the Garter I
Hoet. What says my bully-rook? speak
scholarly and wi.sely.
Fal. Truly, mine host, I must turn away
some of my followers.
. Host. Discard, bully Hercules ; cashier; let
them wag", trot, trot.
Fal. Isit at ten pounds a week.
Host. Thou'rt an emperor, Cmsar, Keisar,
and Pbeezar. I will entertain Bardolph ; he
shall draw, he shall tap: said I well, bull-y
Hector?
Fat.. Do SO) good mine host.
Host. ' I Imve spoke; let him follow. [7'o
Bard.] Let me see thee froth and lime: I
am at a word ; follow. [Exit.
Fal. Bardolph, follow him. A tajister is a
gocd tr.ade : an old cloak makes a new jerkin;
awitiieredserving-man afresh tajister. Go;
adieu. 20
Bard. It is a life that I have desired; I will
thrive.
Fist. O base Hungarian wiglit! wilt thou
tlie spigot wield ? [Eeif Bardolph.
Nym. He was gotten in-drink ; is not the
humor conceited ?
F<U. 1 am glad I am so acquit of this tin-
derbox: his thelts were too open ; his fih-hing
was like an uuslcilful singer ; liekeptnottime.
Nym. The good humor is to steal at a
minute's rest. < 31
Pist. . ' Convey,' the wise it call. ' Steal t'
foil! a fico for the phrase 1
Fal. Well, sirs, 1 am almost out at heels.
Pist. Why, then, let kibes ensue.
Fal. There is no remedy ; I must cony-
catch ; 1 must shift.
Pist. Young ravens must hare food.
Fal. Whichof you know Ford of this town?
Pist. I ken the wight: he is of substance
good. " 41
. Fal. My honest lads, I will tell you what I
am about. - 0
Pist. Two yards, and more.
Fal. No quips now. Pistol! Indeed, I am
■in the waist two yards about; but 1 am now
aboutno waste; I am about thrift. Briefly, I
do mean to make love to Ford's wife i-I spy
513
entertainment in her ; - she discoutses, she
airves, she gives the leer of invitation : I can
construe tlie action of her familiar style ; and
the hardest voice of her behavior, to be Eng¬
lished rightly, is, ' I am Sir John Falstatfis.'
Pist. Pie hath studied her will, and trans¬
lated her will, outof honesty into ^iglish.
Nym. The anchor is deep : .will that humor
pass?
Fal. NOv^, the report goes ihe has all the
rule of hefr husband's purse: be hnth a legion
of angels. ' 60
Pist. As many devils entertain ; and ' To
her, boy,' say I.
Nym. The humor rises ; it is good : humor
me the angels. ■' >
Fal. I nave writ me here'adetter to her :
and here another to Page's wife, who even now
gave me good eyes too, examined my parts
with must judicious ceillades ; sometimes the
beam of her view gilded my foot, sometimes
my portly belly.
Pist. Then did the sun on dunghill shine.
Nym. I thank thee for tliat humor. 71
Fal. O, she did so course o'er my exteriors
with such a greedy intention, that the appetite
of her eye did seem to scorch - tne up like a
burning-glass I Here's another letter to her:
she bears the purse too; she is a region in
Guiana, all gold and bounty. I will becheater
to them both, and they sliall be exchequers to
me ; they shall be my East and West Indies,
and I will trade to them both. Go bear thou
this letter to Mistress Page ; and -thou this to
Mistress Ford : we will thrive, lads, we will
thrive. '
Ptst. Shall I Sir PandaruS of Troy become.
And by my side wear steel ? then, Lucifer
take all!
Nym. I will run no base humor : here,
take the humor-letter : I will keep the havlor
of reputation.
Fal. [To Robin'] Hold, sirrah, bear you these
- letters tightly; ' , '
Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores.
Eogues, hence, avaunt I vanish like hailstones,
go:
Trudge, plod away o' the hoof : seek shelter,
pack! 1
F.alstall will learu the humor of the age,'
French thrift, you rogues ; myself and skirted
page. [Exeunt Falstaff and Robin.
Pist. Let viiltures gripe thy guts I for gourd
and fuDam holds.
And high and low beguiles the rich and poor ;
Tester I'll have in pouch when thou, ^altlack,
Pase Phrygian Turk!
Nym. I have operations which, be Immors
of revenge. , I - ' j
Pist. Wilt thou revenge? , 100
Nym. By welkin and her star !
■ Pist. With wit or steel? ' - f
Nym. With both the humors, I r
I will discuss the humor of this krve to Pag«i
Pist. And I to Ford shall eke unfold
1 u -How FalstaS, varlet yile, '
Si
THE MERRY WIVES OP WINDSOR
614
THE MEBBY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
[Act i.
His doTO will prove, his j^old will hold,
And bis soft couch denle.
Nym, Hy humor shall not cool; 1 will in¬
cense Page to deal with poison ^ i will posscE;;
t him- with yellown^ for the revolt of mine
is dangerous : tliat is my true humor.
Pi$U Thou art the Mars of malecuntents : I
second thee ; troop on. [Exeunt.
scenbIV. A room in Doctok Catos's house.
Enter Mistress Quicelv, SimpioJ; end
eugby.
Quick. What, John Rugby ! I pray ihee,
go to the casement, and see if you can see my
master, Master Doctor Calus, coming. If he
do, i' faith, and find any body in the house,
here will be an old abusing of God's i>atieuce
and the king's English.
Mug. I ril go watch.
Quick. Go ; and we'll have a posset for't
soon at night, in faith, at tlie latter end of a
sea-coal fire. [Exit Mtigby.] Aii honest, wil¬
ling, kind fellow, as ever servant shall come
in bouse withal, and, I warrant you, no tell¬
tale nor no breed-bate: his worst fault is,
tliat lie is given to prayer ; he is something
peevish that way : but nobody but lias his
fault; but let that pass. Peter Simple, you
say your name is ?
Sim. Ay, for fault of a better.
Quick. And Master Slender's your master?
Sim. Ay, forsooth.
Quick. Does he not wear a great round
beard, like a glover's paring-knife ? 21
Sim. No, forsooth : he hath but a little wee
face, with a little yellow beard, a Cain-colored
beard.
Quick. A softly-sprighted roan, is he not ?
Sim. Ay, forsooth : but he is as tall a man
of his hands as any is between tliis and his
head ; he hath fought with a warreiier. •
Quick. How say yon ? 0,1 should remem¬
ber him : does he not hold up his head, as it
were, and strut in his gait ? 31
Sim. Yes, indeed, does he.
Quick. Well, heaven send Anne Page no
worse fortune t Tell Master Parson Evans I
will do what I can for your master : Anne is a
good girl, and I wish—
Me-enter Rugby,
Rug. Out, al.as ! here comes my master.
Quick. We shall all be sheut. Run in here,
goM young man; go into this closet: he will
not stay long. [Shuts Simple in the closet.'S
What, John Rugby ! John ! wiiat, John, I say!
Go, John, go inquire for my master ; I doubt
he be not well, that he comes not home. 43
[Singing] And down, down, adown-a, &c.
ETiter Doctor Caics,
Cuius. Vat is you sing ? I do not like des
toys. Pray you, go and vetch me in my closet
\m boitier vert, a box, a green-a box: do
bitend vat I ^eak 7 a gre«i>-a box.
Quick. Af, forsooth; I'U fetch it yon. :
[Aside] I am glad he Went not in himself: if
ho had found tlie young man, he would iiave
been horn-mad. 52
Cuius. Ee, fe, fe, fe ! ma foi, 11 fait fort
ciiaud. Je m'en vais a la cour—la grande
affaire.
Quick. Is it this, sir ?
Cuius. Oui; mette te au mon pocket: de-
peche, quickly. Vere is d.at knave Rugby 7
^kk. What, Jolm Rugby ! John I
Ilug. Here, sir!
Cuius ■*'ou are John Rugby, and you are
JackRugo^. lome, take-a your rapier, and
, come after my heel to the court. 62
Mug, 'Tis ready, sir, here in the porch.
Cuius. By my trot, I tjirry too long. Od's
me ! Qu'ai-j'oublii ! dere is some simples in
my closet, dat I vill not for the varld 1 shall
leave behind.
Quick. Ay me, Ite'll find the young man
there, and be mad !
Cuius. 0 diable, diable ! vat is in my closet?
Villain 1 larrou ! [Puding Simpleout.] Rugby,
my rapier! 12
Quick. Gr)0master, be content.
Cuius. Whe'. - - shall I be content-a 7
Quick. The y u. g ma 's au honest man.
Cuius. What aJ de borest man do in my
closet ? dere is no honest man dat sluill come
in my closet
Quick. I beseech you, be not so phlegmatic.
Hear tlie truth of it: he came of an errand to
me from Parson Hugh. 81
Cuius. Veil.
Sim. Ay, forsooth ; to desire her to-
Quiet. Peace, 1 pray you. [tale.
Cuius. Peace-a your tongue, S|}eak-a your
Sim. To desire this honest gentlewoman,
your maid, to speak a good word to Mistress
Anne Page lor my master in the way of mar¬
riage.
Quick. This is all, indeed, la I but I'll ne'er
put my finger in the fire, and need not 91
Cuius. SirHugh send-a you ? Rugby, bailie
me some paper. Tarry you a little-a while.
[ Writes.
Quick. [Aside to Simple.] lamgladheis
so quiet: if lie had been thoroughly moved,
you should have heard him so loud and so
melancholy. But notwithstanding, man, I'll
do you your master what good I can : and the
very yea and the no is, the Frencli doctor, my
master,—I may call him my master, look you,
fori keep his house ; and 1 wash, wring, brew,
bake, scour, dress meat and drink, make the
beds, and do all myself,—
Sim. [Aside to Qukkly] 'Tis a great charge
to come under one body'sliand.
Quick. [Aside fo Simple] Are you avised
o' ^t ? you shali find it a great charge : and
to be up early aud down late ; but uotwitltl
stauduig,—to tell you in your ear ; I would
have no words of it,—my master hknself is in
love with Mistress Anne Page : but notwitl.-
standing that, I know Anne's mind,—that's
Jtmtber Asis nor there.
scskb 1.]
THE MEHRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
m
Caius. You jack'ttape, give-a this letter to
Sir Hugh ; by gar, it is a shalleuge : I wUl cut
hU treat iu dee |>ark ; and I will teach a scurvy
jack-a>-iiape priest to meddle or make. You
may begone ; it is not good you tarry here.
By gar, ( will cut aU his two stones ; by gar,
be shall not have a stone to throw at his dog.
[Exit Eim^.
Quick, Alas, be speaks but for his friend.
Caius. It is no niatter-a ver dat: do not
you tell-a me dat I shail have Anue Page for
myself ? By gar, I vill kill de Jack priest; and
1 nave appointed mine host of de Jarteer to
measure our weapou. By gar, I will myi^elf
have Anne Page.
Quick. Sir, the maid loves you, and all shall
be well. We must give Jolbs leave to prate ;
what, the good-jer !
Caius. Kugby, come to the court with me.
By gar, if 1 have not Anne Page, 1 shall turn
your head out of my door. Follow my heels,
itugby [Exeunt Caius and Euybii.
Quick. You shall have An fool's-head of
your own. No, 1 know Anne's mind for that:
never a woman in Windsor knows more of
Anne's mind than I do ; nor can do more tlian
. do with her, 1 thank heaven. ,
Fent. { Who's within there ? ho I
Quick. Who's there, I trow 1 Come near
ilie bouse, 1 pray you. 141
Enter Fenton.
Fent. How now, good woman I how dost
thou ?
Quick. The better that it pleases your good
worsliip to ask.
Fent. What news 7 how does pretty Mis-
tre.ss Anne ?
Quick. In truth, sir, and she is pretty, and
honest, and gentle ; and one that is your
friend, I can tell you that by the way ; I
praise heaven for it. ISl
Fenti ShaB 1 do any good, thinkest thou 7
shall I not lose ray suit ?
Quick. Troth, sir, all is in his hands above ;
but notwithstanding. Master Fenton, I'll be
sworn on a book, ^le loves you. Have not
your worship a wart above your eye 7
Fent. Yes, marry, have 1; what of that 7
Quick. Well, thereby hangs a tale : good
faith, it is such another Nan ; but, I detest,
an honest maid as ever broke bread ; we had
an hour's talk of that wart. I shall never
laugh but in that maid's company ! But in¬
deed she is given too much to allicholy and
musing : but for you—well, go to.
Fent. Well, I shall see her to-day. Hold,
ttoere'c money for thee; let me have thy voice,
in my behalf: if thou seest her before me,
commend me.
Quick. Will 1? i' faith, that we will; and I
will tell your worship mdle of the wart the
next time we bave conildeuce ; and of other
wooers.
Fent' Well, farewell; I am in great haste
BOW.
Quicks Farewell to your worship. [Ewit
Fenton.] Truly, an honest gentleman : but
Anne loves him not; for I know Anne's mind
as well as another does. Out upon't 1 what
have I forgot 7. [Exit. ISC
rn
ACT It
Scene I. Be/ore Page's house.
Enter Mistress Page, with a letter.
Mrs, Paf/e. What, have I scaped love-let¬
ters in the holiday-time of my beauty, and
am I now a subject for them 7 , Let me see.
; .
' Ask me no tea.son why I love you ; for
though l.ove use Re.uson for his physician
he admits him not for his counsellor. You
are not young, no more am I ; go to then,
there's sympathy : you are merry, so am I;
ha, ha ! then there s more sympathy : yog
love sack, aud so do I ; would you desire bet¬
ter sympathy 7 I,.et it suffice tliee. Mistress
Page,—at the least, if the love of soldier can
suffice,—that I love thee. I will not say, pity
me ; 'tis not a soldier-like phrase : but, I say,
love me. By me.
Thine own true knight,
By day or night,
■ Or any kind of light.
With all his might .
For thee to fight,. John Falstafp.
What a Herod of Jewry is this ! ,0 wicked^
wicked world ! One that is well-nigh worn to
pieces with age to show himself a young gal¬
lant ! What an nnweighed behavior batli this
Flemish drunlcard picked—w'ffi devil's
name!—out of my conversatioji, tliat he dares
in this manner assay me 7 Why, he hath not
been tlirice iu my company ! What should «.
say to him 7 I was then frugal of my mirth X
Heaven forgive mel Why, I'll exhibit a bii^
in the parnamei.t for the putting down of
men. How shall I be revenged on him 7 for
revenged I will be, as sure as his guts are)
made of puddings. , ,
Enter Mistress Ford.
Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page ! trust me, I was
going to your house.
Mrs. Page. And, trust me,' I was comhig to
you. Yon look very ill.
Mrs. Ford. Nay, I'll ne'et h®l)eve, that J I,
have to show to the contrary.
Mrs. Page. Faith, but you do, in my mind.
Mrs. Ford. Well, I do then ; yet I say I
could show you to the contrary. O Mistress
Page, give me some counsel!
Mrs. Page. What's the matter, woman 7
Mrs. Ford. O woman, if it were not for one
trifling respect, I could come to such honor !
Mrs. Page. Hang the trifle, woman I take
the honor. What is it 7 dispense wfth ttifles:.
what is it? *'
616
* Mrt. Ford. If I woidd but go to hell for an
^mal moment or so, I could be knighted. 50
' Mrs. Page. What? thou liesti Sir Alice
Ford! These knights Will hack land so thou
shouldst not alter the article of thy gentry.
Mrs. Ford. We bum davlight: here, read,
read ; perceive howl might be knighted. 1
shall think the worse of fat men, as long as I
have an eye to make difference of men's lik-
iug: and yet he would not swear; praised
women's modesty ; and gave such orderly and
well-behaved reproof to all uncomeliuess, that
I would have sworn his disposition would have
gone to the truth of his words ; but they do
iio more adhere and keep place together than
the Hundredth Psalm to the tune of ' Green
Sleeves.' What tempest, I trow, threw this
tvhale, with so many tuns of oil in his belly,
ashore at Windsor ? How shall I be revenged
on him ? ' I think thfe best way were to enter¬
tain him with hope, till the wicked fire of lust
have melted him in his owa grease. Did you
ever hear tlie like ? 70
Mrs. Page. Letter fof letter, but that the
name of Page and Ford differs t To thy great
comfort in this mystery of ill opinions, here's
the twin-brother of thy letter: but let thine
inherit first; for, I protest, mine never shall.
I warrant he hath a thousand of these letters,
writ with biauk space for different names,—
sure, more,—and these are of the second edi¬
tion : he will print them, out of doubt; for
he cares nut what he puts into the press, when
he would put us two. I had rather be a giant¬
ess, and lie under Mount Pelion. Well, 1 will
find you twenty lascivious turtles ere one
chaste man.
Mrs. Ford. Why, this is the very same ;
the very hand, the very words. What doth
be think of us ? '
Mrs. Page. Nay, I know not: it makes me
almost rcMy to wrangle with mine own hon¬
esty. I'll enteitain myself like one tlrat I am
not actjuainted withal; for^ sure, unless he
know some strain in me, that I know not my¬
self, he would never have boarded me iu this
fury.
Mrs. Ford. ' Boarding,* call you it ? I'll be
sure to keep him above deck.
Mrs. fage. So will I: if he come under my
hatches, I'll never to' sea again. Let's be re¬
venged on him ^ let's appoint him a meeting :
give him a show of comfort in his suit and
lead liim on with a fine-baited delay, till he
hatli pawned bis horses to mine host of the
Garter. 100
Mrs. Ford. Nay, I will consent to act any
villauy against him, that may not sully the
chariness of our honesty. O, that my husband
saw tliis letter .1 it would give eternal food to
his jealousy. , ,,
Mrs. Page. Why, look where he comes ;
and my good man too : he's as far from jeal¬
ousy as lam fromgiving him cause ; and that
t h(^ is an nnmeasurabie distance..
Mrs. Ford, Ifou are the happier vtoman.110
f Ac* 11.
Mrs. Page. Let's consult together against
this greasy knight. Come hither. [They retire.
Enter Fobd xoith Pistol, and Paok viiih
NYM.
Ford "Well, I hope it be not so. '
Pisl. Hope is a curtal dog in some affairs *.
Sir John affects thy wife. ^
Ford. Why, sir, my wife is not yomig.
Pist. He wooes both Ipgh and low, both
rich and poor, ■ ••
Both young and old, one with another, Ford ;
He loves the gallimaufry : Ford, perpend.
Ford. Love my wife! 120
Pisi. With liver burning hot. Prevent, or
go thoii.
Like Sir Actmon he, with Ringwood at thy
heels :
O, odious is the name !
Ford. What name, sir ?
PisL The horu, 1 say. Farewell.
Take heed, have open eye, for thieves do foot
by night:
Take heed, ere summer comes or cuckoo-birds
do sing.
Away, Sir Corporal Nym !
Believe it. Page ; he speaks sense. [Exit.
Ford. [Astde^ 1 will be patient; I will find
out this. 1.H
Nym. [To Page"] And this is true ; I like
not the humor of lying. He hath wronged me
in some humors : 1 should have borne the
humored letter to her; but 1 have a sword
and it shall bite upon my necessity. He loves
your wife; there's the short and tlie long.
My name is Corporal Nym ; I speak and I
avouch ; 'tis true ; my name is Nym and Fal-
staff loves yonr wife. Adieu. 1 love not the
humor of bread and cheese, and there's the
humor of it. Adieu. [Exit, 141
Page. ' The humor of it,* quoth a'! here's
a fellow frights English out of his wits.
Ford. I will seek out Falstafk
Page. 1 never heard such a drawling, af¬
fecting rogue.
Ford. If I do find it: well. •
Page. I will not believe such a Cataian,
though the priest o' the town commended hirn
for a true man. ISQ
Ford Twas a good sensible fellow : well.
Puqe. How now, Meg!
[Mrs. Page ana Mrs. Ford come fomcard.
Mrs. Page. Whither go you, George ? Hark
you.
Mrs. Ford. How now, sweet Frank J why
art thou melancholy ?
Ford I melancholy ! I am not melancholy.
Get you home, go.
Mrs. Ford. Faith, thou hast some crotchets
in thy head. Now, will you go. Mistress Page ?
Mrs. Page. Have with you. You'll come to
dinner, George. [Aside to Mrs. Ford\ Look,
who comes yonder : she shall be our messen¬
ger to this f^try knight
Mrs. Ford. [Aside to Mrs. Page] Trust mq,
1 thought on her : she'll fit it '
THE MERIiY WIVES OF WIS'VSOlt
OcKKl^ ll.)
tm WIVES OP WMDSOR
61?
' Enter Mistress Quickly. ' I |
3frs. Page. You are corae to see my daugh¬
ter Anne ? ,-
Oeick. Ay, forsooth ; and, I pray, how does
good Mistress Anne 1 , 170
Jfrfc Page. Go in with us' and see ; we
have an hour's talk with you. ,
[,Exevnt Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford, and
Mrs. Quickly.
Page. How now, Master Ford !,
Ford. You heard wliat tltis knave told mfi,
did you not ? i
Page. Yes ; and you beard what the other
told me ? .
Ford. Do you think there is truth in them ?
Page. Hans 'em, slaves I 1 do not tliiuk tlie
knight would offer it: but these that accuse
jhira in his intent towards our wives are a
yoke of his discarded men ; very rogues, now
th^ be out of service. , . , i
Ford. Were they his men ? |
Page. Marry, were they.
Ford. I like it never the better for tliat.
Does he lie at the Garter 7
Page. Ay, marry, does he. It he should
intend this voyage towards my wife, I would
tnin her loose to him ; and what he gets more
of her than sharp words, let it lie on my head.
Ford. I do not misdoubt my wife : but 1
would be loath to turn them together. A man
may be too confident: I would have nothing
lie on my head : I cannot be thus satisfied.
Page. Look where my ranting host of the
Gaiter comes : there is either liquor in his
pate or money in his pursa when tie looks so ,
merrily. , ,
Enter Hosrt "
Hovy now, mine host!'
Host. How now, bully-rook ! thoii'rt a geni-
tleman. Cavaleiro-justice, 1 say ! 201
! ■ Enter Shallow.
Shal. I follow, mine host, I follow. Good
even and twenty, good Master Page i Master
Page, will you go with us 7 we liave sport in
hand.
Host. Tell him, cavaleiro-jttstice ; tell Mm,
bully-rook, '
Shal. Sir,-there Is a fray to be fought be¬
tween Sir Hugh the Welsh priest and Caius the
French doctor. 210 ,
Ford. Good mine host o' the Garter, a word
with yon. [Drawtng him aside. |
Host. What sayest thou, my bully-rook 7
Shal. _ [To Pfliyc] Will you go with us to
behold it 7 My meny host hath had the
measuring of their weapons; and, I think,
hath appointed them contrary places ; for, be¬
lieve roe, I hear the parson is ilo jester. Hark,
1 will tell yon what our Snost shall be.
{They converse djMrt.
Host. Hast thou no suit a^nst niy knight,
my guest-cavaleire 7 221
Ford. None, I protest: but I'll give you a
{lottle of burnt sack to give me tecourse to
him and tell him-my flame is Brook ; only for
aje.st ..J ,, , ■
Host. My hand, bully; thou sliglt have
egress and regress j—said 1 well ?-i-and th;^
name shall be Brook. It' is a merry knight.
Will you go, tAn-heires 7
Shah. Have with yon, mine hostl '
Page. 1 have heard tlie Frenchman hath
good skill in his rapier. ' 231
Shal. Tut, sir, I could have told you more.
In these times you stand on distance, youi
p^ses, letoccadoes, and > I- know nut what:
'tis toe heart,' Master Pi^e.; 'tis here, 'tis
here. I have seen the time, with my long
sword 1 would have made you four tall fellows
skip like rats. ' [wag 7
Host. Here, boys, here, here 1 shall we
' Page. Have with your 1 would rather hear
them scold than fight - 240
[Exemit Hosh, Shal., dnd Page.
Ford. Though Page be a secure fool, and
stands so firmly cm bis-wife's frailty, yet 1
cannot put off my opinion sO' easily: she was
in his company at Pagels house ; bnd what
they made there,-1 know not Well, I will
look further into't: and I have a disguise to
sound Falstaff. If I find her honest, I lose not
my labor ; if she be otherwise, 'tis labor well
bestowed. J • ■ [Evit.
. ' - . . ■ 1 ,
Scene IL A room in the Garter Inn.
Enter FalstatP and PisTot., ,
Fat. I will not lend thee-a penny. i
' Pist. Why, then the world s mine-oyster.
Which I with sword will open. >
Fat. Not a penny. I nave been content,
sir, yoii slrould lay my countenance to pawn :
I have grated upon my good friends for three
reprieves for you and your coach-fellow Nym-;
or else you had looked through the grate, like
a geminy of baboons. I am damned in bell
for swearing to - gentlemen my friends, you
were good soldiers and tall fellows ; and when
Mistress Bridget lost the handle of her fan,
1 took't upon mine hoimr thou badst it not. i
Pist. Didst not thou share 7 hadst thou not
fifteen pence 7 ■ ' • '
Fal. Beasen, you rogue, reason : thinkest
thou I'll endau^r my soul gratis 7 At a word,
hang no more about me', I am no gibbet for
you. ■ Go. • A short knife and a throng 1 To
your manor of Pickt-haitcli I ■ Go. You'll not
bear a letter for me, you rogue ! you stand
upon your honor 1 Why, thou unoontinable
Imeness, it is as much as I cau do to keep the
termsof my honor precise: 1,1,1 myself some¬
times, leaving the fear of God on the left hand
and hiding mine honor in my necessity, am
fain to shulHe, to hedge and to lurch ; and yet
yon, rogue, will ensconce your ragsj your cat-
a-mountain looks, your red-lattice phrases,
end your bold-beating oaths, under the shelter
of your hoiwr! You will not do it, you I
Pist. T do relent: what would tooumore
' of man 7 ■ ' .
618
THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
lAcrn.
EtUer Bobin.
J2o6. Sir, here's a woman would speak with
k you.
Fed. Let her approach.
Enter Mistbbss Quickly.
Quick. I'll be sworn,
Ap my mother was, the first hour I was bora.
Fal. 1 do believe the swearer. What with
me ? [word or two ?
Quick. Shall I vouchsafe your worships
Fed. Two thousand, fair woman: and I'll
vouchsafe thee the hearing.
Quick, There is one Mistress Ford, shrI
pray, come a little nearer tliis ways:—I myself
dwell with master Doctor Caius,—
Fed. Well, on : Mistress Ford, you say,—
Quick. Your worship says very true: 1 pray
your worship, eome a little nearer this ways.
FaL I warrant thee, nobody hears ; mine
own people, mine own J^ople. 51
Quick. Are they so ? God bless them and
make them his servants !
Fal. Well, Mistress Ford; what of her ?
Quick. Why, sir, she's a good creature.
Lord, Lord ! your worship's a wanton ! Well,
heaven forgive you and all of us. I pray !
Fal. Mistress Ford ; come. Mistress Ford,—
Quick. Marry, this is the short and the long
of It; you have brought her into such a can¬
aries as 'tis wonderful. The best courtier of
them all, when the court lay at Windsor, could
never have brought her to such a canary. Yet
there has been knights, and lords, and gentle¬
men, with their coaches, I warrant you, coach
after coach, letter after letter, gift after gift;
smelling so sweetly, all musk, and so rusluing,
I'warrant you, in silk and gold ; and in su^
alligant terras ; and in such wine and sugar
of the best and the fairest, tliat would have
won any woman's heart; and, I warrant you,
they could never get an eye-wink of her : I had
-myself twenty angels given me this morning :
but 1 defy all angels, in any such sort, as they
say, but in the way of honesty : and, I warrant
you, they could never get her so much as sip
on a cup with the proudest of them .all: and
yet there nas been earls, nay, which is more,
pensioners ; but, I warrant you, all is onewith
her. 80
Fal. But what says she to me ? be brief,
my good she-Mercury.
Quick. Marry, she hath received your let¬
ter, for the which she tlianks you a thousand
times ; and she gives you to notify that her
husband will be absence from his house be¬
tween ten and eleven.
Fed. Ten and eleven 7
-Quick. Ay, forsooth ; and then you may
come and see the picture, she says, that you
wot of: Master Ford, her husband, will be from
home. Alas ! tlie sweet woman leads an ill
life with liim ! he's a very Jealousy man : she
leads a very frampold life with him, good
heart.
Fal. Ten and eleven. Woman, commend
me to her ; I will not fail her.
Quick. Why, you say well. But I have an-
Otlier messenger to your worship. -Mistress
Page hath her hearty commendations to you
too ; and let me tell you in your ear, she s as
fartuous a civil modest wife, and one, I tell
you, that will not miss yon morning nor even¬
ing prayer, as any is in Windsor, whoe'er be
the other : and she bade me tell your warship
that her husband is seldom from home ; but
she hopes there will come a time. I never
knew a woman so dote upon a man : surely
I think you have ch.arms, la ; yes, in truth.
Fal. Not I, I assure thee: setting the at¬
tractions of my good parts aside I have no other
charms. Ill
Quick. Blessing on your heart foFt!
Fal. But, I pray theCj tell me this: has
Ford's wife and Page's wife acquainted each
other how they love me 7
Quick. That were a jest indeed ! they havp
not so little grace, I hope : that were a trick
indeed! but Mistress Page would desire you to
send heryour little page, of all loves: her hns-.
band has a marvellous infection to the little
page ; and truly Master Page is an honest man.
Never a wife in Windsor leMs a better life than
she does: do what she will, say what she will, -
take all, pay all, go to bed when she list, rise
when she list, all is as she will; and truly she
deserves it ; for if there be a kind woman in
Windsor, site is one. You must send her your
page: no remedy.
Fal. Why, IwUl.
Quick. Nay, but do so, then: and, look you,
he may eome and go between you both ; and
in any case have a na.v-word, that you may
know one another's mind, and the boy never
need to understand any filing ; for 'tis not good
that children should know any wickedness :
old folks, you know, have discretion, as they
sa;^ and know the world.
Fal. Fare thee well: commend me to them
both 1 tliere's my purse ; I am yet thy debtor.
Boy, go along with this woman. [Exeunt
Mistress Quickly and Robin.} This news dis¬
tracts me !
Pist. This punk is one of Cupid's carriers :
Clap on more saBs ; pursue; up with your
fights:
Give fire : she is my prize, or ocean whelm
them all! [Exit.
Fal. Sayest thou so, old Jack? go thy
ways; I'll make more of thy old body than'I
have done. Will they yet look after thee ?
Wilt thou, after the expense of so much money,
be now a gainer 7 Good body, I thank thee.
Let them say 'tis grossly done ; so it be fMrly
done, no matter.
Enter Baroolph.
Bard fiir John, there's one Master Brook
ScKneii-I ' THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSQS.
619
below would liiiii speak with y6u, and ba ac-
(jwiiuted with you ; and bath sent your wor¬
ship a moniiug s draught of sack.
Fal. Brook is his name ?
Bnrd. Ay, sir.
FaX. Call liim in. [Exit Bardolph.] Such
Brooks are weicome to me, that o'erflow such
liquor. Ah, ha 1 Mistress Ford and Mistress
Page have I encompassed you ? go to ; via !
Serenter Bardolph, with Fokd disguised.
Ford. Bless you, sir ! 160
Fal. And you, sir ! Would you speak with
me ?
Ford. I make bold to press with so little
preparation upon you.
tal. Fou're welcome. What's your will ?
Give us leave, drawer. [Exit Bardolph.
Ford. Sir, I am a gentleimui tiiat have spent
mudi; my name is Brook.
Fal. Good Master Brook, I desire more ac¬
quaintance of you.
Ford. Gooa Sir John, I sue for yours : not
to charge you ; for 1 must let you understand
1 think myself in better plight for a lender tlvm
you are: the which hath something em¬
boldened me to this unseasoned intrusion ;
for they say, if money go before, ail ways do
lie open.
Fai. Money is a good soldier, sir, and will
on.
Ford. Troth, and I have a bag of money
here troubles me : if you wiii help to bear it.
Sir John, take all, or half, for easing me of the
carriage.
Fid. Sir, I knovir not how I may deserve to
be your jiorter. 181
Ford, I will tell you, sir, if you will give
ne the hearing.
Fal. Speak, good Master Brook I shall be
glad to be your servant.
Ford. Sir, I hear you are a scholar,—will
be brief with you,—and you have been a man
long known to me, though I iiad never so good
means; as .desire, to make myself acqiutiiited
with you. I shall discover a thing to yon,
wherein I must very much lay open mine own
Imperfection ; but, good Sir John, as you have
one eye upon my follies, as you hearthem uni
folded, turn another into the register of your
own ; that 1 may pass with a reproof the e^ier,
sith yon yourself know how easy it is to be
such an offender,
Fal. Very well, sir ; proceed.
Ford. Tliere is a gentlewoman in this town;
her husband's name is Ford.
Fal. Well, sir. 200
Ford. I have long loved her, and, I protest
to yon, bestowed mimh on her; followed her
with a doting observance ; engrossed oppor¬
tunities to meet her ; fee'd mery slight occa¬
sion that could but niggardly give me sight
of her ; not only bou^t many presents to
mve her, but have men largely to many to
know what die would liave given ; briefly, I
have pnisusd he? as lore haOi ponited att;
which hatli been on the wing of all occasions.
But whatsoever 1 have merited, eitlier in my
mind or in my means, meed, 1 am sure, I have
received none ; unless experience be a jewel
that 1 have purchased at an infinite rate, and
that hath taught me to say this :
' Love like a Mtadow flies when substance love
Sursues ;
ig that that flies, and flying what pur¬
sues.'
Fal. Have you received no promise of satis¬
faction at her hands ?
Ford. Never.
Fdl. Have you importuned her to such a
purpose ? 221
Ford. Never.
Fid.' Of what quality was your love, then?
Ford. Like a lair house built on another
man's ground ; so that I have lost my edifice
by mistaking the place where I erected it.
Fed. To what purpose have you unfolded
this to me ?
Ford. When I have told you that, I have
told you all. Some say, tliat though she ap¬
pear honest to me, yet in other places she en-
largeth her mirth so far that there is shrewd
construction made of her. Now, Sir John,
here is the heart of my purpose : you are a
gentleman of excellent breeding, admirable
discourse, of great admittance, authentic in
your place and person, generally allowed for
your many war-like, court-like, and learned
preparations.
Fal. O, sir f
Ford. Believe it, for you know it. There
is money ; spend it, spend it; spend more ;
spend ail 1 have ; only give me so much of
your time in exchange of it, as to lay an ami¬
able siege to the honesty of this Ford's wife :
use your art of wooing ; win her to consent to
yon : if any man may, you may as soon as
any.
Fal. Would it apply well to the vehemency
of your affection, that I should win what you
would enjoy? Methiuks you prescribe to
yourself very preposterously. 250
Ford. O, understand my drift. She dwells
so securely on the excellency of her honor,
that the folly of my soul d.ares not present it¬
self : she is too bright to be looked against.
Now, could I come ti> ber with any detection
in my hand, my desires had instance and argu¬
ment to commend themselves ; I could drive
her then from the ward of her purity, her rep¬
utation, her marriage-vow, and a thousand
otlier her defences, which now are too too
strongly embattled against me. What say yoa
to't. Sir John ? 261
Fal. Master Brook, I will first make bold
with your money ; ne.xt, give me your hand {
and last, as I am a gentleman, you shall, if you
will, enjoy Ford's wife.
Ford. O good sir!
Fal. I say yon shall.
Ford. Want no money, Sir John ; you shall
want none.
m
THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. '
[Act ii:
Fal. Want no Mistress Ford, Master Brook;
you shall traut noue. I shall' be with her, I
may tell you, by her own appointment; eiven
as you same in to me, her assistant or go-be'>
tween pai-ted from me ; I say 1 shall be with
her between ten and eleven ; lor at that time
the jealous i-ascally knave her husband will be
forth. Come you to me at night; you shall
know how J speed.
Ford. I am blest in your acquaintance. Do
you know Ford, sir y ' 280
Fal. Hang him, poor cuckoldly knave I I
know him not: yet I wrong him to call him
poor ; they say the jeakms wittolly knave hath
masses of money ; forthe which his wifeseems
to me well-favored. I will use her as the key
bf' the endcoldly rogue's coffer ; and there's
my harvest-home.
Ford. • I would you knew Ford, dr, 'that you
might avoid him if you saw him. '
Fal.' Hang him, mechanical salt-butter
rogue ! 1 will stare him ont of his wits ; I will
awe him with my cudgel: it shall hang like a
meteor o'er the cuckold's horns. Master
Brook, thou shalt know I will predominate
over the peasant, and thou shalt lie with hu
wile. Come to me soon at night. Ford's a
knave, and I will aggravate his style ; thou.
Master Brook, shalt know him for knave and
cuckold. Come to me soou-at night. [Exit.
Ford. What a damned Epicurean rascal is
this ! My heart is ready to crack with im¬
patience. Who says this is improvident jeal¬
ousy ? my wife hath sent to him ; the hour is
fixed; the match is made. Would any man
have thought this ? See the hell of having a
false woman ! My bed shall be abused, my
coffers ransacked, my reputation gnawn at;
and I shall not only receive this villanous
wrong, but stand under the adoption of abom¬
inable terras, and by him that does me this
wrong. Terras 1 names I Amaimon sounds
well ; Lucifer, well; Barbason, well; yet they
are devils' additions, the names of fiends : but
Cuckold ! Wittol!—Cuckold ! the devil him¬
self hath not such a name. Page is an ass, a
secure ass : he will trust his wife ; he will not
be jealous. 'I will rather trust a Fleming -with
my butter. Parson Hugh the Welshman 'with
my cheese, an Irishman with my aqua-vitse
bottle, or a thief to walk my ambling gelding,
than my wife with herself; then she plots,
then she ruminates, then she devises; and
what they think in their hearts they may ef¬
fect, they will break their hearts but they will
effect. God be praised for ray jealousy 1
Eleven o'clock the hour. I will prevent this,
detect my wife, be revenged on Falstaff, and
laugh at Page. I will about it; better three
hours too soon than a minute too late. Fie, fie,
fie 1 cuckold 1 cuckold 1 cuckold I [Exit.
Scene III. Afield near Windsor.
, Enter Cjavs and BfiOBY '
Cains. Jack Bugby - ,
- Rug. Sir 7
Cains. Vat is de clock. Jack ? .
Rug. 'Tis past the hour, sir, tliat Sir Hugo
promised to meet. ,
Cuius. By gar, he has save his soul, dat he
is no come ;he hM pray his Pible well, dat he
is no come : by gar. Jack Bugby, ha is dead
already, if he be come.
Rug. He is wise, sir ; he knew your wor¬
ship would kill him, if he came. U
Cains. By gar, de herring is no dead so as
I vill kill him. Take your rapier. Jack ; I vill
tell yon how I vill kUl him. .
Rug. Alas, sir, I cannot fence.
Cains. Villany, take your rapier.
Rug. Forbear ; here's company.
Enter Host, Shallow, Slekpeb, and Page.
Host. Bless thee, bully doctor!
' ShaU Save you, Master Doctor Caius !
Page. Kow, good master doctor 1 20
Slen. Give you good morrow, sin.
Caius. Vat be all yon, one, two, tree, four,
come for ?
f Host. To see thee fight, to see thee foin, to
see thee traverse; to see thee heie, to see thee
there ; to see thee pass thy punto, thy stock,
thy reverse, thy distance, thy moutant Is he
dead, my Ethiopian 7 is he dead, my Fran¬
cisco? h^ buliy ! What says my Aesculapius?
my Galen ? my heart of elder ? ha ! is he dead,
biiUy stale ? is be dead ? 31
Caius. By gar, be is de coward Jack priest
of de vorld ; he is not show his face.
Host. Thou art a Castalion-King-UriuaL
Hector of Greece, my boy !■
Cains. I pray you, bear vitness that me have
stay ux or seven, two, tree hours for him,
and he is no come.
Shot. He is the wiser man, master doctor -.
he is a curer of souls, and you a curer of bod¬
ies ; if you should fight, you go against the
hair of your professions. Is it not true. Mas¬
ter Page ? '
. Page. Master Shallow, you have yourself
been a great fighter, though now a man of
peace.
Shod. Bodykins, Master Page, tiiough I now
be old and of the peace, if I see a sword out,
my finger itches to make one. Though we are
justices and doctors and churchmen, Master
Page, we have some salt of our youth in us ;
we are the sous of women. Master Page. 61
Page. 'Tis true. Master Shallow.
Shod. It will be found so, Master Page.
Master Doctor CaiuH. I am come to fetch you
home. I am sworn of the peace ; you have
showed' yourself a wise physician, and Sir
Hugh bath shown himself a wise and patient
churchman. You must go with me, master
doctor.
Host. Pardon, guest-justice. A word, Moun-
seur Mockwater. fifi
Codns. Mock-vater t vat is dat 7
i Host. Mock-water, in oiw English tongu%
Iseialor, boBy-r • > i- . _
9c Wis 4 J|
tHE MBm'f WIVES' OF .WINDSOR.
621
Catui. By gJir, den,l'liilveas ninyh mo^-
vater as' de 'EngUshman. Seurvy jack-dog'
yriest! by gar, me tW cut Bis ears. ' " " '' ■
Host. ' He will clapper-claW theei tiebttj',
bully. ' ' 1 ' < ; .
Cuiua. ' Clapper-de-claw ! is dat?
Host. That is, he wiH make thee amends.'70'
Caius. By gar, -me do look he shall clapper-
de-daWfne lot, by gar,'me vUl have it. i
Host. And I will provoke him to't, or let
him wage 1 f.., . J . it.
Cains. Me tank you for dat. , , , ■
Host. And, moreover, bully,—but first, mas¬
ter guest, and Master Page, and eke Cavaieiro
Slender, go you through the town to Frog-,
more. [Aside to them.
. Paye.' i Sir.Hu^ is there, is he ? ,
Host. He is there: see what humor he,is
in *, and I will bring the doctor about by tlie
fields. Will it do well ?
Shot. We will do it. J fn,' T . . ,
Page)/Stud., and Slen. Adieu, good master
doctor. [Exeunt Page, Shw., and Slen.
Caius. By gar, me vill.kiU de priest; fpr^
he speak for a jack-an-ape to Anne Page.
l&st. Let-himdiO': pheathe thy.impatience,
throw cold water on thy choler : go almut tlie
fields with me. through Frogmore : I will bring
thee where Mistress Anne Page is, at a farm¬
house a-feasting ; and thou shalt nvuo .her.
Cried 1 aim-? said I well ?
Caius. By gar, me dank you for dat : by,
gar, I love you ; and I shall procure-a you de-
good guest, de earl, de knight, de. Iqrds, de,
gentlemen, my patients.
Host. For the which I will be tliy adversary
toward Anne Page Said I well ? , ,
Caius. By gar, 'tis good ; veil saidr fOQ
Host. Let us wag, i£en. - '
Caius. Come at my heels. Jack Bugby.
[Exeunt,
. l II II -I •.
, ACT ra.
' I. : I .
Scene I. Afield near Ftogmer^. ' • '
i ■ Enter Sir Huwh Evans end Simei/E.
•'1,4 I • I
I Evans.' 1 pray you now, good Master Slen-
der*s serving-man,'and friend Simple-by your
name, which way have you looked for Master
Caius, that calls himself doctor of physic ? ,
vSim, Marry, sir, tlie pittie-ward, the park-
ward, every way,; old Windsor pwayj and'
every way b.ut the town way.
Evans. I. most feliemently desite,.you you
will also look that way. "
Sim. 1 will, sir. ' ' [Exit.
'Evans. Pless my soul, now full of chollors
T arn, and trempQng of mind! 1 shall.be glad
if he have deceived ihe..' How. melancholies I
am 11 will knoit his urihals about his knave's
costard when I have good opportunities for the
oAr." Tlefes my soul I • ' [Sings.
' 'I To shallow rivers, to whose falls
' -Melodioas birds siugs madrigals ;
Tltere will we make our.peds of roses,
And a thoiisaitd fragrant posies. ,20
To shallow—
Mercy on me ! P hayo a great dispositions to
cry. . • ■ [Sings.
Meli^ious birds sing madrigals— ,
■Wheii as I sat in Pabylbn—
, And a tliousaud vagtam posies.
... ' To.shallow&c., ' ,
. I Jfc-enter Simple.
Sim. Yonder he is coming, this way. Sit'
Hugh. . ' '
Evans. He's welcome.
' To shallow rivers, to whose falls-
Heaven prosiierthe right! What weapons isi
he ? »■ . ■ t
I Simi 'No weapons, sir. There comes my
master, Master Shallow, and another geutle-i
man, from' Frogmore, over Uie stile, this'
way.
EimnS.' Pray you, give nie my gown ; or
else keep it in your'arms.
'Enter.VAOS, Shallow, and Slender. .
. ' sAal. How now. master Parson ? Good
morrow, good. Sir Hugli. Keep a gamester'
from the dice, and a good, student from bis
book, and it is wouderfiiL , ,
Slen. [Aside] Ah. sweet Anne Page i 40
Page. 'Save you, good Sir Hugh ! ,
Evans. !Pless you frojm his mercy sake, gll
of you I i > .
' Shal. What, the sword and the word! do
yoa study tJiein both, master parson.?
' Page. And youtlifnl still ! in .your doublet'
and hose tliis raw rheumatic day!
Evans. There is reasons and causes for it. ,
Pof/e. We are come to you to do » good
, ofiice, master parson. , 50
Evans, Fei.v well : what is it v
■ ' Page. Yonder is a most rcjvereud gentle¬
man, who, belike having received wrong by
some person, is at most odds with .his own
' gravity and patience that ever you saw.
Shal. 1 liave lived fourscore years and up-
vrard; 1 never heard a man of his place,
gravity and learning, rsp wide of hisjown
spect, ,
Evans. .Wnatishe?
Page. 1 think you know liim ; Master
: Dmitoir Caius, the renowned French plijsician.'
Evans. Cot's will, and his pas.sion of my
heart! I-had as lief you would tell me of a
I mess of porridge. , , ' . •
Page. 'Why ?
. Evans. He has.po more knowledge in Hibo-
. crates end Gaien,—and he is a knave besides ;
* a cowardly knave as you would desires to be
I acauainted'withal.' i - '
I Page. . 1 wan'ant y<m, }ie's tba man should
' fight witl, him. ' ^ 71
1 Sfert.' 'O street Anne Paget ^ '>
622
SmL It appears so by his weapons. Keep
them asunder: here comes Doetmr Caios.
Etder Host, Caiits, and Rugby.
Page. Nay, good master parson, keep in
your weairan.
Shod. So do you, good master doctor.
Hoet. Disarm them, and let them Question;
let tliem keep their limbs whole and nack our
English. 80
Vame. I pray you, let-a me speak a word
with your ear. Vherefore vill you not meet-a
me ?
Evans. [Aside to Caius} Pray you, use your
patience : in good time.
Cains. By gar, you are de coward, de Jack
do^ John ape.
Evans. [Aside to Caius] Pray you, let us
not be laughing-stocks toother men 8 humors ;
1 desire you in frieudsliip, and I will ono way
or other make you amends. [Aloud] 1 will
knog your urinals about your knave s cogs-
comb tor missing your meetings and appoint¬
ments.
Caius. Diable! Jack Rugby,—mine host de
Jarteer,—liave I not stay lor him to kill him ?
have I not, at de place 1 did appoint ?
Evans. As 1 am a Christians soul now, look
you, this is the place appointed : I'll be judge¬
ment by mine host of the Garter.
Host. Peace, 1 say, Gallia and Gaul, French
and Welsh, soul-curer and body-curer t 100
Caius. Ay dat is very good ; excellent.
Host. Peace, I say ! hear mine host of the
Garter. Am I politic ? am I subtle ? am t a
Machiavel ? Shall I lose my doctor ? no ; he
gives me the in>tious and the motions. Shall I
lose my parson, my priest, my Sir Hugh ? no;
he gives me the proverbs and the iio-verbs.
Give me thy hand, terrestrial; so. Give me
thy hand, celestial; so. Boys of art, I have
deceived you both ; I have directed you to
wrong places : your hearts are mighty, your
skins are whole, and let bunit sack be the issue.
Come, lay their swords to pawn. Follow me,
lads of peace ; follow, follow, follow.
Ehal. Trust me, a mad host Follow, gen¬
tlemen, follow.
A'toi. [Aside] O sweet Anne Page!
[Exeunt Shal., Slen., Page, and Host.
Caius. Ha, do I perceive dat? have you
make-a de sot of us, ha, ha ?
Evans This is well; be has made us Ms
vlouting-stog. I desire you tliat we may be
friends ; and let us knog our pir.iiis together to
be revenge on this same scalf, scurvy, cogging
companion, thehost of the Garter.
Caius. By gar, with all my heart He prom¬
ise to bring me where is Anne Page ; by gar,
be deceive me too.
Evans. Well, I will smite his noddles. Pray
yon, follow [Exeutit.
Scene II. A street.
Enter Mistress Page and Bcmiir.
Jfrs. Page. Nay, keep your way, Uttlegnl-
[Act lu-
lant; you were wont to be a follower, but now
you are a leader. Wbetlier had you rather
le.ad mine eyes, or eye your master s heels ?
Bob. I had rather, forsooth, go before you
like a man than follow hipi like a dwarf.
3frs. Page. O, you are a flattering boy:
now I see you'll M a courtier.
Enter Ford.
Ford. Well met. Mistress Page. Whithei
go you ? 10
Mrs. Page. Truly, sir, to see your wife. Is
she at home 7
Ford, Ay ; and as Idle as she nay hang
together, for want of company. I think, if
your husbands were dead, you two would
marry.
Mrs. Page. Be sure of that—two otlier hus¬
bands.
Ford. Where had you this pretty weather¬
cock ?
Mrs. Page. I cannot tell what the dickens
his name is my husband had him of. What do
you call your knight's name, sirrah ? 21
Bob. Sir John FaL«taff.
Ford. Sir John Falstaff I
Mrs. Page. He, he; 1 can never hit on's
name, Tliere is such a league between my
good man and hel Is your wife at home
indeed?
Ford. Indeed she is.
Mrs. Page. By your leave, sir : I am sick
till I see her. \Exeunl Mrs. Page and BMn.
Ford. Has Page any brains ? hath he any
eyes f hath he any thinking ? Sure, they
sleep ; he hath no use of them. Why, this boy
will carry a letter twenty mile, as easy as a
cannon will shoot point-blank twelve score.
He pieces out his wife's inclination ; he gives
her folly motion and advantage : and now she's
going to my wife, and Falstaff's buy with her.
A man ma.v hear this shower sing in the wind.
And Falstaff's boy with her 1 Good plots, they
are laid ; and our revolted wives share damna¬
tion together. Well; I will take him, then
torture my wife, pluck the borrowed veil of
modesty from the so seeming Mistress Page,
divulge Page himself for a secure and wilful
Actseon ; and to these violent proceedings all
my neighbors shall cry aim. [Cfocf; heard.]
The clock gives me my cue, and my assurance
bids me search : there I shall And'Falstaff : I
shall be rather praised for this than mocked ;
for It is as positive as the earth is firm that
Falstaff b there : 1 will go. 50
Enter Page, Shallow, Slender. Host, Sib
Hugh Evans, Caius, and Rugby.
Shal., Page, Ac. Well met. Master Ford.
Ford. Trust me, a good knot : I Itove go^
cheer at home; and I pray you all go with me.
Shai. 1 must excuse myself. Master Ford.
Slen. And so must I, sir : we have appoint¬
ed to dine with Mbtress Anne, and I would
nc. breMc with her for more money Hiap I'O
speak ot
SboL We have Ungered about a natch be-
THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
SowBiii.l THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
tii%en Anne Pae« and my oottsin Slender^ and
litis day we shml have our answer. 60
Sten. Ihiq^wlhave your good will, fadier
Page. ,
Pojgre. Ton have, Master Slender; I stand
wholly for you : but my wife, master doctor,
is for you altogether.
Cuius. Ay, he-gar ; and de maid is love-a
me : my nursh-a Quickly tell me so mush.
}Io*t. What say you to young Master
Feuton 1 he capers, he dances, he has eyes of
youth, he writes verses, he speaks holiday, he
sm^ April and May : he will carry't, he will
carry't; tis in his buttons ; he will carry't. 71
Page. Not by my consent, I promise you.
The gentleman is of no having : he kept com-
pauv with the wild prince ana Poins ; he is of
tjo high a region ; he knows too much. No,
he shall not knit a knot in his fortunes with the
finger of my substance: if he take her, let him
hike her simply ; the wealth 1 have waits on
my consent, and my consent goes net that way.
'Ford. 1 beseech you heartily, some of you
go home with me to dinner: besides your
dieer, you shall have sport ; I will show yeu a
monster. Master doctor, you shall go ; so shall
you. Master Page ; and you. Sir Hugh.
8bal. Well, fare you well: we shall liave
the freer wooing at Master Page's.
[Exeunt EkaL andSletk
Caiut. Go home, John Rugby ; 1 come anon.
[£x<( Rugby.
Host. Farewell, my hearts : I will to my
honest knight Falstaff, and drink canary with
him. [Exit.
ford. [Aside] I think I shall drink in piiie
wine first with him; I'll make him dimce.
Will you go, gentles 7
All. Have with you to see this monster.
[Exeunt.
Scene III. A room in Ford's house.
Enter Mistress Ford and Mistress Pace.
Mrs. Ford. What, John ! What, Robert!
Mrs. Page. Quickly, quickly I is the buck-
basket—
Mrs. Ford. J warrant. What, Robin, I say !
Enter Servants with a basket.
Mrs. Page. Come, come, come. •
Mrs. Ford. Here, set it down.
Mrs. Page. Give your men the charge ; we
must be brief.
Mrs. Ford. Marry, as I told you before, John
and Robert, be ready here haid by in the brew-
house : and when 1 suddenly call you, come
forth, and without any pause or staggering
take this basket on your snonlders : that done,
trudge with it hi all haste, and carry it among
the whitsters in Datchst-mead, and there
empty it in the muddy ditch elose by the
Thames side.
Mrs. Page. Ton will do it?
Mrs. Ford. I ha' told them over and over;
Giey lock no direction. Be gtme^ and come
e2s
when you are called. [Exeunt Servants. 20
Mrs. Page. Here comes little Robin.
Enter Robin.
Mrs. Ford. How now, my eyas-mnsket 1
what news with you 7
Rob. My master. Sir John, is come in at
yonr back-door. Mistress Ford, and requests
your company.
Mrs. Page. You little Jack-a-Leut, have you
been true to us ? '
Rob. Ay, I'll be sworn. My master knows
not of your being here and hath threatened to
put me into everlasting liberty if I tell you of
it; for he swears he'll turn me away.
Mrs, Page. Thou'rtagoodlniy : this secrecy
of thine shall be a tailor to thee and shall make
thee a new doublet and hose. I'll gohidc me.
Mrs. Ford, Do so. Go tell thy master I am
alone. [Exit Robin.] Mistress Page, remem¬
ber you your cue.
Mrs. Page. I warrant thee ; if I do not act
it, hiss me. [Exit. 41
Mrs. Ford. Go to, then : we'll use this un¬
wholesome humidity, this gross watery pum-
pion ; we'll teach him to know turtles from
jays.
Enter Falstaft.
Fal. Have I caught thee, my heavenly
jewel 7 Why, now let me die, for I have Uvea
long enough : this is the period of my ambi¬
tion : O this Uessed hour !
Mrs. Ford. O sweet Sir John !
Fal. Mistress Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot
prate. Mistress Ford. Now shall I sin in my
wish : I would thy husband were dead : I'U
speak it before the best lord ; I would make
tnee my lady.
Mrs. Ford. I your lady. Sir John ! alas, I
should be a pitiful lady !
FaL Let the court of France show me such
another. 1 see how thine eye would emulate
the diamond ; thou hast the right arched
beauty of the hrow that becomes the ship-tire,
the tire-valiant, or any tire of Venetian admit¬
tance. 61
Mrs. Ford. A plain kerchief. Sir John : my
brows become noGiing else ; nor that well
neither.
Fal. By the Lord, thou art a traitor to say
so: thou wouldstmake an absolute courtier ;
and the firm fixture of thy foot would give an
excellent motion to thy gait in a semi-circled
farthingale. 1 see what thou wert, if Fortune
thy foe were not. Nature thy friend. Come,
thou canst not hide it. 71
Mrs. Ford. Believe me, there is no such
thing in me.
Fdl. What made me love thee 7 let that
persuade thee there's something extraordinary
iii thee. Come, I cannot cog and say thou art
this and that, like a many of these llspi^
bawthom-bnds, that come like women in
men's apparel, and smell like Bncklersbnry is
simple time ; I cannot: but I love thee ; nona
but thee: and thou deservest it, g]
624 THE MERRT
MrH. For^. Do not betray nie, sir. ' I feax
you lov« Misti%93 Pnge. • "' ' i . ■
Fal. Thou luighfajt as well say I love to
walk by tlie Qouuter-gate, which is as hateful
to me as the reck of a lime*kihu ,
Mrs, Ford.^ Well, heaven kuows how |[ l<?ve
you ; and you shall one day find k.
Fal. Keep in that mind ; Til deserve it.
4frs. Ford. | Kay, I must tell you, so you
do; or else 1 could not be in that mind. ' 91
Fob. Mistress Ford, Mistress Ford!
here's Mistress Ti^e at the door, sweathigaud
blowing and looking wildly, and would needs
speak with you presently. ^
! Fal. She shall not see me ; ^ will ensconce
me behind the arras., ,
Mrs. Ford. Pray you, do so : she's a very
puling woman. [Fulsiaff hides (umself.
Ri-enter Mistress Page and l&mik '
What's the matter ?, how now ! ioo
') Mrs. Page. O Mistress Ford, what have
you done? You're shamed, you're overthrown,
you're undone for ever ! ,
Mi's. Fordf. What'sthe matter, good Mistress
Page ?
Mrs. Page. O well-a-day, Mistress Ford !
having an honest man to your husband, to
give him such cause of suspicion !
Mi-s. Fdrd.' What cause of suspicion ?' 'i
Mrs. Page. ' 'Wliat cause of suspicion ? Out
upon you ! how am I mistook in you! Ill
Mrs. Ford. Why, alas, what's the matter ?
Mrs. Page. Yoiir liuslKind's coming hither,
woman, with all the ofiieers in Windsor, to
search for a gentleman that he says is here
now in the house by j'our consent, to take an
ill advantage of his absence: you are undone.'
' Mrs. Ford. 'Tis not so, I lu^ie.
Mrs. Page. Pray heaven it' be not so, that
you have such a man here ! but 'tis most cer¬
tain your huslxind's coming, with half Wind¬
sor at his heels, to search for such a one. I
come before to tell you. If you Icnow yourself
clear, why-, i am glad of it; but if yon have a
friend liere, convey, convey him out Be not
amazed ; call all your senses' to you ; defend
your reputatioi), or bid farewell to your good
life for ever.
Mrh. Ford. r. What shall I do ? ■ There is a
gentleman my dear friend; aud' 1 fear not
mine own shame so much as his peril: I had
rather than a thousand pound he were out of
the house. ' ■ ■ i .
Mrk. Page. For shame! never stand ' you
had rather' and ' you had rather your hus--
band's here at hand ; bethink you of some
conveyauce: in the liouse you cannot hide
him. O, how have you deceived me! Look,
here is a basket; if be be of any leasouablo
stature, he may creep iu liere ; and tlirow
foul linen upon him, as if it were going to
buckilig: or—it is whitiiig-time—send Mm. by
your two men to Datchet-mead. • ' 141
Mrs. Ford. He's too big td go iU tiiere<
WhatshaUldd? - ■ t
WINDSOR. [Aornif
■ F'uf.'• rC'wifnji fofward\ Let'bie eee'L loH
bie see't, O, let me see't i I'll tri, I'll im Fob
low yodr friend's couns^.' Til in. '
Mrs. Page. What, Sir John Falstaff! Aid
these ;four letters, fenight ?• < j i' i '' . f
' Fal. I love thee." Help me away,'' Let tne
creep in liere. Til never— ■ i > 150
'' [Gets imldth» basket; theif cover him
' 1 with foul linem
Mrs. Page. Help to cover your master, boy.
Call your men. Mistress Ford. You diibem4
bliug hnighti' . j '
Mrs. Ford. What, John f Robert! John !
[Exit Robin.
Re-enter Servants.
Go take up these clothes here quickly. Where's
the cowl-staff? look, how you drumble! Carry
tiiem to the laundress in Datchel>mead i
quickly, gome. , ^ ,
. Enter Ford; Page, Caius, and Sis Hugh
Evans. i ,
Ford. Pray you, come near: if I suspect
without cause, why then uuake sport at me ;
then let me be ydivT jest; 1 deserve it How
BOW ! whither bear you this? ■ ' i
Sero. To the kuindress, forsooth.
■ Mi's. Ford Why, what have you to do
whither tliey bear it 1 Yiou were .bWit meddla
with buck-'washiug.
Ford. Buck ! J would I could wash myself
of the buck ! Buck, buck, buck 1 Ay, buck; I
warrant you, buck ; and of the season too, it
shali appear. [Exeunt servants with the bas¬
ket.] Geiit'.emuu, I have dreamed to-night ;i
Til tell you-my dream. Here, beie, here be
my key.'?: ascend ray oltambers ; search, seek,
find out : I'll warrant we'll unkennel tlie fox.
Let me stop this way first [Locking the door.]
So, now kincape.
Page. Good Master Ford, be contented: you
wrong yoniseif too much. '1 ' ''
Ford. True, Master Pagf.. Up, geutlemeu:
you sliall see sport auon : follow me. geutie-
men. ■ ■ ■ ' [Exit. 180
Evans. This is fery fantastical humors and
jealousies. . ■
Caids. By gar, ^tis no the fashion of France;
it is not jealous in France.
Page. Nay, follow him", gentlemen ; see the
issue of his search. >
[Ewunt Page, Cuius, and Evans.
Mrs. Page., Is there not a double excellency
in this? < I
Mrs. Ford. 1 know not which pleases me
better,- that my husband is deceived, oi; Sir
John. I .. i
. Mrs. Page. What a taking was he iu when
your.liusbwd asked who was in tlie basket!
Mrs. Ford. I am lialf afraid be will liava
need of washing ; so throwing him into tha
water will do Mm a benefit. .. i .
Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest rascal! {
would ail of the same stiain were in tiie same
distress- i . j i . ' i ' . o
■ Mrs.JFard, {think, my hnsbaa^ lyitb soms
SOEKl/lV.]
■TSE 'lUEMY' WiVEfi oP"'
626
special suspicion-'Of FalstSffs lieing b«re ; Tor
4 never saw Irim so '^osa iu his j^iousy tiU
VOW' ' ' ' J' ' I . I I- ( I ■ I. .1<
Mrs. Page. I will lay a jdot to try that;
and we will yet hawetnore tricks with Falstaff:
his dissolute disease will scarce obey this med¬
icine'. ' ' ' ' ' '
Mrs. Ford. Shall we send that foolish car¬
rion, Mistress Quickly, to him, and excuse his
throwing itito the Water j and give him another
hope, to betray him to another punishment ?'
Mrs. Page. We will do it: let him be sent
for to-morrow,| eight o'clock, to have amends.
Se-enter fosD, PAon, Caids, giid Sir Hooq
•Evans, i ,
'• Ford. I cannot find him ^ majr betUe knav^
bragged of that he could not boihpass.
• Mrs. Page. • [Aside, to Mrs. ^'ordl Heard yoii
that? I I II 1 Jr,, )
Mrs. Ford. Yon use me well. Master Ford,
do you ? • 1,11
Ford. Ay, I do so. ,
MrsrFordi 'Heaven make you better than
your thoughts I
Ford. Amen! , ,220
Mrs. Page. You do yourself mighty Wrohg,
Master Ford., '
Ford. Ay, ay ;' 1 must bear it. i ' '
Feans. If there be any pody in the house,
and in the chambers, and in the cu<Ters,and iu
the presses, heaven forgive my sins at the,day
of judgment! ' '
Vains. By gar, nor I too : there is no bod¬
ies. ' "
Page. Fie, fie. Master Ford!' are hot
asliamed ? What spirit, what'devil suggests
this imagination ? I would hot ha' your dis-
terajier iu this kind for the wealth of Windsor
Castle.
Ford. "Tis my fault. Master Page:' I shffer
for it. 1 ',
Evans. You suffer lor a. pad conscience :
^our wife is as honest a'''omans as I wili' de¬
sires among five thousand, and five hundred
too. , I ,1 \
Cams. By gar, I see 'tis an honest woman.
Ford. Well, I promised you a diunm:. Come,
come, walk in the Park ; I pray you,"pardon
me ; 1 will hereafter make known to you why
I'have done this. Come, wife; come,.Mistress
Page.^ I pray you, pardon me; pray heartily,
pardon me , ' ', ' '
Page. Let's go' in; gentlemen ; 'but, trust
me, we'll mock him, 1 do invite you to-mor¬
row morning to my house to breakfast: after,
'we'll awbirding together ; 1 have a fine hawk
lor the bush. . Shall it be so 7 > ' i
• Fiord. Any thing. ■ j. ,, i
' Evans. If there is one, I shall -make two ht!
the company. ' ' • ■ i " < 251
Caims If dere be One or two; I shall makei-a
thetnrd. i ■ , . m
Ford. Pray yow, go. Master Page. '
Evans. 1 pray you now, remembrance to- ^
KHwrow on the leuOy knave^ mine host
'Ciimw; I 'Dat'isigood ; 'by gar/'with aU niy
'heart! i • i c
EvaavS. A lousy knave,' t6 have his gibes
and his mockeries ! \Exevnt. 2(iO
,i ( . I ' I
, iSgbneIV-. a poom-•irt'Page's Ao«se.
Enter Fenton and AnnR Page.
Fent. . I see I cannot gej thy father's love ;
Therefore no mor^turu me tp him, sweet Nan.
Anne. Alas,, how tljen ? ''
Fent^, , ' Why,, thou must be thyself.
He doth object l ara .too great of birth ; . |
And that, my state being gall'd with ipy ex-
.pense, , ,i
I seek to heal it only by his wealth :
Besides these, other bars he lays before me,
fdy riots past, my wild societies ;
And tells ,inc 'tis a thing im'possible
I should love thee but as a property . , 10
Anne. May be he tells you true.
, Fleijt.,, No, heaven so speed me in my time
to Come!
Albeit 1 wilt confess thy father's wealth
Was the first motive that I woo'd thee, Anne ;
Yet, wooing thee, I foiind thee of more value
Thau stamps in gold or sums in sealed hags ;
And 'tis the very riches of thyseif
That now I aim at. .
Anne. Gentle Master Fenton,
Yet seek my father's love ; still seek it, sir:, ,
If opportunity at^ humblest suit 20
Cannot attain it, why, them—hark you hither!
[They converse apart.
Enter Shallow, Slender, and Mistress
iQuicklv.
Shat. Bteak their talk. Mistress Quickly :
my kinsman shall speak for himself. '
h'len. I'll make a shaft or a bolt out: 'slid,
'tis but venturing ■' i • '
&'/tal. Be not dismayed.
S/eit. I No, she shall not disfnay mC: I care
not for that, but that 1 am afeard.
Quick. Hark ye ; Master'' Slender would|
Sp^k a word with you. ' ■ ' ' aOi
Anne. 1 come to him. [Aside} This is my
father's choice. ' - i '
O, what a world of vile ilMavOr'd faults
Looks handsome in three hundred pounds
a-year I
Quick. ' And how does good Master Fenton?
Pray you, a word with you. '
tikal. She's coming'!'to her, COS. O boy,
thou hadst a fattier ! ' ' '
' 6'fen. 1 had a father. Mistress Anne ; my
uncle can tell yon good jests of him. Pfay
you, uncle, tell Mistress Anne the jest, how
my father stole two geese out of a pen, good
uiicle. I ' ' 41
hhal. Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you.
Slen. Ay, that 1 do ; as well as I love any
woman in Gloucestershire. ' •
Shal. He will maintain you like a gentle-'
woman. ' ' • i • II
Elm. Ay, that T will; come cut and long-
tail, under the degree of a squire.
626
THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
[ACT III.
Shal. He will make yoashnudred and fifty
pounds jointure. 50
Anm. Good Master Shallow, let him woo
for Iiimseif.
ShaL Marry, I thank you for it; I thank
you for that good comfort She calls you,
coz : rii leave you.
Anne. Now, Master Slender,—
, Slen. Now, good Mistress Anne,—
Anne. What is your will ?
Slen. My will! 'od's heartlings, tliafs a
pretty jest indeed 1 I ne'er made my will yet,
I thank heaven ; I am not such a sickly crea¬
ture, I give lieaven praise. 62
Anne. I mean. Master Slender, what would
you with me ?
Slen. Truly, for mine own part, I would
little or nothing with you. Your father and
my uncle hath made motions: if it be my
luck, so ; if not, happy man be his dole ! They
can tell you how things go better than I can :
you may ask your father ; here he comes. 70
Enter Pagb and Mistress Paob.
Page. Now, Master Slender : love liini,
daughter Anne.
Why, how now what does Master Fenton
here ?
You wrong me, sir, thus stiil to haunt my
house:
I told you, sir, my daughter is disp<wed of.
Fent. ■ Nay, Master Page, be not impatient.
Jfrs. Page. Good Master Fenton, come not
to my child.
Page. She is no match for yon.
Fent. Sir, will you hear me ?
Page. No, good Master Fenton.
Come, Master Shallow ; come, sou Slemder, in.
Knowing my mind, you wrong me. Master
Fenton. (Exetmt Page^hal.i and Slen.
QuicA;. Speak to Mistress Page,
/"enf. • Good Mistress Page, lor thatl love
your daughter
In such a righteous fashion as I do.
Perforce, against all checks, rebukes and
manners,
1 must advance the colors of my love
And not retire : let me have your good will.
Anne. Good mother, do not marry me to
yond fool.
Mr». Page. I mean it not; I seek you a
better husband.
uiek. That's my ma.ster, master doctor,
nne. Alas, I had rather be set quick i' the
earth > SO
And bowl'd to death with turnips I
Mrs. Page. Come, trouble not yourself.
Good Master Fenton,
I will not be your friend nor enemy :
My daughter will I question how she loves
you.
And as i find her, so am I affected.
TiU then farewell, sir : she must needs go in ;
Her father will be angry.
Feni. Farewell, gentle mistress: farewell,
Ifan. LExeunt Met, and 4nn«.
Quick. This is my doing, now : ' Hay/
said I, ' will you cast away yotu: child on a
fool, and a physician ? Lcmk on Master Fenr
ton ;' this is my doing.
Fent. I thank thee; and I pray thee, once
to-night
Give my sweet Nan this ring : there's for thy
pains.
Quick. Now heaven send thee good for¬
tune 1 [Exit Fenton.] A kind heart he hath:
a woman would run through fire and water
for such a kind heart. But yet 1 would my
master had Mistress Anne; or I would Master
Slender had her ; or, in sootli, I would Master
Fenton had her : I will do what I can for them
ail three ; for so I have promised, and I'll be
as good as my word; but speciously for
M.aster Fenton. Well, I must of another errand
to Sir John Faistaff from my two mistresses :
what a beast am I to slack it I [Exit.
ScBNB v. A room in the Garter Inn,
Enter Falstaff and Bardolfh.
Fal. Bardolph, I say,—
Bard. Here, sir.
Fal. Go fetch me a quart of sack ; put a
toa.st in't. [Exit Bard.] Have I lived to lie
carried in a basket, like a barrow of butcher's
offal, and to be thrown in the Thames ? Well,
if I be served such another trick, I'll have my
brains ta'en out and buttered, and give them
to a dog for a new-year's gift. The rogues
slightea me into the river with as little remorse
as they would have drowned a blind bitch's
puppies, fifteen i' the litter: and you may know
by my size tluit I have a kind of alacrity in
sinking ; if the bottom were as deep as hell, I
should down. I had been drowned, but that
the shore was shelvy and shallow,—a death
that I abhor; for ttie water swells a man ; and
what a thing should I have been when I liad
been swelled! I should have been a mountain
of mummy.
Re-enter Babdolpr with sack.
Bard. Here's Mistress Quickly, sir, to speak
with you. 21
Fat. Come, let me pour in some sack to tlie
Thames water ; for my belly's as cold as if I
had swallowed snowballs for pills to cool the
reins. Call her in.
Bard. Come in, woman !
Enter Mistbbss Quicklt.
1
Quick. By your leave ; I cry you meicy :
give your worship good morrow.
Fal. Take away these chalices. Go brew
me a pottle of sack finely. so
Bard. With eggs, sir ?
Fal. Simple of itself ; I'll no pullet-sperm
in my brewage. [Exit Bardolph.] How now 1
Quick. Marry, sir, I come to your worsliip
from Mistress Ford.
Fal. Mistreea Ford 1 { twTe bad ford
SCEXK v.]
THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
m
enough ; I vm thrown into the ford ; I have
my uelly full of ford.
<iuiek. Alas the day t good heart, that was
not her fault; she does so take on with her
men ; they mistook their erection. 41
Fal. So did I mine, to build upon a foolish
woman's promise.
Qui'cit. Well, she laments, sir, for It, that
It would yearn your heart to see It. Her hus¬
band goes this momhiga-birdlng ; she desires
you once more to come to her between eight
and nine: I must carry her word quickfy :
she'll make you amends, I warrant you.
Fal. Well, I will yisit her : tell her so ; and
bid he^ think what a man Is : let her consider
his frailty, and then judge of my merit. 52
^ick. 1 will tell her.
Fal. Do so. Between nine and ten, sayest
thou ?
Quick. Eight and nine, sir.
Fal. Well, be gone ; 1 will not mUs her.
Qut'cifc. Peaces with you, sir. [Exit.
Fal. I mar%-el I hear not of Master Brook ;
he sent me word to stay within ; 1 like his
money well. O, here he comes. bO
^nter Ford.
Fnrd. Bless yon, sir !
Fal. Now, master Brook, you come to know
what hatli passed between me and Ford's
wife ?
Ford. That, Indeed, Sir John, Is my busi¬
ness.
Fal. Master Brook, I will not lie to you : I
was at her house the hour slie appointed me.
Ford. And sped you, sir?
Fid. Very lU-favoredl^ Master Brook.
Ford, How so, sir ? Did she change her
determination ? 70
Fal. No, master Brook; but the peaking
Cornnto her husband, Master Brook, dwelling
In a continual 'larum of jealousy, comes me In
the Instant of our encounter, after we had em¬
braced, kissed, protested, and, as it were,
spoke the prologue of our comedy ; and at his
heels a ratmle of his companions, thither pro¬
voked and Instigated by his dlstem|)er, and,
forsoothr to soarch his house for his wife's
love.
Ford. What, while, you were there ? 80
Fal. While I was there.
Ford. And did he search for yon, and could
not find you ?
Fal. You shall hear. As good luck would
have It, comes In one Mistress Page; gives
intelligence of Ford's approach ; and, in her
invention and Ford's wife's distraction, they
conveyed me into a buck-basket.
Ford. A buck-basket 1
Fal. By the Lord, a buck-basket! rammed
me In with foul shirts and«mocks, socks, foul
stockings, greasy napkins; that. Master
Brook, there was the rankest compound- of
vlllanons smell that ever offended nostril.
Ford. And how long lay you there ?
Fal. Nay, you dialT hear, Master Brook,
what I have suffered to bring this woman to
evil for your good. Being thus crammed in
the basket, a couple of Ford's knaves, his
hinds, were called forth by their mistress to
earry me in tlie name of foill clothes to
Datchet-lane: they took me on their shoulders;
met the jealous kiuve their master in the door,
who asked them once or twice what they had
in their basket: I quaked lor imr, lest the
lunatic knave would have seanhed it; but
fate, ordaining he should be a cuckold, held
his hand. Well: on went he for asearch, and
away went I for foul clothes. But mark tiie
sequel. Master Brook : 1 suffered the pangs of
three several deaths ; first, an Intolerable
fright, to be detected with a jealous rotten
bell-wether; next, to be compassed, like a
good bilbo. In the circumference of a peck, hilt
to point, heel to head ; and then, to be stopped
in, like a strong distillation, with stinking
clothes that fretted In their own grease: think
of that, — a man of my kidney,—think of
that,—that am as subject to heat as butter ; a
man of continual dissolution and thaw: It was
a miracle to scape suffocation. And In the
height of this bath, when 1 was more than half
stewed in grease, like a Dutch dish, to be
thrown Into the Thames, and cooled, glowing
hot, in that surge, like a horse-shoe ; think of
that,—hissing hot,—think of that, Master
Lrook.
cord. In good sadness, sir, I am sorry that
for my sake you have suffered all this. My
suit then is desperate; you'll undertake her
no more ?
Fal. Master Brook, I will be thrown into
Etna, as I have been into Thames, ere I will
leave her thus. Her husband is this morning
gone a-birding : I have received from her an¬
other embassy of meeting ; 'twlxt eight and
nine Is the hour. Master Brook.
Ford. 'Tis past eight hlready, sir. •
Fal. Is It ? 1 will then address me to my
appointment. Come to me at your convenient
leisure, and you shall know how 1 speed ; and
the conclusion shall be crowned with your en¬
joying her. Adieu. You shall have her,
Master Brook ; Master Brook, yo'd shall cuck¬
old Ford. [Exit.
Ford. Hum ! ha ! Is this a vision ? is this
a dream ? do I sleep ? Master Ford, awake !
awake. Master Ford ! there's a holq made In
your best coat, Master Ford. This 'tis to be
married I this 'tis to have linen and buck-
baskets ! Well, I will proclaim myself what
1 am : I will now tiike the lecher ; he Is at my
house ; he cannot 'scape me ; 'tis impossible
he should ; he cannot creep into a halfpenny
purse, nor Into a pepper-box: but, lest the devil
that guides him should aid him, 1 will search
Impossible places. Though what I am 1 can¬
not avoid, yet to be whatj would Uotshall not
make me tame : if I have horns to make one
mad, let the proverb go with me : I'll be horn-
mad.
[Aeik
528
THE MERRY WIVESMF WINHSOR
[Act m
. ACT IV. 1 - I
I ! ,
ScBNB L A Street.
EtOer Mistress Page, Mistress Quic%x.Y,
I lund WiLUAM.
Rage. Is he at Master Ford's already'
thiuk'st thoii ?
Qakl". Sure he is by this, ot Will be pres¬
ently : bat, truly, he i.i very coarageoiis mad
about' his throwing, into the' water. Mistre.sS
Ford de.sires you to come suddenly. '
Mi% Page. Til be with her by and by ; I'll
but bring ipy young ivlan here to school. Look,"
where his master comes ; 'tis a pl.aying-dav, I
, L 1
Enter Sir Hugh Ev.(VXS.
How nowj Sir Hugh ! no school to-day ? 10
Ecant. No ; Master Slender is let the boys
leave to play.
Qakk. Blessing of his heart 1 i jj
I Mrs. Page. Sir Hugh, my husband says my
son profits nothing in the world at his book. I
pray you, ask him some qivestioiis iu his acci«
deuce. . [head > comei>
Evans. Come hitlier, William ; hold up your
Mrs, Paffe. Come on, sirrah ; hold up your
head ; answer your master, be not afraid. >20
Eeans. William, how. mamy uombers is in
nouns ?
WUh Two. I
Qukk. Truly, I thought there had been one
number more, because they say, i • 'Od's
nouns.'
Evans. PeacO' yobr tattbngsl ii What is
' fair,' William ?. i o- t
- Will. Pulcher. i . . .
Quick. Poleciitsl there are faiirer tilings
than polecats, sure. ' .m 20
Evans. You are a veiy simplicity 'oman : I
pray you, peace. What is.' lapis,' William ?
Will. A stone. . \
Evans. And what is ' a stone,' William ?
Will. Apbble. .
Evans, No, it is 'laxiis:' I pray you, re¬
member in your prain:
Will. Lapis. . 1 1
. Evans. That is a good William. What is he,i
AVilliam,'tliat does lend articles ? i . iO
Will. Articles are borrowed of the piwioun,
andbethusdedined, Singulariter, nominatiro,
hie, hiBC, hoc. i i
.Ecaiis. Nominativo, hig, hag, hog ; pray
you, mark; genitiva, hujus. Wtfll, what ia
your accusative case ?i . .1 l I
WtM.! Acousativo, hinc. n . ,,T
Evans. I pray you, have your remembrance,
child ; accusativo, hung, hang, hog. ',
Quick. 'Hang-hog' is Latin for bacon, I
warrant you.' ■ . .51
' Evans. ■ Leave your prabblesj loman. What
is the -fooative case, William ? , . i
WilL O,—vocativo, O. i / i ■
Evans. Remember, William; locative is
caietj
Qaiak. I And that's.a geod root. < ,,
Evans. 'Oman, forbear., i ,
• MrstPage. Peace I a .
Evans, ; What is your genitive case plnral,
William? ci . i • ;i 71 1
Will, Genitive case! , 1 t
Evans. Ay.
I Will. I Genitive, VT-hornm. haruin, horum.
Quickx, Vengeance ofiiieuny'a case i be on
her I never name her, child, U she be a whore,
Evans. Fur sliame, 'oman.
Quick. You do iJI to. teach tlie child such
words : he teaches him to hick and to hack,,
whicli tliey'li do last en:>ngh of Uiemselves,
aud to call.' horum;' fie upon you ! 1 - ifi
A'vuns, .'Oman, art. thou Innatics? hast
tliou no understandings for thy eases and the
numbers of tiie genders ? Thou art as foolish
Christian creatures as I would desires.
J/rs. Page. Pritliee, hold thy peace.
Evans, Show me. now, AVilliara, some de-
cleusioiis of your pronomis. 1
' Will-i Forsooth, I.have loigut. ;
Evans. It is qui, quat, que^ : if yon forget
your 'quies,' your 'quies,! and .your ; quods,'
you must be iweecheis. Go your ways, and
play ; go. ' ' ' ' [thought lie was.
Mrs. Page. He is a better scholar Gian I
t Evans. . He is a good sprag memory. Fare¬
well, Mistress Page.
Mrs. Page. Adiea, good Sir Hugh. . ^
- <• iExit Eir Ilugb.}
Get you home, hoy. Come, we stay too long.
Ill , iExeui/it
Scene II. A room in FoBiD'd lf.ouse. '
Enter Falstaff and Mistress Foro. '
Fat. Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten
tip my sufferance. I see you are obsequioiW
in your love, and I profess requital to a hair's
breadth; not only. Mistress Ford, in the
Simple office of love, but in all the accoutre¬
ment, complement and Ceremony of it But
are you sure of your husband now ?
Mrs. Ford. ' He's a-birding, sweet Sir John.
Mrs. Page. ■ [ Within\ 'What, ho, gossin
Ford 1 what, ho 1 • ' ' ' 10
Mrs. Ford. Step into the dtamber. Sir John.
, ■ Falstttff.'
'Enter MiST^risS I'.^tiE.' ^
Mrs. Page. How now, sweetheart I who's
at home besides yourself ? ,,
J Mrs, Ford. Why, rione but, mine own
people. ,
Mrs. Page.- Indeed I , ,,
Mrs, Ford. No, certainly. , [Aside to her\
Speak louder. ■ c '
Mrs. Page. Truly, I am. fo glad you have
nobody here. , ., .|
Mrs. Ford, Why ?.. ^ ' , 20
Mrs. Page. Why, woman, your husband is
in his old lunestagaiii: he so takes on yondqt
with my husband ; so rails against all married
mankind ; so curses all Eve's daiiglitets, of
wfiat epmpleziou Boevev j .and so buffets hifa-
Scene ti.]
THE MERRY WIVES OE WINDSOR.
629
self CHI t'.i6 loreliead,' crying, ' Peer out, peer
oat!' t'.ict any madness 1 ever yet beiield
seemed but lameness, civility and patience, to
this his distemper lie is in now: I am glad the
fat kuig'.it is not here. '
Mrs. Ford. Why, does he talk of him f 30
Mrs. Page. Of none but him ; and swears
he was carried out, the last time he searched
lor him, in a basket; protests to my husband
he is now here, and hath drawn him and the
rest of their company from tlieir 'sport, to make
anotlier experiment of his suspicion : but I
am glad the knight is not here ; now he shall
see his own foolery.
• Mrs. Ford. How ivear is he. Mistress Pa^e ?
Mrs. Page. Hard by; at street end; he
will be here anon. • i ■ 41
' Mrs. Ford. I am. undone!, The knight ie
here. ' ' ''
Mrs. Page. Why then you are utterly
shamed, and he's but a dead man. What a
woman are you!—Away with him, aWay With
him ! better shame than murder. '<
Mrs. Ford. Which way should he go 7 how
should I bestow him ? Shall I put Tiim into
tiiebasket again?
Re-enter Fals'taff.
Fat. No, I'll come no more i' the basket.'
May I not go out ere he come 7 61
Mrs. Page. Alas, three of Master Ford's
brothers watch the door with pistols, that none
shall issue out; otherwise you might slip
away ere he came. But what make you here ?
Fal. What shall I do 7' I'll creep up into
the chimney. "■ '
Mrs. Ford. There they always use to dis¬
charge their birding.pieces. Creep into the
kiln.diole. i i •
Fal. Where is it 7 i 60
Mrs. Ford. He will seek there, on my word.
Neither press, coffer, chest, trunk, well,, vault,
but he hath an abstract for the remembrance
of such places, and goes to them by his note :
there is no liiding you in tlie house.
Fal. I'll go out then.
Mrs. Page. If you go out fat yourown sem¬
blance, you die, Sir John. Unles^ you go out
disguised— . g,,
Mrs. Ford. 'Tlow might we disgui.se hihi 7
Mrs. Page. Alas the'day,'1 knoW not!
There is no woman's gown big enough for
him; otherwise he might put on a hat, a
muffler and a kerchief, and so escape.
Fal. Good hearts, devise something :,any
extremity rather than a mischief.
Mrs. Ford. My maid's aunt, the ffit woman
of Brentford, has a gown above.
Mrs. Page. On my word, it vviUservehim:
she's as big as he is: and there's her thrummed
hat and tier muffler too. Ruf up. Sir John.
Mrs Ford. Go, go, sweet Sir John : Mistress
Page and I wi^ look some linen for your head.
Mrs. Page. Quick, quick ! we'll come dress
yon straight: put on the gown the while. 61
'1 IE*U Falstaff.
Mrs. Ford. I'wonld my husband would
Uaeet him in this shape ; he eannot abide the
old woman of Brentford ; he swears she's a
witch ; forbade her my house and hath threat'
ened to beat her. >
Mrs. Page. Heaven guide him to thy hus¬
band's ebdgelv tmd the devil guide his cudgel
afterwards 1
Mrs. Ford. But is my husband coming 7
Mrs. Page. Ah, in good sadness, is he;
and talks of the basket too, howsoever he
hath had intelligence. ■ ' '' i
' Mrs. Ford. ■ VVe'll try tlmt; for I'll appoint
my men to carry the 'basket again, to meet
him at the door with i' as they did last time;
Mrs. Page. Nay, but he'll be here presently:
let*s go dress him like the witch of Brenttord.
Mrs. Ford. I'll first duect my men what
tliey shall do with the basket. Go up ; I'll
bring linen for liim straight . > {Exit.
Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest varlet l
we cannot misuse liim enough. ' \
' We'll leave a proof, by that which we will
do, i
I Wives may be merry; and yet honest too <
We do not act that often jest and laugh ;
'Tis old, but true, Still swine eat all the
draff. I ■ ' {Exit.
Re-enter Mistress Ford toith iioo'Servantp. ,
Mrs. Ford. Go, sirs, take the basket again
on yonr shouldersyour master is hard at
door; if he bid you set It down, obey him:
quickly; disp.atch. ' ' ■ {Exit.
First Serv. Come, come, take it hp.
Sec. Serv: Pray heaven it be not full of
knight again. ■
Fist Serv. I hope not; I had as lief bear so
much lead.
. Enter Ford, Page, Shai-low, GaioSj and
j Sir Hugh Evans.
Ford. Ay, but if it prove triie. Master
Page, have you any way then to tinfool me
again 7 Set down nie basket, villain ! Some¬
body call my wife. Youth in a basket! O
1 yon panderly rascals! there's U knot, a ging,
a pack, a conspiracy against me : now shall
the devil be shamed. What, wife, I say f
Come, come forth ! Behold wiiat honest
I clothes you send forth to blejiching !
, Page. Why, this, passes, Master Foid ; yod
are not to go loose any longer ; you must be^
' pinioned. ' ' . ■ •'
Evans. Why, this is lunatics ! this is hiad
as a miul dog 1 131
Shat. Indeed, Master Ford, fliis is not well,
indeed.
. Ford. So say I too, sir. ' ' ^
, , , i Re-enter Mistress Ford. .
Come hither, Mistress Ford ;'Mistress Ford;'
the honest woman, the modest Wife; thw
virtuous creature, tliat hath the jealous foot
to her! husband 1 I suspect without cause
mistress, do 17 ' ■ ' i '■ '
34
630
Jfr* Ford. Heaven be mv witness you do,
if wa susMct me in any dishonestr. 140
Ford. Weii said, l»azen-face! nold it out.
Come forth, sirrah I
[PuUing clothes out of the basket.
Page. This passes!
Mrs. Ford. Are you not ashamed 7 let the
eiothes aione.
Ford. I sbali iud you anon.
Enans. 'Tis unreasonable 1 Will you take
sp your wife's clothes 7 Come away.
Ford. Empty the basket, I say I
Mrs. Ford. Why, man, wliy 7 150
Ford. Master Piige, as 1 am a man, there
was one conveyed out of my house yesterday
in this basket; why may not he be there
again 7 In my house 1 am sure be is: my in-
leiMgeece is true; my jeakiusy is reasonable,
pluck mc out all the linen.
Mrs. Forrd. if you find a man tiiiere, he
sliaii die a 5ea's death.
Page. Here's no man.
Hhal. By iny fidelity, this is not well, Master
Ford ; tills wrtngs yon. 101
Evans. Master F.-^rd, you must pray, and
not follow tlie imaginatroi.a of your own heart:
tills is jealousies.
Ford. Weil, he's not hers I seek for.
Page. No, nor nowhere b<se but in your
brain.
Ford. Help to search my hoa->e t'.;is one
time. If 1 find not what I seek, show no
color for my extremity ; let mc fc: evsr te
your table-sport; let them say of mc, • As
jealous as Ford, that searched a hollow wabui
for his wife's leman.' Satisfy me once more ;
once more search with me.
Mrs. Ford. What, lio. Mistress Page ! come
you and the old woman down ; my husband
will come into the chamber.
Ford. Old woman ! what old woman's
that 7 [Brentford.
M>s. Ford. Why, it is my maid's aunt of
Ford. A witch, a quean, an old cozening
quean ! Have I nut forbid her my hou.se 7
She comes of errands, does she 7 We *are
simple men ; we do not know what's brought
to ]]Ms under the profession of fortune-telling.
She works by charms, by spells, by the figiiic,
and such daubery as this is, beyond our ele¬
ment: we know nothing. Come down, yon
witch, you hag, you ; come down, 1 say !
Mrs. Ford. Nay, good, sweet husband !
Good gentlemen, let him not strike the old
woman. 190
Re-enter Falstafp in woman's clothes, and
Mistress Page.
Mrs. Page. Come, Mother Prat; come, give
m^our hand.
Ford. I'll prat her. [Heafm^Ai'm] Outof
my door, you witch, you hag, you baggage,
you polecat, you ronyon I nut, out! I'll con¬
jure you, I'll fortune-tell you. [Exit Falstaff.
Mrs. Page. Are you not ashamed 7 I think
you have killed the poor woman.
[Act iv.
Mrs. Ford. Nay,he will doll. 'Tis a goodly
credit for you. i 2W
Ford. Hang her, witch .'
Evans. By yea and no, I think the 'oman is
a witch indeed : I like not when a 'oman has a
great peard ; I spy a great peard under his
muffler.
Fo)-d. Will you follow, gentlemen 7 I be.,
seech you, follow ; see but the issue of my
jealousy: if 1 cry out thus upon no trail, never
trust me when 1 open again.
Page. Let's obey his numor a little further:
come, gentlemen. , 211
[Exeunt Ford, Page, Shah, Cains, and Evans.
Mrs. Page. Trust me, he beat him most
pitifully.
Mrs. Foi-d. Nay, by the mas.s, that he did
not; he beat him most nnpitifuliy, methought.
Mrs. Page. I'll have the cudgel hallowed
and hung o'er the altar ; it hath done merito¬
rious service.
Mrs. Ford. What think yon 7 may we,with
the warrant of womanhood and the witness of
a good conscience, pursue him with any furiiier
revenge 7 222
Mrs. Page. The spirit of wantonness i^ sure,
scared out of him : if the devil liave him not
in fee-simple, with fine and recovery, he will
never, I think, in the way of waste, attempt us
again.
Mrs. Ford. Shall we tell our husbands how
we have served him 7
Mrs. Page. Yes, by ail means ; if it be but
to scrape the figures out of your husband's
brains. If they can find in their hearts the
V<>or an virtuous fat knight shall beany further
.itriicted, we two will stili be the ministers.
Mr»\ Ford. I'll warrant they'll have him
p;<bil?ly shamed : and methinks there would
be no period to the jest, should he not be
publicly siiam«d.
Mrs. Page. Come, to the forge with it then;
shai>e it; I would i#ct have things cool.
[Exeunt.
Scene III. A room in the Garter Inn.
Enter I^obt and, Eardolph.
Bard. Sir, the Germans desire to have three
of your horses : the uuke hiinself will be to¬
morrow at coqrt, and thsy are going to meet
him.
Host. What duke should that be comes so
secretly 7 I hear not of him in the court Let
me speak with the i^ntlemen : they speak
English 7
Bard. Ay, sir ; I'll call them to you.
Host. They shall have my horses ; but Pll
make them pay; Til sauce them : they have
h.al my house a week at command ; I have
turned away my other guests : they must come
off ; I'll sauce them. Come. [Exeunt.
Scene IV. A room in For»'s house'.
A'nhr Page, Fobo, Mistress Page, Mistress
Ford, and Sir Hugh Evans.
THE MERRY WIVES OP WINDSOR.
Scene V.]
Evans. "Tis one of the best discretions of a
'Oman as ever I did look upon.
Page. And did he send yon both these let^
ters at an instant ?
Mrs. Page. Within a qnarter of an hour.
Fofd. Pardon me, wife. Henceforth do
what thou wilt;
1 rather will suspect the sun witli cold
Thau thee with wantonness : now. doth thy
honor stand,
In him that was of late an heretic,
As firm as faith.
Page. 'Tis well, 'tis well; no more: 10
Be not as extreme in submission
As in offence.
But let our plot go forward : let our wives
Yet once again, to make us public sport.
Appoint a meeting with this old fat fellow.
Where we may take him and disgrace him for
it.
Fwd. There is no better way than that they
spoke of.
Fage. How ? to send him word th^'ll meet
him in the park at midnight ? Pie, fie ! he'll
never come.
Evans. You say he has been thrown in tlie
rivers and has been grievously peaten as au
old 'oman : methiuks tliere should be terrors
in him tiiat he sliould not come; methiuks bis
flesh is punished, he shall have no desires.
Page So think I too.
Mrs. Ford. Devise but how you'll use him
when he comes,
And let us two devise to bring him thitlier.
Mrs. Page. There is an old tale goes that
Heme the hunter,
Sometime a keeper here in Windsor forest.
Doth all the winter-time, at still midnight, 30
Walk round about au oak, with great ragg'd
homs ;
And theie be blasts the tree and takes the
cattle [a chain
And makes milch-kine yield blood and shakes
In a most hideous and dreadful manner :
You have heard of such a spirit, and well you
know
Tlie superstitious idle-headed eld
ReceivM and did deliver to our age
Tills tale of Herne<the hunter for a tm*h.
Page. Why, yet there want not many tliat
do fear
In deep of night to walk by this Herae's oak:
But what of this ? 41
Mrs. Ford. Marry, this is our device ;
That Falstaff at that oak shall meet witli us.
Pagei -Well, let it not be doubted but he'll
come:
And in this shape when you have brought him
thither.
What shall be done with him ? what is your
' plot ? «
Mrs. Page. That likewise have we thought
npoii, add thus :
Nan Page my daughter and my little son
And three or four more of their growth we'll
dress
681
Like-urchins, outdies and fairies, green and
white, 49
With rounds of waxen tapers ou their heads.
And rattles in their hands: upon a sudden.
As Falstaff, she and I, are newly met.
Let them from forth a sawpit rush at once
With some diffused song : upon their sight.
We two in gi-eat amazedness will fly:
Tlien let them all encircle him about
And, fairy-like, to-pinch the unclean knigh^
And ask Iiim why, that hour of fairy revel,
In their so sacred paths he dares to tread
In shape profane.
Mrs. Ford. And till he tell the truth, 60
Let the supposed fairies piuch him sound
And bum liiin witli their tapers.
Mrs. Page. The truth being known.
We'll all present ourselves, dis-horn the spirit.
And mock him home to Windsor.
Ford. The children must
Be practiced well to this, or they'll ne'er do't.
Evans. I will teach the children their be¬
haviors; and I will be like a jack-au-apes also,
to bum the knight with my taber.
Ford. That will be excellent.' I'll go and
buy them vizards. 70
Mrs. Page. My Nan shall be the queen of
all the fairies.
Finely attired in a robe of white.
Page. That silk will I go buy. [Asfde] And
in that time
Shall Master Slender steal my Nan away
And marry her at Eton. Go send to Falstaff
straight.
Ford. Nay, I'll to him again in name of
Brook :
He'll tell me all his purpose: sure, he'U come.
Mrs. Page. Fear not you that. Go get us
pro^rties
And tricking for our fairies.
Evans. Let ns about it: it is admirable
pleasures and fery honest knaveiles. 81
[Exeunt Page, Ford, and Evans.
Mrs. Page. Go, Mistress Ford,
Send quickly to Sir John, to know his mind.
[Exit Mrs. Ford.
I'll to the doctor : he hath my good will.
And none but he, to marry with Nan Page.
That Slender, though well landed, is an idiot;
And he my husband best of all affects.
The doctor is well money'd, and ids friends
Potent at court: he, none but he, shall have
her.
Though twenty thousand worthier come to
crave her. [Exit. 90
Scene V. A room in the Garter Inn.
Enter Host and Simple.
Host. What wouldst thou have, boor ? what,
thick-ekin ? speak, breathe, discuss ; brief,
short, quick, snap.
Sim. Marry, sir, I come to speak with Sit
John Falstaff from Master Slender.
Host. There's his chamber, his house, his
castle, his stauding-bed and tnicklc-bed; 'til
THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
582
THE MEftRY WIVES OF: WINDSOR.
{Ac* ir.
^iutcd about with the story of tlie Prodigal^
fresh and new. Go knock and call; he'll speak
like an Anthropopbaginian unto thee: knock,
I say. '' I 11
Sim. There's an old woman, a fat wontan,
gone up into his chamber; I'll be so bold as
stay, sir, till she come downI come to speak
with her, indeed.
Host. Ha ! a fat woman ! the knight may
be robbed : I'll call. Bully knight! bully Sir
John ! speak from thy lungs military: art thou
there ? it Is thine host, thine Ephcsian, calls. .
Fal. [Ahove\ How now, mine host! 20
Host. Here's a Bohemian-Tartar tarries the
coming down of thy fat woman. Let her de^
scend, bully, let her descend ; my chambers
are honorable : fie ! privacy ? fie I
Enter Falstaff. ,
i Falo There was, mine host, an old fat woman
even now with me ; but site's gone. > - '
\Sim. Pray you, sir, was't not the wise
woman of Brentford ? <- I >
Fal. Ay, marry, was it, mussel-shell: what
would you with her ? .'30
• Sim. My master, sir, Master Slender, sent
to her, seeing her go through the streets, to
know, sir,wliether one Nym, sir, that beguiled
him of a chain, had the chain or no. i
F^ 1 spake with the old woman about it.
Sim. And what says she, I pray, sir ?
Fal. Marry, she says that Wie very same
man that beguiled Master Slender of his chain
cozened him of it f
Sim^ 1 would I cotild have s|x>ken with tlie
woman herself ; 1 had other things to have
spoken with her too from him. &
Fal. What are they ? let us know. '
Host. ' Ay, come ; quick.
Sim. 1 may not conceal them, sir.
Host. Conceal them, or thou diest.
' -Sim. Why( sir, they were uothiiig but about
Mistress Anne P.age ; to know if it were my
master's fortune to have her or no.
Fal. 'Tis, 'tis his fortune. . Sft
Sim. What, sir ?
Fal. To have her, or no. Go ; say the
woman told me so.
Sim. May 1 be bold to say so, sir ?
Fal. Ay, sir ; like who more bold.
Sim. 1 thank your worship : 1 shidl make
my master glad with these tidmgs. [Exitj
Host. Thou art clerldy, thou art clerkly. Sir
John. Was.there a wise woman with thee 7 T
Fal. Ay, that there was, miuC' Imst ; one
that hath taught me more wit than ever I
learned before in my life ; and I [laid notliing
for it neither, but was paid for uiy Jearning.
, , Enter BAiimLva. ^
Bard. O ut, alas, sir I cozenage, mere cozen¬
age ! • I r
"■ Host. Where be my horses ? speak well of
them, varletto. ' i i i.
Bard, Run away with the cozeners; fat so
»oon as I came beyond Etxm, they threw lae
off from behind one of them, in a slough of
mire ; and set spurs and away, like three Ger*
man devils,i three Doctor Faustuse.s. 71
Host. They are gone but to meet the duket
villaia ; do not say tliey be fied ; Germans are
honest men.
Enter Sir Hugh Evans.
Evans. Wliere is mine host ?
Host. What is the matter, sir ?
Evans. Have a care of your entertainments:
there is a friend of mine come to town, tells me
|:here is three cozen-germans that has cozened
all the hosts of Readins, of Maidenhead, of
Colebrook, of horses and money. I tell you
for good will, look you : you are wise and full
of gibes and vlouting-stocks, and 'tis not con¬
venient yon should be cozened. Fare you
well. , ' [Exit.
Enter Doctor Caitts.
Cains. Vere is mine host de Jarteer 7
Host. Here, master doctor, iu perplexity
and doubtful dilemma.
Cains. I cannot tell vat is dat: but it is
tell-a me dat you make grand preparation for
a duke de Jamany: by my trot, dere is uo
duke dat the court is know to come. I tell you
for good vill: adieu. [Exit. 91
If>st. Hue and cry, villain, go t Assist me,
knight. I am imdone I Fly, run, hue and cry,
villain I I am undone !
[Exeunt Host and Bard.
Fal. I would all the world might be coz¬
ened ; for I have been cozened and beaten too.
If it should come to the ear of the court, how
I have been transformed and how my tran.s-
formation hath been washed and cudgelled,
they would melt me out of ray fat drop by drop
and liquor fishermen s boots with me ; f war¬
rant they would whip me with their fine wits
till I were as cre.st-fallen as a dried pear. I
never prospered since I forswore myself at
primeroi Well, if my wind were but long
enough to say my prayers, I would repent
Enter Mistress Qciokly. ,
Now, whence come you? >
l^tiek. From the two parties, forsooth.
Fal. The devil take one party and his dam
the other I and so they shall be toth bestowed.
1 have suffered more for their sakes^ more
than the villaiious inconstancy of man's dis-i
position is able to bear.
Quick. And have not they suffered ? Yes,
I w.irrant; si>eciously one of them ; Mistress
Ford, good heart, is beaten black and blue,
that you cannot see a white spot about her.
Fal. What tellest thod me of black and
blue 7 I was beaten myself into all tlie colors
of the rainbow ; and I was like to be appre¬
hended for the witch of Brentford: but that
my admirable dexterity of wit, my counter¬
feiting the action of an old woman, delivered
me, the knave constable had set moi' the
stocks, i' the common stocks^ for a witolu ..
Quick, Sir, let me speak with you in yout
Scene ii.]
THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
m
chanfcer : you sliall hear how things go ; and,
I warrant, to your content. Here is a letter
will say somewhat Good hearts, what ado
here is to bring you together ! Sure, one of
you does not serve heaven well, that you are
so crossed. 130
Fal. Come up into my chamber. [Exeunt.
Scene VI.- Another room in the Garter
Inn.
Enter Fenton and Host.
Host. Master Fenton, talk not to me ; my
mind is heavy : 1 will give over all.
Fent. Yet hear me speak. Assist me in my
purpose,
And, as I am a gentleman, I'll give thee
A hundred pound in gold more than your loss.
Host. I will hear you. Master Fenton ; and
I will at tlie least keep your counsel. [you
Fent. From time to time I have acquainted
With the dear love I "bear to fair Anne Page ;
Who mutually hath auswer'd my affection, 10
So far forth as herself might be her chooser,
Even to my wish : I have a letter from her
Of such contents as you will wonder at;
The mirth whereof so larded with my matter.
That neither singly can be manifested.
Without the show of both ; fat Falstaff
Hath a great scene:. the image of the jest
I'll show you here at large. Hark, good mine
host.
To-night at Heme's oak, just 'twixt twelve
and one, 19
Must i>iy sweet Nan present the Fairy Queen;
The purpose why, is here : in which disguise,
While other jests are something rank on foot,
Her father hath commanded her to slip
Away with Slender and with him at Eton
Immediately to marry : she hath consented ;
Now, sir.
Her mother, ever strong against that match
And firm for Doctor Gains, hath appointed
That he shall likewise shuffle her away, 29
While other sports are tasking of their minds.
And at the deanery, where a priest attends,
Straight marry her : to this her mother's plot
She seemingly obedient likewise hath
Made promise to the doctor. Now, thus it
rests:
Her father means she shall be all in white.
And in that habit, when Slender sees his time
To take her by the hand and bid her go.
She shall go with him ; her mother hath in¬
tended.
The better to denote her to the doctor.
For they must all be mask'd and visarded, 40
Thatquaint in green she shall be loose enrobed.
With ribands pendent, flaring 'bout her head;
And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe,
To pinch her by the iiand, a^, on that token.
The maid hath given consent to go with him.
Host Which means she to deceive, father
or mother ?
Fent. Both, my good host, to go along with
And here it rests, that you'll procure the vicar
To stay for me at church 'twixt twelve and one,
And, in toe lawful name of marrying, 50
To give our hearts united ceremony.
Host. Well, husband your device ; I'il to
the vicar:
Bring you toe maid, you shall not lack a priest.
Fent. So shali I evermore be bound to thee;
Besides, I'li make a present recompense.
[Exeunt.
ACT V.
Scene I. A room in the Garter Inn.
Enter Falstaff and Mistress Quickly.
Fed. Prithee, no more prattling ; go. I'll
hold. This is the tiiird time; 1 hope good luck
lies in odd numbers. Away ! go. They say
there is divinity in odd numbers, either in
nativity, chance, or death. Away !
Quick. I'll provide you a chain ; and I'll do
what I can to get you a pair of horns.
Fal. Away, I say ; time wears : hold up
your head, and mince. [Exit Mrs. Quickly.
Enter Ford. .
How now. Master Brook ! Master Brook, the
matter will be known to-night, or never. Be
you in the Park about midnight, at Heme's
oak, and you shall .see wonders.
Ford. Went you not to her yesterday, sir,
as you told me you had appoint^ ?
Fal. I went to her. Master Broolc, as you
see, like a poor old man ; but I came from
her. Master Brook, like a poor old woman.
That same knave Ford, her husband, hath the
finest mad devil of jealousy in him. Master
Brook, that ever governed frenzy. I will tell
you: he beat me grievously, in the shape of a
woman ; for in the shape of man. Master
Brook, I fear not Goliath with a weaver's
beam ; because I know also life is a shuttle.
I am in haste ; go along with me ; I'll tell you
all. Master Brook. Since I plucked geese,
played truant and whipped top, I knew not
Avhat 'twas to be beaten till lately. Follow
me: I'll tell you strange things of this knave
Ford, on whom tonight I will be revenged,
and I will deliver his wife into your hand.
Follow. Strange things in hand, Master
Brook 1 Foliow. [Exeunt.
Scene II. Windsor Park.
Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender.
Page. Come, come'; we'll couch i' the
castle-ditch till we see the light of our fairies.
Bemember, son Slender, my daughter.
Slen. Ay, forsooth ; I have spoke with her
and we have a nay-word how to know one
another : I come to her in white, and cry
' mum ;' she cries ' budget;' and by that w'e
know one another. •
634
iS%aI. That's good too: bnt irhat needs
either your ' mum' or her ' budget ?' the
white will decipher her well enough. It hath
stiiick ten o'clock.
Paye. The night is dark ; light and spirits
will become it well. Heaven prosper our
sixurt ! No man means evil but the devil, and
we shall know him by his horns. Let's away;
tollow me. lExeunt.
ScEKB III. A street leading to the Park.
Enter Mistress Pace, Mistress Ford, and
Doctor Caius.
Mrs. Page. Master doctor, my daughter is
in green : when you see your time, take her
by the hand, away with her to the deanery,
and dispatch it quickly. Go before into the
Park : we two must go together.
Caius. I know vat I have to do. Adieu.
Mrs. Page. Fare you well, sir. [Exit Caius.]
My husband will not rejoice so much at the
abuse of Falstaff as he will chafe at the doc¬
tor's marrying my daughter : but 'tis no mat¬
ter ; better a little chiding than a great deal
of heart-break. 11
Mrs. Ford. Where is Nan now and her
troop of fairies, and the Welsh devil Hugh ?
■ Mrs. Page. They are all couched in a pit
hard by Heme's oak, with ob.scured lights ;
which, at the very instant of Falstalf's and
our meeting, they will at once display to the
night.
Mrs. Ford. That cannot choose but amaze
him.
Mrs. Pa^e. , If he be not amazed, he will be
mocked ; if be be amazed, he will every way
be mocked. 21
Mrs Ford. We'll betraj- him finely.
Mrs. Page. Against such lewdsters and their
lechery
Those that betray them do no treachery.
Mrs. Ford. The hour draws on. To the oak,
to the oak! ^ [Exeunt.
Scene IV. Windsor Park.,
Enter Sir Hugh Evans, disguised, with others
as Fairies.
Evans. Trib, trib, fairies ; come ; and re¬
member your parts : be pold, I pray you ;
follow me into the pit; and when I give the
watch-'ords, do as I pid j'ou : come, come ;
trib, trib [Exeunt.
.Scene V. Another part of the Park.
Enter Falstaff disguised as Herne.
Fat. The Windsor bell hath struck twelve ;
the minute draws on. Now, the hot-blooded
g;ods assist me I Remember, Jove, thou wast a
bull for thy Phiropa ; love set on thy bonis.
O powerful love! that, in some respects,
makes a beast a man, in some other, a man a
beast. Yonwerealso, Jupiter, a swan for the
fAcT V.
love of Leda. O omnipotent Love ! how near
the god drew to the complexion of a goose I
A fault done first in the form of a beast. O
Jove, a beastly fault! And then another fault
in the semblance of a fowl; think on't, Jove ;
a foul fault! When gods have hot backs,
what shall poor men do ? For me, I am here
a Windsor stag ; and the fatte.st, I think, i' the
forest Send me a cool rut-time, Jove, or who
can blame me to piss my tallow 1 Who comes
here ? my doe ?
Enter Mistress Ford and Mistress Page.
Mrs. Ford. Sir John ! art thou there, my
deer ? my male deer ?
Fat. My doe with the black scut! Let the
sky rain potatoes ; let it thunder to the tune
of Green Sleeves, hail kissing-corafltsaud snow
eriugoes ; let there come a tempest of provo¬
cation, I will shelter me here.
Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page is come with me,
sweetheart.
Fed. Divide me like a bribe buck, each a
haunch : I will keep my sides to myself, my
shoulders for the fellow of this walk, and my
horns I bequeath your husbands. Am I a
woodman, ha ? Speak I like Heme the hunter?
Why, now is Cupid a child of conscience ; he
makes restitution. As 1 am a true spirit,
welcome I [A'ojsc within.
Mrs. Page. Alas, what noise ?
Mrs. Ford. Heaven forgive our sins !
Fal. What should this be ? .
Mrtpage. j Away, away I [They run off.
Fal. I think the devil will not have me
damned, lest the oil that's in me should .set
hell on fire ; he would never else cross me
thus. 40
Enter Sir Hcgh Evans, disguised as before;
Pistol, as Hobgoblin; Mistress Quick¬
ly, Anne Page, and others, as Fairies,
with tapers.
Quick. Fairies, black, grey, green, and
white.
You moonshine revellers and shades of night.
You orphan heirs of fixed destiny.
Attend your office and your quality.
Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy oyes.
Pist. Elves, list your names ; silence, you
airy toys.
Cricket, to Windsor chimneys shalt thou leap:
Where fires thou fiud'st unraked and hearths
nnswept.
There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry ;
Our radiant queen hates sluts and sluttery. 60
Fal. They are fairies; he that speaks to
them shall die :
I'll wink and conch ; no man their works mas«
eye. [Lies down upon his face.
Evans. Wliere's Bede ? Go yon, and where
you find a maid
Tliat, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers
said.
Raise up the organs of her fantasy ;
J jtfE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
Scene t.]
THE MERRi WIITES OF WINDSOR,
635
Sleep she as sound as cai^lcss infancy :
Uuc those as sleep and think not ontlieir sins,
I'iuch them, arms, legs, hacks, Shouldeis,
sides and shins.
Quick. About, about;
Search Windsor Castle, elves, within and out:
Strew good luck, onphes, ou every ssicred
room: 61
That it may stand till the perpetual doom,
III state as wholesome as in state 'tis lit.
Worthy the owner, and the owner it. '
The several chai's of order look you scour
With juice of balm and every precious flower:
Each fair instalment, coat, and several crest,
With loyal blazon, evermore be blest!
And nightly, meadow-fairies, look you sing.
Like to the Garter's compass, in a ring : 70
The expressure that it bears, green let it be,
More fertile-fresh than all the Held to see ;
And * Honi soit qui mal y pense' write
lu emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue and
white;
Let sapphire, pearl and rich embroidery.
Buckled below fair knighthood's bending
knee :
Fairies use flowers for their charactery.
Away ; disperse : but till 'tis one d'clock,
Our dance of custom round about the oak
Of Heme the hunter, let us not forget. 80
Evans. Pray you, lock hand in hand ; your¬
selves in order set;
And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be,
To guide our measure round about the tree.
But, stay ; I smell a man of middle-earth.
Fal. Heavens defend me froYn that Welsh
fairy, lest he transform me to a piece of
cheese 1
Pist. Vile worm, thou wast o'erlook'd even
in thy birth.
Quick. With trial-fire touch me his finger-
end :
If he be chaste, the flame will back descend
And turn him to no pain ; but if he start, 90
It is the flesh of a corrupted heart.
Pist. A trial, come.
Evans. Come, will this wood take fire ?
[liiei/ iyxrn him with their tapers.
Fal. Oh, Oh, Oh !
Quick. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in
desire I
About him, fairies ; sing a scornful rhyme ;
And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time.
Song.
Fie on sinful fantasy !
Fie on lust and luxury f
Lust is but a bloody fire.
Kindled with unchaste desire, 100
Fed iu heart, whose flames aspire
As thoughts do blow them, higher and
higher. -
Pinch nira, fairies, mutu^y ;
Pinch him for his villany ;
Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about.
Till candles and starlight and moonshine be
out.
During this song they pinch FalstaFf. Doc-
tokCaius comes one loay, and steals away
a boy in green; Slender another way,
and takes off a boy in white; and Fenton
comes and steals away Mrs. Anne Page.
A noise of hunting is heard within. All
the Fames run away. • Falstafp pulls
off his buck's head, and rises.
Enter Page, Ford, Mistress Page, and
Mistress Ford.
Page. Nay, do not fly ; I think we have
watch'd you now :
Will none but Heme the hunter serve your
turn ? ' ,
Mrs. Page. I pray you, come, hold Up the
jest no higher..
Now, good Sir John, how like you Windsor'
wives ? [yokes
tSee you these, husband? do not these fair
Become the forest better than the town ?
Ford. Now, sir, who's a cuckold now?
Master Brook, Falstaff's a knave, a cuckoldly
knave ; here are his horns, blaster Brook: and,
Miister Brook, he hath enjoyed nothing of
Ford's but his buck-basket, his cudgel, and
twenty pounds of money, which must be paid
to Master Brook ; iiis liorses are arrested for
it, Master Brook.
Mrs. Ford. Sir John, we have had ili luck ;
we could never meet. I will never take yon
for my love again ; but I will always count
you lUy deer.
Fal. I do begin to perceive that I am made
an ass.
Ford. Ay, and an ox too : both the proofs
are extant.
Fal. And thei*e are not fairies? I was three
or four times in the thought they were not
fairies: and yet the guiltiness of my mind, the
sudden surprise of my powers, drove the
grossness of the foppery into a received belief,
in despite of the teeth of all rhyme and reason,
that they were fairies. See now how wit may
be made a Jack-a-Lent, when 'tis upon ill em¬
ployment !
Evans. Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and
leave your desires, and fairies will not pinse
you.
Ford. Well said, fairy Hugh.
Evans. And leave your jealousies too, I
pr^ you. 140
Ftyrd. I will never mistrust my wife again,
till thou art able to woo her in good English.
Fal. Have I laid my brain in the sun and
dried it, that it wants matter to p;e\ ent so
gross o'erreaching as this ? Am I ridden with
a Welsh goat too ? shall I have a coxcomb of
frize ? 'Tis time I were choked with a piece
of to.i.sted cheese.
Evans. Seese is not good to give putter:
your belly is all putter.
Fal. ' Seese ' and ' putter' ! have I lived
to stand at the taunt of one that makes fritters
of English ? This is enough to be the decay
of lust and late-walking through the realm.
536
THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
[Act r.
Mrs. Page. Why, Sir Joho, do you lliiiik,
though we would have thrust virtue out of our
hearts by the head a^d shoulders aud Iiave
given ourselves without scruple to hell, that
ever the devil could have made you our de¬
light ?
Ford. What, a hodge-pudding ? a bag of
flax ?
Mrs. Page. A puffed man ? 160
Page. Old, cold, withered and of intoler¬
able entrails ?
Ford. And one that is as slanderous as
Satan ?
Page. And as poor as Job ?
Ford. And as wicked as his wife ?
Evans. And given to fornications, and to
taverns aud sack and wine and metheglins,
and to drinkings and swearings and starings,
pribbies and prabbles ?
Fal. Well, I am your theme : you have the
start of me ; I am dejected ; I am not able to
answer the Welsh flannel ; ignorance itself is
a plummet o'er me : use me as you will.
Ford. Marry, sir, we'll bring you to Wind¬
sor, to one Master Brook, that you have coz¬
ened of money, to whom you should have been
a ijander : over and above that you have suf¬
fered, I think to repay that money will be a
biting affliction.
Page. Yet be cheerful, knight : thou shalt
eat a posset to-night at my house ; where I will
desire thee to laugh at ray wife, that now
laughs at thee : tell her Master Slender hath
married her daughter.
Mrs. Page. [Aside} Doctors doubt that: if
Anne Page be my daughter, she is, by this,
Doctor Caius' wife. ,
Enter Slender.
Slen. Whoa, ho ! ho, father Page J
Page. Son, how now ! how now, son ! have
you dispatched ?
Slen. Dis^)atched! I'll make the best in
Gloucestershire know on't ; would 1 were
hanged, la, else.
Page. Of what, son ?
Skn. I came yonder at Eton to marry Mis¬
tress Anne Page, and she's a great lubberly
boy. if it had not been i' the church, I would
have swinged him, or he should have swinged
me. If I did not think it had been Anne Page,
would I might never stir!—and 'tis a postmas¬
ter's boy.
Page. Upon my life, then, you took the
wrong. 201
Slen. What need you tell me that? I
think so, when I took a boy for agirl. If I had
been married to him, for all he was in woman's
app irei, I would not have had liim.
Page. Why, tnis is your own folly. Did not
I tell you how you should know my daughter
by her garments ?
Slen. I went to her in white, and cried
' mum,' and she cried ' budget,' as Anne and
I had appointed ; and yet it was not Anne,
but a postmaster's boy.
Mrs. Page. Good George, be not angry: 1
knew of your purpose ; turned my daughter
into green ; and, indeed, she is now vvith the
doctor at the deanery, and there married.
Enter Caius.
Cains. Vere is Mistress Page ? By gar, I
am cozened : I ha' married nii gar<;on, a boy;
un pa.v.san, by gar, a boy ; it is not Anne Page:
by gar, 1 am eozeiied. 220
Mrs. Page. Why, did you take her in
green ?
Caius. Ay, by gar, and 'tis a boy: by gar,
I'll rai.se ail Windsor. [Exit.
Ford. This is strange. Who hath got the
right Anne ?
Page. My heart misgives me: here comes
Master Fentbn.
Enter Fenton and Anne Page.
How now, Ma.ster Fenton !
Anne. Pardon, good father! good my
mother, iiardon !
Page. Now, mistress, how chance you went
not with Master Slender ? 231
Mrs. Page. Why went you not with master
doctor, maid ?
Fent. You do amaze her : hear the truth of
it.
You would have married her most shame-
fully,
Where there was no proportion held in love.
The truth is, she and 1, long since contracted.
Are DOW so sure tluit nothuig can di.ssolve
us.
The offence is holy that she liath committed ;
And this deceit loses the name of craft.
Of disobedience, or nnduteous title, 240
Since therein she doth evitate and shiui
A thousand irreligious cursed hours.
Which forced marriage would have brought
upon her.
Ford. Stand not amazed ; here is no rem¬
edy :
In love the heavens tliemselves do guide the
state ;
Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate.
Fal. 1 am glad, though you have ta'eu a
special stand to strike at me,'that your an-ow
hath glanced.
Page. Well, what remedy ? Fenton, heaven
give thee joy ! 250
What cannot be eschew'd must be embraced.
Fal. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer
are chased.
Mrs. Page. i Well, I will muse no further.
Master Fenton,
Heaven give you many, many merry days 1
Good husband, let us every one go home,
Aud laugh this sport o'er by a country fire ;
Sir John and all.
Ford. Let it be so. Sir John,
To Master Brook you yet shall hold your word j
For he to-night shall lie with Mistress Ford.
[Exeuni
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
(written about 1598.)
INTRODUCTION.
Much Ado About Nothinff was entered on the Stationer's register, August 23,1600, and a well-
printed quarto edition appeared in the same year. The piay is not mentioned by Meres, who wrote
in 1598, and it is probable therefore that it was written at some time in tlie intervtii between 1«98
and 1600. For the graver portion of the play—the Claudio and Hero story—Shakespeare had an orig-
inal, perhaps Beiieforest's translation in his Histoiris Trayiquet of Bandeiio's 22nd Novella. The
story of Anodante and Oenevra in Ariosto's Orlando Farioso (canto v.) is substantially the same.
This episode bad been translated twice into English before Harrington's complete translation of the
Orlando Furioso appeared in 1501; and it had formed the subject of a piay acted before the Queen
in 1582-83 ; the story was also told, in a somewhat altered form, by Spenser {Faerie Queen, II., 4). No
original has been found for the lueiTier portion of the play, and Benedick and Beatrice were prob¬
ably creations of Shakespeare. Much Ado About Nothing was popular on the stage in Shakespeare's
day, and has sustained its reputation. Its variety, ranging from almost burlesque to almost tragedy,
and from the euphemistic speech of courtiers to the blundering verbosity of clowns, has contributed to
the success of the play. The chief persons. Hero and Claudio, Beatrice and Benedick, are con¬
trasted pairs. Hero's character is kept subdued and quiet in tone, to throw out the force and color
of the character of Beatrice; she is gentle, affectionate, tender, and if playful, playful in
a gentle way. If our interest in Hero were made very strong, the pain of her unmerited shame
and suffering would be too keen. And Claudio is far from being a lover like Borneo; his
wooing is done by proxy, and he does not sink under the anguish of Hero's disgrace and sup¬
posed death. Don John, the villain of the piece, is a melancholy egoist, who looks sourly on all the
world, and has a special grudge against his brother's yoting favorite Claudio. The chief force of Shake¬
speare in the play comes out in the characters of Benedick and Beatrice, They have not a touch of
misanthropy, nor of sentimentality, but are thoroughly healthy and hearty human creatures; at lii-si a
little too much self-pleased, but framed by-and-by to be entirely pleased with one another. The
thoughts of each from the iirst are pre-occupied with the other, but neither will put self-esteem to the
hazwd of a rebuke of making the tirst advances in love ; it only needs, however, that this danger
should be removed for the pair to admit the fact that nature has made them over against one an¬
other—as their significant names suggest—for man and wife. Dogberry and Verges, as weii as Bea¬
trice and Benedick, are creations of Shakespeare. The blundering watchmen of the time are a
source of fun with several Elizabethan playwrights ; but Dogberry and goodinan Verges are the
princes of blundering and incapable officials. It is a charming incongruity to find, while Leonato
rages and Benedick offers his challenge, that the solemn ass Dogberry is the one to unravel the
tangled threads of their fate.
DRAMATIS
Don Pedro, prince of Arragon.
Don John, his bastard brother.
CuAUDio, a young lord of Florence.
Benedick, a young lord of Padua.
Leonato, governor of Messina.
Antonio, his brother.
Balthasar, attendant on you Pedro,
&cHro, } toUowers of Don John.
Friar Francis.
Doobebrv, a constable.
PERSON.®.
Verges, a headborough.
A Sexton.
A Boy.
Hero, daughter to Leonato.
Beatrice, niece to Leonato.
Margaret, j gentlewoman attending o
Ursula, ) Hero.
Messengers, Watch, Attendants, &c.
Scene : Messina.
(637)
538 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
ACT 1.
Scene I. B^ore Leonato's house.
Knier Lkonato, Hero, and Beatrice, toith
it Messenger.
' t
Leon. I learn in this letter that Don Peter
of Arragon comes this night to Messina.
Mess. He is very near by this : he was not
thi ee leagues off when I left him.
L^on. How many gentlemen have you lost
in this action ?
Mess. Bat few of any sort, and none of
name.
Leon. A victory is twice itself when > the
achiever brings home full numbers. I find
here that Don Peter hath bestowed much
honor on a young Florentine called Claudio.
Mess. Much deserved on his part and
equally remembered by Don Pedro : he hath
home himself beyond the jiromise of his age,
doing, in the figure of a lamb, the feats of a
lion : he hath indeed better bettered e.vpecta-
tion tlian you must expect of me to tell you
how.
Leon. He hath an uncle here in Messina
will be very much glad of it.
Mess. I have already delivered him letters,
and there appears much joy in him ; even so
much that joy could not show itself modest
enough withoiit a badge of bitterue.ss.
Leon. Did he break out into tears ?
Mess. In great measure.
Leon. A kind overflow of kindness : there
are no faces truer than those that are so wash¬
ed. How much better is it to weep at joy than
to joy at weeping !
Beat. I pray you, is Signior Mountanto re¬
turned from the wars or no ? 31
Mess. I Iniow none of that name, lady :
there was none such In the army of any sort.
Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece ?
Hero. My cousin means Siguier Benedick
of Padua.
Mess. O, he's returned ; and as pleasant as
ever he was.
Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina
and challenged Cupid at the flight; and my
uncle's fool, reading the challenge, subscribed
for Cupid, and challenged him at the bird-bolt.
I pray you, how many hath he killed and eaten
in tliese wars ? But how many hath - he
killed ? for indeed I promised to eat all of his
killing.
Leon. Faith, niece, you tax Signior Bene¬
dick too much ; but he'll be meet with you, I
doubt it not.
Mess. He hath done good service, lady, in
the.?e wars.
Fiat. You had musty victual, and he hath
holp to eat it : he is a very valiant treuclier-
man ; he hath an excellent stomach.
Mess. And a good soldier too, lady.
Beat. And a good soldier to a lady: but
what is be to a lord?
[Act t
Mess. A lord to a lord, a man to a man ;
stuffed with all honorable virtues.
Beat. It is so, indeed ; he is no less than a
stuffed man : but for th i stuflRng,—well, we are
all mortal. 60
Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece.
There is a kind of merry wtr jaetwixt Signior
Benedick add her: they nev^ meet butthere's
a skirmi.sh of wit between them.
Beat. Alas ! he gets nothing by that. In
our last conflict four of his five wits went halt¬
ing off, and now is the whole man governed
with one ; so that if he have wit enough to
keep himself warm, let him bear it for a dif¬
ference between himself and his horse ; for it
is all the wealth that he hath left, to be known
a reasonable creature. Who is his companion
now ? He hath every month .a new sworn
brother.
Mess. Is't possible ?
Beat. Very easily possible: he wears his
faith but as the fashion of htt hat; it ever
changes with the next block.
Mess. 1 see, lady, the gentleman is not in
your books.
Beat. No ; an he were, I would bum my
study. But, I pray you, who is his companion?
Is there no young squarer now that will make
a voyage with him to the devil ?
Mess. Hs is most in the company of the
right noble Claudio.
Boat. O Lord, he will hang upon him like
a disease : he is sooner caught than the pesti¬
lence, and tlie taker runs presently mad. God
help the noble Claudio I if he have caught the
Benedick, it will cost him a thousand'pound
ere a' be cured. 90
Mess. 1 will hold friends with you, lady.
Beat. Do, good friend,
Leon. You will never run mad, niece.
Beat. No, not till a hot Januarv.
Mess. Don Pedro is approached.
Enter Don Pedro, Do* John, Claudio,
Benedick, and Balthasar.
D. Pedro. Good Signior Leonato, you are
come to meet your trouble : the fashion cf the
world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it.
Leon. Never came trouble to my house in
the likeness of your grace; for trouble being
gone, comfort should remain ; but when you
depart from me, sorrow abides and happiness
takes his leave.
D. Pedro. You embrace your charge too
willingly. 1 think this is your daughter,
Leon. Her motiier hath many times told
me so. , . ■
Bene. Were you in doubt, sir, that you
asked her ?
Leon. Signior Benedick, no ; for tken were
you a child.
D. Pedro. You have it full. Benedick : we
may guess by this what you are, being a man.
Tnily. the lady fathers herself. Be happy,
lady ; for you are like an honorable father.
Bene. If Signior Leonato be her father, she
Scene i.]
MXrOH ADO ABbUT NOTHING.
689
would not have' his head ou her shoulders for
all Messina, as like him as she is.
Beat.^ I wonder that you will still be talking,
Si^or Benedick : nobody marks you.
Bene. What, my dear Lady Disdain! are
you yet living ?' 130
J5M. Is it possible disdain should die
while she hath such meet food to feed it as .
Signior Benedick? ,Courtesy itself must
convert to disdain, if you come in her pres¬
ence.
Bene. Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it
is certain I amloVedof all ladies, only you ex¬
cepted : and I would I could lind in my heart
that I had not a hard heart; for, truly, I love
none.
Betd. A dear happiness to women : they
would else have been troubled with a penui-
cious suitor. I thank God and my cold blood, I
am of your humor for that: I had rather hear
my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he
loves me.
Bene. God keep your ladyship still in. that
mind! so some gentleman or other shall 'scape
\ predestinate scratched face.
Beat. Scratching could uot make it worse,
an 'twere such a face as yours were.
Bene. Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.
Beat. A bird of my tongue is better than a
beast of yours. 141
Bene. I would my horse had the speed of
your tongue, and so good a continuer. But
keep youir way, i' God's name ; I have done,
Bsat. You always end with a jade's trick ;
I know you of old.
D. Rdi-o. That is the sum of all, Leonato.
Signior Claudio and Signior Benedicl^ my dear
friend Leonato hath invited you all. I tell him
we shall stay here at the least a month ; and
he heartily prays some occasion may detain us
longer. I dare swear he is no hypocrite, but
piws from his heart.
Leon. If you swear, my lord, you shall not
be forsworn. [Yo Bon J<dm] Let me bid you
welcome, my lord: being reconciled to the
prince your brother, I owe you all duty.
D. Jattn. I thank you; I am not of many
words, but I thauk you.
Leon. Please it your grace lead on ? 160
B. Pedro. Your hand, Leonato; we will go
together.
[ExeuTtt all except Benedick and Claudio.
Claud. Benedick,didst thou note the daugh¬
ter of Signior Leonato ?
Bene. I noted her not; but I looked on her.
CUmd. Is she not a modest young lady ?
Bene. Do you question me, as an honest
man should do, for my simple true judgment;
or would you have me speak after my custom,
as being a professed tyrant to their sex ? 170
Claud. No; I pray thef speak in sober
jn^ment.
miie. Why, i' faith, methinks she's too low
for a high praise, too brown for a fair praise
a,nd tooTittle for a great praise: only this com¬
mendation I can afford her,that were she othey
than she is, she were unhandsome ; and being
no other but as she is, I do not like her.
Claud. Thou thinkest I am in sport: I pray
thee tell me truly how thou likest her. 180
Bene. Would you buy her, that you inquire
after her? ,
Claud. Can the world buy such a jewel?
Bene. Yea, and a case to put it into. But
speak you this with a sad brow ? or do you
play tbe flouting Jack, to tell us Cupid is a
good hare-finder and Vulcan a rare carpenter?
Come, in what key shall a man take you, to go
in the song ?
C^a^id. In mine eye she is the sweetest lady
that ever I looked on. 190
Bene. I can see yet without spectacles and
I see no such matter: there's her cousin, an
she were not possessed with a fuiy, exceeds
her as much in beauty as the first of May doth
the last of December. But I hop*e you have no
intent to turn husband, have you ?
Claud. I would scarce trust myself, though
I had sworn the contrary, If Hero would be
my wife.
Bene. Is't come to this ? In faith, hath not
the world one man but he will wear his cap
with suspicion ? Shall I never see a bachelor
of three-score again ? Go to, i' faith ; an thou
wilt needs thrust thy neck into a yoke, wear
the print of it and sigh away Sundays. Look;
Don Pedro is returned to seek you,
Boenter Don Pedro.
B. Rdro. What secret hath held you here,
that you followed not to Leonato's ?
Bene. I would your grace would constrain
me to tell.
B. Pedro. I charge thee on thy alliance.
Bene. You hear. Count Claudio: lean be
secret as a dumb man ; I would have you think
so; but, on my allegiance, mark you this, on
my allegiance. He is in love. With who ?
now that is your grace'^art. Mark how short
his answer is ;—With Hero, Leonato's short
daughter.
Claud. If this were so, so were it uttered.
Bene. Like the old tale, my lord: ' it is
not so, nor 'twas not so, but, indeed, God for¬
bid it should be so.' !J20
Claud. If my passion change not shortly,
God forbid it should be otherwise.
B. IMro. Amen, if you love her; for the
lady is venr well worthy.
Claud. You speak this to fetch me in, my
lord.
B. Rdro. By my troth, I speak my
thought. [mine.
Claud. And, in faith, my lord, I spoke
Bene. And by my two faiths and troths,
my lord, I spoke mine.
Claud. That I love her, 1 feel. 330
B. Pedro. That she is worthy, I know.
Bene. That I neither feel how she should
be loved nor know how she should be Worthy,
is the opinion that fire cannot melt out of me :
I will die in it at the stake.
m
D. Pedro. Thon ^.^st ever an obstinate
leretic in the despite of beauty.
CUmd. And never cou.d maintain his part
but in the force of his will.
Bene. That a woman concotved me, I thank
her : that she brought me up, " likewise give
her most humble thanks: but tuat I will have
a recheat winded in my forehead, x hang my
bugle in an invisible baldrick, all women shall
pardon me. Because I will not do them the
wrong to mistrust any, I will do myself the
richt to trust none ; and the fine is, for the
which I may go the finer, I will live a bache¬
lor.
D. Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look
pale with love. 250
Bene. With anger, with sickness, or with
hunger, my lord, not with love: prove that
ever I lose more blood with love than I will
get again witli drinking, pick out mine eyes
with a ballad-maker's pen and hang me up at
the door of a brothel-house for the sign of
blind Cupid.
D. Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fail from
this faith, thou wilt prove a notable argn-
ment.
Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a
cat and shoot at me ; and he that hits me, let
him be clapped on the shoulder, and called
Adam. 261
D. Pedro. Well, as time shali try:
' In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke.'
Bene. The savage bull may ; but if ever
the sensible Benedick bear it, pluck off the
bull's horns and set them in ray forehead:
and let me be vilely irainted, and in such great
letters as they write ' Here is good horse to
hire,' let them signify under my sign ' Here
you may see Ben^ick the married man.' 270
Claud. If this should ever happen, tliou
would.st be honi-mad.
D. Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all
his quiver in Venice, thou wilt quake for this
shortly.
Bene. I look for an earthquake too, then.
D. Pedro. Well, you will temporize with
the hours. In the meantime, good Simiior
Benedick, repair to Leonato's : commend me
to him and tell him I will not fail him at sup¬
per ; for indeed he hath made great prepara¬
tion. 280
Bene. I have almost matter enough iu me
for such an embassage ; and so 1 commit
you—
Claud. To the tuition of God : From my
bouse, if I had it,—
D. Pedro. The sixth of July : Your loving
friend. Benedick.
Bene. Nay, mock not, mock not. The body
of your discburse is sometime guarded with
fragments, and the guards are but siightly
basted on neither : ere you flout old ends any
further, examine your conscience; and so I
eave you. [Exit. 291
Claud, My liege, your highness now may
do me good.
[Act i.
D. Pedro. My love is thine to teaoh : teach
it but bow,
And thou shalt see how apt it is to leam
Any hard lesson that may do thee good.
Claud. Hath Leonato any sou, my lord ?
D. Pedro. No child but Hero ; she's his
only heir.
Dost thou affect her, Claudio ?
Claud. O, my lord.
When you went onward on tliis endM action,
I iook'd upon her with a soldier's eye, 300
That liked, but had a rougher task m hand
Thau to drive liking to the name of iove :
But now I am retum'd and tiiat war-thoughts
Have left their places vacant, in their rooms
Come thronging soft and delicate desires,
Ali proumting me how fair young Hero is.
Saying, I liked her ere I went to wars.
.J. Pedro. Thou wiit be like a lover pres¬
ently
And tire the hearer with a book of words.
If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it, 310
And I will break with her and with her father
And thon slialt have her. Was't not to this
end
That thou began'st to twist so fine a story ?
Claud. How sweetly you do minister t«
love.
That know love's grief by his complexion !
But lest my likiug'might too sudden seem,
I would have salved it with a longer treatise.
D. Pedro. What need the bridge much
broader than the flood ?
The fairest grant is the necessity.
Look, what wili serve is fit; 'tis once, thou
lovest, 320
And I will fit thee with the remedy,
I know we shall have revelling to-night t
I will assume thy part in some disguise
Aud tell fair Hero I am Claudio,
And iu her bosom I'll unclasp my heart
And take her hearmg prisoner with the force
And strong encounter of my amorous tale ;
Then after to her father wil l I break ;
Aud the conclusion is, she shall be thine.
In practice let us put it presently. 330
[Exeunt.
Scene II. A room in Leonato's house.
Enter Leonato and Antonio, meetinf/.
Leon. How now, brother ! Where is my
cousin, your son ? hath he provided tliis
music ?
ArU. He is very busy about it. But,brotli-
er, I can tell you strange news that you yet
dreamt not of.
Leon. Are they good ?
Ant. As the event stamps them : but they
have a good cover ; th^' show well outward
The prince and Count Claudio, walking in a
thick-pleached alley in mine orchard, were
thus much overheard by a man of mine : the
prince discovered to Claudio that he loved my
niece your daughter and meant to acknowl¬
edge it this night iu a dance ; and if he founil
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
sobmb I.]
Iier accordant, ho meant to ttke the present
time by the top and instantly break with you
of it.
Leon. Hath the fellow any wit that told
you this ?
Ant. A good sharp fellow : I will send for
him ; and question him yourself. 20
Leon. No, no ; we will hold it as a dream
till it appear itself : but I will acquaint my
daughter withal, that she may be the better
prepared for an answer, if peradveuture this
be true. Go you and tell her of it \_Enlei- at¬
tendants.} Cousins, you know what you have
to do. O, I cry you mercy, friend ; go you
with me, and 1 will use your skill. Good
cousin, have a care this busy time. [Exeunt.
Scene III. The same.
Enter Don John and Conbade.
Con. What the good-year, my lord ! why
are yon thus ont of measure sad ?
D. John. Tliere is no measure in the occa¬
sion that breeds ; therefore the sadness is
without limit.
Con. You should hear reason.
D. John. And when I have heard it, what
blessing brings it?
Con. If not a present remedy, at least a
patient sufferance. 10
D. John. I wonder that thou, being, as thou
sayest thou art, bom under Saturn, goest
about to apply a moral medicine to a mortify¬
ing mischief. I cannot hide what I am : I
must be sad when I have cause and smile at
no man's jests, eat when I have stomach and
wait for no man's leisure, sleep when I am
drowsy and tend on no man's business, laugh
when 1 am merry and claw no man in his hu¬
mor.
Con. Tea, but you must not make the full
show of this till you may do it without con-
trolment. You liave of late stood out against
your brother, and he hath ta'en you newly
into his grace ; where it is impossible you
should take true root but by the fair weather
that you make yourself : it is needful that
you frame the season for your own harvest.
D. John. I had rather be a canker in a
l:e Ige than a rose in his grace, and it better
fits my blood to be disdained of all than to
fashion a carriage to rob love from any : in
this, though I cannot he said to be a flattering
honest man, it must not be denied but I am a
plain-dealing villain. I am trusted with a
muzzle and enfranchised with a clog ; there¬
fore I have decreed not to sing in my cage.
If I had my month, I would bite ; if I had my
liberty. I would do my liking : in the menu-
time let me be that I am and seek not to alter
me. »
Con. Can you make no use of your discon¬
tent ? '40
I). John. I make all use of it, for I use it
only.
Who comes here 7
6il
Enter Bobachio.
What news, Borachio ?
liora. I came yonder from a great supper:
the prince your brother is royally entertained
by Leonato : and I can give you intelligence
of an intended marriage.
I>. John. Will it serve for any model to
build mischief on ? What is he for a fool that
betroths himself to unquietness ? 50
liora. Marry, it is your brother's right
hand.
D. John. Who ? the most exquisite Clan-
die?
Bora. Even he.
D. John. A proper squire ! And who, and
who ? which way looks he ?
Bora. Marry, on Hero, the daughter and
heir of Leonato.
D. John. A very forward March-chick 1
How came you to this ?
Bora. Bemg entertained for a perfumer, as
I was smoking a musty room, comes me the
prince and Olaudio, hand in hand, in sad con¬
ference : I whipt me behind the arras; and
there heard it agreed upon that the prince
should woo Hero for himself, and having ob¬
tained her, give her to Count Claudio.
D. John. Come, come, let us thither : this
may prove food to my displeasure. That
young start-up hath all the glory of my over¬
throw : if I can cross him any way, I bless
myself every way. You are both sure, and
will assist me ? 71
Con. To the death, my lord.
D. John. Let us to the great supper : their
cheer is the greater that I am subdued.
Would the cook were of my mind ! Shall we
go prove what's to be done?
Bora. We'll wait upon your lordshm.
[Exeunt.
ACT H.
Scene I. A hall in Leonato's house.
Enter Leonato, Antonio, Hebo, Beatbice,
and others.
Leon. Was not Count John here at supper ?
Ant. I saw him not.
Beat. How tartly that gentleman looks ! I
never can see him but I am heart-burned an
hour after.
Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposi¬
tion.
Beat. He were an excellent man that were
made just in tlie midway between him and
Benedick ; the one is too like an image and
says nothing, and the other too like my lady's
eldest son. evermore tattling. 11
Leon. Then half Signior Benedick's tongue
in Count John's month, and half Count John's
melancholy in Signior Benedick's face,—
Beat. With a good leg and a good foot,
unde, and money enough in his purse, such a
JfZrCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
542
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
I (Act il
mau would win any woman in the world, if
a' could get her good-will.
Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never
get thee a husband, if thou be so shrewd of
thy tongue, 21
Ant. In faith, she's too curst.
Beat. Too curst is more tlian curst : 1 shall
lessen God's sending that way ; fur it is said,
' God sends a curst cow short horns ;' but to
a cow too curst he sends none.
Leon. So, by being too curst, God will send
you no hoins.
Beat. Just, if he send me no husband ; for
the which blessing I am at liim ui)on my knees
every morning and evening. Lord, 1 could
not endure a husband with a beard on his
face : I had rather lie in tlie woollen.
Leon. You may light on a husband that
hath no beard.
Beat. AVliat should I do with him ? dress
him hi my aiiparel and make him my waiting-
gentlewoman ? He tiiat hath a beard is more
than .a youth, and he that hath no beard is
less than a man : and he tliat is more than a
youth is not for me, and he that is less than
a man, I am not for him : therefore, I will
even take sixpence in earnest of the bear-
ward, and lead his apes into hell.
I^eon. Well, then, go you into hell ?
Beat. No, but to the gate ; and there will
the devil meet me, like an old cuckold, with
horns on his head, and say ' Get you to
heaven, Beatrice, get you to heaven ; here's
no place for you maids :' so deliver I up my
.apes, and away to Saint Peter for the heavens;
he shows me wliere the bachelors sit, and
there live we as merry as the day is long.
Ant. [To Hero] Well, niece, I trust you
will be ruled by your fatlier.
Beat. Yes, faith ; it is my cousin's duty to
make curtsy and say ' Father, as it please
you.' But yet for all that, cousin, let him be
a handsome fellow, or else make another
curtsy and say ' Father, as it please me.'
Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one
day fitted with a husband. 61
Beat. Not till God make men of some other
metal than earth. Would it not grieve a wo¬
man to be overmastered witli a piece of valiant
dust ? to make an account of her life to a clod
of wayward marl ? No, uncle, I'll none:
Adam's sons are ray brethren ; and, truly, I
hold it a sin to match in my kindred.
Leon. Daughter, remember what I told
you ; if tiie prince do solicit you iufmt kind,
you know your answer. 71
Beat. The fault will be in the music, cousin,
if you be not wooed in good time : if the
prince be too iraiwtant, tell him there is meas¬
ure in every thing and so dance out the an¬
swer. For, "hear ine. Hero : wooing, wedding,
and repenting, is as a Scotch jig, a measure,
and a cinque pace •. the .first suit is hot and
hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical;,
the wedding, mannerly-modest, as a measure,
full of state and aucieutry ; and then comes
repentance and, with his bad legs, falls into
the cinque pace faster and faster, till he sink
mto his grave.
Leon. Cousin, you apprehend passing
shrewdly.
Beat. I have a good eye, uncle j I can sea
a church by daylight.
Leon. The revellers are entering, brother:
make good room. [All put on uteir masks.
Enter DoxPedbo, Claudio, BE^■edick, Bal.
thasar, Don John, Borachio, Mar¬
garet, Ubsgi/A, and others, masked.
D. Pedro. Lady, will you walk about witli
your friend ? 90
Hero. So you walk softly and look sweetly
and say nothing, I am yours for the walk ; and
especially when I walk away.
D. Pedro. With me in your company ?
Hero, i may say so, when I please.
D. Pedro. And when please you to say so ?
Hero. When I like your favor ; for God
defend the lute should be like the case 1
J). Pedro. My visor is Philemon's roof ;
within the house is Jove. 100
Hero. Why, tlien, your visor should be
thatched.
I). Pedro. Speak low, if you speak love,
[Drawing her aside.
Baltlu Well, I would you did like me.
Marg^ So would not I, for your own sake;
for I have many ill-qualities.
Balih. Which is one ?
Marg. I say my prayers aloud,
Balth. I love you the better: the heairers
may cry. Amen, 110
Marg. God match me with a good dancer 1
Balth. Amen.
Marg. And God keep him out of my sight
when the dance is done 1 Answer, clerk.
Balth, No more words: the clerk is an¬
swered.
Urs. I know you well enough ; you are
Siguior Antonio.
Ant. At a word, I am not.
Urs, I know you by the waggling of your
head. 120
Ant, To tell you true, 1 cxninterfeit him.
Urs. You could never do him so ill-well,
unless you were the very man. Here's his dry
hand up and down : you are he, you are he.
Ant. At a word, I am not.
Urs. Come, come, do you think I do not
know you by your excellent wit ? can virtue
hide itself ? Go to, mum, you arehe : graces
will appear, and there's an'end.
Beat. Will you not tell me who told you
so ?
Bene. No, you shall pardon me. 131
Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you
are ?
B.me. Not now.
Beat. That I was disdainful, and that I had
my good wit out of the 'Hundred Merry
Tales : '—well, this was Signior Benedick that
said so. , 1
sckhb l.j
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
643
Bene. • "What's he ? '
Beat. I am sure you know him well euoug^h.
Bene. Not I, believe me.
Beat. Did he never make you laugh ? 140
Bene. I pray you, what is he ?
Beat. Why, he is the prince's jester: a
very dull fool ; only his gift is in devising
impossible slanders : none but libertines de¬
light in him ; and the commendation is not
in his wit, but in his villany ; for he both
{deases men and angers them, and then they
au^h at him and beat him. 1 am sure he is
in the fleet; I would he had boarded me.
Bene.^ When I know the gentleman, I'll
tell hini what you say. 151
Beat. Do, do : he'll but break a comiiarison
or two on me; which, penidventure not
marked or not laughed at, strikes him into
melancholy ; aud then there's a partridge wing
saved, for tire fool will eat no supper that
ni^t. [.Ifusic.] We must follow the leaders.
Bene. In every good thing.
Beat. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will
leave them at the next turning. IflO
[Dance. Tleen exeunt all except Don
John, Borachio, and Claudia.
D. John. Sure my brother is amorous on
Hero and hath withdrawn her father to break
with him about it. The ladies follow her and
but one visor remains.
Bora. And that is Claudio : I know him by
his bearing.
D. John. Are not you Signior Benedick ?
Claud. You know me well ; I am he.
D. John. Signior, you are very near my
brother in his love : he is enamored on Hero ;
I pray you, dissuade him from her : she is no
equal for his birth : you may do the part of
an honest man in it.
Claud. How know you he loves her ?
D. John. I heard him swear his affection.
Bora. So did I too ; and he swore he would
marry her to-night. '
D. John. Come, let us to the banquet
[Exeunt Don John and Borachio.
Claud. Thus answer I in the name of Bene¬
dick,
But hear these ill news with the ears of
Claudio. 180
'Tis certain so ; the prince wooes for himself.
Friendship is constant in all other things
Save in the office and affairs of love :
Therefore, all hearts in love use their own
tongues ;
Let every eye negotiate for itself
And trust no agent ; for beauty is a wHeh
Against whose channs faith melteth into
blood.
This is an accident of hourly proof.
Which I mistrusted not. farewell, therefore,
Hero !
Re-enter Benei>ick.
Bene. Count Claudio ? 190
Clou A Yea, the same.
Bene Come, will you go with me 7
Claud. Whither 7
Bene. Even to the next willow, about your
own business, county. What fashion will you
wear the garland of 7 about your neck, like
an usurer's chain 7 or under your arm, Hke a
lieutenant's scarf? You must wear it one
way, for the prince hath got your Hero.
Claud. I wish iiim joy of her. 200
Bene. Why, that's spoken like an honest
drovier : so they sell bullocks. But did you
think the prince would have served you thus ?
Claud. I pray you, leav e me.
Bene. Ho 1 now you strike like the blind
man : 'twas the boy that stole your meat, and
you'll beat the post
Claud. If it will not be, I'll leave you.
[Exit.
Bene. Alas, poor hurt fowl! now will he
creep into sedges. But that my Lady Bea¬
trice should know me, and not know me ! The
prince's fool 1 Ha ? It may be 1 go under
that title because I am merry. Yea, but sol
am apt to do myself wrong ; I am not so re¬
puted : it is the baje, though bitter, disposi¬
tion of Beatrice that puts the world into her
iverson, and so gives me out Well, I'll be
revenged as I may.
Re-enter Don Pedbo.
D. Pedro. Now, signior, where's the count?
did you see him ?
hem. Troth, my lord, I have played the
part of Lady Fame. I found him here as
melancholy as a lodge in a warren ; 1 told
him, and I think 1 told him true, that your
grace had got the good will of this young
lady ! and 1 offered him my company to a
willow-tree, either to make him a garland, as
being forsaken, or to bind him up a rod, as
being worthy to be whipped.
D. Pedro. To be whipped ! What's his
fault 7
Bene. The flat transgres.sion of a school¬
boy, who, being overjoyed with flndiug a birds'
nest, shows it his companion, and he steals it.
D. Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a trans¬
gression 7 "The transgression is in the .stealer.
Bene. Yet it had not been amiss the rod
had been made, and the garland too ; for the
garland he miglit have worn himself, and the
rod he might have bestowed on you, who, as
I take it, have stolen his birds' nest.
D. Pedro. I will but teach them to sing, and
restore them to the owner. 240
Bene. If their singing answer yqur saying,
by my faith, you say honestly.
D. Pedro. The Lady Beatrice hath a quar¬
rel to you : the gentleman that danced with
her toid her she is much wronged by you.
Bene. O, .she misused me past the endur¬
ance of a block ! an oak but with one green
leaf on it would have an.swered her ; my
very visor began to assume life and scold with
her. She told me, not thinking I had been
myself, that I was the prince's jester, that I
was duller than a great thaw ; huddling jest
544
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
[Act ii.
upon jest with such impossible conveyance
u^n me tliat I stood like a man at a mark,
with a whole army shootiug at me. She
speaks poniards, and every word stabs : if her
breath were as terrible as her terminations,
there were no living near her ; she would infect
to the north star. I would not marry her,
tliough she were endowed with all that Adam
had left him before he transgressed : she
would have made Hercules have turned spit,
yea, and have cleft his club to make the nre
too. Come, talk not of her : you shall find
her the infernal Ate in good apparel. I would
to God some scholar would conjure her; for
certainly, while she is here, a man may live
as quiet in hell as in a sanctuary ; and people
sin upon purpose, because they would go
thither ; so, indeed, all disquiet, horror and
perturbation follows her.
D. Pedro. Look, here she comes. 270
Enter Ct-AUDio, Beatrice, Hero, and
Leonato.
Bene. TVill your grace command me any
service to the world's en(f? I will go on the
slightest errand now to the Antipodes that yon
can devise to send me on ; I will fetch yon a
tooth-picker now from the furthest inch of Asia,
bring you the length of Prester John's foot,
fetch you a hair off the great Cham's beard,
do you any embassage to the Pigmies,
rather than hold three words' conference with
this harpy. You have no employment for me ?
D. Pedro. None, but to desire your good
company.
Bene. O God, sir, here's a dish I love not:
I cannot endure my Lady Tongue. \Exit.
D. Pedro. Come, lady, come; you have
lost the heart of Signior Benedick.
Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me
awhile ; and I gave him use for it, a double
heart for his single one : marry, once before
he won it of me with false dice, therefore your
grace may well say J have lost it. 291
D. Pedro. You have put him down, lady,
you have put him down.
Beat. So I would not he should do me, my
lord, lest I should prove the motlier of fools.
1 have brought Count Claudio, whom you sent
me to seek.
D. Pedro. Why, how now, count! where¬
fore are you sad ?
Claud. Not sad, my lord. 300
D. Pedro. How then ? sick ?
Claud. Neither, my lord.
Beat. The count is neither sad, nor sick,
nor merry, nor well; but civil count, civU as
an orange, and something of that jealous com¬
plexion. I
D. Pedro. I' faith, lady, 1 think your blazon
to be true ; though, I'll be sworn, if he be so,
his conceit is false. Here, Claudio, I have
wooed in thy name, and fair Hero is won : I
have hroke with her father, and his good will
obtained : name the day of marriage, and God
give thee jdy 1
Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and
with her my fortunes: his grace hath made
the match, and all grace say Amen to it
Beat. Speak, count, 'tis your cue.
Claud. Silence is the perfectest herald of
joy : I were but little happy, if I could say how
much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours : I
give away myself for yon and dote upon the
exchange. 320
Beat. Speak, cousin ; or, if you cannot,
stop his mouth with a kiss, and let not him
speak neither. [heart
D. Pedro. In faith, lady, you have a merry
Beat. Yea, my lord ; 1 thank it, poor fool,
it keeps on the windy side of care. My cousin
tells him in his ear uiat he is in her heart.
Claud. And so she dotli, cousin.
Beat. Good Lord, for alliance ! Thus goes
every one to the world but I, and I am sun¬
burnt ; I may sit in a corner and cry heigh-ho
for a husband 1
D. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one.
Beat. I would rather nave one of your
father's getting. Hath your grace ne'er a-
brother like you ? Your father got excellent
husbands, if a maid could come by them.
D. Pedro. Will you have me, lady ?
Beat. No, my lord, unless X might have
another for working-days : your grace is -too
costly to wear every day. But, 1 beseech your
grace, pardon me : I was born to speak all
mirth and no matter.
D. Pedro. Your silence most offends me,
and to be merry best becomes you ; for, out of
question, you were bom in a merry hour.
Beat. No, sure, my lord, my mother cried;
but then there was a star danced, and under
that was I bom. Cousins, God give you joy 1
Leon. Niece, will you look to those things
I told you of ?
Beat. I cry you mercy, uncle. By ybur
grace's pardon. [Exit.
P. Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited
iady.
Leon. There's little of the melancholy ele¬
ment in her, my lord : she is never sad but
when she sleeps, and not ever sad then ; for I
have heard my daug^hter say, she hath often
dreamed of unhappiness and waked herself
with laughing.
D. Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of
a husband.
Leon. C. by no means : she mocks all her
wooers out of suit.
D. Pedro. She were an excellent wife for
Benedick.
Leon. O Lord, my lord, if they were but a
week married, they would talk themselves
mad.
D. Pedro. County Claudio, when mean you
to go to church ? 371
Claud. To-morrow, my lord : time goes on
crutches till love have all his rites.
/.eon. Not till Monday, my dear son, which
is hence a just seven-night; and a time too
brief, too, to have aU tbmgs answer my mind.
scenb iii.]
D. Petlro. Come, yon shake the bead at so
long a bteathiug : but, I warrant thee, Clau^
dio, the time shall not go dully by us. I will
in the interim undertake one of Hercules' la¬
bors ; wnich is, to bring Signior Benedick and
the Lady Beatrice into a mountain of affection
the one with the other. 1 would fain hiive it
a match, and 1 doubt not but to fashion it, if
you tliree will but minister such assistance as
1 shall give you direction.
Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost
me ten nights' watchings.
Clmid. And I, my lord.
D. Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero ?
Hero. I will do any modest office, my lord,
to help my cousin to a good husband. 391
D. Pedro. And Benedick is not the unltope-
fullest husband that I know. Tlius far can 1
praise him ; he is of a noble strain, of ap¬
proved valor and confirmed honesty. I will
teach you how to humor your cousin, that she
shall mil in love with Benedick ; and I, with
your two helps, will so practice on Benedick
that, in despite of his quick wit and his queasy
stomach, he shall lall in love with Beatrice.
I f we can do this, Cupid is no longer an archer:
his glory shall be ours, for we are the only love-
fods. Go in with me, and I will tell you my
rift. [Exeunt.
Scene II. T^e same.
Enter Don John and Borachio.
D. John. It is so ; the Count Claudio shall
marry the daughter of Leouato.
Bora. Yea, my lord ; but I can cross it.
D. John. Any bar, any cross, any impedi¬
ment will be medicinable to me : I am sick
in displeasure to him, and whatsoever comes
athwart his affection ranges evenly with mine.
How canst thou cross this marriage ?
Bora. Not honestly, my lord ; but so Co¬
vertly that no dishonesty shall appear in me.
J). John. Show me briefly how. 11
Bora. I think I told your lordship a year
since, how much I am in the favor of Marga¬
ret, the waiting gentlewoman to Hero.
D. John. I remember.
Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of
the night, appoint her to look out at her lady's
chamber window.
D. John. What life is in that, to be the
death of this marriage ? 20
Bora. The poison of that lies in you to tem¬
per. Go you to the prince your brother; spare
not to tell him that he bath wronged his honor
in marrying the renowned Claudio—whose es¬
timation do you mightily hold up—to a con¬
taminated stale, such a one as Hero.
D. .John. What proof shall 1 make of that?
Bora. Proof enough misuse the prince,
to vex Ciaudio, to undo Hero and kill Leonato.
Look you for any other issue ? 30
D. John. Only to despite them, I will en¬
deavor any thing.
Bora, Go, then ( find me a meet hour to
S4o
draw Don Pedro and the Count Claudio alone;
tell them that you know that Hero loves me ;
intend a kind of zeal both to the prince and
Claudio, as,—in love of your brother's honor,
who hath made this match, and bis friend's
reputation, who is thus like to be cozened with
the semblance of a maid,—^that you have dis¬
covered thus. They will scarcely believe this
without trial: offer them instances; which
shall bear no less likelihood than to see me at
her chamber-window, hear roe tcall Margaret
Hero, hear Margaret term me Claudio ; and
bring them to see this the very night before
the intended wedding,—for in the meantime I
will so fashion the matter that Hero shall be
absent,—and there shall appear such seeming
truth of Hero's disloyalty that jealousy shall
be called assurance and all the preparation
overthrown. 61
D. John. Grow this to what adverse issue
it can, I will put it in practice. Be cunning in
the working this, and thy fee is a thousand
ducats.
Bora. Be you constant in the accusation,
and my cunning shall not shame me.
D. John. I will presently go learn their day
of marriage. [Exeunt.
Scene III. Leonato's orchard.
Enter Benedick.
Bene. Boy I
Enter Boy.
Boy. Signior ?
Bene. In my chamber-window lies a book:
bring it hither to me in the orchard.
Boy. I am here already, sir.
Bene. I know that; but I would have thee
hence, and here again. [Exit Boy.] I do much
wonder that one man, seeing bow much an¬
other man is a fool when he dedicates his be¬
haviors to love, will, after he hath laughed
at such shallow follies in others, become the
argument of his own scorn by falling in love :
and such a man is Claudio. I have known
when there was no music with him but the
drum and the fife ; and now. had he rather
hear the tabor and the pipe : I have known
when he would liave walked ten mile a-footto
see a good armor ; and now will be he ten
nights awake, carving the fashion of a new
doublet He was wont to speak plain and to
the purpose, like an honest man and a soldier;
and now is he turned orthography ; his words
are a very fantastical banquet, juk so many
strange dishes. May I be so converted and
see with these eyes ? I cannot tell; I think
not: I will not be sworn but love may trans¬
form me to an oyster ; but I'll take my oath
on it, till he have made an oyster of me, he
shall never make me such a fool. One woman
is fair, yet I am well ; another is wise, yet I
am well ; another virtuous, yet I am well; but
till all gi-aoes be in one woman, one woman
shall not come in my grace. Ricii she shall
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
5^6 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
be, that's certain; wise, or I'll none; Tirtuons,
or I'll never cheapen her ; fair, or I'll never
look on her ; mild, or come not near me ; no¬
ble, or not 1 for an angel ; of good dlscxmrse,
an excellent musician, and her hair shall be of
what color it please God. Ha! the prince and
Monsieur Love 1 1 will hide me in the arbor.
[ Withdraws.
Bnter Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato.
D. Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music?
Claud. Yea, my good lord. How still the
■ evening is, 40
As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony !
D. Pedro. See you where Benedick hath
hid himself ?
Claud. O, very well, my lord : the music
ended.
We'll fit the kid-fox with a pennyworth.
Enter Baethasar with Music.
. D. Pedro. Come, Balthasar, we'll hear that
song again.
, Balth. O, good my lord, tax not so bad a
voice
To slander music any more than once.
D. Pedro. It is the witness still of excel¬
lency
To put a strange face on his own perfection.
1 pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more. 50
Balth. Because yon talk of wooing, 1 will
sing ;
Since many a wooer doth commence his suit
To her he thinks not worthy, yet he wooes.
Yet will he swear he loves.
D. Pedro. Now, pray thee, come ;
Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument,
Do it in notes.
Balth. Note this before my notes ;
Tliere's not a note of mine that's worth the
noting,
D. Pedro. Why, these are very crotchets
that he speaks ;
Note, notes, forsooth, and nothing. [Air.
Bene. Now, divine air! now is his soul
ravished ! Is it not strange that .sheeps' guts
should hale souls out of men's bodies ? Well,
a horn for my money, when all's done.
The Song.
Balth. Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more.
Men were deceivers ever,
One foot in sea and one on shore.
To one thing constant never :
Then sigh not so, but let them go.
And be you blithe and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe 70
Into Hey nouny, nonny..
Sing no more ditties, sing no moe,
Of damps so dull and heavy;
The fiaud of men was ever so,
Since summer first was leafy'
The:; sigh not so, &c.
D. Pedro. By my troth, a good song.,
Balth. And an ill singer, ray Jotd,.
[Act ii.
D. Pedro. Ha, no, no, faith ; thou singest
well enough for a shift. 80
Bene. An he liad been a dog that should
have howled tbu& they would have hanged
him : and 1 pray God nis bad voice bode no
mischief. 1 had as lief have heard the uight>-
raven, come what plague could have come
after it.
D. Pedro. Yea, marry, dost thou hear, Bal¬
thasar ? 1 pray thee, get us some excellent
music ; for to-morrow night we would have it
at the Lady Hero's chamber-window.
Balth. The best 1 can, my lord. '. C
D. Pedro. Do so : farewell. [Exit Ba -
thasar.'\ Come hither, Leonato. What was it
you told me of to-day, that your niece Beatrice
was in love with Signior Benedick ?
Claud. O, ay : stalk on, stalk on ; the fowl
sits. 1 did never think that lady would have
loved any man.
Leon. No, nor 1 neither; but most wonder.,
fnl that she should so dote on Signior Bene¬
dick, whom she hath in all outward behaviors
seemed ever to abhor. 101
Bene. Is't possible ? Sits the wind in that
corner ?
Leon. By my troth, my lord, 1 cannot tell
what to think of it but that she loves him with
an enraged affection : it is past the infinite of
thought. [feit.
D. P dro. May be she doth but coiiuter-
Claurl. Faith, like enough.
Leon. O God, counterfeit! There was
never counterfeit of passion came so near
the life of passion as she discovers it 111
I). Pedro. Why, what effects of passion
shows she ? [bite.
Claud. Bait the hook well ; this fish will
Leon. What effects, my lord ? She will sit
you, you heard my daughter tell you how.
Claud. She did, indeed.
V. Pedro. How, how, 1 pray you ? You
amaze me: 1 would have thought her spirit
had been invincible against all assaults of affec¬
tion. 120
Leon. 1 would have sworn it had, my lord ;
especially against Benedick.
Bene. 1 should think this a gull, but that
the white-bearded fellow speaks it : knavery
cannot, sure, hide himself in such reverence.
Claud. He hath ta'en the infection; hold it
up.
D. Pedro. Hath she made her affection
known to Benedick ?
Leon. No ; and swears slie never will :
that's her torment 130
Claud. 'Tis true, indeed ; so your daughter
says : 'Shall 1,' says she, ' that have so oH en¬
countered him with scorn, write to him that 1
lo\"e him ?'
Leon. This says she now when she is begin¬
ning to Write to him ; for she'll be up twenty
times a night, and there will she sit in her
smock till she have writ a sheet of paper ;
my daughter tells us all.
Claud. Now yon talk of a sheet of paper, I
Scene iii.|
remember a pretty jest your daughter told us
of.
Leon. O, when she had writ it aud was
reading it over, she found Benedick and Bea¬
trice between the sheet ?
CUmd. That.
Leon. O, she tore the letter into a thousand
halfpence ; railed at herself, that she should
be so immodest to write to one tliat she knew
would dout her ; ' 1 measure hira,' says she,
' by my own spirit; for I should flout him, if
he writ to me ; yea, though 1 love him, I
should.' , 151
Claud. Then down upon her knees she
falls, weeps, sobs, beats her heart, teiirs Iter
hair, prays, curses : ' O sweet Benedick ! God
give me patience !
Leon. She doth indeed ; ray daughter says
so : and the ecstasy hath so much overborne
her that my daughter is sometime afeared she
will do a desperate outrage to herself : it is
very true.
D. Pedro. It were good that Benedick knew
of it by some other, if site will not discover it.
Claud. To what end ? He would make but
a simrt of it and torment tlie poor lady worse.
D. Pedro. An he should, it were an alms to
hang hira. She's an excellent sweet lady ;
and, out of all suspicion, she Is virtuous.
Claud. And she is exceeding wise.
D. Pedro. In every thing but in loving Bene¬
dick.
Leon. O, my lord, wisdom aud blood com¬
bating in so tender a body, we have ten proofs
to one that blood hath tlie victory. I am sorry
for her, as I have just cause, bemg her uncle
and her guardian.
D. Pedro. I would slie had bestowed this
dotage on me : I would have dait'ed all other
respects and made lier half myself. I pray
you, tell Benedick of it, and hear what a' will
say.
Leon. Were it ^ood, tliink you 1
Claud. Hero thinks surely she will die ; for
she says she will die, if he love her not, aud
she will die, ere she make her love known, and
she will die, if he woo her, rather than she
will bate one breath of her accustomed cross¬
ness.
D. Pedro. She doth well: if she should
make tender of her love, 'tis very possible
he'll scorn it; for the man, as you kuow ail,
hath a contemptible spirit.
Claud. He is a very proper man.
A Pedro. He hath indeed a good outward
happiness. 191
Claud. Before God laud, in my mind, very
wise.
D Pedro. He doth indeed show some sparks
that are like wit.
Claud. And I take him^ be vaiianb
A Pedro. As Hector, I assure you : and in
the managing of quarrels you may say he is
wise ; for either he avoids them with great
discretion, or undertakes them witli a most
Christian-like fear. 200
M9
Leon. If he do fear God, a' must necessarily
keep peace : if he break the peace, he ought to
enter into a quarrel with fear and trembling.
A Pedro. And so will he do ; for the man
doth fear God, howsoever it seems not in him
by some large jests he will make. Well, I am
sorry for your niece. Sliall we go seek Bene^
dick, and tell him of her love 7
Claud. Never tell him, my lord I'let her
wear it out with good counsel.
Leon. Nay, that's impossible : she may
wear her heart out first. ^ 210
p. Pedro. Well, we will hear further of it
by your daughter : let it cool tlie while. I love
Benedick well ; and I could wish he would
modestly examine iuniself, to see how much
he is unworthy so good a lady.
Leon. My lord, will you walk 7 dinner is
ready.
Claud. If he do not dote on her upon this,
I will never trust ray expectation. 220
A Pedro. Let tliere be tlie same net spread
for her ; and that must your daugliter and her
gentlewomen carry. The sport will be, when
they hold one an opinion of another's dotage,
and no such matter ; that's the scene that I
would see, which will be merely a dumb-
show. Let us send her to call him in to dinner.
[^Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato.
Bene. [Coming forward^ This can be no
trick : the conference was sadly bonie. They
have the truth of this from Hero. They seem
to pity the lady : it seems her affections have
their full bent. Love me 1 why, itmnstbere-
?uited. I hear how I am censured : they say
will bear myself proudly, if I perceive the
love come from her ; they say too that she
will rather die than give any sign of affection.
I did never think to marry : 1 must not seem
proud : happy are they that hear their detrac¬
tions and can put them to mending. They say
the lady is fair ; 'tis a truth, I can bear them
witness ; and virtuous ^ 'tis so, I cannot re¬
prove it; and wise, but for loving me ; by my
troth, it is no addition to her wit, nor no great
argument of her folly, for I wilt be horribly in
love with her. I may chance have some odd
quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, be¬
cause I have railed so long against marriage ;
but doth not the appetite alter 7 a man loves
the meat in his youth' that he cannot endure
in his age. Shall quips and sentences and
these paper bullets of the brain awe a man
from the career of his humor 7 No, the world
must be peopled When I .said I would die a
baclielor, I did not think I, should live till 1
were married. Here comes Beatrice. By
this day 1 she's a fair lady : I do spy some
marks of love in her.
Enter Beatrice.
Beat. Against my Will I am sent to bid yon
come in to dinner.
Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your
pains.
Beat. I took no more pains for those thanks
JUUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
548
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
(Act ii».
tium yoa take pains to thank me : if it had
been painful, I would not hare come. 261
Btne. Ton take pleasure then in the mes-
sa^?
Beat. Tea, jmd so much as you mar take
upon a knife's point and choke a daw withaL
Ton hare so stomach, signior: fare you welL
[Exit.
Bene. Ha! ' Against my will I am sent to
bid you come in to dinner ;' there's a doable
meaning in that ' 1 took no more pains for
those thanks than you took pains to thank me.'
that's as much as to say, Any pain.s that I take
for you is as easy as thanks. If I do not take
pity of her, I am a riUain ; if I do not lore her,
1 am a Jew. I will go get her picture, [frit
ACT in.
ScKKB L LBOrrATo's garden.
Enter Hkbo, Maboaket, and Ubsola.
Ben. Good Margaret, ran thee to the par¬
lor ;
Tliere shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice
Proposing with the prince and Claudio :
AVhisper her ear and tell her, I and Ursula
Walk iu the orchard and our whole discourse
Is all of her : say that thou overheard'st us ;
And bid her steal into the pleached bower,
Where honeysuckles, ripen'd by the sun.
Forbid the sim to enter, like favorites.
Made proud by princes, that advance their
pride 10
Against that power that bred it: there will she
hide her.
To listen our purpose. This is thy office;
Bear thee well in it and leave us alone.
Marg. FU make her come, 1 warrant vou,
presently. [Exit.
Hero. Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth
come.
As we do trace this alley up and down.
Our talk must only be of Bwedick.
When I do name him, let it be thy p^
To praise him more than ever man did merit:
My talk to thee must be how Benedick 20
Is sick in love with Beatrice. Of this matter
1.4 little Cupid's crafty arrow made.
That only wounds by hearsay.
Enter Beatiucr, be?und.
Now b^n;
For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs
Close by the ground, to hear our conference.
Urt. The pleasanFst angling is to see the
fish
Cut with her golden oars the mlver stream.
And greedily devour the treacherous bait:
So angle we for Beatrice ; who even now
Is coached in the woodbiue coverture. 90
Fear you not my part of the dialogue.
&ro. Then go we ne.or her, that her ear
lose nothing
Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it.
[Approaching the boteer.
No, tralv, UrsuU, die is too disdainful;
I know her spirits are as coy and wild
As haggerds of the rock.
Cr*. But are you sure
That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely ?
Zfero. So says the prince and my new-
trothed lord.
Urs. And did th^ bid yon tell her of it,
madam ?
Hero. They did entreat me to aoquaint her
of it; I 40
But I persuaded them, if they loved Benedick,
To wi^ him wrestle witli affection.
And never to let Beatrice know of it.
Urs. Why did you so ? Doth not tlie gentle¬
man
Deserve as full as fortunate a bed
As ever Beatrice shall couch upon ?
Hero. O god of love! I know he doth de¬
serve
Aa much as may be yielded to a man :
But Nature never framed a woman's heart
Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice ; 50
Disdain and scorn ride sparkling ui her eyes.
Misprising what they look on, and her wit
Values itself so highily that to her
All matter else seems' weak : she cannot love.
Nor take no shape nor project of affection.
She is so self-endeared.
Urs. Sure, I think so ;
And therefore certainly it were not good
She knew his love, le^ she make sport at it
Hero. Why, you speak truth. I never yet
saw msm.
How wise, how noble, young, how rarely fea¬
tured, 60
But she would spell bim backward ; if Bur-
faced,
She would swear the gentleman should be her
sister;
If black, why. Nature, drawing of an antique.
Made a foul blot; if tall, a lance ill-headed ;
If low. an agate very vilely cut;
If speaking, why, a vaniie blown with all
winds ;
If silent why, a block moved with none.
So turns she every man the wrong side out
.And never gives to truth and virtue that
BThich simpleness and merit purchaseth. 70
Urs. Sure, cure, such carping Is not com-
men^ble.
Hero. No. not to be so odd and from all
fashions
As Beatrice is. cannot be commendable ;
But who dare tell her so ? If f should speak.
She would mock me into air ; O, she would
laugh me
Out of myself, press me to death with wit
Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire,
Consume away in sigh.*, waste inwardly :
It were a better death than die with mocks.
Which is as bad as die with tickling. gp
Urs. Tet tell her of it: hear wl^ she will
say.
Scene ii.j
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
649
Hero. No ; rather I will go to Denedick
Aud counsel him to fight against his passion.
And, truiy, I'll devise some honest slanders
To stain my cousin with : one doth not know
How much an ill word may empoison liking.
Urs. O, do not do your cousin such a
wrong.
She cannot be so much without true judg¬
ment—
Havuig so switt and excellent a wit
As she is prized to have—as to refuse 90
So rare a gentleman as Siguier Benedick.
Hero. He is tlie only man of Italy,
Always excepted my dear Claudio.
Urs. I pray you, be not angry with me,
madam.
Speaking my fancy : Signior Benedick,
For shape, for bearing, argument and valor.
Goes foremost in report through Italy.
Hero. Indeed, he hath an excellent good
name.
Urs. His excellence did earn it, ere he had
it
When are you married, madam ? 100
Hero. Why, every day, to-morrow. Come,
go in :
I'll show thee some attires, and have thy coun¬
sel
Which is tlie best to furnish me to-morrow.
Urs. She's limed, I warrant you : we have
caught her, madam.
Hero. If it proves so, then loving goes by
haps:
Some .Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.
[Exeunt Hero and Ursula.
Beat. [Coming forward] What fire is in
mine ears ? Can tliis be true '!
Stand I coudemn'd for pride and scorn so
much ?
Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu !
No glory lives behind the back of such. 110
And, Benedick, love on ; I will requite thee,
Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand:
If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee
To bind our loves up in a holy band ;
For others say thou dost deserve, and I
Believe it better than reportingly. [Exit.
Scene II. A room in Leonato's Aouse.
Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, and
Leonato.
D. Pedro. I do but stay till yonr marriage
be consummate, and then go 1 toward Arra-
gon.
Claud. I'll bring you thither, my lord, if
you'll vouchsafe me.
D. Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a
soil in the new gloss of your marriage as to
show a child his new coat and forbid him to
wear it. I will only be bold with Benedick for
his company ; for. from the crown of his head
to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth: he hath
twice or thrice cut Cupid's bow-string aud the
little hangman dare not shoot at him ; he hath
a heart as sound as a bell and his tongue is
the clapper, for what his heart thinks his tongue
speaks.
Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been.
Leon. So say I: -methinks you are sadder.
Claud. I hope he be ii; love.
D. Pedro. Hang him, truant! there's no
true drop of blood in him, to be truly touched
with love : if he be sad, he wants money. 20
Bene. I have the toothache.
D. Pedro. Draw it.
Bene. Hang it I
Claud. You must hang it first, aud draw it
afterwards.
Z>. Pedro. What! sigh for the toothache ?
Leon. Where is but a hnmor or a worm.
Bene. Well, every one can roaster a grief
but he that has it
Claud. Yet say I, he is in love. 30
D. Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy
in him, unless it be a fancy that he hath to
strange disguises; as, to be a Dutchman to-day,
a Frenchman to-morrow, or in the shape of two
countries at once, as, a German from the waist
downward, all slops, and a Spaniard from the
hip upward, no doublet Unless he have a
fancy to this foolery, as it appears he hath,
he is no fool for fancy, as you would have
it appear he is.
Claud. If he be not in love with some
woman, there is no believing old signs : a'
brushes his'hat o' mornings ; what should that
bode ? 42
D. Pedro. Hatli any man seen him at the
barber's ?
Claud, No, but the barber's man hath been
seen with him, aud the old ornament of his
cheek hath already stuffed tennis-balls.
Leon. Indeed, he looks younger than he did,
by the loss of a beard.
D. Pedro. Nay, a' rubs himself with civet:
can you smell him out by that ? 51
Claud. That's as much as to say, tlie sweet
youth's in love.
D. Pedro. The greatest note of it is his
melancholy.
Claud. And when was he wont to wash his
face?
D. Pedro. Yea, or to paint himself ? for the
which, 1 hear what they say of him.
Claud. Nay, but bis jesting spirit; which is
now crept into a lute-string and now governed
by stops.
D. Pedro. Indeed, that tells a heavy tale
for him : conclude, conclude he is in love.
Claud. Nay, but I know who loves him.
D. Pedro. That would I know too : I war¬
rant, one that knows him not.
Claud. Yes, aud his ill conditions ; aud, in
despite of all, dies for him.
D. Pedro. She shall be buried with her face
upwards. 71
Bene. Yet is this no charm for the tooth¬
ache. Old signior, walk aside with me ; I
have studied eight or nine wise words to speak
to you, which these hobby-horses must not
hear. [Exeunt Benedick and Leonato.
550
MUCH ADO ABOUT nothing.
[Act lit
D. Pedfo. For my life, to break with him
about Beatrice.
Claud. 'Tis even so. Hero and Margaret
have by this played their parts with Beatrice;
and then the two bears wiil net lute one an¬
other when they meet. 81
Enter Don John.
D. John. My iord and brother, God save
you!
D. Pedro. Good den, brother.
D. John. It your leisure served, I would
speak with you.
D. Pedro. In private 7
D. John. If It piease you ; yet Count
Claudio may hear ; for what I would speak of
concerns him.
JX Pedro. What's the matter 7 90
D. John. [To Claudio] Means your lord¬
ship to be married to-morrow ?
D. Pedro. You know he does.
D. John. I know not that, when he knows
what I know.
Claud. If there be any impediment, I pray
you discover it.
/). John. You may think I love you not:
let that appear hereafter, and aim better at me
by that I now will manifest. For my brother,
I think he hoids you well, and in deamess of
heait hath holp to effect your ensuing mar¬
riage ;—surely .suit ill spent and labor ill be¬
stowed.
D. P.dro. Why, what's the matter 7
D. .John. I came hither to tell 3-011; and,
circumstances shortened, for she has been too
long a talking of, the lady is disloyaL
Claud. Who, Hero?
D. Pedro. Even she ; Leouato's Hero, your
Hero, every man's Hero. 110
Claud. Disloyal 7
D. John. The word is too good to paint out
her wickedness ; I could say she were worse :
thinl^ou of a worse title, and I will fit her to
it. Wonder not till further warrant: go but
with me to-night, you shall see her chamber-
window entered, even the night before her
wedding-day; if you love her then, to-morrow
wed her ; but it would better fit yourlionorto
change your mind.
Claud May this be so ? 120
D, Pedro. I will not think it •
D. John. If you dare not trust that you see,
confess not that you know : if you will follow
me, I will show you enough ; and when you
have seen more and heard more, proceed ac¬
cordingly.
Claud. If I see any thing to-night why I
should not marry her to-morrow, in the con¬
gregation, where I should wed, there will I
shame her.
D. Pedro. And, as I wooed for thee to ob¬
tain her, I will join wifii thee to disgrace her.
D. John. I wi.i disparage her no farther
till you are my witnesses : bear it coldly but
till midnight, and let the issue show itself.
D, Pedro. 0 day untowarcUy turned i j
Claud. O mischief strangely thwarting !
D. John. O plague right well prevented !
so wiU you say when you liavdseen the sequel.
[Exeunt.
Scene III. A street.
Enter DoGBEBBy andYEBaEswith the Watch.
Dog. Are you good men and true 7
Verg. Yea, or else it were pity but they
should suffer salvation, body and soul.
Dog. Nay, that were a punishment too
good' for them, if they should have any alle¬
giance in them, being chosen for the prince's
watch.
Verg. Well, give them their chatge, neigh¬
bor Eiogberry.
Dog. First, who think you tlie most desart-
less man to be constable 7 10
First Watch. Hugh Otecake, sir, or George
Seacole ; for they can write and read.
Dog. Come hitlier, neighbor Seacole. God
hath blessed you with a good name : to ]je u
well-favored man is the gift of fortune ; but
to write and read comes by nature.
Sec. Watch. Both which, master const;.-
ble,—
Dog. You have : I knew it would be your
answer. Well, for your favor, sir, why, give
God thanks, and make no boast of it; and for
your writing and reading, let that app^r when
there is no need of such vanity. You are
thought here to be the most senseless and fit
man for the constable of the watch ; therefore
bear you the lantern. This is your charge :
you shall comprehend all vagrom men ; you
are to bid any man stand, in the prince's name.
Sec. Wotca. How if a' will not stand 7
Dog. Why, then, take no note of him, but
let him go ; and presently call the rest of the
watch together and thank God you are rid of
a knave.
Verg. If he will not stand when he is bid¬
den, he is none of the prince's subjects.
Dog. True, and they are to meddle with
none but the prince's subjects. You shiill also
make no noise in the streets; for, for the watch
to babble and to talk is most tolerable and not
to be endured.
Watch. We will rather sleep than talk:
we know what belongs to a watch. 40
Dog. Why, you speak like an ancient and
most quiet watchman ; for I cannot see how
sleeping should offend : only, have a care that
your bills be not stolen. Well, you are to call
at all the ale-houses, and bid those that are
drunk get them to bed.
Watch. How if they wili not 7
Dog. Why, then, let them alone till tliey
are sober : if they make yon not then the bet¬
ter answer, you may say tltey are not the men
you took tliem for. 51
Watch. Well, sir.
Dog. If you meet a thief, you may suspect
him, by virtue of your office, to be no true
man ; and, for such kind of men, the less yott
Scene m.]
meddle or make with them, why the more is
for yonr honesty.
Walch. If we know him to be a thief, shall
we not lay hands on him ?
Dog. Truly, by your office, you may ; but
I think they that touch pitch will be defiled :
the most peaceable way for you, if you do take
a thief, is to let him show himself what he is
and steal out of your company.
Verg. You have been always called a mer¬
ciful man, partner.
Dog. Truly, 1 would not hang a dog by my
will, much more a man who hath any honesty
in liim.
Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night,
you must call to the nurse and bid her still it.
Watch. How if the nnrse be asleep and
will not hear us ? 71
Dog. Why, then, depart in peace, and let
the dilld wake her with crying ; for the ewe
tliat will not hear her lamb when it baes will
never answer a calf when he bleats.
Verg. 'Tis very true.
Dog. This is the end of the charge :—you,
constable, are to present the prince's own per¬
son : if yon meet the prince in the night, you
may stay him. 81
Verg. Nay, by'r our lady, that I think a'
cannot.
Dog. Five shillings to one on't, with any
man that knows the statutes, he may stay him:
marry, not without the prince be willing ; for,
iudeM, the watch ought to oSend no ntau ; and
it is an offence to stay a man against his will.
Fer^. By'r lady, 1 think it be so.
Dog. Ha, ha, ha ! Well, masters, good night:
an there be any matter of weight chances, call
up me : keep your fellows' counsels and your
own : and good night. Come, neighbor.
Watch. Well, masters, we hear our charge :
let us go sit here upon the church-bench till
two, and then all to bed.
Dog. One word more, honest neighbors.
I pray you watch about Si^ior Leonato's
door ; for the wedding being there to-morrow,
there is a great coil to-night. Adieu: be vigi-
tant, I beseech you.
[ETXunt Dogberry and Verges. 101
Enter Bokachio and Conbade
Bora. What Conrade !
Watch. {Aside'] Peace ! stir not.
Bora. Conrade, I say !
Con. Here, man ; I am at thy elbow.
Bora. Mass, and my elbow itched ; I thought
there would a scab follow.
Con. I will owe thee an answer for that :
and now forward with tiiy tale.
Bora. Stand thee close, then, under this
pen^ouse, for it drizzles ram ; and I will, like
a true drunkard, utter all to th#e.
WofcA. [Aside] Some treason, masters:
yet stand close.
Bora. Therefore know I have earned of
Bon John a thousand ducats. [be so dear ?
Con. Is it possible th.at any, villany should
551
Bora. Thou shouldst rather ask if it were
possible any villany should be so rich ; for
when rich villains have need of poor ones, poor
ones may make what price they will.
Con. I wonder at it.
Bora. That shows thou art unconfirmed.
Thou knowest that the fashion of a doublet,
or a hat, or a cloak, is nothing to a man.
Con. Yes, it is apparel.
Bora. I mean, the fashion.
Con. Yes, the fashion is the fashion.
Bora. Tush ! I may as well say the fool',:,
the fool. But seest thou not what a deformed
thief this fashion is ?
Watch. [Aside] I know that Deformed ; a'
has been a vile thief this seven year ; a' goes
up and down like a gentleman : I remember
his name.
B(yra. Didst thou not hear somebody ?
Con. No ; 'twas the vane on the house.
Bora. Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed
thief this fashion is ? how giddily a' turns
about all the hot bloods between fourteen and
five-and-thirty ? sometimes fashioning them
like Pharaoh's soldiers in the reeky painting,
sometime like god Bel's priests in the old
church-window, sometime like the shaven
Hercules in the smirched worm-eaten tapestry,
where his codpiece seems as massy as his club?
Con. All this I see ; and I see that tlie
fashion wears out more apparel than the man.
But art not thou thyself giddy with the fashion
too, that thou hast shifts out of thy tale into
telling me of the fashion ?
Bora. Not so, neither : but know that I
have to-night wooed Margaret, the Lady
Hero's gentlewoman, by the name of Hero :
she leans me out at her mistress' chamber-
window, bids me a thousand times good night,
—I tell this tale vilely :—I should first tell thee
how the prince, Claudio and my master, plant¬
ed and placed and possessed by my master Don
John, saw afar off in the orchard this amiable
encounter. 161
Con. And thought they Margaret was
Hero?
Bora. Two of them did, the prince and
Claudio ; but the devil my master knew she
was Margaret; and partly by his oaths, which
first possessed them, partly by the dark night,
which did deceive them, but chiefly by my
villany, which did confirm any slander that
Don John had made, away went Claudio en¬
raged ; swore he would meet hei', as he was ap¬
pointed, next morning at the temple, and there,
before the whole congregation, shame her with
what he saw o'er night and send her home
again withoiit a husband.
First Watch. We charge you, in the prince's
name, stand I
Bee. Watch Call up the right master con¬
stable. We have here recovered the most dan¬
gerous piece of lechery that ever was known in
the commonwealth. 181
First Watch. And one Deformed is one of
them: I know him ; a' wears a lock.
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
662
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
[Act iii-
Ami. Ma«tew, mastera,—
See.' Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed
forfb, I warrant you. i
Cbn. JfMters,—
Tuvt Watch. Never speak : we charge you
let us olW yoi to go with us.
Bora, we are Tike to prove a goodly com¬
modity) being taken up of these men's bills.
Cbn. A commodity in question, I warrant
you. Come, we'll obey you. [Exeunt.
scenb iv. Hebo's apartment.
Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula.
Hero. Good Ursula, wake my cousin Bea¬
trice, and desire her to rise.
Urs. I will, lady.
Hero. And bid her come hither.
Urs. Well. [ExH.
Marq. Troth, I think your other rabato
were better.
Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear
this.
Marg. By my troth, 's not so good ; and I
warrant your cousin will'say so. 10
Hero. My cousin's a fool, and thou art
another : I'll wear none but this.
Marg. I like the new tire within excellently,
if the hair were a thought browner ; and your
gown's a most rare fashion, i' faith. I saw
the Duchess of Milan's gown that they praise
so.
Hero O, that exceeds, they say.
Marg. By my troth, 's but a night-gown in
respect of yours : cloth o' gold, and cuts, and
laced with silver, set with pearls, down sleeves,
side sleeves, and skirts, round underborne witli
a bluish tinsel : but for a line, quaint, graceful
and excellent fashion, yours is worth ten on't.
Hero. God give me joy to wear it! for my
heart is exceeding heavy.
Marg. 'Twill be heavier soon by the weight
of a man.
Hero. Fie upon thee ! art not ashamed ?
Marg. Of what, lady ? of speaking honor¬
ably ? Is not marriage honorable in a beggar?
Is not your lord honorable without marriage ?
I think you would have me say,' saving your
reverence, a husband :' and bad thinking do
not wrest true speaking, I'll offend nobody ; is
there any harm in ' the heavier for a husband'?
None, I think, and it be the right husband and
the right wife ; otherwise 'tis light, and not
heavy : ask my Lady Beatrice else ; here she
comes.
Enter Beatrice.
Hero. Good morrow, ooz.
Beat. Good morrow, sweet Hero. 40
Hero. Why, how now ? do you speak in the
sick tune ?
Beat. I am out of all other tune, methinks.
Marg. Clap's into ' Light o' love ;' that
goes without a burden : do you sing it, and
I'll dance it.
Beat. Ye light o' love, with your heels! then,
if your husband have stahles enough, you'll
see he shall lack no bams.
Marg. O illegitimate construction 1 I scom
that with my heels. 51
Beat. 'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin ; 'tis
time you were ready. By my troth, I am ex¬
ceeding ill; heigh-ho t
Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband ?
Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H.
Marg. Well, and you be not turned Turk
there's no more sailing by the star.
Beat. Wliat means the fool, trow'
Marg. Nothing I; bnt God send every one
their heart's desire I 61
Hero. These gloves the count sent me ;
they are an excellent perfume.
Beat. I am stuffed, cousin ; I cannot smell.
Marg. A maid, and stuffed ! there's goodly
catching of cold.
Beat. O, God help me ! God help me 1 how
long have you professed apprehension ?
Marg. Even since you left it Doth not my
wit become me rarely ? 70
Beat. It is not seen enough, you should
wear it in your cap. By my troth,'I am sick.
Marg. Get you some of this distilled Car-
duus Benedictus, and lay it to your heart : it
is the only thing for a qualm.
Hero. There thou pnckest her with a thistle.
Beat. Benedictus ! why Benedictus? you
have some moral in this Benedictus.
Marg. Moral 1 no, by my troth, I have no
moral meaning; I meant, plaui holy-thistle.
You may think perchance that I think you are
in love: nay, by'r lady, I am not such a fool to
think what I list, nor I list not to think what I
can, nor indeed I camiot think, if I would think
my heart out of thinking, that you are in love
or that you will be in love or that you can be
in love. Yet Benedick was such another, and
now is he become a man : he swore he would
never marry, and yet now, in despite of his
heart, he eats his meat without grudging : and
how you may be converted I know not, but
methinks you look with your eyes as other
women do.
Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue
keeps ?
Marg. Not a false gallop.
Re-enter Ursula.
Urs. Madam, withdraw: the prince, the
count, Signior Benedick, Don John, and all the
gallants of the town, are come to fetch you to
church.
Hero. Help to dress me, good coz, good
Meg, good Ursula. [Exeunt.
Scene V. Another room in Leonato's house.
Enter Leonato, with Dogberry and Verges-
Leon. What would you with me, honest
neighbor ?
Dog. Marry, sir, I would have some confi¬
dence with you that decerns you nearl.v.
Leon. Brief. 1 pray you ; for you see it is c
busy time with md.
Scene i.]
Dog. 'Murry, this it is, sir.
Verg. Yes, in truth it is, sir.
Leon. What is it, my good friends ?
Dog. Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little
off the matter : an old man, sir, and his wits
are not so blunt as, God help, I would desire
they were ; but in faith, honest as the skin
between his brows.
Verg. Yes, f thank God I am as honest as
any man living that is an old man and no ho-
nester than 1.
Dog. Comparisons are odorons : palabras,
neighbor Ve^es.
Leon. Neighbors, you are tedious.- 20
Dog. It pleases your worship to say so, but
we are the poor duke's officers ; but truly, for
mine own ^rt, if I were as tedious as a king,
I could find it in my heart to bestow it all of
your worship.
Leon. All tliy tediousness on me, ah ?
Dog. Yea, an 'twere a thousand pound
more than 'tis ; for I hear as good exclamation
on your worship as of any man in the city; and
though I be but a poor man, 1 am glad to hear
it. 30
Verg. And so am I.
Leon. I would fain know what you have to
say.
Verg. Marry, sir, our watch to-night, ex¬
cepting your worship's presence, ha' ta'en a
couple of as arrant knaves as any in Messina.
Dog. A good old man, sir ; he will be talk¬
ing : as they say,When the age is in, the wit is
out: God help us! it is a world to see. Well
said, i' faith, neighbor Verges : well, God's a
good man ; an two men nde of a horse, one
must ride behind. An honest soul, i' faith, sir;
by my troth he is, as ever broke bread ; but
God is to be worshipped ; all men are not alike;
alas, good neighbor!
Leon. Indeed, neighbor, he comes too short
of you.
Dot/. Gifts that God gives.
Leon. I must leave you.
Dog. One word, sir: our watch, sir, have
indeed comprehended two aspicious i^rsons,
and we would have them this morning ex¬
amined before your worship.
Leon. Take their examination yourself and
bring it me : I am now m great haste, as it
m^ appear unto you.
Dog. It shall be suffigance.
Leon. Drink some wine ere you go : fare
you well.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess.. My lord, they stay for you to give
your daughter to her husband. 60
Z^on. I'll wait uiion them : I am ready.
[Exeunt Leonc^fo and Messenger.
Dog. Go, good partner, go, get you to
Francis Seacole; bid him bring his pen and
inkhom to the gaol: we are now to exami¬
nation these men.
Verg. And we must do it wisely.
Dog. We will spare for no wit, I warrant
553 .
you ; here's that shall drive some of them to a
non-come : only get the learned writer to set
down our excommunication and meet me at
the gaol. [Exeunt.
ACT IV
Scene I. A church.
Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Leonato,
Friar Francis, Clacdio, Benedick,
Hero, Beatrice, and attendants.
Leon. Come, Friar Francis, be brief ; only
to the plain form of marriage, and you shall re¬
count ueir particular duties afterwards.
Friar. You come hitlier, my lord, to marry
this lady.
Claud. No.
Leon. To be married to her-.friar, you come
to marry her.
Frmr Lady, you come hither to be married
to this count. 10
Hero. I do.
Friar. If either of you know any inward
impediment why you should not be conjoined,
I charge you, on your souls, to utter it.
Claud. Know you any, Hero ?
Hero. None, my lord.
Friar. Know you any, count ?
Leon. I dare make his answer, none.
Claud. O, what men dare do ! what men
may do 1- what men daily do, not knowing
what they do ! 21
Bene. How now! interjections ? Why,
then, some be of laughing, as, ah, ha; he !
Claud. Stand thee by, friar. Father, by
your leave ;
Will you with free and unconstrained soul
Give me this maid, your daughter ?
Leon. As freelyj son, as God did give her
me
Claud. And what have I to give you back,
whose worth
May counteriioise this rich and precious gift ?
D. Pedro. Nothing, unless you render her
again. 30
Claud. Sweet prince, you leai-n me noble
thankfulness.
There, Leonato, take her back again :
Give not this rotten orange to your friend ;
She's but the sign and semblanre of her honor,
^hold how like a maid she blushes here !
O, what authority and show of truth
Can cunning sin cover itself withal!
Comes not that blood as mode.st evidence
To witness simple virtue ? Woi^ld you not
swear,
All you that .see her, that she were a maid, 40
By these exterior shows ? But she is none:
She knows the heat of a luxurious bed ,
Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty
Leon. What do you mean, my lord 7
Claud. Not to be married.
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
654
MUCH ADC ABOUT NOTHING.
[Act it.
Not to kitit my soul to an approved wanton.
■ Leon. Dear my lord, if yon, in your own
JMOOf,
ILave vanquish'd the resistance of her youth,
And made defeat of her virginity,—
Claud. I know what you would say: if I
have known iier,
You wiil say slie did embrace me as a husband,
And so extenuate the 'forehand sin : 51
No, Leonato,
I never tempted iier witil word too large ;
But, as a brother to bis sister, show'd
Basiifui sincerity and comely love.
Hero. And seem'd I ever otherwise to you?
Claud. Out on t'. ee ! Seeming ! I wiil
write against it:
You seem to me as Dian in her orb,
As ciiaste as is the bud ere it be blown ;
But j'oii are more intemperate in your blood
Than Venus, or tliose pamiier'd animals 61
TJiat rage in savage sensuality.
Hero. Is my lord well, that he doth speak
so wide?
Leon. Sweet prince, why speak not yon ?
D. Pedro. What should I speak ?
I stand dishonor'd, that liave gone about
To link my dear friend to a common stivle.
Leon. Arc these things spoken, or do I but
dream ?
D. John. Sir, tliey are six>ken, and these
things are true.
Bene. 'This looks not like a nuptial.
Hero. True ! O God !
Claud. Leonato, stand I here ? 70
Is this tlie prince ? is this the prince's brother?
is tliis face Hero's ? are our eyes our ovpu ?
Leon. All this is so : but what of this, my
lord ?
Claud. Let me but move one question to
your daughter ;
And, by that fatherly and kindly power
That you iiave in her, bid her answer truly.
Leon. I charge thee do so, as thou art my
child.
Hero. O, God defend me ! liow am I beset!
What kind of catechising call you this ?
Claud. To make you answer truly to your
name. 80
Hero. Is it not Hero ? Who can blot tliat
name
With any just reproach ?
Claud. Marry, that can Hero;
Hero itself can blot out Hero s virtue.
What man was he talk'd with you yesternight
Out at your window betwixt twelve and one ?
Now, if you .are a maid, answer to this.
Hero. I talk'd with no man at that hour,
my lord.
D. Pedro. Why, tlien are you no maideu.
Leonato,
I am sorry you must hear : upon mine lionor.
Myself, my brother and tins grieved count 90
Did see her, liear her, at that hour last night
Talk with a rufflan at her chamber-window
Who hath indeed, most like a liberal villain,
Coufess'd the vile encounters they have had
A titonsand times in secret.
D. John. Fie, fie I they are not to be named,
my lord.
Not to be 8i>oke of ;
Tliere is not chastity enough in language
Without offence to utter them. Thus, pretty
lady,
I am sorry for thy much misgovernment 100
Claud. O Hero, what aHero hadst thou been.
If half thy outward graces had been placed
About thy thoughts and counsels of thy heart!
But fare titee well, most foul, most fair ! fare¬
well.
Thou pure Impiety and impious purity !
For thee I'll lock up all tlie gates of love.
And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang.
To turn all beauty into thouglits of harm.
And never shall it more be gracious.
Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point
for me ? > \Wero swoons. 110
Beat. Wliy, how now, cousin! wherefore
sink you down ?
D. John. Come, let us go. These things,
come thus to liglit.
Smother her spirits up.
\Exennt Bon Pedro, Don John, and Claudio.
Bene. How doth the lady ?
Beat. Dead, I think. Help, luicle !
Hero! why. Hero ! Uncle ! Signior Benedick !
Fri.ar! [hand.
Leon. O Fate ! take not away thy neavy
Death is the fairest cover for her shame
That may be wish'd for.
Beat. How now, cousin Hero 1
Friar. Have comfort, lady.
Jjcon. Dost thou look up ? 120
Friar. Yea, wherefore should she not 1
Leon. Wherefore! Why, doth not every
earthly thing
Cry shame nijon her ? Could she here deny
The story that is printed in her blood ?
Do not live. Hero ; do not ope thine eyes:
For, did I think thou wouldst not quickly die.
Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy
shames.
Myself would, on the rearward of reproaehes,
Strike at thy life. Grieved I, I had but one ?
Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame ? 130
O, one too much by thee ! Why had I one ?
Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes ?
Why had I not with charitable hand
Took up a beggar's issue at my gates.
Who smirch'd thus and mired with, infamy,
I might have said ' No part of it is mine ;
This shame derives itself from unknown loins'?
But mine and mine 1 loved and mine I praised
And mine that I was proud on, mine so much
That I myself was to myself not miue, IM
V.aluing of her,—why, she, O, she is fallen
Into a pit of ink, tluit tlie wide sea
Hath drops too few to wash her clean again
And salt too little which may season give
To her foul-tainted flesh!
Bene. Sir, sir, be patient
For my part, I am so attired in wonder,
I know not what to say.
SCENB 1.]
Beat. 0, on ray soul, my cousin is belied !
Bene. Lady, were you her bedfellow last
night ?
Beau No, truly not; although, until last
night, 150
I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow.
Leon, Confirra'd, conflrm'd^ O, tliat is
stronger made
Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron!
Would the two princes lie, and Ciaudio lie,.
Who loved her so, that, speaking of her foul¬
ness,
Wash'd it with tears ? Hence from her ! let
her die.
Friar. Hear me a little ; for I have only
been
Silent so long and given way unto
IThis course of fortune....
By noting of tlie lady I have mark'd 160
A thousand blushing apparitions •
To start into her lace, a thousand innocent
shames
In angel whiteness beat away those blushes ;
And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire,
' To bum the errors that these pi'iuces hold
Against her maiden trutli. Call me a fool;
Trust not my reading nor my observations.
Which with experimental seal doth warrant
The tenor of my book ; trust not my age.
My reverence, calling, nor divinity, 170
If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here
Under some biting error:
I Leon. ' Friar, it cannot be.
Thou seest that all the grace that she hath left
Is that she will not add to her damnation
A sin of Mrjury; she not denies it;
Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse
That which appears in proper nakedness ?
Friar. Lady, what map is he you are ac¬
cused of ?
Hero. They know that do accuse me; I
know none :
If I know more of any man alive 180
Than that which maiden modesty doth war¬
rant.
Let all my sins lack mercy I O my father.
Prove you that any man with me conversed
At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight
Maintain'd the cnangeof words with any crea¬
ture.
Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death !
Friar. There is some strange misprision in
the princes. [honor ;
Bene. Two of them have the very bent of
And if their wisdoms be misled in this.
The practice of it lives iu John the bastard, 190
Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies.
Leon. I know not. , If they speak but truth
of her.
These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her
honor, 0
The proudest of them shall well hear of it.
Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine,
Nor age so eat up my invention,
Noi fortune made such havoc of my
means.
566
Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends,
But they shall find, awaked in such a kind,
Botli strength of limb and policy of mind, 200
Ability in means and choice of friends.
To quit me of them throughly.
Fi-iar. Pause awhile.
And let my counsel sway you in this case.
Your daughter here the princes left for dead ;
Let her awhile be secretly kept in.
And publish it that she is dead indeed ;
Maintain a mouruiiig ostentation
And on your family's old monument
Hang mournful epitaphs and do all rites
That appertain unto a burial. 210
Leon. What shall beconre of this? what
will this do ?
Friar. Marry, this well carried shall on her
behalf
Change slander to remorse ; that is some
good ;
But not fur that dream I on this strange
course,
But on this travail look for greater birth.
She dying, as it must so be niaintain'd.
Upon the irrstaut that she was accu.°ed.
Shall be lamerrted, pitied and exraised
Of every hearer : for it so falls out 219
■That what we have we irrize not to the worth
Whiles we enjoy it, but being lack'd and lost.
Why, then we rack the value, then we find
The virtue that possessiott would not .show us
Whiles it was ours. So will it fare' with
Ciaudio :
When he shall hear she died upon his wor-ds.
The idea of her life shall sweetly creep
Into his strrdy of iinagiuation,
Arrd every lovely organ of her life
Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit.
More moving-delicate and full of life, , 230
Irrto the eye and prospect of his soul,
Than wherr she lived indeed ; then shall he
mour-u.
If ever love bad irrterest in his liver.
And wish he had rrot so accused her.
No, though he thought his accusation true.
Let this & so, and doubt not but success
Will fashion the event irr better shape
Than I can lay it down irr likelihood.
But if all aim but this be levell'd false.
The supposition of the lady's death 240
Will quench the wonder of her infamy :
Arrd if it sort trot well, you may conceal her.
As best befits her wounded reputation.
In .some reclusive and religious life.
Out of all eyes, tongues, minds and injurie.s.
Bene. Srguior Leonato, let the friar advise
Sou: [love
ough you know my inwardness and
Is very much unto the prince and Ciaudio,
Yet, by mine honor, I will deal in this
As secretly and justly as your soul 250
Should with your body.
Leon. Being that I flow in grief,
, The smallest twine may lead me.
Fria>\ 'Tis well consented: presently
away ;
MUCH ADO. ABOUT NOTHING.
668
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
[Act ir.
For to Fttango gores strangely they straiu the
core.
Come, lady, die to live ; this wedding-day
Perhaps is butprolong'd: have patience and
endure.
[Exeunt all but Benedick and Beatrice.
Bene. Lady Beatrice, have yon wept all
^s while ?
Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer.
Bene. I will not desire that
Beat. You have no reason ; I do it freely.
Bene. Surely I do believe your fair cousin
is wronged. 261
Beat. Ah, how muvO might the man de¬
serve of me that would right her !
Bene. Is there any way to show such
friendship ?
Beat. A very even way, but no such friend.
Bene. May a man do it ?
Beat. It is a man's office, but not yours.
Bene. I do love nothing in the world .so well
as you : is not that strange ? 270
Beat. As strange as the thing I know not.,
It were as possible for me to say I loved
nothing so well as you : but believe me not;
and yet I lie not; I confess nothing, nor I.deny
nothing. I am sorry for my cousin.
Bene. By my sword,Beatrice, thoulovestme.
Beat. Do not swear, and e:\t it.
Bene. I will swear by it that you love me ;
and I will make him eat it that says I love not
you.
Beat. Will you not eat your word ? 280
Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to
it. I protest I love thee.
Beat. Why, then, God forgive me!
Bene. Wliat offence, sweet Beatrice ?
Beat You have stayed me in a happy hour:
I was about to protest I loved you.
Bene. And do it with all thy heart.
Beat. I love you with so much of my heart
that none is left to protest.
Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for thee.
Beat. Kill Claudio.
Bene. Ha ! not for the wide world.
■ Beat. You kill me to deny it. Farewell.
Bene. Tarry, sweet Beatrice.
Beat. I am gone, though I am here : there
K no love in you : nay, I pray you, let me go.
Bene. Beatrice,—
Beat. In faith, I will go.
Bene. We'll be friends first
Beat. You dare easier be friends with me
than fight with mine enemy.
Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy ?
Beat. Is he not approved in the height a
villain, that hath slandered, scorned, dis¬
honored my kinswoman 1 O that I were a
man ! What, bear her in hand until they
come to take hands ; and then, with public
accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated
rancor,—0 God, that I were a man ! I would
•at his heart in the market-place.
Bene. Hear me, Beatrice,— 310
Beat. Talk with a man out at a window 1 A
pioper saying!
Boie. Nay, but, Beatrice,—
Beat. Sweet Hero ! She is wronged, she is
.slaudered, she is undone.
Bene. Beat-
Beat. Princes and counties t Surely, a
princely testimony, a goodly count Count
Comfect; a sweet pliant, surely ! O that I
were a man for his sake 1 or that I had any
friend would be a man for my sake ! But
manhood is melted into courtesies, valor into
compliment, and men are only turned into
tongue, and trim ones too : he is now as val¬
iant as Hercules that only tells a lie and swears
it. 1 cannot be a man with wishing, therefore
I will die a woman with grieving.
B ne. Tarry, good Beatrice. By this hand,
I love thee.
Beat. U.se it for my love some other way
than swearing by it. 330
Belie. Think you in your soul the Count
Claudio hath wronged Hero ?
Beat. Yea, as sure as 1 have a thought or a
soul.
Bene. Enough, I am engaged ; I will chal¬
lenge him. I will kiss your hand, and so I'
leave you. By this hand, Claudio shall render
me a dear account. As you hear of me, so
think of me. Go, comfort your cousin : I
must say she is dead : and so, farewell.
[Exeunt.,
Scene H. A prison.
Enter Dooberrt, Verges, and Sexton, in
oowns; and the Watch, with Conrape and
Borachio.
Dog. Is our whole dissembly appeared ?
Verg. 0,*a stool and a cushion for the sex¬
ton.
Sex. Which be tlte malefactors 7
Dog. Marry, that am I and my partner.
Verg. Nay, that's certain ; we have the ex¬
hibition to examine.
Sex. But which are the offenders that are
to be examined 7 let them come before ma.ster
constable.
Dog. Yea, marry, let them come before me.
What is your name, friend 7 li
Bora. Borachio.
Dog. Pray, write down, Borachio. Yours,
sirrah 7
Con. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name
is Comrade.
Dog. Write down, master gentleman Con-
rade. Masters, do you serve God 7
Bora. }
Dog. Write down, that they hope they
serve God : and write God first; for God de¬
fend but God should go before such villains !
Masters, it is proved already tliat you are
little better tiian false knaves ; and it will go
near to be thought so shortly. How answer
you for yourselves 7
Con. Marry, sir, we say we are none.
Dog. A marvellous witty fellow, I assnre
you ; but I will go about with bimi Come
scbnb i.]
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
557
you hither, sirrah ; a word in your ear : sir, I
say to you, it is thought you are false knaves.
Bora. Sir, I say to you we are uoue.
Dog. Weil, stand aside. 'Fore God, they
are both in a tale. Have you writ down, that
they are none ?
Sex. Master eonstable^ you go not the way
to examine: you must call forth tlie watch
that are their accusers.
Dog. Yea, marry, that's the eftest way. Let
the watch come fortli. Masters, I cliargeyou,
in tl.e prince's uamSj accuse these men. 40
Firft Watch. This man said, sir, that Don
John, the prince's brother, was a villain.
Dog. Write down Prince John a villain.
Why, this is flat perjury, to call a prince's
brother villain.
Bora. Master constable,—
Dog. Pray thee, fellow, peace : I do not
like thy look, I promise thee.
Sex. What heard you him say else ?
Sec. Wa<c7t. Marry, that he had received a
thousand ducats of Don John for accusing tlie
Lady Hero wrongfully. 51
Diog. Flat burglary as ever was committed.
Verg. Yea, by mass, tiiat it is.
Sex. What else, fellow ?
First Watch. And that Count Claudio did
mean, upon his words, to disgrace Hero before
the whole assembly, and not marry her.
Dog. O villain ! thou wilt be condemned
into everlasting redemption for this.
Sex. What else ? 60
Watch. This is all.
Sex. And this is more, masters, than yon
can deny. Prince John is this morning secret¬
ly stolen away ; Hero was in this manner
accused, in this very manner refused, and upon
the grief of this suddenly died. Master con¬
stable, let these men be bound, and brought to
Leonato's: I will go before and show him
their examination. .[Exit.
Dog Come, let them be opinioned.
Verg. tLet them be in the hands— 70
Con. Off, coxcomb!
Dog. God's my life, where's tho sexton ?
let him write down the prince's officer cox¬
comb. Come, bind them. Thou naughty
varlet! [ass.
Con. Away ! you are an ass, you are an
Dog. Dost thou not suspect my place ? dost
thou not suspect my years ? O that he were
here to write me down an ass ! But, masters,
remember that I am an ass ; though it be not
written down, yet forget not that I am an ass.
No, thou villain, thou art full of piety, as
shail be proved upon thee by good witness. I
am a wise fellow, and, which is more, an
ofiicer, and, which is more, a householder, and,
which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any
is in Messina, and one that kNbws the law, go
to; and a rich fellow enough, go to ; and a
fellow that hath had losses, and one that h.ith
two gowns and every thing handsome about
him. Bring him away. O that I bad been .writ
down an ass 1 [.Kceunl.' 90
ACT V.
ScBKE 1. Before Leonato's house.
Enter Leonato atvi Antonio.
Ant. If you go on thus, you will kill your¬
self :
And 'tis not wisdom thus to second grief
Against yourself.
Leon. I pray thee, cease thy counsel.
Which falls into mine ears as profitless
As water in a sieve : give not me counsel;
Nor let no comforter delight mine ear
But such a one whose wrongs do suit with
mine.
Bring me a father that so loved his child.
Whose joy of iier is overwhelm'd like mine.
And bid him speak of patience ; 10
Measure his woe the length and breadth of
mine
And let it answer every strain for strain.
As thus for thus and such a grief for such.
In every lineament, branch, shape, and form :
If such a one will smile and stroke his beard,
tBid sorrow wag, cry ' hem !' when he should
groan.
Patch grief with proverbs, make misfortune
drunk
With candle-wasters ; bring him yet to me,
And'I of him will gatlier patience. 19
But there is no such man : for, brother, men
Can counsel and speak comfort to that gref
Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it.
Their counsel turns to passion, which before
Would give preceptiai medicine to rage.
Fetter strong madness in a silken thread.
Charm ache with air and agony with words :
No, no ; 'tis all men's office to speak patience
To those that wring under the load of sorrow.
But no man's virtue nor sufficiency
'To be so moral when he shall endure 30
The like himself. Therefore give me no coun¬
sel :
My griefs cry louder than advertisement.
Ant. Therein do men from children noth¬
ing differ.
Leon. I pray thee, peace. I will be flesh-
and blood ;
For there was never yet philosopher
That could endure the toothache ijatiently.
However they have writ the style of gods
And made a push at chance and sufferance.
Ant. Yet bend not all the harm upon your¬
self ;
Make those that do offend you suffer too. 40
Leon. There thou speak'st reason; nay, I
will do so.
My soul doth tell me Hero is belied ;
And that shall Claudio know ; so shall the
prince
And all of them that thus dishonor her.
Ant. Here comes the prince and Claudio
hastily.
Enter Don Pedro and Claudio.
D. Pedro. Good don, good den.
658
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
(Act v.
Claud. Good day to both of you.
Leon. Hear you, my lords,—
D. Pedro. We have some haste, Leonato.
Leon. Some baste, my lord ! well, fare you
well, my lord:
Are you so hasty now ? well, all is one.
D. Pedro. Nay, do not quarrel with us,
good old man. 50
Ani. If he could right himself with quar¬
reling.
Some of us would lie low.
Claud. Who wrongs him ?
Leon. Marry, thou dost wrong me ; thou
dissembler, thou :—
Na3', never lay thy hand ui)on thy sword ;
I fear thee not.
Claud. Marry, beshrew my hand.
If it should give your age such cause of fear:
In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword.
Leon. Tush, tush, man ; never fleer and
jest at me :
I speak nut like a dotard nor a fool.
As under privilege of age to brag GO
What I Iiave done being young, or what would
do
Were I not old. Know, Claudio, to thy head.
Thou hast so wrong'd mine innocent child and
me
That 1 am forced to lay my reverence by
And, with grey hairs and bruise of many days,
Do challenge thee to trial of a man.
I say thou jiast belied mine innocent child ;
Thy slander hath gone through and through
her heart,
And she lies buried with her ancestors ;
O, in a tomb where never scandal slept, 70
Save this of hers, framed by thy villany !
Claud. My villany ?
Leon. Thine, Claudio ; thine, I say.
D. Pedro. You say not right, old man.
Leon. My lord, my lord,
I'll prove it on his body, if he dare.
Despite his nice fence and his active practice.
His May of youth and bloom of liustihood.
Claud. Away ! 1 will not have to do with
you.
Jjeon. Canst thou so daff me ? Thou hast
kill'd my child :
If tl'.ou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man.
Anl. He shall kill two of us, and men in¬
deed : 80
But that's no matter ; let him kill one first;
Win me and wear me ; let him answer me.
Come, follow me, boy ; come, sir boj^, come,
follow me :
Sir boy, I'll whij) you from your foining fence ;
Nsw, as I am a gentleman, I will.
Leon. Brother,— [my niece ;
AnU Content yourself. God knows I loved
And she is dead, slander'd to death by villains.
That dare as well answer a man indeed
As I dare take a serpent by the tongue : 90
Boys, apes, braggarts. Jacks, milksops I
Leon. Brother Antony,—
Ant. Hold you content What, man I I
know tiiem, yea.
And what they weigh, even to tlie ntmost
scruple,—
Scambliug, out-facing, fashion-monging boys.
That lie and cog and mut, deprave and slander.
Go anticly, show outward hideousness.
And speak off half a dozen dangerous words.
How they might hurt their enemies, if they
durst;
And this is all.
Leon. But, brother Antony,— >
Ant. Gome, 'tis no matter : 100
Do not you meddle ; let me deal in thi.<<,
D. Pedro. Gentlemen both, we will not
wake your patience.
My heart is sorry for your daughter's death :
But, on my honor, she was charged with noth¬
ing
But what was true and very full of proof.
Leon. My lord, my lord,—
D. Pedro. I will not hear you.
Leon. No ? Come, brother ; away I I will
be heard. [for it
Ant. And shall, or some of us will smart
[Exeunt Leonato and Antonio.
D. Pedro. See, see ; here comes the man
we went to seek. 110
Enter Benedick.
Claud, Now, signior, what news ?
Bene. Good daj', my lord.
D. Pedro. Welcome, signior : j-ou are al¬
most come to part almost a fray.
Claud. We had like to have had our two
noses snapped off with two old men without
teeth.
D. Pedro. Leonato and his brother. What
thinkest thou ? Had we fought, I doubt we
should have been too young for them.
Bene. In a false quarrel there is no true
valor. I came to seek you both. 121
Claud. We have been up and down to seek
thee ; for we are high-proof melancholy and
would fain have it beaten away. Wilt thou
use thy wit ?
Bene. It is in my scabbard: shall I draw it ?
D. Pedro. Dost thou wear thy wit by thv
side 1
Claud. Never any did so, though very
many have been beside their wit. I will bid
thee draw, as we do the minstrels; draw, to
pleasure us.
D. Pedro. As I am an honest man, he looks
pale. Art thou sick, or angry ? 131
Claud. What, courage, man 1 What though
care killed a cat, thou bast mettle enougli in
thee to kill care.
Bern. Sir, I shall meet your wit in the
career, and j'ou charge it against me. I pray
you choose another subject.
Claud. Nay, then, give him another staff :
this last was broke cross.
D. Pedro. By this light, he changes more
and more : I think he be angry indeed. 141
Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn bis
girdle.
Bene. Shall I speak a word in your ear *
SCENB I.]
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING,
669
' Claud. God bless me from a challeuge ! <
Bene. \Aside to C'laudio.] You ai'e a vilr,
lain ; 1 jest not: 1 will make it good how you
dare, with what you dare, and when yon dare.
Do me right, or 1 will protest your cowardice.
You have killed a sweet lady, and her death
shall fall heavy on you. Let me hear from
yon. _ 151
Claud. Well, I will meet you, so I may
have good cheer.
li. Pedro. What, a feast, a feast ?
Claud, r faith, I thank him ; he hath bid
me to a calfs head and a capon ; the which
if 1 do not carve most curiously, say my knife'.<i
naught. Shall I not find a woodcock too ?
Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well; it goes
easily.
D. Pedro. I'll tell thee how Beatrice praised
thy wit the other day. 1 said, thou hadst a
flue wit: 'True,' said she, 'a flue little one.'
' No,' said I, ' a great wit;' ' Bight,' says shev
'agreat gross one.' 'Nay,' said I, 'a good
wit:' 'Just,' said she, 'it hurts nobody.'
' Nay,' said 1, ' the gentleman is wise :' ' Cer¬
tain,'said she, 'a wise gentleman.' 'Nay,'
said I,' he hath the tongues :' ' That I be¬
lieve,' said she, ' for he swore a tiling to me
on Monday night, which he forswore on Tues¬
day morning ; there's a double tongue ; there's
two tongues.' Thus did she, an hour together,
trans-shape thv particular virtues : yet at last
she conduded with a sigh, thou wast the
properest man in Ital^.
Claud. For the which she wept heartily and
said she cared not.
D. Pedro. Yea, that she did : but yet, for
all that, an if she did not hate him deadly, she
would love him dearly : the old man's daugh¬
ter told us all. 180
Claud. All, all; and, moreover, God saw
him when he was hid in the garden.
D. Pedro. But when shall we set the savage
bull's horns on the sensible Benedick's head ?
Claud. Yea, and text underneath, 'Here
dwells Benedick the maiTied man' ?
Bene. Fare you well, boy : you know my
mind. I will leave you now to your gossip-
iike humor: you break jests as braggarts
do their blades, which God be thanked, hurt
not My lord, for your many courtesies I thank
on: I must discontinue your company : your
rother the bastard is fled from Messina: you
have among you killed a sweet and innocent
lady. For my Lord Lackbeard there, he and
I shall meet: and, till then, peace be with him.
[Exit.
D. Pedro. He is in earnest.
Claxed. In most profound earnest; and, I'll
warrant you, for the love of Beatrice.
D. Pedro. And hath challenged thee. 200
Claud. Most sincerely,
D. Pedro. What a prewy thing man is when
he goes in his doublet and hose and leaves off
his wit!
Claud. He is then a giant to an ape ; but
then is an ape a doctor to such a man.
Z>. Pedro. But, soft you, let me be: pluck
up, my heart, and be sad. Did he not say, my
brother was fled ?
Enter Dogberby, Verges, and the Watch,
tvith CoNRADE and Borachio.
Dog. Come you, sir : if justice cannot tame
you, she shall ne'er weigh more reasons in her
balance : nay, an you be a cursing hypocrite
once, you must be looked to.
D. Pedro. How now ? two of my brother's
men bound 1 Borachio one 1
Claud. Hearken after their offence, my lord.
D. Pedro. Officers, what offence have these
men done ?
Dog. Marry, sir, they have committed false
report; moreover, they have spoken untruths;
secondarily, fliey are slanders ; sixth and last¬
ly, they have belied a lady ; thirdly, they have
verified unjust things ; and, to conclude, they,
are lymg knaves.
D. Pedro. First, I ask thee what they have
done ; thirdly, I ask thee what's their offence;
sixth and lastly, why they are committed ;
and, to conclude, what you lay to their charge.
Claud. Rightly reasoned, and in his own
division :.and, by my troth, there's one mean¬
ing well suited. 231
D. Pedro. Who have you offended, masters,
that you are thus bound to your answer ? thi.s
learned constable is too cunning to be under¬
stood : what's your offence ?
Bora. Sweet prince, let me go no farther to
mine answer : do you hear me, and let this
count kill me. I have deceived even your very
eyes : what your wisdoms could not discover,
these shallow fools have brought to light: who
in the night overheard ine confessing to this
man how Don John your brother incensed me
to slander the Lady Hero, how you were
brought into the orchard and saw me courfi
Margaret in Hero's garments, how you dis¬
graced her, when you should marry her : my
villany tliey have upon record ; which I had
rather seal with my death than rejieat over to
my shame. The lady is dead upon mine and
my master's false accusation ; and, briefly, I
desire nothing but the reward of a villain.
D Pedro. Runs not this speech like iron
through your blood ?
Clatid. I have drunk poison whiles he ut-
. ter'd it. Ito this'/
D. Pedro. But did my brother set thee on
Bora. Yea, and paid me richly for the prac¬
tice of it.
D. Pedro. He is composed and framed of
treachery :
And fled he is npon this villany.
Claud.. Sweet Hero 1 now thy image doth
appear
In the rare semblance that I loved it first. 260
Dog. Come, bring away the plaintiffs : by
this time our sexton hath reformed Signior
Leonato of the matter : and, masters, do not
forget to specify, when time and place shall
serve, that I am an ass. .
660
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
[Act r.
Verg. Here, here comes master Signior Le-
ouato, and the Sexton too.
Re-enter Leonato and Antonio, with the
Sexton.
Leon. Which is the villain ? let me see his
eyes.
That, when I note another man like him, 270
I may avoid him : which of these is he ?
Bora. If you would know your wronger,
look on m
Leon. Art thou the slave that with thy
breath hast kill'd
Mine innocent child ?
Bora. Yea, even I alone.
Leon. No, not so, villain ; thou beliest thy¬
self :
Sere stand a pair of honorable men ;
A third is fled, that had a hand in it
t thank you, princes, for ray daughter's death:
Record it with your high and worthy deeds :
'Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it.
Claud. I know not how to pray your pa¬
tience ;
Yet I must siieak. Choose your revenge your¬
self ;
Impose me to what penance your invention
Can lay upon ray sin : yet sinn'd I not
But in mistaking.
1). Pedro. By my soul, nor I;
And yet, to satisfy this good old man,
I would bend uiid ;r any heavy weight
That he'll enjoin me to.
Leon. I cannot bid you bid my daughter
live ;
Tliat were impossible : but, I pray you both.
Possess the people in Messina here 290
How innocent she died ; and it your love
Can labor ought in sad invention.
Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb
And sing it to her bones, sing it to-night:
To-morrow inorning come you to my house.
And since yon could not be my son-in-law.
Be yet ray nephew : my brother hath a daugh¬
ter.
Almost the copy of my child that's dead.
And she alone is lieir to both of us :
Give her the right you should have given her
cousin, 300
And so dies my revenge.
Claud. O noble sir.
Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me I
I do embrace your offer ; and dispose
For henceforth of poor Ciaudio.
Leon. To-morrow then I wiil expect your
coming;
To-night I take my leave. This naughty man
Shall face to face be brought to Margaret,
Who I believe was pack'd in all this wrong.
Hired to it by your brother.
Bora. No, by my soul, she was not.
Nor knew not what she did when she spoke to
me, 310
But always hath been just and virtuous
In any thing that I do know by her.
Bog. Moreover, sir, which indeed is not
under white and black, this plaintiff here, the
offender, did call me ass : I beseech yon, let it
be remembered in his punishmenL And also,
the watch heard them talk of one Deformed :
they say he wears a key in his ear and a lock
hanging by it, and borrows money in God's
name, the which he hath used so long and
never paid that now men grow hard-hearted
and will lend nothing for God's sake : pray
you, examine him upon that point.
Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest
pains.
Bog. Your worship speaks like a most
thankful and reverend youth; and I praise
God for yon.
Leon. There's for thy pains.
Boy. God save the foundation !
Leon. Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner,
and I thank thee.
Bog. I leave an arrant knave with your
worship ; which I beseech your worship to
correct yourself, for the example of others.
God keep your worship ! I wish your worship
well; God restore you to health ! I humbly
give you leave to depart ; and if a merry meet¬
ing may be wished, God prohibit it! Come,
nemhbor/" [Exeunt Bogherry and Verges.
Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, fare¬
well. [to-morrow.
Ant. Farewell, my lords : we look for you
B. Pedro. We will not fail.
' Claud. To-night I'll mourn with Hero.
Leon. [To the VpafcA] Bring you these
fellows on. We'll talk with Margaret,
How her acquaintance grew with tliis lewd
fellow. [ExeurU, severally-
Scene II. Leonato's garden.
Enter Benedick and Margaret, meeting.
Bene. Pray thee, sweet Mistress Margaret,
deserve well at my hands by helping me to
the speech of Beatrice.
Mary. Will you then write me a sonnet in
praise of my beauty?
Bene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no
man living shall come over it; for, in most
comely truth, thou deservest it.
Mary. To have no man come over me I why,
shall I always keep below stairs 7 10
Bene. Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's
mouth; it catches.
Mary. And yours as blunt as the fencer's
foils, which hit, but hurt not
Bene. A most manly wit, Margaret; it will
not hurt a woman : and so, I pray thee, call
Beatrice; I give thee the bucklers.
Mary. Give us the swords ; we have buck¬
lers of our own.
Bene. If you use them, Margaret, you must
put in the pikes with a vice j and they are
dangerous weapons for maids.
Mary. Well, I will call Beatrice to you,
who I think hath legs.
Bene. Ard therefore will come.
[Exit Margaret.
Scene iii.]
The god of love,
That sits above,
And knows me, and knows me.
How pitiful I deserve,—
I mean in sini^ng ; but in loving, Leander the
good swimmer, Troilus the first employer of
panders, and a whole bookful of these quondam
carpet-mongers, whose names yet run smoothly
in the even road of a blank verse, why, they
were nevmr so truly turned over and over as
my TOor self in love. Marry, I cannot show it
in rnyme; I have tried : 1 can find out no
rhyme to 'lady' but 'baby,' an innocent
rhyme ; for ' scorn,' ' horn,' a hard rhyme ;
lor, ' school,' ' fool,' a babbling rhyme ; very
ominous endings : no, I was not born under a
rhyming plane^ nor I caimot woo in festival
terms. 41
Enter Beatrice.
Sweet Beatrice, wonldst thou come when I
called thee ?
Beat. Yea, ^gnior, and depart when you
bid me.
Bene. O, stay but till then !
Beat. ' Then' is spoken ; fare you well
now : and yet, ere I go, let me go with that I
came ; which is, with knowhig what hath
passed between yon and Claiidio.
Bene. Only foul words ; and thereupon I
will kiss thee. 51
Beat. Foul words is but foul wind, and foul
wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noi¬
some ; therefore I will dopait unkissed.
Bene. Thou hast frighted the word out of
his right sense, so forcible is thy wit. But I
must tell thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my
challenge ; and either I must shortly hear from
him, or 1 will subscribe him a cowai-d. And, I
pray thee now, tell me for which of my bad
parts didst thon first fall in love with me ? 61
Beat. For them all together ; which main¬
tained so politic a state of evil that they will
not admit any good part to intermingle with
them. But for which of my good parts did
you first suffer love for me ?
Bene. Suffer love! a good epithet! I do
suffer love indeed, for I love thee against my
will.
Beat. In spite of your heait, I think ; alas,
poor heart 1 if you spite it for my sake, I will
spite it for yours ; for I will never love that
which my friend hates.
Bene. Thou and I are too wise to woo peace-
Ablv.
B 3at. It appears not in this confession ;
there's not one wise man among twenty that
will praise himself.
Bene. An old, an old instance, Beatrice,
that lived in the time of good neighbors. If a
man do not erect in this agy his own tomb ere
he dies, he shall live no longer in monument
than the bell rings and the widow weeps.
Beat. And how long is that, think you ?
Bene. Question ; why, an hour in clamor
and a quarter in rheum : therefore is it most
661
expedient for the wise. If Don Worm, his con
science, find no impediment to the contrary, to
be the trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to
myself. So much for praising myself, who, I
myself will bear witness, is praiseworthy : and
now tell me, how doth your cousin ? 91
Beat. Very ill.
Bene. And how do you ?
Beat. Very ill too.
Bene. Serve God, love me and mend. There
will I leave you too, for here comes one in
haste.
Enter Ursula.
Urs. Madam, you must come to your uncle.
Vender's old coil at home : it is proved my
Lady Hero hath been falsely accused, the
prince and Claudio mightily abused ; and Don
John is the author of all, who is fled and gone.
Will you come presently ?
Beat. Will you go hear this news, signior ?
Bene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap
and be buried in thy eyes; and moreover 1
will go with thee to thy uncle's. \Ezeunt.
Scene IIL A church.
Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, and three or four
with tapers.
Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato 7
A Lord. It is, my lord.
Claud. [Reading out of a scroll]
Done to death by slanderous tongues
Was the Hero that here lies ;
Death, in guerdon of her wrongs.
Gives her fame which never dies.
So the life that died with shame
Lives in death with glorious fame.
Hang thou there upon the tomb,
Praising ber when I am dumb. 10
Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn
hymn.
Song.
Pardon, goddess of the night.
Those that slew thy virgin knight ;
For the which, with songs of woe.
Round about her tomb they go.
Midnight, assist our moan ;
Help us to sigh and groan.
Heavily, heavily:
Graves, yawn aud yield yom dead.
Till death be uttered, 20
Heavily, heavily.
Claud. Now, unto thy bones good night!
Yearlv will I do this rite.
V. Pedro. Good morrow, masters ; put
your torches out: [tie day.
The wolves have prey'd ; and look, the gen-
Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about
Dapples the drowsy east with spots of grey.
Thanks to yon all,aud leavens : fare yon well.
Claud. Good morrow, masters; each his
several way.
D. Pedro. Come, let us hence, and put on
otiier weeds; 30
M
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
662
Aud then to Leonato's we will
Claud. And Hymen now with luckier issue
speed's
" Than this for whom we tender'd up this woe.
££xeun(.
Scene IV. A room in Leonato's house.
Enter Lbonato. i^gponio, Benedick, Bea¬
trice, Ma^Jwet, Ursula, Friar
Francis, and'ilero.
Friar. Did I not tell you she was innocent ?
Aeon. So are the prince aud Claudio, who
accused her
Upon the error that you heard debated :
But Margaret was in some fault for this.
Although against her will, as it appears
In the true course of ali the question.
Ant. Well, i am glad that all things sort so
well
Bene. tAnd so am I, being else by faith en¬
forced
To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it.
Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentle¬
women all, 10
Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves.
And when I send for you, come hither mask'd.
[ExeuiU Ladies.
The prince and Claudio promised by this hour
To visit me. You know your office, brother :
You must be father to your brother's daugh¬
ter.
And give her to young Claudio.
Ant. Which I will do with confirm'd coun¬
tenance.
Bene. Friar, I must entreat your paius, I
think.
Friar, To do what, signior ?
Bene. To bind me, or undo me ; one of
them. 20
Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior.
Your niece regards me with an eye of favor.
Aeon. That eye my daughter lent her ; 'tis
most true.
Bene. And I do with an eye of iove requite
her.
Aeon. The sight whereof I think you had
from me.
From Claudio and the prince : but what's your
will ?
Bene. Your answer, sir, is enigmatical :
But, for my will, ray will is your good will
May stand with ours, this day to be coujoin'd
In the state of honorable marriage : 30
In which, good friar, I shail desire your help.
Leon. My heart is with your liking.
Friar. And my help.
Here comes the prince and Claudio.
Enter Don Pedro and Claudio, and two or
three others.
B. Pedro. Good morrow to this lair as¬
sembly.
Leon. Good morrow, prince ; good morrow,
Ciaudio: ^ ,
We here attend you. Are you yet determined
'Xo-day to marry with my brother's daughter?
£Act r.
Claud. I'll hold my miud, were she an
Ethiope.
Leon. Call her forth, brother : here's the
friar ready. \_Exit Antonio.
D. Pedro. Good morrow, Benedick. Why,
what's the matter, eO
That you have such a February face.
So full of frost, of storm and do; diuess ?
Claud. I think he thinks upon the savage
bull.
Tush, fear not, man ; we'll tip thy horns with
goid
And ali Europa shall rejoice at thee.
As once Europa did at iusty Jove,
When he wouid play the noble beast in love.
Bene. Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low ;
And some such strange bull leap'd your
father's cow,
Aud got a calf in that same noble feat 50
Much like to you, for you have just his bleat.
Claud. For this 1 owe you ; here comes
other reckonings.
Re-enter Antonio, with the Ladies masked.
Which is the lady I must seize upon ?
Ant. This same is slie, and I do give you
her.
Claud. Why, then she's mine. Sweet, let
nie see your face.
' Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take
her hand
Before this friar aud swear to marry her.
. Claud. Give me your hand ; before this
holy friar,
I am your husband, if you like of me.
Hero. And when I lived, I was your otlier
wife: [Unmasking. GO
And when you ioved, you were my other hus^
baud.
Claud. Another Hero!
Hero. Nothing certainer :
One Hero died defiled, but I do live,
And surely as I live, I am a maid.
D. Pedro. The former Hero ! Hero that is
dead !
Aeon. She died, my lord, but whiles her
slauder lived.
Friar. All this amazement can I qualify ;
When after that the holy rites are ended,
I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death :
Meantime let wonder seem familiar, TO
And to the chapel let us presently.
Bene. Soft and fair, friar. Which is Bea¬
trice ?
Beat. [Unmasking] I answer to that name.
What is your will ?
Bene. Do not you love me ?
Beat. Why, no ; uo more than reason.
Bene. Wily, then your uncle and the prince
and Claudio
Have been deceived ; they swore you did.
Beat. Do not you love me ?
Betie. Troth, no ; no more than reason.
Beat. Why, then my cousin Margaret and
Ursula [did
Are much deceived ; for they did swear you
MUCH ADO ABOUT. NOTHING.
Scene iv.]
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
663
Bene. They swore that you were almost
sick for me. 80
Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh
deadforjuQ. , ^ . i i i
Bene. 'Tis no such matter. Then you cm
not love me ?
Beat. No, truly, hut in friendly recompense.
Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you Ipve the
gentleman.
Claud. And I'll be sworn upon't that he
loves her;
For here's a paper written in his hand,
A halting sonnet of his own pure braiiv I
Fashion'd to Beatrice.
Ikro. And here's another
Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her
pocket.
Containing her affection unto Benedick. 90
Bern. A miracle ! here's our own hands
against our hearts. Come, I will have thee ;
but, by this light, I take thee for pity.
Beat. I would not deny you ; bu^ by this
good day, I yield upon great persuasion ; and
partly to save your life, for I was told you
were in a consumption.
Bene. Peace 1 I will stop your mouth.
[Kiseing her.
D. Pedro. How dost thou. Benedick, the
married man ? 100
Beo', I'll tell ttibc what, prince ; a college
wr wH^rackers cannot fiont me out of my
humor. Dost thou think I care for a satire or
an epigram ? No ■ 't a man will be beaten
with brau». ^ xuai. wear nothing handsome
about him. In brief, since I do purpose to
marry, I will think nothing to any purpose
that the world can say against it; and there¬
fore, never flout et me for. what 1 have said
against it;) for man is a giddy thing, and this
is my conclusion. For thy part, Claudio, I did
thuik to have beaten thee ; but in that thou
art like to be my kinsman, live unbruised and
love my cousin.
Claud. I had well hoped thou wouldst have
denied Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled
thee out of thy single life, to make thee a
double-dealer ; which, out of question, thou
wilt be, if my cousin do not look exceedingly
narrowly to thee.
Bene. Come, come, we are friends : let's
have a dance ere we are married, that we may
lighten our own hearts and our wives' heels.
Leon. We'll have dancing afterward.
Bene. First, of my word ; therefore play,
music. Prince, thou art sad ; get thee a wife,
get thee a wife : there is no staff more reve¬
rend tlian one tipped with horn.
Enter a Messenger.
ifesi. My lord, your brother John is ta'en
in flight.
And brought with armed men back to Mes¬
sina.
Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow :
I'll devise thee brave punishments for him.
Strike up, pipers. [Dance. 131
[Exeunt.
AS YOU LIKE IT.
(written about 1599.)
INTRODUCTION.
A$ Ton Like It was entered on the Stationers' register together with Henry V., Much Ado About
Nothing, and Jonson's Every Man in His Humour, " to be stsued," i.e. not printed; the date is Au^st
but the year is not mentioned. The previous entry is dated May 27.1600, and as the other plays
were printed in 1600 and 1601, we infer that the August was that of the year 1600. The comedy u not
mentioned by Meres. A line, " Who ever loved timt loved not at first sight? " is quoted (Act III.,
Sc. v., L 82) from Marlowe's Hero and Leander, which was published in 1698. We may set down the
following year, 1699, as the probable date of the creation of this charming comedy. The story is
taken from Thomas Lodge's prose tale, Rosalynde, Eunhues Golden Legacie, first printed in 1590, and a
passage in Lodge's dedication probably suggested to Shakespeare the name of his play. Lodge, who
wrote this tale on his voyage to the Canaries, founded it in part on the Cook's Tale of Oameiyn,
wrongly ascribed to Ciiaucer, and inserted in some editions as one of the Canterbury Tales. In parts
of his work the dramatist follows the story-teller closely, but there are some important differences.
The heroic names Orlando, Oliver, and Sir Rowland are due to Shakespeare. It was a thought of
Shakespeare to make the rightful and usurping dukes, as in The Tempest, brothers. In Lodge's
novel the girl-friends pass in the forest for lady and page, in Shakespeare for brother and sister.
Shakespeare omits the incident of Aliena's rescue from robbeis by her futnre husband; love at first
sight was natural in Arden, hut a band of robbers would have marred the tranquillity of the scene.
To Shakespeare we owe the creation of the characters of Jacques, Touchstone, and Audrey. Written
perhaps immediately after Henry T., the play presents astriking contrast with that high-pitched histor¬
ical drama It is as if Shakespeare's iraa^nation craved repose and refreshment after the life of courts
and camps. We are still on French soil, but instead of the sound of the shock of battle at Agincourt, we,
hear the waving forest boughs, and the forest streams of Arden, where " they fieet the time carelessly
as they did in toe Golden World." There is an open-air feeling about this play, as there is about The
Merry Wives qf Windsor; but in The Merry ll'tucs all the surroundings are English and real, here
they belong to a land of romance. ' For the Renaissance, that age of vast energy, national enter¬
prise. religious strife, and court intrigue, pastoral or idyllic poetry possessed a peculiar charm ; the
quiet and innocence of a poetical Arcadia was a solace to a life of highly-wrought ambition and as¬
piration. " Sweet are the uses of adversity," moralizes the banished Duke, and external, material
adversity has come to him, to Rosalind, and to Orlando; hut if fortune is harsh, nature—both ex¬
ternal nature and human character—is sound and sweet, and of real suffering there is none in the
piay. All that is evil remains in the society which the denizens of the forest have left behind;
and both seriously, in the characters of the usurping Duke and Oliver, and playfully, through Touch¬
stone's mockery of court follies, a criticism on what is evil and artificial in society is suggested in
contrast with the woodiand life. Yet Shakespeare never falls into the conventional, pastoral man¬
ner. Orlando is an ideal of youthful strength, beauty, and noble innocence of heart; and Rosa¬
lind's bright, tender womanhood seems but to grow more exquisitely feminine in the male attire
which she has assumed in self-defence. Herfeelings are almost as quick and fine as those of Imogen
(she has not, like Imogen, known fear and sorrow), and she uses her wit and bright play of intellect
as a protection against her own eager and vivid emotions. Possessed of a delighted consciousness
of power to confer happiness, she can daily with disguises, and make what is most serious to her at
the same time possess the charm of an exquisite frolic. The melancholy Jacques is a sentimentalist
and in some degree a superficial cynic, but he is not a bad-hearted egoist, like Don John; he is a
perfectly idle seeker for new sensations and an observer of his own feelings ; he is weary of all he
has found, and especially professes to despise the artificial society, which yet he never really escapes
from as the others do. His wisdom is half foolery, as Touchstone's foolery is half wisdom. Touchstone
is the daintiest fool of the comedies, and in comparing him with the clowns of The Comedy of Errors
or The Two Gentlemen of Verona, we perceive how Shakespeare's humor has grown in refinement.
DRAMATIS
Duke, living in banishment.
Fredeeick, liis brother, an usurjier of his
dominions.
Amiens, j lords attending on the banished
jAquEs, ' duke.
(6641
PERSONJE.
Lb Beau, a courtier attending upon Frederick.
Charles, wrestler to Frederick.
Oliver, )
Jaques, > sons of Sir Rowland de Boys.
Orlando, )
SCKNK 1.]
AS YOU LIKE IT..
56&
Touchstone, a clown.
SiB Oliveb Mabtext, a vicBr.
WuxiAM, a country fellow in love with
Audrey.
\ person representing Hymen.
ACT L
Scene I. Orchard of Ouveb's house.
Enter Oblando and Abam.
Orl. f As 1 remember, Adam, it was upon
this fasliion bequeathed me by will but poor a
thousand crowns, and, as thou sayest, charged
my brother, on his blessing, to breed me well:
and there begins my sadness. My brother
Jaques be keeps at school, and report speaks
goldenly of his profit: for my part, he keeps me
rustically at home, or, to speak more proMrly,
stays me here at home unkept; for call you
that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that
differs not from the stalling of an ox ? His
horses are bred better ; for, besides that they
are fair with their feeding, they are tiiught
tlieir manage, and to that eiid riders dearly
hired : but 1, his brotiier, gain nothing under
him but growth ; for the which his animals on
Ids dunghills are as mu^h bound to him as 1.
Besides tliis nothing that he so plentifully
S'ves me, the something that nature gave me
s countenance seems to take from me : he
lets me feed with his hinds, bars me the place
of a brothert-aud, as much as in him lies,
mines my gentility with my education. This is
it, Adam, that grieves me ; and the spirit of my
father, which I think is within me. begins to
mutiny against this servitude: I will no longer
endure it, though yet 1 know no wise remedy
bow to avoid it.
Adam. Yonder comes my master, your
brother.
Orl. Go apart, Jldam, and thou shalt hear
sow he will shake me up. 30
Enter Ouveb.
on. Now, sir ! what make you here 7
Orl. Nothing: I am not taught to make any
thing.
on. What mar you then, sir 7 •
Orl. Marry, sir, I am helping yon to mar
that which God made, a poor unworthy brother
of yours, with idleness.
(Hi. Marry, sir, be better employed, ahd
be naught awhile. 39
Orl. Shall 1 keep your hd|B and eat husks
with them 7 What prodigal portion have I
spent, that I should come to such penury 7
OIU Know you where your are, sir 7
Orl. O, sir, very well; here iu your orch¬
ard'
Rosalind, daughter to the banished duke.,
Celia, daughter to Frederick.
Phebe, a shepherdess.
Auobey a country wench.
Lords, pages,' and attendants, &c.
Scene : Oliver'shause; Duke Frederick's court,
and the Forest of Arden.
■ on. Know you before whom, sir 7
Orl. Ay, better than him I am before knows
me. I know you are my eldest brother ; and,
iu the gentle condition of blood, you should so
know me. The courtesy of nations allows you
my better, in tbat you are the first-born ; but
the same tradition takes not away my blood,
were there twenty brothers-betwixt u^ : I have
as much of my father in me as you ; albeit, I
confess, your coming beforb me is nearer to
his reverence. '■
on. What, boy!
Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are
too young iu this.
(Mi. Wilt thou lay hands ou me, villain 7
Old. I am no villain ; I am the youngest sou
of Sir Rowland de Boys ; he was my father,
and he is thrice a villain that says such a
father begot villains. Wert thou not my
brother, I would not take this hand from thy
throat till this other had pulled out thy tongue
for saying so : thou hast railed on thyself.
Adam. Sweet masters, be patient: for your
father's remembrance, be at accord.
on. Let me go, 1 say.
Orl. I will not, till I please : yon shall hear
me. My father charged you in his will to give
me good education : you have trained me like
a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all
gentleman-like qumities. The spirit of my
father grows strong in me, and I will no longer
endure it: therefore allow me suc^ exercises
as may become a gentleman, or give me the
poor all ittery my father left me by testament;
with that 1 will go buy my fortunes.
on. And what wilt thou do 7 beg, when
tliat is spent 7 Well, sir, get you in : t will
not long be troubled with you ; yon shall have
some i»rt of your will: I pray you, leave me.
Orl. I will no further offend you than be¬
comes me for my good.
on. Get you with him, you old dog. '
Adam. Is ' old dog' my reward 7 Most
true, I have lost my teeth in yourservice. God
be with my old master ! he would hot have
spoke such a word.
[Exeunt Orlando and Adam,
on. Is it even so 7 begin you to grow upon
me 7 1 will* physic your rankiiess, and yet
give no thousand crowns neither., Holla,
Dennis !
• Enter Dennis.
Den, Calls your worship ♦
m
YOt
LIKE IT.
[Act i.
OH. Was not Cbaries, the dnke's -wrestler,
here to speak with me ?
Den. So please you, he is here at tiie door
aud importunes access to you.
OH. Call him in. {Exit DennU.] 'Twill be
a good way ; and to-morrow the wrestling is.
Enter Chables.
Cka. Good morrow to your worship. 100
OH. Good Mon.sieur Charles, what's the
new news at the new court ?
Cha. There's no news at the court, sir, but
the old news : that is, the old duke is banish¬
ed by his younger brother the new duke ; and
three or tour loving lords have put themselves
into voluntary exile with him, wliose lands and
revenues enrich the new duke ; therefore he
gives them good leave to wander.
OH. Can you tell if Rosalind, the duke's
daughter, be banished with her father Z 111
C'fia. O, no ; tor the duke's daughter, her.
cousin, so lores her, being ever from their,
cradles bred together, that she would have
followetl her exile, or have died to stay
behind her. She is at the court, and no less
beloved of her uncle than his own daughter ;
and never two ladies loved as they do.
OH. Where will the old duke live ?
Cha, They say he is already in the forest of
Arden, aud a many merry men with him ; and
there they live like the old Robin Hood of Eng¬
land : they sa.v many young gentlemen flow
to him every day, and fleet the time carelessly,
as they did in the golden world.
OH. What, you wrestle to-morrow before
the new duke ?
Cha. Marry, do I, sir ; and I came to ac¬
quaint you with a matter. I am given, sir,
secretly to nndei-.stand that your younger
brother Orlando hath a disposition to come in
disguised against me to try a fall. To-morrow,
sir, I wre.stle for my credit; and he that es¬
says me without some broken limb shall
acquit him wed. Your brother is but young
and tender ; and, for your love, I would be
loath to foil him, as I must, for my own honor,,
if he come in -. therefore, out of my love to you,
I came hither to acquaint you withal, that
either you might stay him from his intend¬
ment or brook such disgrace well as he shall
run into, in that it is a thing of his own search
and altogether against my will.
OH. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to
me, which thou shalt fiud I will mo.st kindly
requite. I had myself notice of my brother's
purpose herein and have by underhand means
labored to dissuade him from it, but he is res¬
olute. I'll tell thee, Charles : it is the stub-
bomest young fellow of France, full of ambi¬
tion, an envious emulator of every man's good
parts, a secret and villanous contriver against
me his natural brother : therefore use thy dis¬
cretion ; I had as lief thou did.«t break his neck
as his finger. And thou wert best look to't;
for it thou do.sthim any slight disgrace or if
he do not mightily himself on thee, he
will practice against thee by imison, entrap
thee by some treacherous device and never
leave thee till he hath ta'en thy life by some
indirect means or other ; for, I assure thee,
and almost with tears I speak it, there is not
one so young aud so villanous this day living.
I speak but brotherl.y of him ; but should 1
anatomize him to tliee as he is, I must blush
and weep and thou most look pale and won¬
der.
Cha. I am heartily glad I came hither to
vou. If he come to-morrow, I'll give him
his payment: if ever he go alone again, I'll
never wrestle for prize more : and so God
keep your worship 1
OH, Farewell, good Charles. {Exit Charles.'!
Now will I stir this gamester : I hope I shall
see an end of him ; for my soul, yet I know
not why, hates nothing more than he. Yet
he's gentle, never schooled and yet learned,
full of noble device, of all sorts enchantingly
beloved, and indeed so much in the heart of
I the world, and esiiedally of my own people,
■ who best know him, that I am altogether mis¬
prised ; but it shall not be so long ; this
wrestler shall clear all; nothing remains but
that I kindle tlie boy thither ; which now I'll
I go about ^ {Exit. 180
Scene II. Lawn be/ore the Duke's palace.
Enter Celia and Rosalind.
Cd. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz',
be merry.
Eos. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I
am mistress of ; and would you yet 1 were mer¬
rier ? Unless yon could teach me to forget a
banished father, you must not leam me how
to remember any extraordinary pleasure.
Cel. Herein I see thou lovest me not with •
the full weight that I love thee. If my uncle,
thy banished father, had banished thy uncle,
the duke my fatlier, so thou hadst been still
with me, I could have taught my love to lake
thy father for mine: so wouldst thou, if the
truth of thy love to me were so righteously
tempered as mine is to thee.
Eos, Well, I will forget the condition of
my estate, to rejoice in yours.
Cel. You know my father hath no child
but 1, nor none is like to have: and, truly, when
he dies, thou shalt be his heir, fur what he
hath taken away from thy father perforce, I
will render thee again in affection ; by mine
honor, I will ; and when 1 break that oath,
let me turr monster : therefore, my sweet
Rose, my dear Rose, be merry.
Eos. "From henceforth I will, coz, aud de-
Vise sports. Let me see ; what think you oi
falling in love ?
Cel. Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport
withal: but love no man in good earnest; nor
no further in sirort neither than with safety of
a pure blush uou mayst in honor come off
i a^in.
Eos, 'What shall be our sport, then ?
ScEitd :T.]
AS YOU UKC IT,
m
Cel. ■ Let as sit and mock the good house¬
wife Fortune from her wheel, that her gifts
henceforth be.hestowed equally,
' Mo». 1 would we could do so, for her bene¬
fits are mightily misplaced, and the boiuitiful
blind woman doth most mistake in her gifts to
women. i
Cel. 'Tis true ; for those that she makes
fair she scarce makes honest, and those that
she makes honest she makes very iii-favoredly.
Sos. Nay, now thou goest from Fortune s
office to Nature's ; Fortune reigns in gifts of
the world, not in the lineaments of Nature.
Enter TouChsionk.
Cel. No 7 when Nature hath made a fair
creature, may she not by Fortune fall into the
fire 7 Though Nature hath given us wit to
flout at Fortune, hath not Fortune sent in this
fool to cut off the argument 7 60
Eos. Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for
Nature, when Fortune makes Nature's natural
the cutter-off of Nature's wit.
Cel. Peradventure this is not Fortune's
work neither, but Nature's ; who perceiveth
our natural wits too dull to reason of such
goddesses and hath sent this natural for our
whetstone ; for always the dulness of the fool
is the whetstone of the wits. How now, wit!
whither wander you 7
Toudi. Mistress, you must come away to
your father. 61
Cel. Were you made the messenger 7' ,
Tmich. No, by mine honor, but 1 was bid
to come for you.
Eos. Where leai-ned you that oath, fool 7
Taneh. Of a certain knight that swore by
his honor they were good mncakes and swore
by his honor the mustard was naught; now
I'll stand to it, the pancakes were naught and
the mustard was good, and yet was not the
knight forsworn. 71
Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap
of your knowledge 7
Eos. Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wis;-
dom.
Touch. Stand you both forth now: stroke
your chins, and swear by your, beards that I
.am a knave
Cel. By our beards, if we had them, thou
art
Touch. By my knavery, if I had it, then 1
were ; but if you swear by tliat that i.s not,
vou are not forsworn: no more was this
knight, swearing by his honor, for he never
had any ; or if he had, he had sworn it away
before ever he saw those pancakes or thatmus-
tard.
Cel. Prithee, who is't that thou meanest 7
Touch. One that old Frederick, your father,
loves. . 0
Cel. My father's love is enough to honor
him : enough ! speak no more of him ; you'll
be whipped for taxation one of these days. 91
Touch. The more )>ity, that fooU may not
speak wisely what wise men do foolishly.
Cel. By my troth, thou say est true ; for
since the little wit that fools have was
silenced, the little foolery that wise men have
makes a great show. Here comes Monsieur
Le Beau.
Eos. With his mouth full of news.
Cel. Which he will put on us, as pigeons
feed their young. ■ 100
Eos. Then shall we be news-crammed.
Cel All the better ; we shall be the more
marketable.
Enter Le Beav.
Bon lour. Monsieur Le Beau: what'- the
news?
Le Beau. Fair princess, you have lost much
good sport.
Cel. Sport! of what color? •
Le Beau. What color, madam ! how sludl
I answer you 7 *
Eos. As wit and fortune will. 110
Touch. Or as the Destinies decree.
Cel. Weil said: that was laid on with a
trowel.
Touch. Nay, if I keep not my rank,— \ ■
Eos. Thou losest thy old smell.
Le Beau. You amaze me, ladies : I would
have told you of good wrestling, which you.
have lost the sight of.
Eos. You tell us the manner of the wrest¬
ling. ,
Le Beau. I will tell you the beginning ;
and, if it please your ladyshii^, you may see.
the end ; for the best is yet to do; and here,
where you are, they are coming to perform it.
CeL Well, the beginning, that is dead and
buried.
Le Beau. There comes an old man and his
three sons,—
Cel. I could match this beginning with an
old tale.
Le Beau. Three proper young men, of ex¬
cellent growth and piesence. 130
Eos. With bills on their necks, ' Be it
known unto all men by these presents.'
Le Beau. The eldest of the three wrestled
with Charles, the duke's wrestler; which
Charles in a moment threw him and broke
three of his ribs, that there is little hope of life
in him : so he served the second, and so the
third. Yonder they lie; the poor old man,
their father, making such pitiful dole, over
tliera that all the beholders take his part with
weeping. 140
Eos, Alas! .
Touch. Btt what is the sport, monsieur*
that the ladies have lost 7 . ,
Le Beau. Why, this tliat I speak of..
Touch.. Thus men may grow wiser every
day : it is the first time that ever 1 heard
breaking of ribs was sport for ladies.
Cel. Or I, I promise thee,
Eos. But is there any else longs to. see this
broken music in his sides 7 is there yet another
dotes upon rib-breaking 7 Shall we see this
wrestling, cousin 7 , . <j
668
AS YOU LIKE IT,
tAot.
Le Beau, Ton mast, If tou stay liere ; for
here is the place appointea for the wrestling,
and they are ready to perform it.
Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming: let as
now stay and see it
flourish.. Enter Dukb Frederick, Lords,
Orlakdo, Charles, and Attepdants.
Duke F. Comeon : since the youth will not
be entreated, his own peril on his forwardness.
Bos. Is yonder the man ? 160
Le Beau. Even he, madam.
Cel. Alas, he is too young ! yet he looks
sttccessfully.
Duke F. How now, daughter and cousin !
are you crept hither to see the wrestling ?
Kos. Ay, my liege, so please you give us
leave.
^Duke F. Tou will take little delight in it, I
can tell you ; tnere is such odds in tlte maa In
pity of the challenger's youth I would fain dis¬
suade him, but he will not be entreated. Speak
to him, ladies ; see it you can move him.
Cel. Call him hither, good- Monsieur Le
Beau.
Duke F. Do so ! I'll not be by.
Le Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the prin¬
cesses call for you.
Orl. I attend them with all respect and duty.
Bos. Young man, have you challenged
Charles the wrestler? 179
OH. No, fair princess; he is the general
challenger ; I come but in. as others do, to try
with him the strength of my youth.
Cel. Young gentleman, your spirits are too
bold for your Vears. You have seen cruel proof
of this man's strength ; if you saw yourself
with your eyes or kuew yourself with your
judgment, the fear of your adventure would
counsel yon to a more equal enterprise. We
pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your
own safety and give over this attempt. 190
Bos. Do, young sir ; your reputation shall
not therefore be misprised: we will make it
our suit to the duke tnat the wrestling might
not go forward.
OH. 1 beseech you, punish me not With
your hard thoughts; wherein I confess me
mnchiguilty, to deny so fair and excellent
ladies any thing. But let your fair eyes and
gentle wishes go with me to my trial: wherein
if I be foiled, there is lint one shamed that was
never gntcious; if killed, but one dead that
was willing to be so ; 1 shall do my friends no
wrong, for I have none to lament me, the
world no ininry, for iu it I have nothing ; only
in the world I fill np a place, which may hie
better sullied when 1 have made it empty.
Bos. 'The little strength that i have, I would
it were with you.
Cel. And mine, to eke ont hers.
Bos. Fare you well: pray heaven I be de¬
ceived in you f ■ 210
Cel. Your heart's desires be With you !
Cha. Come, where is this yonng gallant
that is so desirous to lie with his mothw earth?
Orl. ' Beady, sir; but his will hath rin it a
more modest working.
Duke F. You shall try but one hilL
Cka. No, I warrant your grace, you shall
not entreat him to a second, that have so
mightily persuaded him from a first. 219
Orl An you mean to mock me after, you
should not have mocked me before: but come
your ways.
Bos. Now Hercules be thy speed, young
man !
Cel I would I were invisible, to catch the
strong fellow by the leg. f They wrestle.
Bos. 0 excellent young man .'
Cel. If I had a thunderbolt iu mine eye, I
can tell who should down.
[ii'Aout. Charles is thrown.
Duke F. No more, no more.
Orl Yes, I beseech your grace : I am not
yet well breathed. 230
Duke F. How dost tliou, Charles ?
Le Beau. He cannot speak, my lord.
Duke F. Bear him away. What is thy name,
young man 1
Orl. Orlando, my liege ; the youngest son
of Sir Rowland de Boys.
Duke F. I would thou hadst been son to
some man else :
The world esteem'd thy father honorable.
But I did find him still'mine enemy ;
Tiiuu shouldst have better pleasM me witli
this deed, 291
Hadst thou descended from another house.
But fare thee well; thou art a gallant youth :
I would thou hadst told me of another father.
[Exeunt Duke Fred., train, and Le Beau.
Cel. Were I my father, coz, would I do
this ? [son,
Orl. 1 am more proud to be Sir Rowland'^i
His youngest son ; and would not change that
calling.
To be adopted heir to Frederick.
Bos. My father loved Sir Rowland as his
soul,
.And all the world was of my father's mind :
Had I before known this young man his son,
1 should have given him tears unto entreaties.
Ere he should thus have ventured. 251
Cel Gentle cousin, •
Let us go thank him and encourage him :
My father's rough and envious disposition
Sticks me at heart Sir, you have well de¬
served: '
If you do keep your promises in love
But justly, as you have exceeded all promise.
Your mistress shalLbe happy.
Bos. Gentleman,
[Givinyhtm a chain from her neck.
Wear this for me, one out of suits with for¬
tune,
Tliat could give more, but that her hand lacks
means.
Shall we go, coz ?
Of. Ay. Fare yon well, fair gentleman.
Orl Can I not say, I thank you ? Mv better
-parts ' 261
Sosn ui-l
AS YOU
LIKE IT,
Jb» all tbiown down, and that which here
stands up<
b but a euiutaiD, a mere lifeless block.
Bos, Be calls us back: my pride 1^ with
my fortunes ;
ru atdc him what he would. Did yon call, sir f
ffir, yott hare wrestled well and overthrown
More than your enemies.
Cel, WiUyongo^eozT
Bo*. Have with yon. Fare yon well.
[Ezeunt RoaalinA and Cetia,
M, What passion hangs these weights
upon my tongue ?
I cannot speak to her, yet she urged coui
ference.
0 poor Orlando, thou art overthrown! 271
Or Charles or something weaker masters tiiee.
Be-enter Lb Bbait.
Le Beau. Good sir, I do in friendship eouno
sel you
To leave this place. Albeit you have deserved
High commendation, true applause and love.
Yet such is now the duke's condition
That he misconstrues all that you have done.
The duke is humorous ; what he is indeed.
More suits you to conceive than 1 to speak of.
Orl, i thank you, sir ; and, pray you, tell
me this; 280
Which of the two was daughter of the duke
That here was at tiie wrestling 7
Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge
by manners;
But yet indeed the lesser is his daughter:
The other is daughter to tiie banish'd duke^
And here detain'd by her usurping uncle.
To keep his daugiiter company ; whose loves
Are dearer than the natural bond of sisteis.
But I can tell you that of late this duke
Hath ta'en displeasure 'gtunst his gentle niece,
Grounded upon no other argument 291
But that the people praise her for her virtues
And pity her for her good father's sake ;
And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady
Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well;
Here.after, in a better world than this,
1 shall desire more love and knowledge of you.
Orl. I rest much bounden to you : fare you
well. \Exit Le Beau,
Thus must I from the smoke into the smother;
From tyrant duke unto a tyrant brother ; 300
But heavenly Hosalind! \BxU.
ScENB IIL A room in the palace.
Enta- Ceua and Bosalins.
Cel. Why, cousin 1 wlw, Bosalind 1 Cnfdd
have mercy ! not a word 7
Bos. Not one to throw at a dog.
Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be
cast away upon Qurs ; throw some of them at
me; come, lame me with reasons.
Bos. Tlien there were two couMns laid up
when the one should be lamed with reasons,
and the other mad without any.
Cel. But is all this for your father 7 lO
Bos. No, some of it is lor my child's fatlieri
O, bow full of briers is this werktaig-day woiidl
Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown
upon thee in holiday foolery : if wo -walk not
in the trodden pat^ our very petticoats will
catch them.
Bos. I could shake them off my coat: these
burs are in my heart i
CeL Hem them away.
Bos. I wonld try, if 1 coidd cry ' hem' and
have him. 20
Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affec*
tions.
Bos. O, they take tiie part of a betterwrest
tier than myself!
Cel. 0, a good wish noon you ! you will try
in time, in despite of a fall. But, turning these
jests out of service, let us talk in good earnest:
is it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall
into so strong a liking with old Sir Bowland'a
youngest son 7
Bos. The duke my father loved his father
dearly. ' 31
Cel. Doth it therefore ensue that you should
love his son dearly 7 By this kind of chase, I
should bate him, for my father bated his father
dearly ; yet I hate not Orlando.
Bos. No, faitii, hate him not, for my sake.
Cel. Wiiy should 1 not 7 doth he not deserve
well 7
Bos. Let me love him for that, and do you
love him because I do. Look, here comes the
duke. 41
Cel. With his eyes full of anger.
Enter Duke Fredbbice, with Lords.
Duke F. Mistress; dispatch you with your
safest haste
And get you from our court.
Bos. Me, uncle?
Dtike F. You, cousin:
Within these ten days if that thou be'st found
So near our public court as twenty miles.
Thou diest for it
Bos. I do beseech your grace.
Let me the knowledge of my fault near witk
me:
If with myself I hold intelligence
Or have acquaintance with mine own desires.
If that I do not dream or be not frantic,— 61
As I do trust I am not—then, dear uncle,
Never so much as in a thought unborn
Did I offend your highness.
Duke F. Thus do all traitors >
If their purgation did consist in words.
They are as innocent as grace itself :
Let it suffice thee tliat I trust thee not.
Bos. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a
traitor: '
Tell me whereon the likelihood depends.
Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter ;
there's enough. 60
Bos. So was I when your highness took his
dukedom ;
So was 1 when your highness banish'd him:
Treason is not inherited, my lord;
570
45 YOU LIKE IT.
[Aof lb
Or, if we did derive it from our friends,
What* s that to me ? my father was no traitor:
Then, good my li^e, mistake me not so much
To think my poverty is treacherous.
Get. Dear sovereign, hear me speak.
Duke F. Ay, Celia ; westay'd ner foryour
sake,
Else had she with her father ranged along. 70-
CeL I did not then entreat to hive her stay;
ft was your pleasure and your own remorse':
I was too young that time'to value her ;
But now I know her ; if she be a traitor,
Why so am I; we still have slept together,
Rose at an instant, learu'd, play'd, - eat to¬
gether.
And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans.
Still we went coupled and inseijarable.
Duke F: Site is too subtle for thee ; and
her smoothness,
Her very silence and her patience 80
Speak to the people, and they pity her.
Thou art a fool: she robs thee of thy name ;
And thou wilt show more bright and seem
more virtuous
When she is gone. Th^ t oi^en not thy lips :
Firm and irrevocable is my doom
Wiiich I have pass'd uiK>n her; site is banisb'd.
Cel. . Pronounce that sentence tlien on me,
my liege : t
I cannot live out of her company.
Duke F. You are a fooL You, niece, pro¬
vide yourself :
If you outstay the time, upon mine honor, 90
And in the gi^tness of my word, you die.
[Axeunf Duke Frederick and Lords.
Cel. O my poor Bosaliud, whither wilt
thou go ?
Wilt thou change fathers ? I will give thee
mine.
I charge thee, be not thou more grieved than I
am.
Ros. 1 have more cause.
Cel. Thou hast not, cousin ;
Prithee, be cheerful: know'st thou not, the
duke
Hath banisb'd me, his daughter ?
Ros. That he hath not.
Cel. No, hath not ? Rosalind lacks then the
love
Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one :
Shall we be sunder'd ? shall we part, sweet
girl ? 100
No : let my father seek another heir.
Therefore devise with me how we may fly.
Whither to go and what to bear with us ;
And do not seek to take your chauge upon
you.
To bear your griefs yourself and leave me oi\t;
for, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale,
Sar what thou can.st, I'll go along with thee,
Ros. Why, whither shall we go ?
Cel. To seek my uncle in the forest of
Arden.
Ros. Alas, what danger will it be to us, 110
Maids as we ai-e, to travel forth so far I
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.
Cbf. I'll put myself in poor and mean attira
And with a kind of umber smirch my face ;
The like do yon : so shall we pass along
And never rtir assailants.
Ros. ' Were it not better.
Because that I am more than common tali.
That I did suit me all points like a man t
A gallant curtle-aae upon ny tliigh,
A boar-spear in my ..and ; and—in my heart
Lie there what mdden woman's fear there
wiU— 121
We'll have a swashing and a martial outside,
As many other mannish cowards have
That do outface it with tlieir semblances.
Cel. What shall I call thee when thou art
a man?
Ros. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's •
own page ;
And therefore look yon call me Ganymede.
But what will you be call'd ? >
Cel. Something that hath a reference to my
state: .
No longer Celia, but Aliena. 130
Ros. But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal
The clownish fool out of your father's court ?
Would he not be a comfort to our travel ?
Cel. He'll go along o'er the wide world
with me;
Leave me alone to woo him. Let's away.
And get our jewels and our wealth together.
Devise the fittest time and safest way
To hide us from pursuit that will be made
After my flight. Now go we in content
To liberty and not to banishment [Axeunf. IMl
ACT II.
ScENK L 77te Forest of Arden.
Enter Dokb senior, Amiens, and two or
three Lords, like foresters.
Duke S. Now, my co-mates and brothers in
exile.
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
Than that of painted pump ? Are not these
woods
More free from peril than the envious court ?
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,
The seasons' difference, as the icy fang
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind.
Which, when it bites and blows upon my body,
Even till I shrink with coid, I smile and say ' '
' This is no flattery: these are counsellors 10
Tliat feelingly persuade me what I am.'
Sweet are the uses of adversity.
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head ;
And this our life exempt from public haunt
Finds tongues in trees, books m the running
brooks,
Sermons in stones and good in every thing.
I would not change it.
Ami. Happy is your grace,
That can translate the stubbornness oi fortune
Into so quiet and so sweet a style. 20
Scene m.]
AS YOU LIKE IT.
671
Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us
venison ?
And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools,
Being native burghers of this desert city.
Should in their own confiiies with forked heads
Have their round haunches gored.
First Lord. Indeed, my lord.
The melancholy Jaques grieves at that,'
And, in tlmt kind, swears you do more usurp
Tlian doth your brother that hath banish'd you.
To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself
Did st^ behind him as he lay along 30
Under an oak whose antique root peeps out
Upon the biook that brawls along this wood :
To the which place a poor seque.ster'd stag.
That from the hunters aim h.ad ta'en a hurt.
Did come to languish, and indeed, my lord.
The wretched animal heaved forth such groans
That their discharge did stretch his leathern
coat '
Almost to bursting, and the big round tears
Coursed one another down his innocent nose
In piteous chase ; and thus the hairy fool, 40
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques,
Stood on the extremest veige of the swift
brook, ■ •
Alimenting it with tears.
Duke S. But what said Jaques ? '
Did he not moralize tliis spectacle ?
• First Lord. O, yes, into a thousand simile.s.
First, for his weeping into tlie needle.ss stream;
* Poor deer,' quoth he ' thou makest a testa¬
ment
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more
To that which had too much :' then, being
there alone.
Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends, 50
' "Tis right:' quoth he ' thus misery doth part
The flux of comiiany :' anon a careless herd,
Full of tlte pasture, jumps along by him
And never Stays to greet him ; 'Ay,' quoth
Jaques,
' Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens ;
'Tis just tlie' fashion : wherefore do you look
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there ? '
Thus most invectively he pierceth tlirough
The body of the country, city, court.
Yea, and of this our life, swearing that we 60
Are mere usurpers, tyrants and what's worse.
To fright the animals and to kill them up
In their assign'd and native dwelling-place.
Duke S. And did you leave him in this
contemplation ?
. Sec. Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and
4-oramenting
Upon the sobbing deer.
Duke S. Show me the place :
I love to cope him in these sullen fits,
.For then he's full of matter.
First Lord. I'll bring you to hira straight.
A [Exeunt.
Scene II. A room in the palace.
Enter Duke Frederick, with Lords. '
Duke F. Can it be possible that no man
sawtiiem?
It cannot be: some villains of my court
Are of consent and sufferance in this.
First lA>rd. I cannot hear of any that did
see her.
The ladies, her attendants bf her chamber.
Saw her a-bed, and in the morning early' '
They found tlie bed untreasured of tlieir mis¬
tress.
Sec. Lord. My lord, the roynish clown, at
whom so oft
Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing.
Hisperia, the princess' gentlewoman, 10
Confe.sses that she secretly o'erheard
Your daughter and her cousin much commend
The parts and graces of the wrestler
That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles ;
And she believes, wherever they are gone,
That youth is surely in their comimny.
Duke F. Send to his brother; fetch that
gallant hither;
If he be absent, bring his brother to me ;
I'll make him find him: do this suddenly;
And let not search and inquisition quail 20
To bring again these foolish runaways.
[Exeunt.
Scene III. Before Oliver's hotise.
Enter Orlando and Adam, meeting.
Orl. Who's there ?
Adam. What, my young toaster ? O my
gentle master !
0 iiiy sweet master ! O you memory
Of old Sir Rowland ! why, what make you
here ?
Why are yoa virtuous ? why do 'people love
you ? [iant 1
And wherefore are you gentle, strong and val-
Why would you be so fond to overcome
The bonny priser of the humorous duke ?'
Your praise is come too swiftly home before
you.
Know you not) ma.ster, to some kind of men
Tlieir graces setve them but as enemies ? 11
No more do yours : your virtues, geutle mas¬
ter.
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.
O, what a world is this, when what is comely
Envenoms him that bears it!
Orl. Why, what's the matter ?' .
Adam. O unhappy youth !
Come not within these doors ; within this roof
The enemy of all your graces lives : •> i
Your brother—no, no brother; yet the son-
Yet not the son, I will not call him son 20
Of him I was about to call his father—
Hath heard your praises, and this night he
means
To bum the lodging where you use to lie
And you within it: if he fail of that.
He will have other means to cut you off.
1 overheard him and his practices.
This is no place -, this house is but a butchery:
Abhor it. fear it, do not enter it.
Orl. Why. whither, Adam, wonldst tbos
liavemego?
572
AS YOU
LIKE IT.
[Act 11.
Adam. No matter Trhither, so you eome
not here. 30
Orl. What, wouldst thou have me go and
beg my food ?
Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce
A thievish living on the common road ?
This I must do, «r know not what to do ;
Yet this I will not do, do how I can ;
1 rather wilt subject me to the malice
Of a diverted blood and bloody brother.
Adam. But do not so. I have five hundred
crowns,
The thrifty hire I saved under your father,
Which I did store to be my foster-nurse 40
When service sliould in my old limbs lie lame
And unregarded age in corners thrown :
Take that, and He that doth the ravens feed,
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow.
Be comfort to my age ! Here is the gold ;
And all this I give you. Let me be your ser¬
vant :
Tliough 1 look old, yet I am strong ard lusty;
For in my youth I never did ap;dy
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood,
Kor did not with unbashful forehead woo 50
The means of weahness and debility;
Therefore ray age is as a lusty winter.
Frosty, but kindly; let me go with you ;
I'll do the service of a younger man
In all your business and necessities.
Ort. O good old man, how well in thee ap-
Xiears
The constant service of the antique world.
When service swe.at for duty, not for meed !
Thou art not for tlie fashion of these times.
Where none will sweat but for promotion, 60
And having that, do choke their service up
Even with the having : it is not so with thee.
But, poor old man, thou prunestrotten tree,
That cannot so much as a blossom yield
In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry
But come thy ways ; we'll go along together.
And ere we have thy youthful wages spent.
We'll light upon some settled low content .
Adam. Master, go on, and I will follow
thee.
To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty. 70
From seventeen years till now almost four¬
score
Here lived I, but now live here no more.
At seventeen years many their fortuneaseek ;
But at fourscore it is too late a week:
Yet fortune cannot recompense me better
Than to die well and not my master's debtor.
[EjceurU.
' Scene lY. The Forest of Arden.
Enter Rosalind for Ganymede, Celia for
Aliena, and Touchstone.
Ros. O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits !
Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs
were not weary.
Eos I could find in my heart to disgrace
my man's apparel and to cry like a woman; but
1 must comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet
and bpse ought to show itself oourageouft to
petticoat; therefore courage, good Alieua !
Cel. I pray you, bear with me; I cannot go
no further. - • , 10
Touch. For my part, I bad rather bear with
j'ou thau bear you ; yet I should bear no cross
if I did bear you, for I think you hkve no
money in your purse.
Bos. Well, this is tiie forest of Arden.
Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden ; the more
fool I; when I was at home, 1 was in a better
X>lace : but travellers must be content.
Bos. Ay, be so, good Touchstone.
Enter Corin and SiLvius.
Look you, who comes here; a young man and
an old in solemn talk. 21
Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you
stilL . •
SU. 0 Corin, that thou kuew'st how I do
love her!
Cor. I partly guess ; for I have loved ere
now.
SU. No, Corin, being old, thpu canst not
guess.
Though in thy youth thou wast as a true lover
As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow:
But k thy love were ever like to mine—
As sure i think did never man love so— ,
How many actions most ridiculous 30
Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy ? '
Cor. Into a thousand that 1 have forgotten.
Sil. 0, thou didst then ne'er love so lieartily!
If thou remember'St not the siighte.st folly
That ever love did make thee run into.
Thou hast not loved :
Or it thou hast not sat as I do now.
Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise.
Thou hast not loved :
Or if thou hast not broke from company 40
Abruptly, as my passion now makes me.
Thou hast not loved.
0 Phebe, Phebe, Phebe ! [Exit.
Bos. Alas, poor sheiiherd! searching of thy
wound,
1 have by haid adventure found mine own.
Touch. And I mine. I remember, when I'
was in love I broke my sword upon a stone
and bid him take that for coming a-uiguc
Jane Smile ; and I remember the kissing of
her batlet and the cow's dugs that her prc'ty
chopt hands had milked ; and 1 remembe. t'le
wooing of a peascod instead of her, from
whom I took two cods and, giving her them
again, said with weeping tears ' Wear these for
my sake.' We that are true lovers run into
strange capers ; bnt as all is mortal in nata.i,
so is ail nature in love mortal in folly. ■
Bos. Thou speakest wiser than thou art
ware of.
Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine
own wit till 1 break my shins against it. 60
Bos. Jove, Jove ! this shepherd's passion
Is much upon my fashion,
t Touch. And mine; bnt it grows something
stale with me.
ScBKit i*:.!
^5 YOU
LIKE IT.
S7S
Cel.. I i^ray you, one of you question yond
man
If he for (told will give us any food:
I faint almost to death.
Touch. Holla, you clown !
Jiot. Peace, fool: he's uot thy kinsman.
Cor. Who calls ?
Touch. Tour betters, sir.
Cor. Else are they very wretched.
Itos. Peace, I say. Good even to you,
friend.
Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.
Jtos. I prithee, shepherd, if that love or
gold
Can in this desert place buy entertainment.
Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed:
Here 8 a young maid with travel much op'
press'd
And faints for succor.
Cor. Fair sir, I pity her
And wish, for her sake more^ than for mine
own.
My fortunes were more able to relieve her ;
But 1 am shepherd to another man
And do not shear tiie fleeces that I graze :
My master is of churlish disnosition ' 80
And little recks to find the way to heaven
By doing deeds of hosidtaiity.
Besides, his cote, his flocks and bounds of
feed
Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now.
By reason of his absence, there is nothing
That you will feed on ; but what is, come see.
And in my voice most welcome shall you be.
Bos. What is he that shall buy his flock and
N I>asture ?
Cor. That young swain that you saw here
' but erewhiie.
That little cares for buying any thing. 90
Bos. I pray thee, if it stand witli honesty.
Buy thou tiie cottage, pasture and the flock.
And thou shait hav3 to pay for it of us.
Cel. And we will mend thy wages. I like
this place.
And willingly could waste my time in it.
Cor. Assuredly the thing is to be sold :
Go with me : if you like upon report
The soil, the profit and this kind of life,
I will your very faithful feeder be
And buy it with your gold right suddenly. 100
[Exeunt.
Scene V. The Forest.
fhter Amiens, Jaqdes, and others.
Song.
Ami, Under the greenw<^ tree
Who iovef to lie with me.
And turn "his merry note
Unto the sweet bial'^ throat.
Come hither, come hither, come hither:
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.
/aq. More, more, I prithee, more.
Aihi. It will make you melantholj,. .on-
sieur Jaques.
Ja>j. 1 thank it. More, I prithee, more. I
can suck melancholy out of ti si ng, r.c a weasel
sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more.
Ami. My voice is ragged ; I know I cannot
please you.
Jaq. 1 do not desire yon to please me; 1 do
desire you to sing. Cuuie, mure ; another
stanzo: call you 'em staiizus ?
Ami. What you will. Monsieur Jaques. 20
Jaq. Nav, I care not for their names ; they
owe me nothing. Will you sing ?
Ami. More at your request tlian to please
myself.
Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man,
I'll thank you ; but that they call compliment
is like the encounter of two dog-apes, and
when a man thanks me heartily, methinks I
have given him a penny and he renders me
the beggarly thanks. Come, sing ; and you
that will not, hold your tongues.
Ami. Weil, I'll end the song. Sirs, cover
the while ; the duke will drink under this
tree. He hath been ail this day to look you.
Jaq. And I have been all this day to avoid
him. He is too disputable for my company :
I think of as many matters as he, hut I give
heaven thanks and make no boast of them.
Come, warble, come.
Song.
Who doth ambition shun 40
[All together here.
And loves to live i* the sun,
Seeking the food he eats
And pleased with what he gets.
Come hither, come hither, come hither ■
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.
Jaq. I'll give you a verse to this note that
I made yesterday in despite of my invention.
Ami. And I'U sing it 50
Jaq. Thus it goes:— m
If it do come to pass
That any man turn ass.
Living his wealth and ease,
A stubborn will to please,
Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame:
Here shall he see
Gross fools as he.
An if he will come to me.
Ami. What's that' ducdame' ? JO
Jaq. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools
into a circle. I'll go sleep, if I can; if I cannot,
I'll rail against ail the first-born of Egypt.
Ami. And I'U go seek the duke; his
banquet is prepared. [Exeunt severally.
Scene VI. The forest.
Enter Orlando and Adah.
Adam. Dear master, I can go no further :
O,' I die for food ! Here lie I down, au<i
measure out my grave. Farewell, kind mastt.;
674
AS YOU
LIKE IT.
I [Ac* II;
Orl. Why, how now, Adam I no greater
heart in thee ? Live a little ; comfort a little;
cheer thyself a little, if this uncouth forest
yield any tiling savage, I wiU either be food
for it or Wing It for food to thee. Thy conceit
is nearer death tlian thy powei-s. For my sake
be comfortable; hold death awliile at the arm's
end : 1 will here be with thee presently;
and if I bring thee not something to eat,
i will give tliee leave to die: but if thou
diest before i come, thou art a mocker of my
labor. Well ^d ! thou lookestcheerly, and I'll
be with thee quickly. Yet thou liest in the
bleak air; come, i will bear thee to some
shelter ; and thou shalt not die for lack of a
dinner, if there live any thing in this desert.
Cheerly, good Adam 1 [Exeunt.
Scene ViL The forest.
A table set out. Enter Dckb senior. Amiens,
and Lords like outlaws.
Duke S. i think he be transform'd into a
beast;
For i can uo where find him like a man.
First Lord. My lord, he is but even now
gone hence:
Here was he merry, hearing of a song.
Duke S if he, compact of jars, grow mu¬
sical,
We shall have shortly discord in the spheres.
Gro, seek him ; tell him 1 would speak with
him.
Enter Jaqubs.
First Lord. He saves my labor by his own
approach.
Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur! what
a life is this.
That your poor friends must woo your com¬
pany ? 10
What, you look merrily ! •
Jaq. A fool, a fool 1 I met a fool i' the
forest,
A motley fool; a miserable world !
As i do live by food, i met a fool;
Who laid him down and bask'd him in the
sun,
And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms,
in good set terms and yet a motley fool.
' Good morrow, fool,' quoth i. ' No, sir,' quoth
he, ■
' Call me not fool till heaven hath scut me
fortune:'
And then he drdw a dial from his poke, 20
And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye.
Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock :
Thus we'may see,' quoth he,' liow the world
wags:
'Tis but an hour ago sinee it was nine.
And after one hour more 'twill be eleven ;
And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe.
And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot;
And thereby hangs a tale.' When I did hear
Thh motley fool thus moral on the time.
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, 30
ISiat fools should he so deej^-contemplative,
And i did laugh sans intermissiou
An hour by hfs dial. O noble fool!
A worthy fool I Motley's the ouly wear.
Duke S. What fool is this 7
Jaq. O worthy fool! One that hath been
a courtier.
And says, if ladies be but young and fair.
They have the gift to know it; and in his brain.
Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit
After a voyage, he hath strange places
cramm d 40
With observation, the which he vents
In mangled forms. O that i were a fool I .
I am ambitidns for a motley coat
Duke S. Thou shalt have one.
Ja^. it is my only suit;
Provided tliat you weed your better judg¬
ments
Of all opmion that grows rank in them
That i am wise, i must have liberty
Withal, as large a charter as the wind.
To blow on whom I please ; for so fools have;
.And they t^t are most galled with my folly.
They most must laugh. And why, sir, must
they so 7 i 51
The ' why * is plain as way to parish church :
He that a fool doth very wisely hit
Uoth very foolishly, alwough he smart,
Not to seem senseless of the bob : if not.
The wise man's foUy is anatomized
Even by the squandering glances of the fooL
Invest me in my motley : give me leave
To speak my mind, and I will tlirough and
through
' Clean.se the foul body of the uifected world,
if they will patiently receive my medicine. 61
Duix S. Fie on thee 1 I can tell what thou .
wouldst do. [good 7
Jaq. What, for a counter, would i do but
Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in
chiding sin :
For thou thyself hast been a libertine,
Als sensual as the brutish sting itself ;
And all the embossed soi-es and headed evils.
That thou with license of free foot hast caught,
Wouldst thou disgoige into the general world.
Jaq. Why, who cries out on pride, • 70
That can therein tax any private party 7
Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea,
tTill that the weary very means do ebb 7
What woman in the city do i name.
When that i say the city-woman bears
The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders 7
Who can come in and say that I mean her.
When such a one as she such is her neighbor7
Or what is he of basest function
That says his bravery is not of my cost, 80
Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits
His folly to the mettle of my speech ?
There then ; how tlien 7 what then 7 Let me
see wherein
My tongue hath wrong'd him ; if it do him
right.
Then he hath wrong'd himself ; if he be free.
Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies,
Unclaim'd 01 any man. Hut who comes herq7
SCENB TII.'}
^5 YOU
LIKE IT.
676
Enter Orlando, with hit sieori dream.
Orl. Forbear, and eat no more.
Jaq. Why, I have eat none yet.
Ori. Kor ahalt not, tilt necessity be served.
La^. Ot what kind sliould tliis cock come
of? 90
Duke S. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by
tliy distress,
Or else a rude despiser of good manners.
That in civility thou seem'st so empty ?
Orl. You touch'd my vein at first: the
thorny point v >
Of liare distress hath ta'en from me the show
Of smooth civility; yet am I inland bred
And know some nurture. But forbear, 1 say;
He dies tliat touches any of this fruit
Till I and my affairs are answered.
Jaq. An you will not be answered with
reason, I must die. 101
Duke S. What would you have 7 Your
Mutleness shall force
More than your force move us to gentleness.
Orl ^ I almost die for food ; and let me
have it
Duke 8. Sit down and feed, and welcome
to our table.
' Orl. Speak you so gently 7 Pardon me, I
pray you:
1 thought that all things had been savage
here;
And therefore put I on the countenance
Of stem commandment But whate'er you
are
That in this desert inaccessible, 110
Under the shade of melancholy boughs.
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of-time ;
If ever you have look'd on better days.
If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church,
If ever sat at any good man's feast,
If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear
And know What 'tis' to pity and be pitied.
Let gentleness my strong enforcement be :
In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword.
Duke 8. True is it that we have seen
better days, 120
And have with holy bell been knoll'd to
church
And sat at good nteu's feasts and wiped our
eyes
Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd
And therefore sit you down in gentleness
And take upon command what he^ we have
That to your wanting may be miuister'd.'
Orl. Then but forbear your food a little
' while.
Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn
And give it food. There is an old poor man,
Wlio after me hath many a weary step 1^
Lirap'd in pure love : till he be first sufficed,
Oppress'd with two weaW evils, age and
hunger,
I will not touch a bit.
Duke 8. Go find him out.
And we will nothing waste till you return.
Orl. I thank ye ; and be blest for your
Duke 8. Thou seest we are not all alone un¬
happy :
This wide and universal theatre
Presents more woeful pageants than the scene
Wherein we play in. '
Jaq. All the world's a stage.
And all the men and women merely players :
They have their exits and their entrances ■;
And one man in his time plays many parts.
His acts being seven ages. At first the in¬
fant.
Mewling and puking in the nitrse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his
satchel
And shilling morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover.
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Tlien a soldier.
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the
pard, 150
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel.
Seeking the buble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the
justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined.
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut.
Full of wise saws and modem instances ;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch, on side.
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too
wide KiO
For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly
voice.
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And wliisues in his sound. Last scene of al^.
That ends this strange eventful history.
Is second childishness and mere oblivion.
Sans teetb, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every
thing.
' Re-enter Orlando, with Adam.
Duke S. Welcome. Set down your vener¬
able burthen.
And let him feed. '
Orl. I thank you most for him.
Adam. So had you need ;
I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.
Duke 8. Welcome; fall to: I will not
trouble you 171
As yet, to question you about your fortunes.
Give us some music ; and, good cousin, sing.
Song.
Ami Blow, blow, thou winter wind.
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude ;
Thy tooth is not. so keen,' •
Because thou art not seen.
Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho ! unto the green
holly; ' 180
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere
. folly: ■ ■
Then, heigb-to, the holly I
this life fs most jolly.
676
AS YOU LfKE IT.
[Act 111
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter gky,
That dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp.
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remeinber'd not.
Heigh-ho ! sing, &c. 190
Dake S. If that you were the good Sir Row-
laud's son.
As you have whisper'd faithfully you were.
And as mine eye doth his effigies witness
Most trnly limn'd and living in your face,
Be truly welcome hither : I am the duke
That loved your father : the residue of your
fortune.
Go to my cave and tell me. Good old man.
Thou art right welcome as thy master is.
Support him by the arm. Give me your hand.
And let me all your fortunes understand.
[Exeunt.
ACT ra.
Scene 1. A room in the palace.
Enter Dckb Fkedebice, Lords, and Ouvee.
Duke F. Not see him since ? Sir, sir, tha,t
cannot be:
But were 1 not the better part made mercy,
1 should not seek an absent argument
Of my revenge, thou pre.sent. But look to it:
Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is ;
Seek him with candle ; bring him dead or
living ,
Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no
more
To seek a living in our territory.
Thy lands and all things that thou dost call
thine
Worth seizure do we seize into eur hands, 10
Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother's
mouth
Of what we think against thee.
Oli. O that your highuess knew my heart
in tliis !
I never loved my brother hi my life.
Duke F. More villain thou. Well, push
him out of doors ;
And let my officers of such a nature
Make an extent upon his house and lands :
Do this expediently and turn him going.
[Exeunt.
Scene II. Tl>e forest.
Enter Oblanoo, ■uhth a paper.
Orl. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my
love :
And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night,
survey
With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere
alwve.
Thy huntress' name that my full life doth
sway.
O Rosalind ! these trees shall be my books
And in their barks my thoughts I'll uharao
ter; . . ,
That every eye wliich in this forest looks
Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where.
Run, run, Orlando ; ciirve on everjr tree •
The fair, the chaste and unexpressive she.
[Exit.
Enter Oobin and Touchstone.
Cor. And how like you this shepherd's life.
Master Touchstone ?
Touch. Truly, shepherd, in respect of it¬
self, it is a good life ; but in respect that it is
a shepherd's life, it is naught. In respect that
it is soiitary, 1 like it very well ; but in re¬
spect that it is private, it is a very vile life,
Now, in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth
me weU'; but in respect it is not in the court,
it is tedious. As it is a spare life, look you, it
fits ray humor well; but as there is no more
plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach.
Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd ?
Cor. No more but that I know the more
one sickens the worse at ease he is ; and that
he that wants money, means and content is
without three good friends ; that the property
of rain is to wet and fire to burn ; that good
pa.sture makes fat sheep, and that a great
cause of the night is lack of the sun ; that he
that hath learned no wit by nature nor art
may complain of good breedmg or comes of a
very didi kindred.
Touch. Such a one is a natural philosopher.
Wast ever in court, shepherd 7
Cor. No, truly.
Touch. "Then thou art damned.
Cor. Nay, 1 hope.
Touch. Truly, thou art damned like an ilK
roasted egg, sdl on one side. 39
Cor. For not being at court 7 Your reason.
Touch. Why, if thou never wast at court,
thou never sawest good manners ; if thoa
never sawest good manners, then thy man¬
ners must be wicked ; and wickedness is sin,
and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous
state, shepherd.
Cor. Not a whit. Touchstone : those that
are good manners at the court are as ridicu¬
lous in the country as the behavior of the
country is most mockable at the court. You
told me you salute not at the court, but you
kiss your hands : that courtesy would be un¬
cleanly, if courtiers were shepherds.
Touch. Instance, briefly ; come, instance.
Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes,
and their fells, you know, are greasy.
Touch. Why, do not your courtier's bands
sweat 7 and is not the grease of a mutton as
wholesome as the sweat of a man 7 Shallow,
shallow. A better instance, I say ; come.
Cor. Besides, our hands are hard. 60
Touch. Your lips will feel them the sooner,
Shallow again. A more sounder instance,
come.
Cor. And they are often tarred over with
the surgery of our sheep; and would you
SCBWE 11.]
AS YOU LIKE IT.
bTl
have ua kiss tar ? The courtier's hands are
perfumed with civet.
Touch. Most shaliow man ! thou worms-
meat, in respe -t of a good piece of flesh in¬
deed !. Learn of the wise, and perpend : civet
IS of a baser birth than tar, tlie very un¬
cleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance,
sh^herd. 71
Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me ;
I'll rest.
Touchi Wilt thou rest damned ? God help
thee, shallow man 1 God make incision in
thee ! thou art raw.
Cor. Sir, I am a true laborer : I earn that I
eat, get that I wear, owe no man hate, envy
no man's happiness, giad of other men's good,
content with my liatm, and the greatest of
my pride is to see my ewes graze and my
lambs suck.
Touch. That is another simple sin in you,
to bring the ewes and the rams together and
to offer to get your iivmg by the copulation of
cattle ; to be bawd to a bell-wether, and to
betray a she-lamb. of a twelvemonth to a
crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, out of all
reasonable match. If thou beest not damned
for this, the devil himself will have no shep¬
herds ; I cannot see else how thou shouldst
'scape. 90
Cor. Here comes young Master Ganymede,
my new mistress's brother.
Enter RosAy.iitd, vnth a paper, readimj.
Bos. From the east to western Ind,
No jewel is like Rosalind.
Her worth, being mounted on the
wind.
Through all the world bears Rosalind.
All the pictures fairest lined
Are but black to Rosalind.
Let no fair be kept in mind
But the fair of Rosalind. 100
Touch. I'll rhyme you so eight years to¬
gether, dinners and suppers and sleeping-
hours excepted : it is the right butter-
women's rank to market
Bos. Out, fool!
Touch. For a ta.ste :
If a hart do lack a hind.
Let him seek out Rosalind.
If the cat will after kind.
So be sure will Rosalind. 110
Winter garments must be lined.
So must slender Rosalind.
They that reap must sheaf and bind ;
Then to cart with Rosalind.
Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,
Such a nut is Rosalind.
He that sweetest rose will find
Must find love's prick and Rosalind.
This is the very false gaflop of verses : why
do you infect yourself with them ? 120
Bos. Peace, you dull fool t ( found them on
a tree.
Touch, Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.
Bos. I'll grafi it with you, and theui shall
graff it with a medlar then, it will be the
earliest fruit i' the country ; for you'll be rot¬
ten ere you be half ripe, i^ld tliat's the right
virtue of the medlar.
ToucK You have said ; but whether wisely
or no, let the forest judge. 1.10
Enter Chxia, voith a Writing. ,
Bos. Peace!
Here comes my sister, reading: stand aside.
■ Cel. f^'odsj .
Why should this a desert be ?
For it is unpeopled ? No:
Tongues I'll hang on every tree,
Tlrat sliall civil sayings show :
Some, how brief the life of man .
Rons bis erring pilgrimage,
That tiie stretching of a span
/ Buckles in his sum of age ; IdO
Some, of violated vows
'Twixt the souls of friend and friend:
But epon the fairest boughst.
Or at every sentence end.
Will 1 Rosalinda write.
Teaching all that read to know
The quintessence of every sprite
Heaven would in little show.
Therefore Heaven Nature charged
That one body should be fill'd 150
With all graces wide-enlarged :
Nature presently distill'd
Helen's cheek, but not her heart,
Cleopatra's majesty,
Atalanta's better part,
Sad Lucretia's modesty.
I Thus Rosalind of many parts
By heavenly synod was devised.
Of many faces, eyes and hearts.
To have the touches dearest prized.
Heaven would that she tiiese gifts should
have, 161
And 1 to live and die her slave.
Bos. 0 most gentle pulpiter! what tedious
homily of love have you wearied your parish¬
ioners withal, and never cried ' Have patience,
good people !'
Cel. How now ! back, friends ! Shepherd,
go off a little. Go with him, sirrah.
Touch. Come, shepherd, let us make an
honorable retreat; though not with bag and
baggage, yet with scrip and scripp^e. 171
ffeet/nl Corm and Touchstone.
Cel. Didst thou hear these verses ?
Bos. O, yes, I heard them all, and more
too ; for some of them had in them more feet
than the verses would bear.
Cel. That's no matter : the feet might bear
the verses.
Bos. Ay, but the feet were lame and could
not bear themselves without the verse and
therefore stood lamely in the verse.. 180
Cel. But didst thou hear without wonder¬
ing how thy 'name should be hanged and
carved upon these trees ?
Bos. I WW seven of the nine days out of
the wonder before you came ; lor teok bm»
678
^5 YOU
LIKE IT.
(Act in.
'•what I found on a palm-tree. I was never
80 he-rhymed since Pythagoras* time, tliat I
was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remem¬
ber.
Cel. Trow you who hath done this ?
Eos. Is it a man ? 190
Cel. And a chain, that you once wore,
about his neck. Change you color ?
Eos. I pritiiee, who i
Cel. O Lord, Lord 1 it is a hard matter for
friends to meet; but mountains may be re¬
moved with earthquakes and so encounter.
Eos. Nay, but who is it 7
Cel. Is it possible ?
Eos. Nay, I prithee now with most peti¬
tionary vehemence, tell me who it is. 200
Cel. O wonderiful, wonderful, and most
wonderful wonderful! and yet again wonder¬
ful, and after tiiat, out of ail hooping !
Eos. Good ray comi^lexiou ! dost thou think,
though I am caiiarisoned like a man, I have a
doublet and hose in my disposition ? One inch
of delay more is a South-sea of discovery ; I
prithee, tell me who is it qnicisly, and si>eak
apace. I would thou coutdst stammer, that
thou mightst pour this concealed man out of
thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow-
mouthed tottle, either too much at once, or
none at all. I prithee, take the cork out of
thy mouth that I may drink tiiy tidings.
Cel. So you may put a man in your belly.
Eos. Is he of God s making ? Wiiat man¬
ner of man ? Is his head worth a hat, or his
chin worth a beard ?
Cel. Nay, he hath but a little beard.
Eos. Wliy, God will send more, if the man
will be thankful; let me stay the growth
of his beard, if thou delay me not the knowl¬
edge of his chin.
Cel. It is young Orlando, that tripped up
the wrestler's heels and your heart both in an
instant.
Eos. Nay, but the devil take mocking :
.speak, sad brow and true maid. •
■ Cel. r faith, coz, 'tis hei
Eos. Orlando ?
I Cel. Orlando. 230
Eos. Alas the day ! what shall I do with
my doublet and hose ? What did he when
thou sawest him ? What said he ? How
looked he ? Wherein went he ? What makes
him here 7 Did he ask for me 7 Wiiere re¬
mains he 7 How parted he with thee 7 and
when shaltthou see him again 7 Answer me
in one word.
Cel. You must borrow me Gargautua's
mouth first; 'tis a word too great for any
mouth of this age's size. To say ay and no to
these particulars is more than to answer in a
catechism. 241
Eos. But doth he know that I am in this
forest and in man's apparel 7 Looks he as
freshly as he did the day he wrestled 7
Cel. It is as easy to count atomies as to re¬
solve the propositions of a lover ; but take a
taste «f my finding him, and relish it with good
observance. I found him under a tree, like a
dropped acorn.
Eos. It may well bo called Jove's tree,
when it drops forth such fruit. 200
Cel. Give me audience, good madam.
Eos. Proceed.
Cel. There lay he, stretched along, like a
wounded knight.
Eos. Though it be pity to see such a sight,
it well becomes the ground.
Cel. Cry ' holla * to thy tougue, I prithee :
it curvets unseasonably. He was furnished
like a hunter. 209
Eos. O, ominous! he comes to kill my
heart.
Cel. I would sing my song without a bur¬
den : thou biingest me out of tune.
Eos. Do you not know I am a weman 7
when I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on.
Cef. You bring me out. Softl comes he not
here 7
Enter Oblando and Jaqces.
Eos. 'TIS he : slink by, and note him.
Jaq. I thank yon for your company ; but,
good faith, I had as lief have been myself
alone. 270
Off. And so had I; but yet, for fashion
sake, I thank you too for your society.
Jaq. God be wi' you : let's meet as little as
we can.
Off. 1 do desire we may be better strangers.
Jnq. I pray you, mar no more trees with
writing love-songs in tlieir barks.
Orl. I pray you, mar no more of my verses
■with reading them ill-favoredly.
Jaq. Rosalind is your love's name 7 280
Off. Yes, just.
Jaq. I do not like her name.
Orl There was no thought of pleasing you
when she was christened.
Jaq. What stature is she of 7
Orl. Just as high as my heart.
Jaq. You are full of pretty answers. Have
you not been acquainted with goldsmiths^
wives, and conned them out of rings 7 289
Off. Not so; but I answer you right painted
cloth, from whence you have studiM your
questions.
Jaq. You have a nimble wit: I think 'twas
made of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down
with me 7 and we two will rail against our
mistress the world and all our misery.
Orl. I will chide no breather in the world
but myself, against whom I know most faults.
Jaq. The worst fault you have is to be in
love. 300
Off. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your
best virtue. I am weary of you.
Jaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool
when I found you.
Off. He is drowned in the brook : look but
in, and yon shall see him.
Jaq. There I shall see mine own figure.
Off. Which I take to be either a fool ot a
dpbea '
ScfiNS ' il.]
Jeiq. I'll tarry no longer with you i fare-i
well, good Signior Love. 310
OH. I am glad ol your departure: adieu,
(px>d Monsieur Melancholy. [ExU Jamtes.
Rus. [Aside tt Velio] I will speak to him,
like a saucy lackey and under that habit play
the knave with hira. Do you hear, forester ?
Orl. Very well: what would you ?
Eos. I pray you, what is't o'clock?
Orl. You should ask me wliat time o' day ]
there's uo clock in tlie forest. 319
Ros. Then there is no true lover in the
forest; else sighing every minute and groan-
ing every hour would detect tlie lazy loot ol
Time as well as a clock.
Orl. And why not tiie swift foot of Time ?
bad not tliat been as proper 7
Ros. By no means, sir: Time travels int
divers paces with divers persons. Til tell you
who Time ambles withal, who Time trots with¬
al, who Time gallops withal and who he stands
still withal.
Orl. 1 prithee, who doth he trot withal.
Ros. Marry, be trots hard with a young
maid between the contract of her marriageaud
tlie day it is solemnized : if the interim be but
a se'nnight. Time's pace is so bard tiiat it
seems tiie length of seven year.
Orl. Who ambles Time withal ?
Ros. With a priest that lacks Latin and a
rich man that hath not the gout, for the one
sleeps easily because he cannot study, and the
•her lives merrily because he feels no pain,
the one lacking the burden of lean and waste¬
ful learning, the other knowing no burden of
^eavy tedious penury ; these Time ambles
withal.
Orl. Who doth he gallop withal ?
Ros.' With a thief to the gallows, for though
he go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks him¬
self too soon there.
, Orl. Who stays it still withal ?
Ros. With lawyers in the vacation ; for
they sleep between term and term and then
they jperceive not how Time moves. 351
On. Where dwell you, pretty youth ?.
Ros. With this shepherdess, ray sister; here
in the skirts ol the forest, like fnnge upon a
petticoat.
Orl. Are you native of this place ?
Ros. As tlie cony tliat you see dwell where
she is kindled.
Orl. Your accent is something finer than you
could purchase in so removed a dwelling. 360
Ros. I have been told so of many : but in¬
deed an old religious uncle of mine'taught me
to speak, who was in his youth an inland
man ; one that knew courtship too well, for
there he fell in love. I have heard him read
many lectures against it, and I thank God I
am not a woman, to be touched with so many
giddy offences as he hath generally taxed their
whole sex withal.
Orl. Can you remember any ol the prihci-
y^al evils that he laid to the charge of wo¬
men V 370
67d
Ros. There were none principal; tiieywere
all like one another as h^f-peuce are, every
one fanlt seeming monstrous till his fellow-
fault came to match it.
OrU I prithee, recount some of them.
Ros. Mo, I will not cast away my physic
but on those that are sick. There is a man
haunts the forest, tliat abuses our young plants
with earving' Rosalind' on their barks; hangs
odes Upon hawthorns and elegies on bram¬
bles, all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosa¬
lind : if I could meet that fancy-monger, I
would give him some ^ood counsel, for he
seems to have tiie quotidian of love uixm him.
Orl. I am he that is so love-shaked : I pray
you tell me your remedy.
Ros. There is none of my uncle's marks
ftpou you : he taught me how to know a man
in love ; in which cage of rushes 1 am sure
yon are not prisoner. 390
Orl. What were his marks ?
Ros. A lean cheek, which you have not, a
blue eye and sunken, which you have not, an
unquestionable spirit, which you have not, a
beard neglected, which you have not; but 1
mrdoii you few that, for simply your having
in beard is a younger brother s revenue : tiien
your hose should be uugartered, your bonnet
unhanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe
untied and every thing about you demonstrat¬
ing a careless desolation ; but you are no such
man ; you are rather point-device in your ac¬
coutrements as loving yourself than seeming
the lover of any other.
Orl. Fair youth, I Would Icould make tliee.
believe I love.
Ros. Me believe it! you may as soon make
her that you love believe it; which, 1 warrant,
she is apter to do than to confess slie does :
that is one of the points in the which women.
still give the lie to tlieir consciences. But,'
in g(^ sooth, are you he that hangs tiie
verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind is so
admired ?
Orl. I swear to thee, youth, by the white
hand of Rosalind, I am that he, tlmt unfortun-!
ate he.
Ros. But are you so much in love as your
rhymes speak 7
Orl. Neither rhyme nor reason can express
how much. 419
Ros. Love is merely a madness, and, I tell
you, deserves as well a dark house and a wiiip
as madmen do : aud the reason why they are
not so punished and cured is, that the lunacy'
is so ordinary that the whippers are in love
too. Yet I profess curing it by counseL ^
Orl. Did you ever cure any so 7
Ros. Yes, one, and in this manner. He was
to imagine me his love, his mistress ; and I
set iiim every day to woo meat which time
would 1, being but a moonish youth, grieve,
be effeminate, changeable, longing and liking,
proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant,
full of tears, full of smiles, for every passion '
something and for no passion truly any thing,
ASTCnrjmji IT.
680
AS YOU
LtK^ tT.
[Act tit.
as boy? .\Kd woraen are for the most part Cat¬
tle of this color ; would now like bun, ,dow
loathe him; then eiitertaiu him, tlien for¬
swear him ; now weep for him, then spit at
him ; tltat I drave iny suitor from his mad
humor of love to a living liumor of madness ;
which was, to forswear the full stream of the
world, and to live in a nook merely monastie.
And thus i cured him ; and this way will 1
' take upon me to wash your liver as clean as a
sound sheep's heart, that there shall not be
one spot of love iu't. '
Orl. I would not be cured, youth.
Ros. I would cure you, if you would but
call me Rosalind and come every day to my
cote and woo me.
Oii. Now, by the faith of my love, I will:
tell me where it is. 450
Ros. Go with me to it and I'll show it you :
and by the way you shall tell me where in the
forest you live. Will you go ?
Orl. With all my heart, good youth.
Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind.
Come, sister, will you go ? [Exeunt.
ScKNB III. The forest.
Enter Toitchstome and Audrey ; Jaques
behind.
Touch. Come apace, good Audrey : I will
fetch up your goats, Audrey. And how, Au¬
drey ? am I the man yet ? doth my simple
feature content you ?
And. Your features ! Lord warrant us !
what features!
Touch. I am here with thee and thy goats,
as the most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was
among the Goths.
Jaq. [Aside] O knowledge ill-inhabited,
worse than Jove in a thatched bouse ! 11
Touch. When a man's verses cannot be
understood, nor a man's good wit seconded
with the forward child Understanding, it
strikes a man more dead than a great reckon¬
ing m a little room. Truly, .1 would the gods
had made thee poetical.
And. I do not know what' poetical' is : is
it honest in deed and word ? is it a true th ing ?
Touch. No, truiy ; for the truest poetry is
the most feigning ; and lovers are given to
poetry, and what they swear in poetry maybe
said as lovers they do fein.
And. Do you wish then that the gods had
made me poetical ?
Touch. I do, truiy ; for thon swearest to
me thou art honest: now, if thou were a poet,
I might have some hope thou didst feign.
And. Would you not have me honest ?
Touch. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-
favored ; for honesty coupled to beauty is to
have honey a sauce w sn^r. 31
Jag. [Aside] A material fool!
And. Well, I am not fair ; and tliereforc I
piw the gods make me honest.
Touch, Truly, and to cast away honesty
upon a foul slut were to put good meat into an
unclean dish.
And. I am not a slut, though I thank the
gods I am foul. 3£
Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy
foulness 1 sluttisnness may come hereafter.
But be it as it may be, I will niari^ thee, and
to that end I have been with Sir Oliver Mar-
text, the vicar of the next village, who hath
promised to meet me in this place of the forest
and to couple us.
Jag. [Aside] I would fain see this meeting.
Am. Well, the gods give us joy .'
Touch. Amen. A man may, if he were of
a fearful heart, stagger in this aUempt; for
here we have no temple but the w^od, no as¬
sembly but horn-beasts. But what though ?
Courage ! ' As horus are odious, chey are ne¬
cessary. It is said, ' many a man mows no
end of his goods right'; many a man has
good horns, and knows no end of them. Well,
that is the dowry of his wife ; 'tis none of his
own getting. Horns? Even so. Poor men
alone ? No, no ; the noblest deer hath them
as huge as the rascal. Is the single man
therefore blessed ? No : as a walled town is
more worthier than a village, so is the fore¬
head of a married man more honorable than
the bare brow of a bachelor; and by how
much defence is better than no skill, by so
much is a horn more precious than to want.
Here comes Sir Oliver.
Enter Sib Ouiveb Mabtbxt.
Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met: will you
dispatch us here under tiiis tree, or shall we
go with you to your chapel ?
Sir Oli. Is there none here to give the
woman ?
Touch. I will not take her on gift of any
man.'
Sir Oli. Truly, she must be given, or the
marriage is not lawful. 71
Jag. [Advancing] Proceed, proceed; I'll
give her.
Touch. Good even, good Master What-ye-
call't: how do you, sir ? You are very well
met: God 'ild you for your last company : I
am very glad to see you : even a toy in hand
here, sir: nay, pray be covered.
Jaq. Will you be married, motley ? 79
Touch. As the ox bath his bow, sir, the
horse his curb and the falcon her bells, soman
hath his desires ; and as pigeons bill, so wed¬
lock would be nibblmg.
Jaq. And will you, being a man of your
breeding, be married under a bush like a beg¬
gar ? Get you to church, and have a goM
priest that can tell you what marriage is : this
fellow will but join you together as they join
wainscot; then one of you will prove a shrunk
panel and, like green timber, warp, warp. 90
Touch. [Asid- ] I am not in the mind but I
were better to be married of him than of an¬
other : for be is not like to marry me well;
SlLVlUS. ** Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, PhebC!
Say that you lav€ mc not^ but say not so
In bitterness'*
As You Likb It, p. 150.
SCEVE v.)
A3 rou
ttK£ IT.
681
and not being well married, It will be a good
excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife.
"O?- Go thott with me, and let me counsel
thee.
IbucA. Conie, sweet Audrey :
We must be married, or we must live in baw¬
dry.
Farewell, good Master Oliver ; not,— 100
O sweet Oliver,
O brave Oliver,
Leave uie not behind thee ;
but,—
Wind aWay,
Begone, 1 say,
1 will not to wedding with thee.
[Exeunt Juques, Touelistoiie and Audrey.
_ Sir OH. 'Tis no matter: ne'er a fantastical
itnave of them all shall flout me out of my
calling. lExit. 109
Scene IV. The forest.
Enter Rosalind and Celia.
Bos. Never talk to me; I will weep.
Cel. Do, I prithee ; but yet have the grace
to consider that tears do not become a man.
Bos. But have I not cause to weep ?
Cel. As good cause as one wpuld desire J
therefore weep.
Bos. His very hair is of the dissembling
color.
Cel. Something browner than Judas's :
marry, his kisses are Judas's own children. 10
Bos. 1' faith, his hair is of a good color.
Cel. An excellent color : your chestnut was
ever the only color.
Bos. And his kissing is as full of sancity as
tbe touch of holy bread.
Cel. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of
Diana : a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses
not more religiously ; the very ice of chastity
is in them.
Bos. But why did he swear he would come
this morning, and comes not ? 21
Cel. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.
Bos. Do you think so ?
Cel. Yes ; I think he is not a pick-purse
nor a horse-stealer, but for his verity in love,
1 do think him as concave as a covered goblet
or a worm-eaten nut.
Bos. Not true in love 7
Cel. Yes, when he is in ; but I think he is
not in. 30
Bos. You have heard him swear downright
he was.
Cel. ' Was' is not' is :' besides, the oath
of a lover is no stronger than the word of a
tapster ; they are both the confirmer of false
reckonings. He attends here in tlie forest on
the duke your father.
Bos. 1 met the duke yesterday and had
much que.stion with him : he ask^meof what
parentage I was ; I told him, of ns good as he;
so he laughed and let me go. But what talk
we of fathers, when there is .such a man as
Orlando 7
Cel. 0, that's a brave man I he writes brav e
verses, sp^ks brave words, swears brave oaths
and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, ath¬
wart the heart of his lover; as a puisny tilter,
that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks
his staff like a noble goose: but all's brave
that youth mounts and folly guides. Who
comes here7
Etder Cokin.
Cor. Mistress and master, you have oft in¬
quired 60
After the shepherd that complain'd of love.
Who you saw sitting by me ou the turf.
Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
That was his mistres.
Cel. Weil, and what of him 7
Cor. If you will see a [>ageaut truly play'd.
Between the pale complexion of true love
And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain.
Go hence a little and I shall conduct you.
If you will mark it
Bos. O, come, let us remove:
Tlie sight of lovers feedeth those in love. OH
Bring us to this sight, and you shall say
I'U prove a busy actor in their play.
[Exeunt.
I
Scene V. Another part of the forest:
Enter Silvius and Phebe.
Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me ; do not.,
Phoebe ;
Say that you love me not, but say not so
In bitterness. The common executioner.
Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death
makes hard,
Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck
But flrst begs pardon : will you sterner be
tThau he that dies and lives by bloody drops ?
Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Cokin, hehind.
Phe. I would not be thy executioner :
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye :
'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable, ■
That eves, that are the frail'st and softest
things.
Who shut their coward gates on atomies.
Should be call'd tvrants, butchers, murderers!
Now I do frown oin thee with all my heart;
And if mine eyes can wound, now let them
kill taee :
Now counterfeit to swoon ; why nowfall down;
Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for .shame.
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers !
Now show the wound "mine eye hath made in
thee: 20
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
Some soar of it; lean but upon a rush.
The cicatrice and callable iihpressnre
Thy palm some moment keeps ; but now mine
eyes.
Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not.
Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes
682
AS YOU
LIKE IT.
[AC¥ Ml.
That can <}o hart.
Sil, 0 dear Fhebe,
If ever,—as that ever may be near,—
You meet in some fresh cheek the power of
fancy,
Theu shall upu know the wounds invisible 30
That love's keen arrows make.
Phe. But till that time
Come not thou near me : and when that time
comes.
Afflict me v/ith thy mocks, pity me not; <
As till that time 1 shall not pity thee. ,
Hot. And why, I pray you 7 Who might
be your mother,
That you insult, e.xult, and all at once.
Over the wretched 7 What though you have
no beauty,—
As, by my faitli, I see no more in you
Than without catulle may go dark to bed-
Must you be therefore proud and pitiless 7 40
Why, what means this ? Why do you look on
me?
I see no more in you than in the ordinary
Of nature's sale-wprk. 'Od's my little life,
I think she means to tangle my eyes too!
Ko, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it:
'Tis nut your inky brows, your black silk hair.
Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream.
That can entame my spirits to your worship.
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow
her.
Like foggy south pufflug with wind and rain 7
You are a thoasand times a properer man
Thau she a woman : 'tis such fools as you
That makes the world full of ill-favor'd chil>
dreu :
'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her ;
And out of you she sees herself more proper
Thau any of her lineaments can show her.
But, mistress, know yourself : down on your
knees, [love:
And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's
For I must tell yon friendly in your ear.
Sell when you can: you are not for all markets:
Cry the man mercy ; love him ; take bis c^er:
Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.
So take her to thee, shepherd : fare you well.
Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year
together:
T had rather hear you chide than this man woo.'
' Ros. He's falleu in love with your foulness
and she'll fall in love with my auger. If it be
so, as fast as she answers thee with frowning
looks, I'll sauce her with bitter words. Why
look you so upon me ? 70
Phe. For no ill will I bear you.
Eos. I pray you, do not fall in love with me.
For I am ^Iser than vows made in wine:
Besides, I like you not If you will know my,
house,
'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by.
Will y.MU go, sister 7 Shepherd, ply her hard.
Come, sister. Sliepherdess, look on him better.
And be not proud : though all the world could
see,
Xone could be so abused in sight as he. 80
Come, to our flock,
[Azeunt Rosalind, Celia and Conn.
Phe. Dead sliepherd, now 1 find thy saw of
might,
' Who ever loved that loved not at flirst sight 7'
SU. Sweet Phebe,—
Phe. Ha, what say'st thou, Silvias 7
Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me.. i
Phe. Why, I am sorry lor thee, gentle Sit
vius. J
Sil. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be :
If you do sorrow at my grief in love.
By giving love your sorrow and my grief
Were both extermined.
Phe. ' Thou hast my love: is not that neigh¬
borly 7 90
SU. I would have you.
Phe. Why, that were covetousness.
Silvias, the time was that I hated thee.
And yet it is not that I bear thee love ;
But since tliat thou canst talk of love so well.
Thy company, which erst was irksome to me,
I will endure, and I'll employ thee too :
But do not look for further recompense
Than thine own gladness that thou art em-
ploy'd.
Sil. So holy and so perfect is my love.
And I in such a povmrty of grace, 100
That I shall think it a most plenteous crop
To glean the broken ears after the man
That the main harvest reaps : loose now and
then
A scatteFd smile, and that I'll live upon.
Phe. Know'st now the youth that spoke to
me erewhile 7
Sil. Not very well, but I have met him
oft;
And he hath bought the cottage and the
bounds
That the old carl(tf once 'was master of.
Phe. Think not 1 love him, though I ask
for him ;
'Tis but a peevish boy ; yet he talks well; 110
But what care I for words 7 yet words do well
When he that speaks them pleases those that
hear.
It is a pretty youth : not very pretty :
But, sure, he's proud, and yet his pride be¬
comes him :
He'll make a proper man : the best thing in
him
Is his complexion ; and faster than his tongne
Did make offence his eye did heal it up.
He is not very tall; yet for his years he's
tall:
His leg is but so so; and yet 'tis weU;
There was a pretty redness in his lip, 120
A little riper and more lusty red
Than that mix'd in his cheek ; 'twas just the
difference
Between tlie constant red and minglod
damask.
There be some women, Silvias, had they
mark'd him
In parcels as I did, would have gone near
r To fall in love with him ; but, for my part^
Scene i.]
AS YOV LIKE IT.
m
I love him not nor liate bim nM; an4 yet
( have more cause to hate him than to love
him :
For what had he to do to chide at me ?
He said mine eyes were black and my hair
black: 130
And, now I am remember'd, scom'd at me :
1 marvel why 1 answer'd not a^in :
But that's all one ; omittance is no quittance.
'.'11 write to him a very taunting letter,
And thou shalt bear it; wilt thou, Silvias?
SU. Phebe, with all my heart.
Phe. _ I'll write it straight;
Tlie matter's in my head and in my heart;
1 will be bitter with him and passing short.
Go with me, Silvius. [Exenni.
ACT nr.
Scene I. The/orest.
Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Jaques.
Jaq. I prithee, pretty youtli, let me be better
acqiiaintM with thee.
Kos. They say you are a melanchoiy
fellow.
' Jaq. I am so; I do love it better than
laughing.
Bos. Those that are in extremity of either
are abominable fellows and betray themselves
to every modem censure worse than drunk*
ards. '
Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say
nothing.
Bos. Why then, 'tis good to be a post 9
.laq. I have neither the scholar's melan*
choiy, which is emulation, nor the musician's,
whic'ii is fantastical, nor the courtier's, which
is proud, Uor the soldier's, which is ambitious,
nor the lawyer's, which is politic, nor the
lady's, which is nice, nor the lover's, which is
sll these : but it is a meiancholy of mine own,
compounded of many siropies, extracted from
many objects, and indeed the sundry's con*
templation of my travels, in which my often
n'imiiuition wraps me ip a most humorous sad*
ness. 20
Bos. A traveller! By my faith, you have
I great reason to be sad : 1 fear you have sold
vour own lands to see other men's ; then, to
have seen much and to have nothing, is to
h.*" e rich eyes and poor hands.
Jaq. If es, I have gained my experience.
Bos. And your experience makes you sad :
I had rather have a fool to make me merry
than experience to make me sad ; and to
travel for it too !
Enter Oits.ani>o. #
Orl. Good day and happiness, dear Rosiu
liud!
* Jaq. Nay, then, God be wi'you, an ybu
talk in blank verse. ' l&eU.
Bos. Farewell, Monsieur Traveller , Iooe
you lisp and wear strange suits, disable all the
benefits of your owu country, be out of love
with your nativity and almost chide God for
making you that countenance you are, or I
will scarce think you have swam in a gondola.
Why, how now, Orlando! where have you
been all this while ? You a lover I An you
serve me such another trick, never come in my
sight more. 41
Orl. My fair Rosalind, I come within an
hour of my promise.
■ iJos. Break an hour's promise in love ! He
that will divide a minute into a thousand parts
and break but a part of the thousandth r>art of
a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said
of him that Cupid hath clapped him o' the
shoulder, but I'll warrant him Mart*whole.
Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. 51
Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no
more in my sight : I had as lief be wooed of a
snail.
Orl. Of a snail ? '
Bos. Ay, of a snail ; for though he comer
slowly, he carries his house on nis bead; a
better jointure, 1 think, than you make a wo¬
man : besides he brings his destiny with him.
Orl. What's that ?
Bos. Why, horns, which such as you are
fain to be beholding to your wives for : but he
comes armed in his fortune and prevents the
slander of his wife.
Orl. Virtue is no hom*maker ; aid my Rosa¬
lind is virtuous-
Bos. And I am 3N>ur Rosalind.
Cel. It pleases him to call you so ; but he
hath a Rosaliud of a better leer than you.
Bos. Come, woo me, woo me for now 1 am
in a holiday humor and like enough to consent.
What would you say to mw now, an I were
your veiy very Rosalind ? 71
Orl. I would kiss before I spoke. ■
Bos. Nay, you were better speak first, and
when
you
n you were gravelled for lack of matter,
might take occasion to kiss. Very good
orators, when they are out, they wili spit i and
for lovers lacking—God warn us !—matter, the
cleanliest shift is to kiss.
Orf.. How if the kiss be denied ?
Bos. nien she puts you to entreaty, and
there begins new matter. 81
Orl. Who could be out, being before his be*
ioved mistress ?
Bos. Marry, that should you, if I were your
mistress, or I should think my honesty ranker
than my wit.
Orl. What, of my suit ?
Bos. Not out of your apijarel, and yet out
of your suit Am not I your Rosalind ?
OrL I ta e some joy to say you are, because
I would be talking of her. 91
Bos. Well in her person I say I will not have
you.
Orl. Then in mine own peismi I die.
^ Bos. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor
World is almost six thooeaud yean old, and in
684
AS YOU LIKE IT.
[Act it.
I
all tills) teie there was not any man died in his
own {lerson, videlicit, in n love-cause. Troilus
had ills brains dasited out with a Grecian club;
^et he did what he could to die before, and he
is one of the jiatterns of love. Leander, he
would liave lived many a fair year, tiiough
Hero had turned nun, if it had not been for a
hot midsummer night; for, good youth, he
went but fortli to wash him in the Uellespont
and being taken with the cramp was drowned:
and the foolish ccnoners of that age found it
was ' Hero of Sestos.' But these are all lies ;
men have died from time to time and worms
have eaten tliem, but not for love.
OH. 1 would not iiave my right Rosalind of
this mind, for, I protest, her frown might kill
me. r
Uos. By this hand, it will not kill a fly.
But come, now I will be your Rosalind in a
more coming-ou disposition, and ask me what
you will. I will giant it.
Orl. Then love me, Ro.saiind.
Ros. Yes, faith, will 1, Fridays and Satur¬
days and ail.
0)i. And wilt thou have me ?
Ri>s. Ay, and twenty such.
OH. What sayest thou ? 120
Ros. Are you not good ?
OH. I hope so.
Ros. Why then, can one desire too much of
a good thing ? Come, sister, you shall be the
pnest and marry us. Give me your hand,
Orlando. What do you say, sister ?
M. Pray thee, marry us.
Cel. I cannot say the words.
Ro». You must begin, ' Will you, Orlando—'
Cel. Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife
this Rosalind ? 131
OH. I will. .
. Ros. Ay, but wlien? [us.
Orl. Why now ; as fast as she can marry
Ros. Thee you must say ' 1 take thee, Rosa¬
lind, for wife.'
Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.
Ros. I raignt ask you for your commission ;
but I do take tliee, Orlando, for my husband :
there's a girl goes before the priest; and cerr
tainiy a woman's thought runs before her ac¬
tions. 141
Q) l. So do ail thoughts ; they are winged.
Ros. Now tell me how long you would have
her after you have possessed her.
OH. For ever and a day.
Ros. Say ' a day,'without the 'ever.' No,
no, Orlando ; men are April when they woo,
December when they wed : maids are May
when they are mai^, but the sky changes
when they are wives. J will be more jealous
of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his
hen, more clamorous than a parrot against
rain, more new-fangled than an ape, more
giddy in my desires than a monkey: I will
weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain,
and I will do that when you are disposed to be
merry; I will laugh likeahyen,and1hatwhen
0ioa art inclined to sleepb
OrL But will my Rosalind do so 7
Ros. By my life, site will do as 1 do.
Orl. O, but she is wise. 160
Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to
do this : the wiser, the waywarder: make tlie
doors upon a woman's wit and it will out at
the casement; shut that and 'twill out at. the
key-hole ; stop that, 'twUl fly with the smoke
out at the chimney.
Orl. A man that had a wife with such a
wit, he might say ' Wit, whither wilt? '
Ros. Nay, you might keep that check for it
till you met your wife's wit going to your
neighbor's bed. 171
Orl. And what wit could wit have to excuse
that ?
Ros. Marry, to say she came to seek you
tliere. You shall never take her without her
answer, unless you take her without her
tongue. O, that woman that cannot make her
fault her husband's occasion, let her never
nurse her child herself, for she will breed it
like a fool!
Orl. For these two hours, RosaUud, I will
leave thee. 181
Ros. Alas !' dear love, I cannot lack thee
two hours.
Orl. I must attend the duke at dinner : by
two o'clock I will be with thee again.
■ Ros. Ay, go your ways, go your ways ; I
knew what you would prove : my friends told
me as much, and I thought no less : tliat
flattering tongue of yours won me : 'tis but
one cast away, and so, come, death! Two
o'clock is your hour 7 190
Orl, Ay, sweet Rosalind. '
Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and
so God mend me, and by all pretty oatlis that
are not dangerous, if you break one jot of your
FromLse or come one minute behind your hour,
will think you the most pathetical break-pro¬
mise and the most Iioilow lover and the most
unworthy of her you call Rosalind that may
be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaith¬
ful : tiierefore beware my censure and keep
your promise. 200
Orl. With no less religion than if thou wert
indeed my Rosalind : so adieu.
Ros. Weil, Time is tiie old justice that ex¬
amines ail such offenders, and let Time try :
adieu. [Exit Orlando.
Cel. You have simply misu^ our sex in
your love-prate ; we must have your doublet
and hose plucked over your head, and show
the world what the bird hath done to her own
nest.
Ros. O cos, cos, coz, my pretty little coz,
tliat thou didst know how many mthom deep
I am in love! But it cannot be sounded ; my
affection hath an unknown bottom, like the
bay of Portugal.
Cel. Or rather, bottomless, that as fast as
you pour affection in, it^uns out.
Ros. No, that same wicked bastard of Ve¬
nus that was begot of thought, conceived of
snleeu and bom of madness, ,that blind tas*
SOBKH ill,}
AS YOU
LTKh. rr.
eaOy lioy that abases eTery one's eyes be¬
ta ase his own are out, let bim be judge how
deep I am in love. 1*11 tell thee, Aliens, 1 can-i
not be out of the slghtof Orlando: I'll go
a shadow and sigh till he come.
CeL And I'll sleep.. | [Exeunt.
ScBMB II. The forest.
Enter Jaques, Lords, and Foresters.
Jaq. Which is he that killed the deer ?
A Lord. Sir, It was I.
Jaq. Let's present him to the dnke, like a
Roman conqueror ; and it would do well to
set tlie deer's horns upon his head, for
brauch of victory. Have you no song, for¬
ester, for this purpose ? "
For. Yes, sir.
Jaq. Sing It: 'tis no matter how It be In
tune, so it make noise enough, 10
SONO. .
For. What shall he have that kill'd the
deer? ' ■
His leather skin and horns to wear. i
Then slug him home ;
[The rest shall hear this burden.
Take thou no scorn to wear the horn;
It was a crest ere thou wast bom :
' Thy father's father wore It,
And thy father bore It;
The bora, the horn, the lusty horn
Is not a tiling to laugh to sconi.
[Exeuitt.
Scene III. - The forest.
Enter Rosalind and Celia.
Eos. How say yon now? Is tt not past'
two o'clock ? and here much Orlando !
Cel. I warrant you, with pure love and
troubled brain, he hath ta'en his bow and ar-
rows and is gone forth to sleep. X,ook, who
isomes here.
Enter Silvics.
Sil. My errand Is to you, fair youth ;
My gentle Phebe bid nie give you this :
I know not the contents ; but, as I guess
Bv the stem brow ^nd wasplsli action
Which she did use as she was writing of It, 10
It bears an angry tenor ; pardon me :
I am but as a gutless messenger.
Sob, Patience herself would startle at this
letter
And play the swaggerer; bear this, bear all:
She says I am not fair, that 1 lack manners ;
She calls me proud, and that she could not
love me.
Were man as rare as phoenix. 'Od's my will'
■Her love Is not the hare that I do hunt;
Why wiltes she so to me? JWell, shepherd,
well.
This Is a letter of yon own device, 20
Sil. No, 1 protest, I know not tlie contents:
Phebe did write %
Bos. CoQe, come, yon ate a fool
And tum'd into the extremity of love.
I saw her hand : she has a Imithem hand,
A freestone-color'd hand ; 1 verily did think
That her old gloves were on, Cut 'twas her
hands:
She has a huswife's.hand ; but that's no mat¬
ter :
I say she never did invent this letter;
This Is a man's Invention and his hand.
Sil. Sure, it is hers. 30
Eos. Why, 'tis ^ boisterous and a crael
style,
A style for challengers ; why, she defies me.
Like Turk to Christian: women's genlie
brain
Could not drop forth such giant-rude Inven-
Hon,
Such Ethiope words, blacker In their effect
Than In their countenance. Will you hear the
letter?
Sil. So please you, for I never heard It yet;
Yet heard too mucli of Phebe's cruelty.
Bos, She Phebes me : mark how the tyrant
writes. [Beads.
Art thou god to shepherd tnm'd, 40
That a maiden's heart hath bum'd ?
Can a woman rail thus ?
. Sil. Call yoii this raUlug ?
Eos. I/fead.«]
Why, thy godhead laid apart,
, Warrst thou with a woman's heart?
Did you ever hear such railing ?
Whiles the eye of man did woo me.
That could do no vengeance to me.
Meaning me a beast
If the scorn of your bright eyne 50
Have power to raise such love In mine,
Alack, In me what strange effect
Would they work in mild aspect 1
Whiles you chid me, I did love ;
How theu might your prayers move !
He that brings this love to thee
. Little knows this love In me :
And by him seal up thy mind ;
Whether that thy youth and kind
Will the faithful oner take 60
Of me and all that 1 can make ;
Or else by him my love deny,
And then I'll study how to die.
Sil. Call you this chiding ?
Cel. Alas, poor shepherd!
Eos, Do you pity him ? no, he deserves n<
pity. Wilt thomlove sucli a woman ? What,
to make thee an Instrument and play false
strains upon thee ! not to be endured ! Well,
go your way to her, for I see love hath made
thee a tame snake, and say this to her : that
if she love me, I charge her to love thee ; if
she will not, 1 will never have her unless thou
entreat for her. If you be a true lover, hence,
and not a word ; for here comes more com¬
pany. [Exit Silvius.
Enter Oliver.
OIL Good morrow, fair ones: pray you, if
you know,
Where ib the purlieus ot this forest stands
A sheep-cote fenced about with olive trees ?
CeL West of this place, down in the neigh¬
bor bottom:
The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream
Left on your right hand brings yon to the
plaice. 81
But at this hour the house doth keep itself;
There's none within.
0/i. If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
Then should I know you by description ;
Such garments and such years : ' The boy is
fair.
Of female favor, aud bestows himself
tLike a ripe sister; the woman low
And browner tlian her brother.' Are not you
The owner of the house I did inquire for ? 90
Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we
are.
Oil. Orlando doth commend him to you
both,
Aud to that youth he calls his Rosalind
He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he ?
£os. I am : what must we understand by
this?
0/t. Some of my shame ; if you will know
of me
What man I am, and how, aud why, and
where
This handkercher was stain'd.
Cel. I pray you, tell it.
Oil. When last the young Orlando parted
from you
He left a promise to return again 100
Within an hour, and pacing through the for¬
est.
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy,
Lo, what befel! he threw his eye aside.
And mark what object did pre^nt itself :
Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd
with age
And high top bald with dry antiquity,
A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair.
Lay sleeping on his back : alMut his neck
A green and gilded snake had wreathed it¬
self.
Who with her head nimble in threats ap-
proach'd 110
The opening of his mouth ; but suddenly.
Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself.
And with indented glides did slip away
Into a bush : under which bush's shade
A lioness, with udders all drawn dry.
Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike
watch.
When that the sleeping man should stir ; for
'tis
The royal disposition of that beast
To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead ;
This seen, Orlando did approach the man 120
And found it was his brother, his elder
brother.
Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that
same brother;
And he did render him the most unnatural
That lived amongst men. —
[Act iv
di And well he might so d<s
For wen I know he was unnatural.
Ih>«. But, to Oriando : did he leave him
there,
Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness?
Off. Twice did he turn his back and pur¬
posed so; .
Bnt kindness, nobler ever than revenge.
And nature, Wronger than his just occasion.
Made him give batUe to the lioness^ 131
Who quickly fell before him : in which hurt¬
ling
From miserable slumber I awaked.
Cel. Are you his brother ?
Hot. Was't you he rescued ?
Cel. Was't yon that did so oft contrive to
kill him ?
Off. 'Twas I; but 'tis not I: I do not shame
To tell you what I was, since my conversion
So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am.
Hot. But, for the bloody napkin ?
Off. ' By and by.
When from the first to last betwixt us two 140
Tears our recountments had moat kindly
bathed.
As how I came into that desert place
In brief, be led me to the gentle duke.
Who gave me fresh array and entertainment.
Committing me unto my brother's love ;
Who led me instantly unto his cave.
There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm
The lioness had torn some flesh away.
Which all this while had bled ; and now he
> fainted
And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind. 150
Brief, I recover'd him, bound up his wound ;
And, after some small space, being strong at
heart.
He sent me hither, stoanger as I am,
To tell this story, that you might excuse
His broken promise, and to give this napkin
Dyed in his blood unto the shepherd vouth
That he in sport doth call his Rosalind.
[Rosalind swoons.
Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede ! sweet
Ganymede I
Off. Many will swoon when they do look
on blood.
Cel. There is more in it Cousin Ganv-
roede! 160
Off. Look, he recovers.
Ros. I would I were at home.
Cel. We'll l«iid you thither.
I pray you, will you take him by the arm ?
Off. Be of go<M cheer, youth : you a man !
you lack a man's heart
Ros. I do so, I confess it Ah, sirrah, abody
would think this was well counterfeited ! I
pray you, tell your brother how well I coun¬
terfeited. Heigh-ho I 169
Off. This was not counterfeit: there is too
great testimony in your complexion that it was
a passion of earnest
Ros. Counterfeit I assure you.
Off. Well then, take a good heart and
counterfeit to be a maa.
AS yoV LIKE IT.
ScBita ti.]
AS YOU
UKE IT.
£87
itoft So I do: but, {' faith^ [ should hare
heen a woman by right. i
Cel. Come, yon look juiler and paler : pray
you, draw bomewarda Good sir, go with us.
d'.i. That will I, lot 1 must bear answer
back 180
How you excuse my brother, Rosalind.
Ros. I shall devise something: but, I
you, commend my counterfeiting to film'.
S'ill you go ? [Exeunt.
pray
ACT V.
ScENB I. Theforett
Enter Todchstone and Audbey.
Touch. We shall dud a time, Audrey ; pa¬
tience, gentle Audrey.
And. FaiUi, the priest was good enough,
for all the old gentleman's saying.
Touch. A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey,
a most vile Martext. But, Audrey, there is a
youth here in the forest lays claim to you.
Aud. Ay, I know who 'tis ; he hath no in¬
terest in me in the world: here comes the
man you mean. 10
. Touch. It is meat and drink to me to see a
clown: by my troth, we that have good wits
have mu<m to answer for ; we sliaU be flout¬
ing ; we cannot hold.
Enter WIbliam.,
Will. Good even, Audrey. <
Aud. God ye good eveu,'William.
I Will, And goM even to you, sir.
Touch. Gom even, gentle friend. Cover
thy head, cover thy head ; nay. prithee, be
covered.' How old are you, frienu ? 20
Will. Five and twenty, sir. >
Touch. A ripe age. Is thy name William ?
Will. William, sir.
Tou^.' A fair name. Wast bom F the for-
Ay. sir, I tliank G6d.
Touch. 'Thank God a good answer. Art
rich ?
Will. Faith, sir, so soi
Toudu 'So so' is good, very good, very
excellent good ; and yet it is not; it is but so
so. Art tliou wise ? 31
Will. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit
Touch. Why, thou sayest well. I do now
remember a saying, ' The fool doth think he is
wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a
fool.' The heathen philosopher, when he had a
desire to eat a grape, would open bis lips when
he put it into his mouth ; meainng thereby
that grapes were made to eat and lips to oiien.
jou do love this maid ? • .40
Wai. I do, sir. .
Touch. Give me your- hand. Art thou
learned ?
Win. No,dB
Touch. Tlien learn tills of me : to have, is
to have; for.it is a figure in rhetoric that drink,
being poured out of a cup into a glass, by fill¬
ing me one doth empty the other ; for all your
writers do consent tliat ipse is he: now, you
are not ipse, for I am he.
WUl. Which he, sir? SO
Touch. He, sir, tiiat must marry this
womaiK Therefore, you clown, abandon,—
wliich is in the vulgar leave,—the society,—
which in the boorish is company,—of this
female,—which in the common is woman;
which ti^ther is, abandon the society of this
female, or, clown, thou perishest; or, to thy
better nuderstaudiug, diest; or, to wit, I kill
thee, make thee away, translate thy life into
deatli, thy liberty into bondage : 1 will deal in
riison with thee, or in bastinado, or in steel;
will bandy with thee in faction ; I wiU o'er-
run thee with policy ; I Will kill tiiee a hundred
and fifty ways : therefore tremble, and depart
Aud. Do, good William.
WUl. God rest you merry, sir. [Exit.
,, Enter Cobin,
Cor. Our master and mistress seeks you;
come, away, away!
Touch. 'Trip, Audrey I trip, Audrey 1 I at¬
tend, I attend [Exeunt.
Scene II. The forest.
Enter Obbando and Ouveb.
Orl. Is't possible that on so little acquaint¬
ance you should like her ? that but seeing you
should love her ? and loving woo ? and, wooing,
she should gprant ? and wiU you persever to
enjoy her ?
OIk Neither caH the giddiness of it in ques¬
tion, the poverty of her, the small acquaintance,
my sudden wooing, nor her sudden consenting;
but say with me, 1 love Aliena ; say with her
that rtie loves me ; consent with both that we
may enjoy each other ; it shall be to your
good -, for my father's house and all the reve¬
nue that was old Sir Rowland's will 1 estate
upon you, and here live and die a shepherd.
Orl. You have my consent. Let your wed¬
ding be to-raorrow : thither will I invite the
duke and all's contented followers. Go you
and prepare Aliena ; for iook you, here comes
my Msalind.
Enter Rosalind.
Eos. God save you, brother. 20
(Mi. And you, fair sister. [Exit.
Bos. O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves
me to see thee wear thy heart in a scarf I
Orl. It is my arm.
Eos. I thought thy heart had been wounded
with the claws of a lion.
Orl. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a
lady.
Eos. Did your brother tell you how I coun¬
terfeited to swoon when he showed me your
haudkercbtfr ? 30
688
AS YOO UKE IT.
[Ac» *.
Orl. Ay, and greater w^dera tliau that.
So». O, I know where you are ! nay, 'tte
true : there was never any tbii^ so sudden
hut the fight of two rams and Csesur's thra¬
sonical brag of ' I came, saw, and overcame :''
tor your brother and my sister no sooner met
but they looked, no sooner looked but they
loved, no sooner loved but they sighed, no
sooner sighed but they asked one another the
reason, no sooner knew the reason but they
sought the remedy; and in these degi«es have
they made a pair of stairs to marriage which
they will climb incontinent, or else be-incon-
tinent before marriage : they are in tiie very
wrath of love and they will together ; clubs
cannot part them.
Orl. They shall be married to-morrow, and
I will bid tlie duke to the nuptial. But, O,
how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness
through another man's eyes ! By so much the
more shall 1 to-morrow be at the height of
heart-heaviness, by how much 1 shall think
my brother happy in having what he wishes
for.
if)*. Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve
yjur turn for Kosalind 1
Orl. I can live no longer by thinking.
if)*. ( will weary you then no longer with
idle talking. Know of me then, for now I
speak to some purpose, that I know you are a
gentleman of good conceit: 1 s[mak not this
that yon should bear a good opinion of my
knowledge, insomuch I say I know yon are ;
neitlier do 1 labor for a greater est^m than
may in some little measure draw a belief from
yon, to do yourself good and not to grace me..
Believe then, if you, please, that 1 can do
strange things : I have, since I was three year
old, conversed with a magician, mostprofonnd
in his ait) and yet not damnable. If you do
love Kosalind so near the heart as your gesture
cries it out, when your brother marries Aliena,
shall yon marry her : 1 know into what straits
of foituneslie is driven ; and it is not impossi¬
ble to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you,
to set her before your eyes to-morrow human
as .she is and without any danger.
Orl. Speake.st thou in sober meanings ?
Rog. By my life, I do ; which I tender dear¬
ly, though I say I am a magician. Therefore,
nut you in your best airay : bid your friends ;
f )r if yon will l^e married to-morrow, youshall,
and to Rosalind, if you will. 81
Enter Sinvius and Fhbbe.
Look, here comes a lover of mine and a lover
of hers.
Phe. Youth, yon have done me much nn-
gentlene.ss.
To show the letter that I writ to you.
Ros. I care not if 1 have : it is my stndy
To seem despiteful and ungaitle to you •:
You are there followed by a faithfu' shepherd;
Look upon him, love him ; he worships you.
Phe. Good shepherd, tell this youth what
'tis to love.
' Sil. U is to be all made of eighs and teMsj
And so am I for Phebe. W
Phe. And I for Ganymede.
Orl. And I for Rosalmd.
Ros. And I tor no woman.
6'i'.. It is to be all made of faith and service,
And so am I for Phebe.
Phe. And I for Ganymede.
Orl. And I for Rosalind.
Ros. And I for no woman.
Sil. It is to be all made of fantasy, yOO
All made of passion and all made of wishes,
All adoration, duty, and observance, e
All humbleness, all iratleuce and impatience,
tAll purity, all trial, all observance ;
And so am 1 for Phebe.
Phe. And so am I for Ganvmede.
Orl. And so am J for Rosalind.
Ros. .\nd so am I for no woman.
Phe. If this be so, why blame you me to
love yon ? 110
Sil. If this be so, why blame you me to
, love you ?
Orl. ■ If this be so, why blame you me to
love you ?
Ros. Who do yon speak to, ' Why blame
you me to love you 7' [hear.
Orl. To her that is not here, nor doth not
Ros. Pray you, no more of tlils ; 'tis like
the howling of Irish wolves against tiie moon.
[To T will help you, if I can ! [To Phe.]
I would love you, it I could. To-morrow meet
me all together. [To P/je.} I will mairy yon.
If ever I marry woman, and I'll be married to¬
morrow : [To Orl.t I will satisfy you. If ever
I satisfied man, and you shall be married to.
morrow ; [To Sil.] I will content you. If
what pleases you contents you, and you shall
be married to-morrow, [To Orl.] As yon Ipve
Rosalind, meet : [To Su.] as you love Phebe,
meet; and as I love no woman, I'll meet. So
fare you well : I have left you commanda 131
Sil. I'll not fall, if I live.
Phe. Nor 1,
Orl. Nor I. [Exeunt,
Scene III, The forest.
Enter Touchstone and Audbet,
Tmich. To-morrow is flie joyful day,
Audrey ; to-morrow will we be married.
And. I do desire it with all my heart; and
I hope it is no disliunest desire to desire to be
a woman of the world. Herp comes two of
the banished duke's pages.
Enter two Pages.
First Page. Well met, honest gentleman.
Touch. By my troth, well met. ^me, sit,
sit, and a song. .. 9
Sec. Page. We are for you -. sit T the mid¬
dle.
First Page. Shall we dap into't roundly,
without hawking on spitting or saying we are
hoarse, which are the only prologues to a bad
voice 1 i. •
scbhb iv.]
AS YOU LIKE IT.
68»
£!ec. Page. 4 Ffoitb,' i'laith ; and boUt In k
time, like two gipelee oa a horse,
I .
SOK<v
^tt was a lover and his la^,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey noniuo.
That o'er the green com-fleid did pass
In the spring time, the only pretty ring time.
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding ; 21
Sweet lovers love the spring.
Between the acres of the rye, < I
With a iiey, and a ho, and a hey nouino, - .
These pretty country folks would lie«
In spring time, &g. < >
This carol they began tliat hour, '
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey noniho,
How that a life was but a flower;
III spring time, &c. 30
And therefore take the present time.
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino ;
For love is crowned with the prime
In spring time, &c.
Touch. Truly, young gentlemen, though
there was no great matter in the ditty, yet the
note was very uutuneable.
First Page. You are deceived, sir : we kept -
time, we lost not our time.
Touch. By my troth, 'yes; I count it but
time lost to hear such a foolish song. God be
wi' you ; and God mend your voices ! Come,
Andrey. ' [Exeunt.
Scene IV. The forest. '
Enter Duke senior, Amiens, Jaques, Os-
eando, Oliver, and Ceua.
Duke S. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that
the boy
Can do all this that he hath promised ?
Orl. I sometimes do believe, and sometimes
'do not;
t As those that fear they hope, and know they
• fear.
Enter Rosalind, Silvics, and Pnebe.
Kos. Patience once more, whiles our Cora-
pact is niged 1
You say, if I bring in your Rosalhid,
■JTou will bestow her on Oriando here ? •
Duke S. That would I, had I kingdoms to
give with her.
Bos. And you say, you will have her, when
I bring her ?
Orl. That would I, wCre I of all kingdoms
king. 10
Ros. You say, you'll marry me, if I be will¬
ing?
Phe. That will I, should I die the hour
after. •
Ros. But if yon do refuse to marry me,
You'll give yourself to this most faithful
shmiherd ? ■'
Phe. M is tiie bargaim
Ros. YOU sdy, that you'll have Phebe. It
will ?
i SR. Thi jgh to have her and deatii were
both one thing,
Ros. I have promised to make all this
' .1 matter even.
Keep .you your word, O duke, to give your
daughter; 19
You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter :
Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me,
Or else refusing me, to wed this shepherd :
Keep your word, Silvins, that you'U marry
her, ■
If she refuse me : and from hence I go.
To make these doubts all even.
[Exeunt Rosalind and Celia.
Duke S. I do remember in this shepherd
boy
Some lively touches of my daughter's favor.
Orl. My lord, the first time that 1 ever saw
him
Methought he wasa brother to your daughter:
But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born, 30
And hath been tutor'd in ihe rudiments
Of many desperate studies by his uncle.
Whom he reports to be a great magician.
Obscured in the circle of this forest.
Enter Todchstone and Audrey.
Jaa. There is, sure, another flood toward,
and tiiese couples are coming to the ark. Here
comes a pair of very strange beasts, which in
all tongues are callM fools.
Totich. Salutation and greeting to you all!
Jaq. Good my lord, bid him welcome : this
is the motley-minded gentleman that I have
so often met in the forest: he hath been u
courtier, he swears.
Touch. If any man doubt that, let him put
me to my purgation. I have trod a measure ;
I have flattered a lady ; I have been politic
with my friend, smooth with mine enemy ; I
have undone three tailors ; I have had four
■quarrels, and like to have fought one.
Jaq. And how was that ta'en up? 50
Touch. Faith, we met, and found the
quarrel was uixm the seventh cause
Jaq. How seventh cause ? Good my lord,
like this fellow.
Duke S. 1 like him very well.
Touch. God 'ild you, sir ; I desire you of
the like. I press in here, sir, amongstthe rest
of the country copulatives, to swear and to
forswear: according as marriage binds aud
blood breaks : a poor virgin, sir, an ill-favored
thing, sir, but mine own ; a poor humor of
mine, sir, to take that that no man else will :
rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a poor
house ; as j'our pearl in your foul oyster.
Duke S. By my faith, he is very swift and
sententious.
Touch. According to the fool's bolt, sir, and
Such dulcet diseases.
Jaq. But, tor the seventh cause ; how did
you find the quarrel on the seventh cause ? 70
Touch, Upon a lie seven times removed
590
AS YOU LIKE IT.
' [Act V
bear yoar body more seeming, Audreyas
thus, sir. I did dislike the cut of a certain
courtier's beard ; he sent me word, if 1 said
his beard was uot cut well, he was in the mind
it was ; this is called the Retort Courteous. It
I sent him word again ' it was not well 6ut,*
he would send me Word, he cut it to please
himself : this is called the Quip Modest. If
again ' it Was not well cut,' he disabled my
judgment; this is called the Reply Churlish.
If again' it was not well cut,' he would answer,
I spake not true this is called the Reproof
Valiant. If again ' it was not well cuv he
would say, I li id : this is called the Counter¬
check Quarrelsome . and so to the Lie Circum¬
stantial and the Lie Direct
Jaq. And how oft did you say his beard
was not well cut 7
Totich I durst go no further than the Lie
Circumstantial, nor he durst not give me the
Lie Direct; and so we measured swords and
parted.
Jaq. Can you nominate in order now the
degrees of the lie 7
Touch. O sir, we quarrel in print, by the
book ; as you have books for good manners :
I will name you the degrees. The first, the
Retort Courteous; the second, the Quip
Modest; the third, the Reply Churlish ; the
fourth, the Reproof Valiant: the fifth, the
Countercheck Quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie
with Circumstance; the seventh, the Lie.
Direct. All these you may avoid but the
Lie Direct; and you may avoid that too, with
an If. I knew when seven justices could not
take up a quarrel, but when the parties were
met themselves, one of them thought but of
an If, as, 'If you said so, then 1 said so;' and
they shook hands and swore brothers. Your
If is the only peace-maker ; much virtue in If.
Jaq. Is uot this a rare fellow, my lord 7 he's
as good at any thing and yet a fool. 110
Duke S. He uses his folly like a stalking-
horse and under the presentation of that he
shoots his wit.
^nter Hymen, Rosalind, and Ceua.
Still Mufie.
Hym, Then is ',.aere mirth in heaven.
When earthly things made even
Atone together.
Good duke, receive thy daughter :
Hymen from heaven brought her.
Yea, brought her hither.
That thou mightst join her hand with
his
Who.se heart within his bosom is. 121
Roe. [To dukel To you I give myself, for I
am yours.
[To Orl.] To yon I give myself for I am
yours.
Duke S. If there be truth in sight, you are
my daughter.
Orl. If there be truth in sight, you are my
Ro^ud.
Phe, ' If right and shape be true,
Why then, my love adieu 1
Kos. ril have no father, if yon be not he:
I'll have no husband, if you be not he :
Hor ne'er wed woman, Jf you be not rile^ 19f
Hym. Peace, ho 1 I bar oonfnrion : ;
'Tis I must make conclusion
Of these most strange events:
Here's eight that must take hands '
To join in Hvmen's bands,
If truth holds true contents.
You and yon no cross shall part:
Yon and you are heart in heart:
You to his love must accord.
Or have a woman to your lord : 140
You and you are sure together.
As the winter to foul weather.
Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing.
Feed yourselves with questioning;
That reason wonder may diminish.
How thus we met, and these things finish.
Song.
Wedding is great Juno's crown :
O blessed bond of board and bed !
'Tis Hymen peoples every town ;
High wedlock then be honored: ISO
Honor, high honor and renown,
To Hymen, god of every town t ^
Duke S. O my dear niece, welcome thou
art to me!
Even daughter, welcome, in no less d^ree.
PAe. I will not eat my word, now thou art
mine;
Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine.
Enter Jaques de Bots.
Jaq. de B. Let me have audience for a
word or two:
I am the second son of old Sir Rowland,
That bring these tidings to this fair assembly.
Duke Frederick, hearing how that every daj'
Men of great worth resorted to this for^t, ,
Address'd a mighty power; which were oh
foot,
In his own conduct, purposely to take
His brother here and put him to the sword :
And to the skirts of this wild wood he came ;
Wliere meeting with an old religious man.
After some (question with him, was conveited
Both from his enteiprise and from tiie world,
His crown l^ueathing to his banish'd brother.
And all their lands restored to them again 170
That were with him exiled. This to be true,
I do engage my life.
Duke S. Welcome, young man ;
Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding ;
To one his lands withheld, and.to the other
A land itself at large, a potent dukedom.
First, in this forest let us do those ends
That here were well begun and well begot:
And after, every of this happy number
That have endured shrewd days and nights
with us
Shall share the good of our letuined fortune,
Scene iv.]
^5 YOU LIKE IT.
601
According to the measure of their states. 181
Meantime, forget this new-fairu dignity
And fall into our rustic revelry.
Play, music! And you, brides and bride¬
grooms all,
With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures
fall
Jaq. . l>y 1 Ja-fience. ^ I hejtrd you
Tlie duke hatfi put on a religious life
And tlirown into neglect the iMuipuus court 7
Jaq. <fe B. He liath.
Jaq. To him will I; out of these conver-
tites ItX)
There is much matter to be heard and leam'd.
\To duie\ You to your former honor 1 be¬
queath ;
~Your patience and your virtue well deserves
it:
[ToOW.] Ton to n love tliatyour true faith
doth merit:
[7e Oft.] Yon to your land and love and
rt allies:
You to a long and well-deserved
bed:
[To Touch.] And you to wrangling; for thy
loving voyage
is but for two months victuall'd. So, to your
pleasures:
I am for other than for dancing measures.
i)u£e a. Stay, Jaques, stay. 200
Jaq. To see no pastiine 1: what you would
hav* . >
I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. [EtU.
Duke a. ProceM, proceed : we will begin
these rites.
As we do trust they'll end, in true delights,
[A Uance.
Epilooce.
I Rat. it is not the fashion td see the lady
tlie epilogue ; but it is no more unhandsome
than to seethe lord the pi-ologue. If it be true
tliat good wine needs no busli, 'tis true that a
good play needs ho epilogue ; yet to good wine
they do use good bushes, and good plays prove
die better by the help of good epilogues. What
*a case am 1 in then, that am neither a go«>d
epilogue nor cannot insinuate with you in the
iMhalf of a good play I I am not furnished
like a beggar, therefore to beg will not become
ine : my way is to conjure you ; and I'll begin
with the women. I charge yon, O women, for
tlie love you bear to men, to like as much of
tills play as please you ; and I charge yon, O
men, for the love you bear to women—as I
lierceive by yonr simpering, none of yon hates
them—that between you and the women the
play may please. If I were a woman L would
Kiss as many of you as had beards that
pleased me, 'comnlexions that liked me and
breaths that I defied not: and, I am sure, as
many as have good beards or good faces or
sweet breaths will, for iny kind offer, when 1
make curtsv, hid me farewell. ' Exeunt.
TWELFTH NIGHT.
(WRITTEN ABOUT 1600-1601.)
INTRODUCTION.
We learn from Mannlngham'g Diairy that Twelfth Night was acted at the Middle Temple^ Febra-
ary 2, 1601-1602. Its date Is probably 1600-1601. Mannliigbaro writes of the play: " Much like The
Comedy qf Erron or iletieehmi in Piautus, but most like and neere to that in Itaiian cidied Ingaw-
mi." There are two Itaiian piays of an eariier date than Twelfth Night, entitled OP Jnganni (The
Cheats), containing incidents in some degree resembling those of Shakespeare's comedy, and in that
by Gonzaga, the sister who assumes male attire, producing thereby confusion of identity with her
brother, is named Cesare (Shakespeare's Cesario). But a third Italian play, OP Ingannati, presents
a still closer resemblance to Twelfth Night, and in its poetical induction, II Sacrificio, occurs the
iiante Maieroiti (Mairoiio). The story is toid in Bandelio's novel <ii. 36), and was translated by
Belleforest into French, in Histoires Tragignes. Whether Shakespeare consuited any Itaiian source
or not, he had doubtiess before him the version of the ston (from Cinthio's HeeatomUhi) by Barnabe
Kich—the H'wtorie of Apoloiuas and Sdla in Eiehe'His farewell to MUitarie Prqfettion (1581)—and
this, in the main, he foliowed. The characters of Malvolio, Sir Toby Beich, Sir Andrew Aguecheek,
Fabian, the clown Feste, and Mana, with the part they piay in the comedy, are creations of Shake¬
speare Mo comedy of Siiakespeaie's unites such abounding mirth and fine satire, with the charm
of a poetical romance. It is the summing up of the several admirable qualities which appear in the
joyous comedies, of which it forms the last. An edge is put on the roystering humor of Sir Toby
by the sharp waiting-maid wit of Maria, which saves It from becoming an aiimess rollicking. Sir
Andrew is a Slender grown adult in bralniessn .ss, and who has forgotten that he is not as richly
endowed by natuie as by fortune. Feste, the luwn, is less quaint than Touchstone, but more versa¬
tile, less a contemplative fool, and more actively a lover of jest and waggery. Among this abandoned
crew of topers and drolls stalks the solemn " yeilow-ieggeu stork " Marvolio. His sense of self-lm-
TOrtance has diffused itself over ail the detaiU of his Ine, so that the whole of hnman existence, as
he would have it, must become as pompous ami as exemplary as the manners of my lady's steward.
The cruelu of his deception and disillusion Is in proportion to the greatness of his distempered self-
esteem. The Duke Orsino is infected with the lover's melancholy, which is fantastical and nice.
He nurses his love and dallies with it, and tries to yield up ail his consciousness to it, as to a de¬
licious sensation . and therefore his love is not quite earnest or deep. Olivia has not the iove-ian-
guor of the Duke, but her resolved sorrow for her lost brother, so soon forgotten in a stronger feel¬
ing, shows a little of the same unreality of self-conscious emotion which we perceive in the Duke's
love; she is of a nature harmonious and refined, but is too much a child of wealth and ease to win
aw^ our chief interest from the heroine of the piay Viola is like a heightened portrait of the Julia
of The Two Oentlemen of ferona, enriched with lovely color and placed among more poetical sur¬
roundings. She has not the pretty sauciness of Rosalind in her disguise, but owns a heart as tender
sweet-natured, and sound-natured as even Rosalind's.
DRAMATIS
Orsino, Dnke of niyria.
Sebastian, brother to Viola.
Antonio, a sea captain, friend to Sebastian.
A Sea Captain, friend to Viola
Valentine, ) gentleman attending on the
OoRio, ) Duke.
Sir Toby Belch, uncle to Olivia.
Sir Andrew Aodecheek
Malvolio, steward to Olivia.
<5921
PERSONJE.
F^TEriciown,! servants to Olivia.
Olivia.
Viola.
Maria, Olivia's woman.
Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and
other Attendants.
Scene : A city in Ulyrta, and the sea-coast
near if.
ScBMe ti.]
TWELFTB meST.
m
'ACT L
ScBMX I. The Dvisjt'a pdlaee,
Enter Dukb, Ccrio, and other Lords ; Uu*
siciaus attending.
Duke. If music be the food of love, play
on ;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting.
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again 1 it had a dying fail ;
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound,
That breathes upon a bank of violets.
Stealing and giving odor ! Enough ; no more :
'Tis not so sweet now as itVas before.
O spirit of love I how quick'nnd fresh art thou.
That, notwithstanding tiiy capacity 10
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
Of what validity and pitch soe'er, '
But fails into abatement and low price.
Even in a minute ; so full of shapes is fancy
That it alone is high fantastical. ,
Cur. Will yon go hunt, my lord ?
Duke. What, Curio?
Cur. The hart
Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I
have:
O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,
Methouglit she purged tlie air of pestilence !
That instant was I tum'd into a hart; 21
And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds.
E'er since pursue me.
Enter Valentinb.
How now ! what news from her ?
Vol. So please my lord, I might not be ad¬
mitted ;
But from her handmdid do i^tuni this an¬
swer :
The element itself, till seven years' heat.
Shall not beiiold iier face at ample view ;
But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk
And water once a day iier chamber round
With eye-offending brine : all tiiis to season
A brother's dead love, which she would keep
fresh , 31
And lasting in her sad remembrance.
Duke. O, she that hath a heart of that fine
frame
To pay this debt of love but to a brother.
How will she love, when the rich golden shaft
Hath kiil'd the flock of ail affections else
That live in her ; when liver, brahi and heart.
These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and
flil'd
Her sweet perfections with one self khig! '
Away before me to sweet beds of flowers : 40
jyove-thoughts lie rich when canopied witli
bowers. {Exeunt.
ScEKB 11. The sea-coaM.
,Enter Viola, a Captaiii, and Sailors.
Via. What country, friends, is this ?
Cap. This is Illyria, ia<^.
Yio. And what should I do in lilyria ?
My brother he is in Elysium^
Perchance he is notdrown'd: what think you,
sailors ?
Cap. It is perchance that you yourself were
saved. -
Flo. O my poor brother! and so perchance
m^ he be. '
Cap. 'True, madam : and, to comfort you
witli chance.
Assure yourself, after our ship did split.
When you and those poor number saved with
you 10
Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother.
Most provident in peril, bind himself.
Courage and hope both teaching him the prac-
tice.
To a strong mast timt lived upon the sea ;
Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves
So long as 1 could see. i
Vto. For saying so, there's gold :
Mine own escape unfuldeA to my hope.
Whereto thy speech serves for autliority, 20
The like of uim. Know'st thou this coniitry ?
Cap; Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and
born
Not three hoars' travel from this very place.
Kto. Who governs here ?
Cap. A noble duke, in nature as hi name.
Vw. What is the name 7
Cap. Orsino.
Vio. Orsino ! I have heard my father name
bim :
He was a bachelor then.'
C<m. And so is now, or was so very late ;
For but a month ago I went from hence, 31
And then 'twas fresh in murmur,—as, you
know, . - .
What great ones do the less will prattle of,-^
That he did seek tlie love of fair Olivia.
Vto. What's she ?
Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a
count
That died some twelvemonth since, tlien leav¬
ing her '
In the protection of his son, her brother,
Who shortly also died i for whose dear love.
They say, she hath abjured the company 40
And sight of men.
Vto. O that I seiwed that lady
And might not be delivered to the world,
Till I had made mine own occasion mellow.
What my estate is 1
Cap. That were hard to compass ;
Because she will admit no kind of suit,
No, not the duke's.'
Vto. Tliere is a fair behavior in thee, cap¬
tain ;
And though that nature with a beauteous wall
Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee
1 will believe thou hast a mind that suits 60
With this tiiy fair and outward character.
I prithee, and I'll pay thee bounteously.
Conceal me what 1 am, and be my aid
For such disguise as haply shall become
The form of my intent I'll sem this duke :
694
Thor shall present me aaw eunuch to him c,
It may he worth thy pains ; for I can sing
And speak to him in many sorts of music
That wiil aiiovr me very worth his sendee, t
What else may hap to time I will commit; 60
Only shape thou thy silence to my wib
Cap. fie you his eunuch, and your mute I'll
he :
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not
see. ,
Yio, I thank thee ; lead me on, \_Exeuni,
Scene III. I OuVtA's Aouse.
Enter Sik Toby fiBLca and Maria,
Sir To, What a'plague means my niece, to
take the death of her brother thus ? 1 am sure
care's an enemy to life.
Mar. fiy my troth, Sir Toby, ytm must come
in earlier o' nights: your cousin, my lady,
takes great exceptions to your iil hours.
Sir To. Why, let he* except, before ex¬
cepted.
Mar. Ay, but you must Confine yourself
within the modest limits of order. 9
Sir To. Confine 1 I'll eonfine myself Ro
finer than 1 am : these clotliesare good enough
to drink in and so be these boots too : an
they be not, let them hang themselves in their
own straps.
Mar. Tiiat quaffing and drinking will undo
you : 1 heard my lady talk of it yesterday ;
and of a foolish knight that you brought in one
night here to be her wooer.
Sir To. Who, Sir Andrew Aguecheek ?
Mar. Ay, he.
Sir To. He's as toll a man as any's in Illy-
ria. , 20
Mar. What's that to the purpose ?
Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats
a year.
Mar. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all
these ducats : he's a very fool and a prodigal.
Sir To. Fie, that you'll say so ! he plays o'
the viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four
languages word for word without book, and
bath all the go-^d gifts of nature. 29
Mar. He hath indeed, almost natural: for
besides that he's a fool, he's a great quarrelier:
and but that he hath' the gift of a coward to
allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis
thought among the prudent he would quickly
have the gift of a grave.
Sir To. fiy this hand, they are scoundrels
and subtractors that say so of him. Who are
they ?
Mar. They that add, moreover, he's drunk
nightly in your company. ' 39
Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece:
I'll drink to her as long as there is a passage
in my throat and drink in lllyria ; he's a
coward and acoystrill that will not drink to
my niece till his brains turn o' the toe like a
parish-top. What, wench 1 Castiliano vulgo!
for here comes ^ Andrew Agueface,.
(Act i.
Enter Sir Andrew Aguecheek.
Sir And. Sir Toby fielch 1 how now, Sir
Toby fieldi I j I •
Sir To. Sweet sir Andrew !
Sir And. ■ filers ydu, fair shrew. 50
Mar. And you too, sir.
Sir To. ■ Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.
Sir And. What's that?
Sir To. My niece's chambermaid.
Sir And. Good Mistress Accost, 1 desire
better acquaintance.
Mar. My name is Mary, sir.
Sir A nd. Good Mistress Mary 'Accost,—
Sir To. You mistake, knight; ' accost' is
front her, board her, woO her, assail her. 60
Sir And. fiy my troth, 1 Would not under¬
take her in this company. Is thattlie meaning
of ' accost' ?
Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen.
Sir To. An theu. let part so. Sir Andrew,
would thou mightst never draw sword again.
Sir And. An you iiart so, mistress, 1 would
I might never draw sword again. Fair lady,
do you think you have fools in hand ?
Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand. 70
Sir And. Marry, but you shall have ; and
here's my hand.
Mar. Now, sir, ' thought is free :' 1 praV
you, bring your hand to the buttery-bar and
let it drink.
Sir And. WherefoK, sweet-heart ? what's
your metaphor ?
Mar. It s dry, sir.
Sir And. Why, 1 think so : I am not such
an ass but 1 can keep my hand dry. fiut
what's your jest ? 80
Mar. A dry jest, sir.
Sir Aiid. Are you lull of them ?
Mar. Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers'
ends : marry, now I let go your hand, i am
barren. [Szt'f.
Sir To. O knight thou lackest a cup of
canary : when did 1 see thee so put down?
Sir And. Never in your life, I think ; unless
you see canary put me down. Methinks some¬
times 1 have no more wit than a Christian or
an ordinary man has: but 1 am a great eater
of beef and I believe that does harm to my
wit. 91
Sir To. No question.
Sir And. An 1 thought that, I'ld forswear
it. I'll ride home to-moriow. Sir Toby.
Sir To. Pourquol, my dear knight ?
Sir And. What is ' pourouoi' ? do or not
do ? 1 would 1 had be.stowed that time in the
tongues that 1 have in fencing, dancing and
bear-baiting : O, had 1 but followed the arts !
Sir To. "Then hadst thou had an excellent
head of hair. ' 101
Sir And. Why, would that have mended
my hair? ,
Sir To. Past question ; for thou seest it will
not curl by nature.
Sir And. fiut it becomes me well enough,
does't not ?
Sir To fixcelleni; *. it hangs like fiax on a
TWELFTH j!fIOBTi
SCEKB T.]
distaff; and I bope to see a 'housewife take
thee betwees her legs and spin it off. 110
Sir Attd. Faith, i'll home to-morrow, Sir
Toby ; your niece will not be seen ; or if she
be, it's four to one she'll none of me: the
count himself here hard by woos her.
Sir She'll none o' the count: she'H not
match above hmr d^ree, neither in estate,
years., nor wit; I have heard her ewear't.
Tut, there's Hfe in't, man.
Sir And. I'll stay a month longer. I am a
feUow o' the strangest mind i' the world ; I de¬
light in masques and revels sometimes alto¬
gether. 121
Sir To. Art thou good at these kickshawses,
knight?
Sir And As any man in lUyria, Whatso¬
ever he be, under the degree <A my betters ;
and yet I will nut compare with an old man.
Sir To, W hat is thy excellence in a galliard,
knight'/
Sir And. Faith, I can cut a caper.
Sir To. And 1 can cut the mutton to't. 130
Sir And. And 1 think 1 have the back-trick
simply as strong as any man in Illyria.
Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid ?
wherefore have these gifts a curtain before
'em 7 are they like to take dust, like Mistress
Mali's picture ? why dust thou not go to
church in a galliard and come home in a cor-
auto 7 My very walk should be a jig; I
would nut so much as make water but in a
siuk-a-pace. What dost thou mean ? Is it a
world to hide virtues in 7 I did think, by tire
excellent constitution of thy leg, it was formed
tmder the star of a galliard.
Sir And. Ay, 'tis strung, and it does indif¬
ferent Well ur a flame-colored stock. Shall we
set about some revels 7
Sir Tc. What shall we do dse 7 were we
Dot bom under Taurus 7
Sir And. Taurus ! Tliat's sides and heart.
Sir To. No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let
me see the caper ; ha 1 higher : ha, ha 1 ex->
celleut 1 [Evewnt. 151
Scene IV. The Duke's palace.
Enter Valentine and Viola in man's attire.
tVal. If the duke-eontduue these favors to¬
wards yon, C^rio, you are like to be much
swlvanced : he hath known you but three days,
and already you are no stranger.
Vio. You either fear his humor or my Dili¬
gence, that you call in question the continu¬
ance of his love : is he inconstant, sir, in his
favors 7 i
Vai. No, bMieve me.
Vio. I thank you. Here comes the count.
Enter Duke, Cubic, and Attendants.
Puke. ■ Who saw Cesaiio, ho ? ' iO
Vio. On your attendance, ifiy lord ; here.
jjuke. Stand you a while aloof, Cesano,
Thou know'st no less but all; I have un-
clasp'd
To thee the book evew of my aewet sool;
595
Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto
her;
Be not denied access, stand at her doors.
And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow
Till thou have audience.
Kio. Sure, my noble lord.
If site be so abandon'd to her sorrow
As it is spoke, she never will admit me. 20
Duke. Be clamorous and leap' all civil
bounds
Rather than make unprofited return.
Vio. Say I do sp^k with her, my lord,
what then 7 '
Duke. O, tlieu unfold tlie passion of my
love.
Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith :
it shall become thee well to act my woes ;
She will attend it better in tliy youth
Than in a nuncio's of more grave aspect
Vio. I think not so, my lord.
Duke. Dear lad, believe it;
For they shall yet belie thy happy years, 30
That say thou art a man : Diana s lip
Is not more smooth and rubious ; my small
Is as t^e^^iden's organ, shrill and sound,'
And all i^ semblative a woman's part
1 know thy constellation is right apt
For this affair. Some four or five attend him;
All, if yon will ; lor I myself am best
When least in company. Prosper well in this.
And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord.
To call his fortunes thine.
Vio. I'll do my best 40
To woo your lady; [Aside] yet, a barful
strife i
Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife.
' [Exeunt.
Scene V. Olivia's house.
Enter Mabia and Clown.
Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast
been, or 1 will not open my lips so wide as a
bristle may enter in way of thy excuse : my
lady will hang thee f^r thy absence.
C'ib. Let her hang me: he that is well
hanged in this world needs to fear no colors.
Mar. Make that good.
(jio. He shall see none to fear.
Mar. A good leuten answer: I can tell
thee where t^t saying was bom, of ' I fear no
colors.' ■ 10
Cio. Where, good Mistress Mary.?
Mar. In the wars ; and tiiat may yon be
bold to say In your foolery.
Clo. Well, God give them wisdom that
have it; and those that are fools, let them use
their t^ents.
Mar. Yet you will be hanged for being so
l<mg absent; or, to be turned away, is not that
as good as a hanging to you 7 19
Qio. Many a good hanging prevents, a bad
marriage ; and, for turning away, let summer
bear it out.
Mo -...Yon are resolate, then 7
TWELPTB NIGHT.
596
TWELFTH NJGHT.
1.4m I
Cfo. K ->t so, neither« but I am resolved on
two points.
Mar, That if one break, the other will
4oid; or, if both break, your gaskins fall.
Clo. Apt, ill ^ood faith ; very apt. Well,
go thy way; if Sir Toby would leave drinking,
thou wert as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as
any in lllyria. - 31
Mar. Peace, yon rogue, no more o' that.
Here comes my lady: make your excuse
wisely, you were best. [Exit.
Clo. Wit, an't be thy will, put me into good
foolinv ! Those wits, that think they have
thee, do very oft prove fools ; and I, that am
sure I lack thee, may pass for a wise man :
for what says Qitinapalus ? ' Better a witty
fool, than a icolish wit.' 40
Enter Lady OuviA with Maltolio.
God bless thee, lady !
OIL Talce the fool away.
Clo. Do you not hear, fellows ? Take away
the lady.
OIL Go to, you're a diy fool; I'll no more
of .you : besides, you grow dishonest.
Clo. Two faults, madonna, that drink and
good counsel will amend : for give the dry fool
drink, then is the fool not dry : kid the dis¬
honest man mend himself ; if he mend, he is
no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let the
botcher mend liiin. Any thing tliat's mended
is but patched : viitue that transgresses is but
patclicd with sin ; and sin that amends is but
patched with virtue. If that this simple syl¬
logism will serve, so ; if it will not, wliat rem¬
edy t As there is no true cuckold but calam¬
ity, BO beauty's a flower. The lady bade
take away tlie fool; therefore, I say again,
take her away.
OIL Sir, 1 bade them take away you. 60
Clo. Misprision in the higliesl degree!
Lady, cucullus non facit monachum ; that's as
much to say as 1 wear not motley in my brain.
Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a
fool.
OIL Can you dp it ?
Clo. Dexterously, good madoima.
Oli Make your iiroof.
Clo. I must catecliize you lor it, madonna:
good itiy mouse of virtue, answer me.
OIL Wei', sir, for want of other idleness, I'll
bide your proof. 71
Clo. Good madonna, why mournest thou ?
(M Good fool, for my brother's death.
Ch. 1 think his soul is in hell, madonna.
OIL I know his soul is in heaven, fool.
Clo. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for
your brother's soul being in heaven. Take
away the fool, genflemen.
Oli. What think yon of this fool, Malvo-
lio ? doth he not mend ? 30
M l Yes, and shall do till the pangs of death
shake him : infirmity, that decays the wise,
doth ever make the better fool.
Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy hifirmity,
for the better increasing your folly I Sir Toby
will be sworn that I am no fox ; bnt he will
not pass his word for two pence &at .voa are
no fool.
Oli. How say you to that, Malvolie t
Mai. 1 marvel your ladyship takes delight
in such a barren rascal; 1 saw nim put down
the otlier day with an ordinary fool that has
no more brain than a stone. Look you now,
he's out of bis guard already; unless you
laugh and minister occasion to him, he is
gagged. -( protest, I take these wise men, that
crow so at these set kind of fools, no better
than the fools' zanies.
Oli. Oh, you are sick of self-love, Malvo-
lio, and taste with a distempered appetite. To
be generous, guiltless and of free disposition,
is to take those things for bird-bolts that you
deem cannon-buUeto : there is no slander in
an allowed fool, though he do notiiing but
rail; nor no railing in a known discreet man,
though he do nothing but reprove.
Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leas-
ii^, for thou siieakest well of fools i
Re-enter MaTua.
Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young
gentlem.an much desires to speak with you.
(HL From the Count Orsiiio, is it ?
Mar. I know nut, madam : 'tis a fair yoiiiig
man, and well attended. Ill
OIL Who of my people hold him in delay '!
Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman.
Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you ; he siie.uks
nothing but madman : fie on him! [Ex.t Maria.]
Go you, Malvolio : if it be a suit from the
count, 1 am sick, or not at home ; what you
will, to dismiss it [Exit Malvolio.] Now you
see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and
people dislike it.
Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as
if thy eldest son should be a fool; whose skull
Jove cram with brains ! for,—^liere he comes,
—one of thy Idn has a most weal^ pia mater.
Enter Sir Toby.
Oli. By mine honor, half drunk. What is
he at the gate, cousin ? '
Sir To. A gentleman.
Oli. A gentleman ! what gentleman ?
Sir To. "Tis a gentleman here—a plagnei
these iHckle-herring 1 How now, sot!
Clo. Good Sir "Toby ! 139
Oli. Cousin, cousin, bow have you come so
early by this letiiargy ?
- Sir To. Lechery 1 I defy lechery. There's
one at the gate.
Oli. Ay, marry, what is he t
Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, I
care hot: give me faith, say 1. Well, it's all
one. [Exit.
OIL What's a drunken man like, fool ?
Ch. Like a drowned man, a fool and a
mad man : one draught above heat makes
him a fool; the second mads him ; and a third
drowns him.
Oli. Go thou and seek the ciowner, and let
scbrb t.]
iiim git o* my ooz ; for he's iu the third Jie-
gee of drink, he's drowned : go, look alter
Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna; and tlie
fool rtiaU look to the nuulman. [ExU.
Re-enter Malvolio.
Mai. Madam, youd young fellow swears he
will »>eakwith you. I told him you were
sick ; be takes on him to understand so much,
and therefore comes to speak with you. 1 told
him yon were asleep; he seems to have a
foreknowledge of that too, ^aiid therefore
comes.to speak with you. What is to be said
to him, lady? he's fortified against any denial.
OH. Tell him he shall not speak with me.
Mai. Has been told so ; and he says, he'll
stand at your door like a sherifTspost, and be
the supporter to a bench, but he'll speak with
you.
Oli. What kind o' man is he ?
Mai. Why, of mankind. 160
OH. What manner of man ?
Mai. Of very ill manner ; he'll speak with
you, will you or no.
(Rt Of what personage and years is he ?
Md. Not yet old enough for a man, nor
young enough for a l)oy j as a squash is before
'tis a peascM, or a codling when 'tis almost
an apple : 'tis with him in standing water, be¬
tween boy and man. He is very well-favored
and he speaks very shrewi-shly ; one would
think his mother's milk were scarce out of
him. 171
Oli. Let him approach : call in my gentle¬
woman.
Mai. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. \Exit.
Re-enter Mari.a.
OH. Give me my veil : come, throw it o'er
my face.
We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy.
Enter \ioui, and Attendants.
Via. The honorable lady of the house,
which is she 7
OH. Speak to me ; I shall answer for her.
Your will ? 180
Via. Most radiant, exquisite and nnmatcli-
•able beauty,—pray you, tell me if this be the
lady of the house, for I never saw her: I would
be loath to cast away my speech^ for besides
that it is excellently well penned, I have taken
great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me
sustain no scorn ; I am very comptible, even
to the least sinister usage.
Oli. Whence came you, sir? 189
Tto. 1 can say little more than I have
studied, and that question's out of my part.
Good gentle on& ^ve me modest assurance
if yon be the lady of the house, that I may
proceed in my speech. # <
OH. Are you a comedian ?
Fib. No, my profound heart; and yet, by
the very fangs of malice I swear, I am not thr.t
I play. Are you the lady of the house ?
007
Oft. If I do not usurp myself, I am.
Fio. Most certain, if you are she, yon do
usurp yourself; fc« what is yours to bestow is
not yours to reserve. But this is from my
commission: I will on with my speech in your
praise, and tiien sliow you the heart of my
message.
OH. Come to what is fanportaut in't: I for¬
give you the praise.
Via. Alas, I took great pains to study it,
and 'tis poetical.
Oli. It is the more like to be feigned : I
pray you, keep it in. I heard you were saucy
at my gates, and allowed your approach rather
to wonder at you than to near you. If you be
not mad, be gone ; if you have reason, be brief:
'tis not that time of moon with me to make
one in so skipping a dialogue.
Mar. Win you hoist saii, sir ? here lies your
way.
Fib. No, good swabber ; I am to hull here
a little longer. Some mollification for your
giant, sweet lady. Tell me your mind : I am
a messenger. . 220
> Oli. Sure, yon have some hideous matter to
deliver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful.
Speak your ofllee.
rfo. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no
overture of war, no taxation of homage: I
hold the olive in my hand ; my words are as
full of peace as matter.
Oli. Yet you began rudely. What are yon ?
what would you ? 229
Via. The rudeness that hath appeared in
me have I learned from my entertainment.
What I am, and what I would, are as secret us
maidenhead ; to your ears, divinity, to any
other'.s, profanation.
Oh. Give us the place alone : we will hear
this divinity. [Exennt Maria and Attendants.]
Now, sir, what is your text ?
Fib. Most sweet lady,—
Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may
be said of it. Where lies your text ? 240
Fib. In Orsino's bosom.
Oli. In his bosom ! In what chapter of his
bosom?
Ffo. To answer by the method, in the first
of his heart.
Oli. O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have
you no more to say ?
Vio. Good madam, let me see your face.
Oli. Have you any commission from your
lord to negotiate with my face ? You are now
out of your text: but we will draw the curtain
and show you the picture. Look you, sir, such
a one I was this present: is't not well done ?
yUnveiling.
Vio. Excellently done, if God did all.
Oli. 'Tis in grain, sir ; 'twill endure wind
and weather. [white
Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on:
Lady, you are the cvuell'st she alive.
If you will lead these graces to the grave 26*
And leave the world no copy.
TWELFTH NinWr.
598
TWELFTH NIGHT.
[Act ii,
on. 0, sir, I will not be so hard-bearted ; I
will give out diveis schedules of my beauty : it
shall be inventoried, and every particle and
utensil labelled to my will : as, item, two lip,
indifferent red ; item, two grey eyes, with lids
to them; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth.
Were you sent hither to praise me ?
Via. I see you what you are, yon are too
proud ;
But, if yon were the devfi, you are fair. 270
My lord and master loves you : O, such love
£ould be but recompensed, though you were
crown'd
The nonpareil of beauty !
Oli. < How does he love me ?
Vio. With adorations, fertiie tears.
With groans that thunder love, with sighs of
fire.
Oli. Your lord does know m^ mind ; I can¬
not love him :
Tet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble,
Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth ;
In voices well divulged, free^ learh'd and
valiant;
And in dimension and the shape of nature 280
A gracious person : but yet I cannot love him;
He might have took his answer long ago.
Vio. If 1 did love you in my master's flame.
With such a suffering, such a deadly life,
111 your denial I would find no sense ;
I would not understand it
Oli. Why, what would you ?
Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate.
And call upu my soul within the house ;
Write loyal cantons of contemned love
And sing them loud even in the dead of night;
Halloo your name to the reverberate hills 291
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out' Olivia !' O, you should not rest
Between the elements of air and earth.
But you should pity me !
Oli. You might do much.
What is your parentage ?
Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is
well :
I am a gentleman.
Oli. Get you to your lord ;
I canndt love him : let him send no more ;
Unless, perchance, you come to me again, 300
To tell me how he takes it Fare you well;
I thank you for your pains: spend this for me.
Vio. I am no fee'd post, lady ; keep your
purse:
My master, not myself, lacks recompense.
Love maice his heart of flint that you shall
love;
And let yopr fervor, like my master's, be
Placed in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelU'.
lExit.
Oli. ' What is your parentage ?'
' Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
I am a gentleman.' I'll be sworn thou art; 310
Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions and
spirit.
Do give thee five-fold Waztm: Jot too fast:
soft, soft.
Unless the master were the man. How now I
Even so (luiekly may one catch the plague ♦
Methinks I feel this youth's perfections '' '
With an invisible and subtle stealth'
To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.
What ho, >talvolio ! . '
Jlf-enter IIalvolio.
Mai. Here, madam, at your service.
Oli. Run after that same peevish messen-
■ ger.
The county's man: he left this ring behind
him,
Would I or not ^-tell him I'll none of it 321
Desii-ehim not to flatter with his lord,
Kor hold him up with hopes : I am not for
him :
If that the youth will come this way ^mor¬
row,
I'll give him reasons foFt: hie thee, Malvolio.
Mai. Madam, I will. [Exit.
Oli. 1 do I know not what,' and fear to find
Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind.
Fate, show thy force : ourselves We do not
, owe ;
What is decreed must be, and be this so.
[Exit.
ACT II.
Scene I. TTie sea-coa»t.
Enter Antonio and Sebastian. .
Ant. Will you stay no longer ? nor will you
not tliat I go with you ?
Ikb. By your patience, no. My stars shine
darkly over me : the malignancy of my fate
might perhaps distemper yours; therefore 1
shall crave of you your leave that I may bear
my evils alone : it were a bad recompense for
your love, to lay any of them on you.
Ant. Let me yet know of you whither you
are bound. 10
Seb. No, sooth, sir: nw determinate voyage
is mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you
so excellent a touch of modesty, that you will
not extort from me what I am willing to keep
in ; therefore it charges me in manners the
rather to express myself. You must knew of
me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian,
which i called Roderigo. My father was that
Sebastian of Messaline, whom I know you
have heard of. He left behind him myself and
a sister, both born in an hour : if tlie heavens
had been pleased, would we had so ended !
but you, sir, alters that; for some hour be¬
fore you took me from the breach of the sea
was my sister drowned.
Ant. Alas the day !
Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she
much resembled me, was yet of many account¬
ed beautiful : but, though 1 could not witli
such estimable wonder overfar believe that,
y.,; thus far I wiU boldly publish her; she bore
SCBHS in-]
TWELFTH NIGHT.
m
a mind that envy could not but call fair. She
18 drowned already, sir, with salt water, though
1 seem to drown her remembriiuce again with
more.
Ant. Pardon ine, sir, your bad entertain¬
ment
Seb. 0 good Antonio, forgive me your
trouble.
Ant. If you will not murder me for my love,
let me be your servant.
Seb. If you will not undo what you have
done, tliat is, kill him whom you have- re¬
covered, desire it not. Fare ye well at once:
my bosom is full of kindness, and I am yet so
near the mannersot mymotlier, that upon the
least occasion more mine eyes will tell tales of
me. I am oound to the Count Orsino's court:
farewell. [Exit.
Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with
thee 1
I have many enemies in Orsino's court.
Else would I very shortly see thee there.
But, come what may, 1 do adore thee so.
That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. 49
[Exit.
ScEKE n. A street.
Eater Viola, liK-iMotAO following.
Mai. Were not you even now with the
Countess Olivia ?
Vio. Even now, sir ; on a moderate pace I
have since arrived but hitlier.
Mai. She returns this ring to you, sir : you
might have saved me my iiains, to have taken
it away yourself. She adds, moreover, tliat you
should put your lord into a desj erate assur¬
ance she will none of him : and one thing more,
that you be never so liardy to come again in his
affairs, unless it be to report your lord's tak¬
ing of this. Receive it so.
Vio. She took tlie ring of me: I'll none of it.
Mai. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to
her ; and her will is, it should be so returned:
it it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your
eye ; if not, be it his that finds it. - [Exit.'
Vio. I left no ring with her : what means
this lady?
Fortune forbid my outside have not charm'd
her !
She made good view of me ; indeed, so much.
That sure methought her eyes had lost her
tongue.
For she did speak in starts distractedly.
She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion
Invites me in this churlisli messenger.
None of my lord's ring 1 why, he sei^t her
none.
I am the man : if it be so, as 'tis.
Poor lady, she were better love a dream.
Disguise, 1 see, thou art a wickedness.
Wherein the pregnant enemy <Mes much.
How easv is it for the proper-false 30
In women's w.-ixon hearts to set their forms !
Alas, our frailty is tlie cause, not we I
For such as we are made of. such we be
How will this fadge ? my master loves her
dearly ;
And I, poor monster, fond as much on him ;
And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me.
What will become of this ? As I am man.
My state is desperate for my master's love ;
As I am woman,—now alas the day !—
Wliat thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe!
0 time ! thou must untangle tliis, not I; 41
It is too hard a knot for me to untie ! [Exit.
Scene III. Olivia's house.
Enter Sir Toby and Sib Andrew.
Sir To. Approach, Sir Andrew: not to be a-
bed after midnight is to be up betimes ; and
' diluculo surgere,' thou know'st,—
Sir And. Nay, my troth, I know not: but
1 know, to be up late is to be up late.
Sir To. A false conclusion: 1 hate it as an
unfilled can. To be up after midniglit and to
go to bed then, is early: so that to go to bed
after midnight is to go to bed betimes. Does
not our life consist of the four elements ? ■ 10
Sir And. haith, so they say; but I think it
rather consists of eating aiid drinking.
Sir To. Thou'rt a scholar ; let us therefore ■
eat and drink. Marian, I say! a stoup of wine!
Enter Clown.
Sir Andi Here comes the fool, i' faith.
Cio. How now, my hearts ! did you never
see the picture of ' we three' ?
Sir To. Welcome, ass. Now let's have a
catch.
Sir Antd. By my troth, the fool has an ex¬
cellent breast. I had rather than forty shil¬
lings I had such a leg, and so sweet a bi-eath to
sing, as the fool has. in sooth, thou wast in
very gracious fooling last night, when thon_
spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the 'Vapians i>ass-
lug the equinoctial of Queubus': twas very
good, i' faith. I sent thee sixpence lor thy
lemau : hadst it ?
C'lo. I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Mal-
volio's nose is no whipstock : my lady has a
Avhite hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-
ale houses.
Sir And. Excellent I why, this is the best
fooling, when all is done. Now, a song. 31
Sir To. Come on; there is sixpence for you:
let's have a song.
Sir And: There's a testril of me too: if one
knight give a—
C'lo. Would you have a love-song, or a song
of good life ?
Sir To. A love-song, a love-song.
Sir And. Ay, ay: 1 care not for good life.
C/o. £6'insrs] 39
0 mistress mine, where are vou roaming ?
0, stay and hear; your true love's coming,
That can sing both high and low i,
Trip no further, pretty sweeting ;
Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know
600
TWELFTH NIGHT. -
|Act n
Sir And. Excellent good, i' faith.
Sir To. Good, good.
Clo. [Sinf/-*]
What is love? 'tis not hereafter;
Present mirtli hath present langhter ;
What's to come is still unsure ; 50
In delay there lies no plenty;
Then come kiss roe, sweet and twenty,
Youth's a stuff will not endure.
Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true
knight.
Sir To. A contagious breath.
Sir And. Very sweet and contagions, i' faith
Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in
contagion. But shall we make the welkin
dance indeed ? shall we rouse the night-owl
in a catch that will draw three souls out of
one weaver 1 shall we do that ?
Sir And. An you love me, let's do't: I am
dog at a catch.
Clo. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch
well.
Sir And. Most certain. Let our catch be,
'Thou knave.*
Clo. ' Hold thy peace, thon knave,' knight ?
I shall be constrained in't to call thee knave,
knight 70
Sir And. 'Tis not the first time I have con¬
strained one to call me knave. Begin, fool: it
begins ' Hold thy peace.'
Clo. I shall never begin if I hold my peace.
Sir And, Good, i' faith. Come, begin.
[Catch sung.
Enter Mabia.
Mar. What a caterwauling do you keep
here! If my lady have not called up her
steward Malvoli and bid him turn you out of
doors, never trust me. 19
Sir To. My lady's a Catalan, we are ipliti-
cians, Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey, and ' Three
merry men be we.' Am not 1 consanguineous?
am 1 not of her blood ? Tillyvally. Lady !
' There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, ^adjfi^
Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirablef
foolmg. i
Sir And.' Ay, he does well enough if he be
disposed, and so do I too: he does it with a'
better grace, but I do it more natural.
Sir To. [Sfttps] ' O, the twelfth day of De¬
cember,'— 91
Mar. For the love o' God, peace I
Enter Malvolio.
Mai. My masters, are yon mad ? or what
are you ? Have ye no wit, manners, nor
honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time
of night ? Do ye make an alehouse of my
ladv's house, tliat ye squeak out your cozi-
ers catches without any mitigation or remorse
of voice ? Is there no respect of place, per¬
sons, nor time in vou ? '
Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our
catches. Sneckupl 101
Mai. Sir Toby, I must be ronnd with yon.
My lady bade me tell you, that, though she
harbors you as her kinsman, she's nothing
allied to your disorders. If you can separate
yourself and your misdemeanors, you are wel¬
come to the house ; if not, an it would please
you to take leave of her, she is very willing to
bid you farewell.
Sir To. ' Farewell, dear heart, since I must
needs be gone.' 110
Mar. Nay, good Sir Toby.
do. ' His eyes do show his days are almost
done.'
Mai. Is't even so ?
Sir To. ' But I will never die.'
Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie.
Mai. This is much credit to yoz.
Sir To. ' Sliall 1 bid him go ?'
Clo. ' What an if you do ?
Sir To. ' Shall I bid him go, and spare not ?'
Clo. ' O no, no, no, no, you dare not.' 121
Sir To. Out o' tune, sir : ye lie. Art any
more tliau a steward ? Dost thou think, be¬
cause thon art virtuous, there shall be no more
cakes and ale ?
Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall
be hot i' the month too.
Sir To. Thou'rt i' the riglit. Go, sir, rub
your chain with crumbs. A stoup of wine,
Maria I
Mai. Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's
favor at any thing more than contempt, you
would not give means for this uncivil rule: she
shall know of it, by this hand. [Exit.
Mar. Go shake your ears.
Sir And. 'Twere as good a deed as to drinki
when a man's a-hungry, to chalienge him the
field, and then to break promise with hinkafid
make a fool of him. ^16^ 1
Sir To. Do't, knight: I'll write tliee a chal¬
lenge ; or I'll deliver thxindiguatiou to himi
by word of mouth, 141
Mar. Swgti; Sir Toby, M patient for to¬
night : since the youth of the conuPs was to¬
day with my lady, she is much out of quiet.
For Monsieur Malvoli(]K jet me alyiie with liim;
if 1 dtLyrgnll him into-a nay Word, and make
him a cfimmon recreation, do not thii^ I have
wit enough to lie straight in my bed f I ku^
I can do it. ^ 9'^ '
Str To. Possess us, possess us; tell us some¬
thing of hhn. 150
Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of
puritan.
Sir And. O, if I thought that, I'ld beat Iiim
like a dog!
Sir To. What, for being a puritan ? thy ex¬
quisite reason, de.ar knight ?
Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for't,
but I have reason good enough.
Mar. The devil a puritan that he is, ommy
an affec¬
tionsass.,llM^-M ■
-iilijUiH II bWIBSte
itbout Jifiok and
js: tha hnnt tiMsuBdsd
3L" IrtiwselfJsO'urainnied', as he thinks, with
excellencies, that it is his grounds of. iaith that
soens it.]
TWELFTH NIGHT,
60t
all that look on him lore him ; and on that
vice in liim will my rev^age find notable cause
to work.
Sir To. What wilt thou do ?
' Mar. Xyyill drop in hU way some obscure
epistles 1» love ; wherein^ by the color of his
beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his
gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and
complexion.^ sh^^udJUgiself most feelingly
persouated^I caaSttite very like my lady
your niece; on a forgotten matter we can
hardly make distinction of onr hands.
Hir To. Excellent! I smelt a device.
Sir And. I have't in my nose too.
Sir To. He shall think, by the letters that
thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece,
and that she's in love with him. 180
Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that
color.
Sir And. And your horse now would make
him an ass.
Mar, Ass, I doubt not
Sir And. 0, 'twil^be admirable !
" Mar. warrant you : I know
my physic will work with him. I will ]>lant
vou two, and let the fool make a third, where
he shall flud the letter: obser^'e his construc¬
tion of it For this night, to bed, and dream
on the event Farewell. [Exit.
Sir To. Good night, Feuthesilea.
Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench.
Sir To. She's a beagle, true-bred, and one
that adores me : what o' that ?
Sir And- I was adored once too.
Sir To. Let's to bed, knight Thou hadst
need send for more money.
Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, I
am a foul way out. 201
Sir To. Send for money, knight: if thou
hast her not i' the end, call me cut
Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take
it how you wiU.
Sir To. Come, come, I'il go bum some sack;
'tis too late to go to bed now : come, knight;
come, knight. [Exeunt.
scemjs iv. tae Duke's putoee.
Enter Duke, Viola, Cueio, and others.
Duke. Give me -some music. Now, good
morrow, friendsi
Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song.
That old and antique song we heard last night:
Methought it did relieve my passion much.
More than light airs and recoliected terms
Of tliese most brisk and giddy-paced times:
Come, but one vei-se.
Cur. He is not here, so please your lord¬
ship that should sing it.
Duke. Who was it ? 10
Cur. Fest'?, the jester, my lord ; a fool that
the lady Olivia's father took ||uch delight in.
He is about the house.
Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the
while. [Exit Curio. Music plays.
Ciome hither, boy: if ever thou sbalt love,
In the sweet pangs of it remember me ;
Fur such as I am all true lovers are,
Unstaid and skittish in all motions else.
Save in the constsmt image of the creature
IMt is beloved. How'dost thou like this
tune? 20
Vio. It gives a very echo to tlie seat
Where Love is throng
Duke. Thou dost speak masterly :
My life upon't, young though thou art, thine
eye
Hath stny'd upon some favor that it loves .*
Hath it not, boy ?
Vio. A little, by your favor.
Duke. What kind of woman is't 7
Vio. Of your complexion.
Duke. She is not worth thee, then. What
years, i' faith ?
Vio. About your years, my lord.
Duke. Too old, by heaven : let still the
woman take 30
An elder than herself : so wears she to him.
So sways she level in her husband's heart:
For, boy, lujwever we do praise ourselves.
Our fancies are more giddy and nnflrm.
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and
worn,
Thau women's are.
Vio. I think it well, my lord.
Duke. Then let thy love be younger than
thyself.
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent;
For women are as roses, whose fair flower
Being once display'd, doth fall that very
hour." 40
Vio. And so they are: alas, that they are
so ;
To die, even when they to perfection grow !
Re-enter Curio and Clown.
Duke. O. fellow, come, the song we liad
last night.
Mark it, Cesario, it is old and plain ;
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun
And the free maids that weave their thread
with bones
Do use to chant it: it is silly sooth.
And dallies with the innocence of love.
Like the old age.
Clo. Are you ready, sir ? 50
Duke. ' Ay ; prithee, sing. [Music.
Song.
Clo. Come away, come away, death.
And in ^d cypress let me be laid
Fly away, fly away, breath ;
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with
yew,
O, prepare it!
My part of death, no one so true
Did share it.
Not a flower, not a flower sweet, 60
On my black coflin let there be
strown ;
( Not a friend, not a friend greet
602
My poor corpse, where my bones shall
be thrown :
A thonsaud thousand sighs to save,
Lay me, O, where
true lover never find my grave,
To weep there !
Duke. There's for thy pains.
Cio, No pains, sir : 1 take pleasure in sing¬
ing sir. 70
Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure then.
Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid,
one time or another.
Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee.
Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect
thee ; and the tailor make thy doublet of
changeable taffeta, for thy miud is a very
opal. 1 would have men of such constancy put
to sea, that their business might be every
thing and their intent every where ; for that's
it that always makes a good voyage of noth¬
ing Farewell. [Exa 81
Duke. Let all the rest give place.
[Curio and AttendatUs retire.
Once more, Cesario,
Get thee to yond same sovereign cruelty :
Tell her, my love, more noble than the world.
Prizes not quantity of dirty lands ;
The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon
her.
Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune ;
But 'tis that iniracie and queen of gems
That nature pranks her in attracts my soul.
Vio. But if she cannot love you,, sir? 90
Duke. I cannot be so answer'd.
Vio. Sooth, but you must.
Say that some lady, as perhaps there is.
Hath for your iove as great a pang of Iieart
As you have for Olivia : you cannot iove her:
You tell her so ; mu.st she not then be an¬
swer'd ?
Duke. There is no woman's sides
Can bide tlie beating of so strong a passion
As love doth give my heart; no woman's
heart
So big, to hold so much : they lack retention
Alas, their love may be call'd appetite, 100
No motion of the liver, but the palate.
That suffer surfeit, cloyraeut and revolt;
But mine is all as hungry as the sea.
And eau digest as much ' make no compare
Between that love a woman can bear me
And that I owe Olivia.
Vio. Ay, but I know—
Duke. What dost thou know ?
Vio. Too well what love women to men
may owe:
In faith, they are as true of heart as we.
My father had a daughter loved a man, 110
As it might be, perhaps; were I a woman,
1 should your lordship.
Duke. And what's her history ?
Vto. A blank, my lord She never told her
love.
But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,
Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in
thought,
' (Act ii.
{ And with a green and yellow melancholy
I She sat like patience on a monumenl^
Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed ?
We men may say more, swear more : but in¬
deed
Our shows are more than will; for still we
prove IHO
Much in our vows, but little in our love.'
Duke. But died thy sister of her lore, my
boy?
Vto. 1 am all the daughters of my father's
house.
And all the brothers too : and yet I know not
Sir, shall I to this lady ?
Duke. Ay, that's the theme.
To her in haste ; give her this jewel; say.
My love can give no place, bide no denay.
[Exeunt
ScB»B V. Ouvia's garden.
Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.
Sir To. Come thy ways, Signior Fabian.
Fab. Nay, I'll come: if I lose a scruple of
this srort, let me be boiled to death with mel-'
ancholy.
Sir To. Wouldst thou not be glad to have
the niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by
some notable shame ?
Fab. I would exult, man : you know, he
brought me out o' favor with my lady alwut
a bear-baiting here 10
Sir To. To anger him we'll have the bear
again ; and we will fool him black and blue :
shall we not, Sir Andrew ?
Sir And An we do not, it is pity of our
lives.
Sir To. Here comes the little villain.
Enter Maria.
How now, ray metal of India I
Mar Get ye all three into the box-tree ;
Malvolio's coming down this walk : he has
been yonder i' the sun practising behavior to
his own shadow this half hour : observe him,
for the love of mockery ; for I know tills let¬
ter will make a contemplative idiot of him.
Close, in the name of jesting ! Lie thou there
[fkrotcs down a letter} , for here comes the
trout that must be caught with tickling.
(Erit.
Enter Malvouo.
Mai. ' 'Tis but fortune; all is fortune..
Maria once told me she did affect me : and I
have heard herself come thus near, that,
should she fancy, it should be one of my com¬
plexion. Besides, she uses me with a more
exalted respect than any one else that follows
her. What should I think on't?
Sir To. Here's an overweening rogue !
Fab. 0, peace ! Contemplation makes a
rare turkey-cock of him : how he jets under
his advamed plumes!
Sir And. 'Slight, I could so beat theroguel
Sir To. Peace, 1 say
TWELFTH NIGHT.
SCKHA T.|
Mai. To be C!oidit MalTolio 40
Sir To. Ah, rogue !
Str And. Pistol hira, pistol hinu
Str To. Peace, peace !
Mai. There is example for't; the lady of
the Strachy married the yeoman of the ward¬
robe.
Sir And Fie on him, Jezebel!
Fab. O, peace ! npw lie's deeply in : look
bow iraa^nation blcffirs him.
Mai. Having been three months married to
her, sitting in my state,— 50
Sir To. O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in
the eye!
MaL Calling my officers about me, hi my
branched velvet gown ; having come from a
day-bed, where I have left Olivia sleeping,—
Sir To. Fire and brimstone 1
Fab. O, peace, peace 1.
Mai. And then to have the humor of state ;
and after a demure travel of regard, telling
them 1 know my place as 1 would they should
do theirs, to ask for my kinsman Toby,— 61
Sir To. Bolts and alkies!
Fab. O jieace, peace, peace! now, now.
Mai. Seven of my people, with an obedient
start, ma'ae out for hiin : I frown the while ;
and perchance wind up my watch, or ptay
with my—some ricli jewel. 'Toby approaches ;
courtesies there to me,—
Sir To. Shall this feUow live ?
Ftd>. Though our silence be drawn from
ps with cars, yet peace. 71
Mai. I extend my hand to him thus,
quenching my familiar smile with an austere
regard of control,—
Sir To. And does not Toby take you a
blow o' the lips then 7
Mai. Saying, ' Cousin Toby, my fortunes
having cast me on your niece give me this
^rogative of speech,'—
Sir To. What, what ? 80
Mai. 'You must amend your drunkenness.'
Sir To. Out, scab I
Fab. Nay, patience, or wo break the
sinews of our plot.
Mai. ' Besides, you waste the treasure of
your time with a foolish knight,'—
Sir And That's me, I warrant you.
Mai. ' One Sir Andrew,'—
Sir And. I knew 'twas I; formany do call
me fool. 90
Mai. What employment have we here ?
{Takinq vp the letter.
Fab. Now is the woodcock hear the gin.
Sir To. O, peace 1 and the spirit of humors
intimate r^ing aloud to him 1
Mai. By my life, this is my lady's hand :
these be her very C's, her U's and her T's ;
and thus makes she her great P's. It is, in
contempt of question, her hand.
' Nu* And Her C's, her Dig and her T's :
why that ? 100
• Mai. [Reads] ' To the unknown beloved,
this, and my good wishes:'—her very phrases!
By your leave was. Soft 1 and the impres-
sos
sure her Lucrece, with which she uses to seal:
'tis my lady[. To whom should this be ?
Fab. This wins hhn, liver and all. .
Mai. [Reads]
Jove knows I love : '
But who?
Lips, do not move ;
No man must know. 110
' No man must know.' What follows ? the
numbers altered 1 ' No man must know :' if
this sliouid be thee, Maivolio ?
Sir To. Marry, hang thee, brock !
Mai. [Reads]
I may command where I adore ;
But silence, like a Lucrece knife,
With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore:
M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.
Fab. A fustian riddle !
Sir To. Excellent wench, say I. ' 120
Mai. ' M, O, A., I, doth sway my life.' Nay,,
but first, let me see, let me see, let me see.
Fab. What dish o' poison has she dressed
him 1 '
Sir To. And with what wing the staniel
checks at it!
Mai. 'I may command where T adore.'
Why, she may cotflmand me: I serve her ;
she is my lady. Why, this is evident to any
formal capacity ; tliere is no obsti uction in
this : and the end,—what should that alpha¬
betical position portend ? If 1 could make that
resemble something in me,—Softly 1 M, O,
A, I,—
Sir To. O, ay, make up that : he is now at
a cold scent.
Fab. Sowter will cry upon't for all this,
though it be as rank as a fox.
Mai. M,—Maivolio ; M,—^why, that begins
ray name.
Fab. Did not I say he would work it out ?
the cur is excellent at faults. 140
Mai. M,—but then there is no consonancy
in the sequel ; that suffers under probation :
A should follow, but O does.
Fab. And O shall end, I hope.
Sir To. Ay, or I'll cudgel him,' and make
hira cry 0 !
Mai. And then I comes behind.
Fab. Ay, an you had any eye behind you,
you might see more detraction at your heels
than fortunes before you. 150
Mai. M, O, A, I; tliis simulation is not as
the former ; aud yet, to crush this a little, it
would bow to me, for every one of these letters
are in my name. Soft! here follows prose.
[ Reads] ' If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In
my stars I am above thee ; but be not afraid
of greatness: some are born great, some
achieve greatness, aud some have greatness
thrust upon 'em. 'Thy Fates open tlieir hands ;
let thy blood and spirit embrace them ; and, to
inure thyself to what thou art like to be, cast
thy humble slough and appear fresh. Be op¬
posite with a kinsman, surly with servants ;
let thy tongue tang arguments of state ; put
thysMf into the trick of singularity : she thus
TWELFTH NIGHT.
604
wlvises tiiee that sighs for thee. Remember
who commended thy yellow stockings, and
wUlied to see thee ever cross-gartered : I say,
remember. Go to, thou art made, if thou
desirest to be so ; if not, let me see thee a stew¬
ard still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy
to touch Fortune's fingers. Farewell. She
that would alter services with thee.
The Fortunate-Unhappy."
Daylight and cbami>aiu discovers not more :
this is open. I will be i>roud, I will read politic
authors, 1 will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off
gross acquaintance, I will be point-devise tlie
very man. I do not now fool myself, to let im¬
agination jade me ; for every rea.son excites to
this, that my ladjr loves me. She did commend
my yellow stockings of late, stie did praise my
leg being cross-gartered ; and in this she mani¬
fests herself to my love, and with a kind of ii:-
junction drives me to tliese habitsof her likin;;.
I thank my stars I am happy. I will be strange,
stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-gartered,
even with the swiftness of putting on. Jove
and my stars be praised ! Here is yet a post¬
script.
[Riads] ' Thou canst not choose but know who
I am. If thou entertainest my love, let it ap-
imr in thy smiling ; thy smiles become thee
well; therefore in my presence still smile, dear
my sweet, I prithee.'
Jove, I thank thee : I will smile ; I will do
everything that thou wilt have me. [Exit.
Fab. I will not give my part of this sport
for a pension'of thousands to bo paid from the
Sophy. [device.
Sir To. I could marry this wench for this
<S'jr And. So couid I too. 200
, Sir To. And ask no other dowry with her
but such another jest.
Sir And. Nor I neither.
Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher.
Jie-enlcr Maria.
Sir To. Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck ?
Sir And. Or o' mine either ?
Sir To. Shall I play ray freedom at tray-trip,
and become tliy bond-slave ?
Sir And. I' faith, or I either? 209
Sir To. Why, thou hast put him in such a
dream, that when the image of it leaves him
he must run mad.
Mar. Nay, but say true ; does it work
upon him ?
Sir To. Like aqua^vitce with a midwife.
Mar. If you will then see the fruits of the
sport, mark his first approach before my lady;
he will come to her iir yellow stockings, and
'tis a color she abhors, and cross-gartered, a
foshiou she detests; and he will smile umn
her, which will now be so unsuitable to her
disposition, being .addicted to a melancholy .as
she is, tliat it cannot but turn him into a nota¬
ble contempt. If you will see It, follow me.
Sir To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most
•zcellent devil of wit I
Sir And. I'll make oqe toa [Exeunt.
[Ac* iii.
^ACT IIL
ScEHE L Ouvia's garden.
Enter ViotA, and Clown with a tabor.
Vio. S.ave thee, friend, and thy music : dost
thou live by thy tabor ?
Clo. No, sir, I live by the church.
Vio. Art thou a churchman ?
Clo. No such matter, sir: 1 do live by tlio
church ; for I do live at my house, and my
house doth stand by the church. ' '
Vio. So thou mayst say, the king lies by a
beggar, it a beggar dwell near him ; or, the
church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand
by the church. 11
Cib. You have said, sir. To see this age !
A sentence is but a cheveril glove to a good
wit: how quickly the wrong side may bo turn¬
ed outward!
Vio. Nay, that's certain \ they that dally
nicely with words may quickly make them
wanton.
Clo. I would, therefore, my sister had had
no name, sir. 20
Vio. Why, man 7
Clo. Why, sir, her name's a word ; and to
dally with that word might make my sister
wanton. But indeed words are very rascals
since bonds dhsgraced them.
Vio. Thy reason, man ?
Clo. Troth, sir, 1 can yield yon none with¬
out words ; aud words are grown so false, I
am loath to prove reason with them.
Vio. I warrant thou art a merry fellow and
carest for nothing. 31
Clo. Not so, sir, I do care for something;
but in my conscience, sir, I do not care for you:
if that be to care for nothing, sir, I would it
wohld m.ake you invisible.
Vio. Art not thou the I^ady Olivi.Vs fool ?
Clo. No, indeed, sir ; the Lady Olivia has
no folly : she will keep no fool, sir, tiii she be
inarriM ; and fools are as like husbands as
pilchards are to herrings ; the husband's the
bigger : I am indeed not her fool, but her cor-
rii^er of words.
Vio. I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's.
Clo. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb
like the sun, it shiues every where. I would
be sorry, sir, but the fool should l)e as oft with
your master as with my mistress: I think I saw
your wisdom there.
Vio. Nay, an thou jiass upon me, I'll no
more with thee. Hold, there s expenses for
thee.
Clo. Now Jove, in his next commodity of
hair, send thee a beard ! 51
Vio. By my troth, I'll tell thee, I am almost
sick for one ; [Aside] though 1 would not have
it grow on my chin. Is thy lady within ?
Clo. Would not a pair of these have bred,
sir ? [ns»
Vio. Yes, being kept together and put to
Clo. I would play Lord Pandarus of Phry*
gia, sir, to bring a Cressida to this Troilus.
TWELFTH NIGHT.
Scene i.]
TWELFTH NIGHT.
606
Via. I understand you, sir ; 'tis well begged.
Clo. The matter, 1 hope, is not great, sir,
begging but a beggar : Ciessida was a beggar.
Hy lady is within, sir. 1 will construe to tliem
whence you come ; who you are and what you
would are out of my welkin, 1 might say ' ele¬
ment,' but tlie word is over-worn. \Eitit.
Vio. This fellow is wise enough to play the
fool;
And to do th.at well craves a kind of wit:
He must observe their mood on whom he jests,
The quality of persons, and the time, 70
And, like the haggard, check at every featlier
That comes before bis eye. Tills is a practice
As full of labor as a wise man's art:
For folly tliat he wisely shows is fit;
But wise nien« folly-fairn, quite taint their wit.
Enter Sir Tobv, and Sir Andrew.
Sir To. Save you, gentleman.
Vio. And you, sir.
Sir And. Dieu vous garde, monsieur.
Vio. £t vous aussi ; votre serviteur.
Sir And. I hope, sir, you are ; and I am
yours. 81
Sir To. Will you encounter tlie house ? my
niece is desirous you should enter, if your
trade be to her.
Kib. I am bound to yonrulece, sir; I mean,
she is the list of my voyage.
Sir To. Taste your legs, sir ; put them to
motion.
Vh. My legs do better understand me, sir,
than I understand what you meau by bidding
me taste my legs. 91
Sir To. 1 mean, to go, sir, to enter.
Fio. I will answer you with gait and en¬
trance. But we are prevepfyl.
, f ErSw Oliva and Maria.
Most excellent accomplished lady, the hea¬
vens rain odors on you 1
Sir And. That youth's a rare courtier:
'Rainodors;' well.
Via. My matter liath no voice, lady, but to
your own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear.
Sir And. ' Odors,'' jHreguaut' and ' vouch¬
safed I'll get 'em all three all ready.
Oli. Let the garden door be shut, and leave
me to my hearing. \Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir
Andrew, and Maria."] Give me your hand, sir.
Vio, My duty, madam, and most humble
service.
IXi. What is your name ?
Vio. Cesario is your servant's name, fair
princess. [world
. Oti. My servant, sir 1 'Twas never merry
Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment :
You're servant to the Count Orsino, youth.
Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs
be yours:
Your servant's servant is your sirvaut, madam.
CHi. For him, I think not on him : for his
thoughts.
Would they were blanks, rather than fill'd
with me 1
Fto. Madam, I come to whet your gentle
tlioughts.
On his beliuif.
Oil. 0, by your leave, I pray yon,
I bade you never speak again at him :
But, would you undertake another suit,
I had rather hear you to solicit that 120
Than music from the spheres.
Fto. Dear lady,—
Oli. Give me leave, beseech you. I did send,
After the last encliautmeut you did here, i
A ring in cliase of you : so did I abuse
Myself, my servant and, I fear me, you :
Under your hard construction must I sit.
To force that on yon, in a shameful cunning.
Which you knew none of yours : what might
you think ?
Have you not set mine honor at the stake
And baited it with all the unmurzied thoughts
Tliat tyrannous heart can think ? To one of
your receiving 131
Enough is shown : a cypress, not a bosom,
Hideth my heart. So, let me hear you speak.
F.V>. I pity you.
0/1. Tliat's a degree to love.
Vio. No, uotagrize ; for'tis a vulgar proof
That very oft we pity enemies.
Oli. Why, then, methiuks 'tis time to smile
again.
0 world, how apt tlie poor are to be proud I
If one should be a prey, how much the better
To fail before the hon than the wolf i IM
(CTock itrilces.
The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.
Be not afraid, good youtli, I will not have yon:
And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest.
Your wife is alike to reap a proper man :
"Tliere lies your way, due west.
Fio. Then westward-ho I Grace and good
disposition.
Attend your ladyship!
You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me 7
OH. Stay :
1 pritliee, tell me what thou thinkest of me.
FiO. That you do tnink you are not what
you are.
* Oli. If I think so, I think the same of yon.
Fio. Then tliink you right: I am not what
I am. [be!
Oli. I would you were as I would have you
Fio. Woulditbebetter, madam,thanlam?
I wish it might, for now I am your fool. .
Oil. O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful
In the contempt and anger of his lip !
A murderous guilt shows not itself more soon
Than love that would seem hid : love's night
is noon. 160
Cesario, by the roses of the spring.
By maidhood, houor, truth and every thing,
I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride,
Nor wit nor reason can my passion hide.
Do not extort thy reasons from this clause.
For that 1 woo, thou therefore hast no cause.
But rather reason thus with reason fetter,
Love sought is good, ^ut given unsought Is
better.
soe
TWELFTH NIGHT,
[Act hi.
Vio. By innocence I swear, and by my
youth,
I have one heart, one bosom and one truth, 170
And tiiat no woman has ; nor never none
Shall mistress be ol it, save I alone.
And so adieu, good madam : never more '
Will I my master's tears to you deplore.
OU. Yet come again ; for thou perhaps
mayst move
That heart, which now abhors, to like liis lote.
\_ExeuTit.
ScEi^E 11. ui.ivlA'B flOUSA
Enter Sib Toby, Sib Amdbew, and Fabian.
Sir And. No, faith, I'll not stay a jot
longer.
air To. Thy reason, dear venom, give thy
reason.
Fab. You must needs yield your reason.
Sir Andrew.
Sir Ami. Marry, I saw your niece do more
favors to the count's serving-man than ever
she bestowed upon me; I saw't i' the orchai-d.
Sir To. Did she see thee the while, old boy ?
tell roe tlmt. 10
, Sir And. As plain as I see you now.
Fab. This was a great argument of love in
her toward you.
Sir And. 'Slight, will you make an ass o'
me ?
Fab. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon
the oaths of judgment and reason.
Sir To. And they have been grand-jury-
ineii since before Noah was a sailor.
Fab. She did show favor to the youth in
your sight only to exasperate you, to awake
our dormouse valor, to put fii-e in your
eart, and brimstone in your liver. You
should then have accosted her; and with some
excellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you
should have banged the youth into dumbness.
This was looked for at your hand, and this
was balked : the double gilt of this opportu¬
nity yon let time wash off, and you are now
sailed into tlie north of my lady's opiuioni
where yon will hang like an icicle on a Dutch*
man's beard, unless you do redeem it by some
laudable attempt either of valor or policy. 31
Sir And. An't be any way, it must be with
valor ; tor iiolicy I hate : I liad as lief be a
Brownist as a politician.
Sir To. Why, then, build me thy fortunes
upon the basis of valor. Challenge me the
count's youth to fight with him ; hurt him in
eleven places : my niece shall take note of it;
and assure thyself, there is no love-broker in
the world can more prevail in man's commen¬
dation with woman than report of valor. 41
Fab. There is no way but this. Sir Andrew.
Sir And. Will either of you bear me a chal¬
lenge to him ?
Sir To. Go, write it in a martial hand ; be
curst and brief ; it is no matter how witty, so
it be eloquent and full of invention ; taunt
him with the iicense of ink : if thou thou'st
him some thrice, it shall not be amiss ; and as
many lies as will lie in thy sheet of paper,
although the sheet were big enough for the
bed of Ware in England, set 'em down : goi
about it. Let there be gall enough in thy ink,
though thou write with a goose-pen, no matter;
about it.
Sir And. Where shall I find yon ?
Sir To, We'll call thee at the cubiculo ; go.
[Exit Sir Andrew.
Fab. This is a dear manakin to you. Sir
Toby.
Sir To. I have been dear to him, lad, somo
two thousand strong, or so.
Fab. We shall have a rare letter from him;
but you'll not deliver't ? 61
Sir To. Never trust me, then ; and by all
means stir on the youth to an answer. I think
oxen and wainropes cannot hale them together.
For Andrew, if he were opened, and you find
so much blood in his liver as will clog the foot
of a flea, I'll eat the rest of the anatomy
Fab. And his opposite, the youth, bears in
his visage no great presage of mruelty.
Enter Mabia.
Sir To. Look, where the youngest wren of
nine comes. 71
Mar. If yoa desire the spleen, and will la ugh
yourselves into stitches, follow me. Yond gull
Malvolio is turned heathen, a very rene^ido;
for there is no Ohristluu, that means to be
saved by believing rightly, can ever believe
such impossible passages of grussuess. .He's
in yellow stockings.
Sir To. And cross-gartered ? 79
Mar. Most villanousiy ; like a pedant that
keeps a sciiooi i' the church. I have dogged
him, like his murderer. He does obey every
ix)int of the letter that I dropped to betray
him: he does smile his face into more lines
than is in the new map with the augmentation
of the Indies : you have not seen such a thing
as 'tis. I can hardly forbear hnrling tilings at
him. I know my iady will strike him: if she
do, he'ii smiie and take't for a great favor,
Sir To. Come, bring us, bring us where he
is. [EaxuWl. 90
Scene III. A street.
Enter Sebastian and Antonio.
Seb. I would not by my will have troubled
you ;
But, smce you make your pleasure of your
pains,
I will no further chide you.
Ant. I could not stay behind you ; my de¬
sire.
More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth;
And not all love to see you, though so much
.'Vs might have drawn one to a longer voyage.
But jealousy what might befall your travel.
Being skilless in these parts ; which to a
stranger,
Cnguided and unfriended,' often prove 10
Bough and unhospitabie; my willing love,
•Sc®nte iv.]
Tke iratlier by tliese arguments of fear, '
Set fortli in your pursuit
Seb. My kind Antonio,
I can no other answer make but thanks,
t And thanks ; and ever.... oft good turns
Are shuffled off with such uncurrent iiay:
But, were my wortli as is my conscience firm.
You sliould find better dealing. What'sto do?
Shall we go see the reliqiies of this town ?
Ant. To-morrow, sir: best first go see your
k)dging. * 20
6'eb. I am not weary, and 'tis long to night:
1 pray you, let us satisfy our eyes
With the memorials and the things of fame
That do renown this city.
Ant. Would you'ld pardon me ;
I do not without dai^er walk these streets :
OiKe, in a sea-fight, gainst the count his gal¬
leys
I did some service ; of such note indeed,
Tliat were I ta'en here it wou^d scarce be
answer'd.
6'ebk Belike yon slew great number of his
people.
Ant. The offence is not of such a bloody
nature ; 80
Albeit the quality of the time and quarrel
Might well nave given us bloody aigument.
It might have since been answer'd in reiiaying
AVhat we took from them ; which, for traffic's
sake.
Most of our city did : only myself stood out;
For which, if I be lapsed m this place,
I shall iiay dear.
Seb. Do not then walk too open.
Ant. It doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here's
my purse. ■
In the south suburbs, at the Elephant,
Is Irest to lodge ; I will bespeak our diet, 40
Whiles you beguile the time and feed jiour
knowledge
With viewing of the town: there shall you
have me.
Seb. Why I your purse ? [toy
Ant. Haply your eye shall light upon some
You have desire to purchase ; and your store,
I think, is not for idle markets, sir.
Seb. r U be your purse-bearer and leave you
For an hour.
Ant. To the Elephant.
Seb. I do remember. [&eunt.
ScBNE IV. Olivia's garden.
Enter OuviA and Mabia.
Oft*. I have sent after him: he says he'll
come ;
How shall I feast him 7 what bestow of him ?
For youth is bought more oft than begg'd or
borrow'd.
I speak too loud. a
Where is Malvolio ? he is siid and civil.
And suits well for a servant with my fortunes:
Where is Malvolio ?
Mar. He's coming, madam ; but in very
ftcangemanner. Hbinsure,possessed, madam.
607
Oli. Why, what'sthe matter? doesherave?
Mar. No, madam, he does nothing but
smile : your ladyship were best to have some
guard about you, if become ;• for, sure, the
man is tainted in's wits.
OH. Go call him hither: [Exit Maria."] I
am as mad as he.
If sad and merry madness eqnal be.
Ee-enter Mabia, with Malvouo.
How now, Malvolio !
Mat. Sweet lady, ho, ho.
Oli. Smilest thou ?
I sent for thee upon a sad occasion. 20
M(U. Sad, lady ! I could be sad : this does
make some obstruction in the blood, this cross-
gartering ; but what of that ? if it please the
eye of one, H is with me as the very true son¬
net is,' Please one, and plejise all.'
OH. Why, how dost thou, man ? What is
the matter with thee ?
Mai. Not black in my mind, though yellow
in my legs. It did come to his hands, and com¬
mands shall he executed : 1 think we do know
the sweet Roman hand. 31
Oli. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio ?
.Mai. To bedl ay, sweet-heart, and I'll
come to thee.
Oli. God comfort thee ! Why dost thou
smile so and kiss thy hand so oft ?
Mar. How do you, Malvolio ?
Mai. At your request! yes ; nightingales
answer daws.
Mar. Why appear you with this ridiculous
boldness before my lady ? '41
Mdl. ' Be not afraid of greatness :' 'twas
weli writ.
Oli. What meanest thou by that, Malvolio?
M(U. ' Some are bom great,'—
Oli. Ha !
Mai. ' Some achieve greatness,'—
Oli. What sayest thou ?
Mai. ' And some have greatness thrust upon
them.' 60
Oli. Heaveu restore thee !
Mai. ' Remember who commended thy yel¬
low stockings,'—
Oli. Thy yellow stockings !
Mai. ' And wished to see thee cross-gar¬
tered.'
Oli. Cross-gartered!
Mai, ' Go to, thou art made, if thou desirest
to be so ;'—
Oli. Am I made ?
McU. 'If not, let me see thee a servant
still.' 66
Oli. 'Why,thisis very midsummer madness.
Enter Servant. ■
Ser. Madam, the young gentleman of the
Count Orsino's is returned ; I could hardly
entreat him back : he attends your ladyship's
pleasure.
Oli. I'll come to him. [Exit Servant.]
Good Maria, let this fellow, be looked to
Where's my cousin Toby ? Let some of mv
TWELFTH NIGHT.
608
TWELFTH NIGHT.
(Act iir
people have a special care ot him : I wonld not
lave him misoar^ lor tlie half of my dowry.
[Exeunt Oliviaand Maria. 70
Mot. 0| ho ! do yoa come near me now ?
bo worse man than Sir Toby to lo(^ to me !
This concurs directly with the letter: she sends
him on purpose, that I may appear stubborn
to him ; lor site incites me to that in the letter.
' Cast thy humble slough,' says slie ; ' be op¬
posite with a kinsman, surly with servants ;
let thy tongue tang with arguments ol state :
put thyself into the trick ol singularity ;' and
consequently sets down the manner how ; as,
a sad lace, a reverend carriage, a slow tongue,
in the habit ol some sir ol note, and so forth.
I have limed her ; but it is Jove's doing, and
Jove make me thankful t And when slie went
away now, ' Let this fellow be looked to :'
fellow ! not lUJalvolio, nor alter my degree, but
fellow. Wliy, every thing adheres together,
that no dram of a scruple, no scruple ol a
scruple, no obstacle, no incredulous or unsafe
circumstance—What can be said? Xothing
ttiat can be can come between me and the lull
prospect ol my hopes. Well, Jove, not I, is
tlie doer ol this, and he is to be thanked.
Re-enter Maria, with Sm Toby and Fabian.
Sir To. Which way is he, in the name ol
sanctity ? II ail the devils ol hell be drawn in
little, and Legion himself possessed him, yet
I'll speak to him.
Fab. Here he is, here he is. How is'twith
you, sir ? how is't with you, man ? ,
Mai. Go off ; I discard you : let me enjoy
my private : go off. lOO
Mar. Lo, how hollow the fiend s|ieaks
within him ! did not I tell you ? Sir Toby, my
lady prays you to have a care ol him.
Mai. Ail, ha ! does she so ?
Sir To. Go to, go to ; peace, peace ; we
must deal gently with him: let me alone. How
do you, Malvolio ? how is't with you ? What,
man ! defy tlie devil: consider, he's an enemy
to mankind.
Mai. Do you know what you say ? 110
Mar. La you, an you speak ill of tlie devil,
how he takes it at heart! Pray God, he be not
bewitched !
Fab Carry his water to the wise woman.
, Mar. Marry, and it shall be done to-mor¬
row morning, if I live. My lady would not
lose him lor more than I'll say.
Mai. How now, mistress !
Mar. O Lord !
Sir To Prithee, hold thy peace ; this is not
the way : do yon not see you move him ? let
me alone with him. 122
Fab. Noway but gentleness; gently, gently:
the fiend is rough,and will not be roughly used.
Sir To. Why, Iww now, my bawcock ! how
dost thou, chuck ?
Mai. Sir!
Sir To. Ay, Biddy, come with me. What,
man I 'tis not for gravity to play at cherry-pit
wt^ {Satan : ^ang him, foul collier I 130
Mar. Get him to say his prayors, goal Sir
Toby, get him to pray.
Mai. 11^ prayers, minx!
Mar. No, 1 warrant you, he will not hear
ol godliness.
MaL Go, hang yourselves all I j'on are idle
shallow things : 1 am not ol your element:
you shall know more hereafter. [Exit.
Sir To. Is't possible ?
Fab. If this were play^ upon a stage now,
I could condemn it as an nnprobable fiction.
Sir To. His very genius hath taken the in¬
fection ol the device, man.
Mar. Nay, pursue him now, lest the de¬
vice take air aiid taint
Fab. Why, we shall make him mad indeed.
Mar. The house will be tlie quieter.
Sir To. Come, we'll have him in a dark
room and bound. My niece is already in the
belief that he's mad : we may carry it thus,
lor our pleasure and bis penance, till our very
pastime, tired out ol breath, prompt us to
have mercy on him : at which time we will
bring the device to the bar and crown thee lor
a finder ol madmen. But see, but see.
Enter Sib Andrew.
Fab. More matter for a May morning.
Sir And. Here's the challenge, read it : I
warrant there's vinegar and pepper in't.
Fab. Is't so saucy ?
Sir And. Ay, is't, I warrant him : do but
read. 161
Sir To. Give me. [Reads\ ' Youth, what¬
soever thou art, thou art but a scurvy fellow.'
Fab. Good, and viUiant.
Sir To. [iZcads] ' Wonder not, nor admire
not in thy mind, why I do call thee so, lor I
will show tliee no reason lor't.'
Fab. A good note ; that keeps you from
the blow of tlie law. 169
Sir To. riicacfs] ' Tliou comest to the lady
Olivia, and in my sight she uses thee kindly :
but thou liest in thy throat; that is not the
matter I challenge tliee lor.'
Fab. Very brief, and to exceeding good
sense—less.
Sir To. [Reads] 'I will waylay thee going
home ; where if it be thy chance to kill me,'—
Fab. Good.
Sir To. [Reads] ' Tliou killest me like a
romie and a villain.' 180
Fab. Still you keep o' the windy side of the
law : good.
Sir To. [Reads] ' Fare thee well; and God
have mercy upon one ol our souls ! He may
have mercy upon mine ; but my hope is bet¬
ter, and so look to thyself. Tliy friend, as
thou usest him, and thy sworn enemy,
Andrew Aouecheek.'
If this letter move him not, his legs cannot:
I'll give't him.
Mar. Yon may have very fit occasion lor't;
he is now in some commerce with my lady,
and will by and by depart
Sir To. Go, Sir Andrew; scout me lor ht™
clsb iv.j
TWELFTH NIGHT.
60ft
lit the comer of the orchard like a bum-baily:
BO soon as ever thou seest him, draw ; and, as.
thou drawest, swear horrible ; for It comes to
pass oft that a terrible oath, with a swaggering
accent sharply twanged off, gives manhood
more approl»tion than ever proof itself would
have earned him. Away ! 200
tar And. Nay, let me alone fmr swearing.
, [Exit.
Sir To. Now will not I deliver his letter :
for thebelravior of the young gentleman gives
him out to be of good capacity and breeding ;
his employment between his lord and my
niece confirms no less : therefore this letter,
being so excellently ignorant, will breed no
terror in the youth : he will find it comes from
a clodimle. But, sir, I will deliver his challenge
by word of mouth; set upon Aguecheek a noto-
ble report of valor ; and drive the gentleman,
as I know his youth will aptly receive it, into a
most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, fury
and impetuosity This will so frightthem both
that they will kill one another by the look,
like cockatrices.
Re-enter OnvrA, with Viola.
Fah. Here he comes with your niece : give
them way"till he take leave, and presently af¬
ter him.
Sir To. I will meditate the while upon some
horrid message for a challenge. 220
[Exeunt Sir Toby, Fabian, and Maria.
Oli. I have said too much unto a heart of
stone
And laid mine honor too unchary out :
There's something in me that reproves my
fault;
But such a headstrong potent fault it is.
That it but mocks reproof.
Fio. With the same 'havior that your pas¬
sion bears
Goes on my master's grief.
Oli. Here, wear this jewel for me, 'tis my
picture ;
Refuse it not; it hath no tongue to vex you ;
And 1 beseech you come again to-morrow. 2.30
What shall you ask of me that I'll deny.
That honor saved may upon asking give ?
Fio. Nothing but this ; your true love for
my master.
Oli. How with mine honor may I give him
that
Which I have given to you ?
Fio. I will acquit jxni.
Oli. Well, come again to-morrow, fare thee
well:
A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell.
[Exit.
Re-enter Sib Toby and Fabian.
iSir To. Gentleman, God save thee.
Fio. And you, sir. A 2.39
Sir T->. That defence thou hast, lietake thee
to't: of what nature the wrongs are thou hast
done him, 1 know not; but thy intercepter,
full of despite, bloody as tlie hunter, attends
thee at the orchard-end ; dismount thy tuck,
be yarein thy preparation, for thy assailant is
quick, skilful and deadly.
Fio. You mistake, sir ; I am sure no man
hath any quarrel to me : my remembrance is
very free and clear from any image of offence
done to any man. 250
Sir To. You'll find it otherwise, I assure
you : therefore, if you hold your life at any
price, betake yon to your guard ; for your op¬
posite hath in him what youth, strength, skill
and wrath ran furnish man withal.
Fio. I pray you, sir, what is he ?
Sir To. He IS knight, dubbed with unhatched
rdpier and on cariiet consideration ; but he is
a devil in private brawl: souls and bodies
hath he divorced three ; and his incensemeut
at this moment is so implacable, that satisfac¬
tion can lie none but by pangs of death and
sepulchre. Hob, nob, is his word ; give'tor
take't.
Vio. I will return again into the house and
desire some conduct of tlie lady. 1 am no
fighter. I have heard of some kind of men
that put quarrels purposely on others, to taste
their v.alor : belike this is a man of that quirk.
Sir To. Sir, no ; his indignation derives it¬
self out of a very comiietent injury : there¬
fore, get yon on and give him his desire. Back
you shall not to the house, unless you under¬
take that with me which with as much safety
you might answer him : therefore, on, pr strip
your sword stark naked; for meddle you must,
that's certain, or forswear to wear iron about
you.
Fio. This is as uncivil as strange. I be¬
seech you, do me this courteous office, as to
know of the knight what my offence to him
is : it is something of my neglagenee, nothing
of my puriiose.
Sir To. I will do so. Signior Fabian, stay
you by this gentleman till my retui-n. [Exit.
Vio. Pray you, sir, do you know of this
matter?
Fab. I know the knight is incensed against
you, even to a moital arbitrement; but noth-
mg of the circumstance more.
Fio. I beseech you, what manner of man is
he? 289
Fab. Nothing of that wonderful promise, to
read him by his form, as you are like to find
him in the proof of his valor. He is, indeed,
sir, the most skilful, bloody and fatal opposite
that vou could possibly have found in any part
of lliyria. Will you walk towards him ? 1
will rhake your p^ce with him if 1 can.
Vio. I shall be much bound to you for't :
I am one that had rather go with sir priest
than sir kuiglit: I care not who knows so
much of my mettle. [Exeunt. 300
Re-enter Sir Toby, with Sir Andrew.
Sir To. Why, man, he's a very devil ; I
have not seen such a firago. I had sv paas with
him, rapier, scabbard and all,and he gives me
the stuck in with such a mortal motion, that it
S9
610
TWELFTH NIGHT.
[Act lit.
is inevitable ; and on the answer, he xiaysToili
es surely as your feet hit the ground they
step on. They say be has been fencer to tiie
Sophy. '
iiir And. Pox ou't, I'll not meddle with
him.
Sir To. Ay, but he will not now be paci¬
fied ; Fabian can sciirce hold him yonder. 310
Sir And. Plague ou't, an I thought he hud
been valiant and so cunning in fence, I'ld
have seen him damned ere I'ld have dtal-
lenged him. Let him let the matter slip, and
I'll give him my home, grey Capilet.
Str To. I'll make the motion : stand here,
make a good show on't: this shall end with¬
out the perdition of souls. [Aside] Marry,
I'll ride your horse as well as I ride you. 819
Re-enter Fabian ond Viola.
[ToFah.] I have his horse to take np the
quarrel: I have persuaded him the youth's a
devil.
Fah. He is as horribly conceited of him ;
and pants and looks pale, as if a bear were at
his heels.
, Sir To- [To Vio.] There's no remedy, sir;
lie will fight with you for's oath sake : marry,
he hath better bethought him of his quarrel,
and he finds that now scarce to be worth talking
of i.therefore draw, for the supportance of his
vpw.t Im protests he will nothurt yon. 330
iL, A'"r i[4s'dc} Pray God r'.ofend me ! A little
tlutug would make me tell them how much I
htckp{i<ii»iau.N/.
Fab. Give ground, if you see him furious,
h'if To, iCome,. Sir Andrew, there's no rem¬
edy ; the, gentleman will, for^ ihis honor's
sake, have one bout with you ; he cannot by
the duello avoid it; but he has promised me,
as he is a gentleman and a soldier, he will,not
hurt yoiL Come on; to't. . ii, 340
S^And. Pray Godf he,keephisoath !
Ifw?,, .do assure you, 'tis,against my will.
[Thejfdrcnou
I . "I "iEntCr Aid-owiOi I '
" Aid. "Put U'pt' jronr'sword.! If this young
gentleman'' , i 'i
Ha+fe done offence, I take the fault on me i
If you offend him, I for liim defy you, , .
' 'Sir Jh. Tom, «r i ' wKy, What are you,?,
' ''Ai^.[ Ojie,^pir^ that for his^ovedareejyh^do
Thau you liaye heard him hrag to yoil he wUh
Sir To. ■ Nay, if you be an vmdertaker,,! am
tor you. • , " '[^cydrqw. ,359
, I 1 ^nler 6fflcefsj . i , i
I Fed). , O good, Sir TobyJ hold ! here, oomi
theofficeiB. i » i .i r , i ,i
Sir To. I'll be with you anon, i , 'l i
Fio. Pr.ay,' sir, put your sword np, if you
please.'' ■
Sir And. Marry, Will Ii sir', laUd, for that
I promised youi I'll he as good as my word i
he will bear you easily and, reins weU.,' ' '
, First .This is liie man; do thy office t
Sec. Off. Antonio, I arrest tlice atthesnit
. of Count Orsino. 361
Ant. You do mistake me, sir.
First Off. No, sir, no jot; I hnow your fa¬
vor well.
Though now you have no sea-cap on jVur
head.
Take him away : he knows I know him well.
Ant. I must obey. [To Vio.] This comes
with seeking you :
But there's no remedy ; I shall answer it
What will you do. Bow toy necessity
Makes me to ask you for my purse 7 It grieves
me
Much more for what I cannot do for you .370
Tlian what befalls myself. Yon stand amazed;
But be of comfort
Sec. Off. Come, sir, away.
Ant. I must entreat of you some of that
money.
Vio. What money, sir?
For the fair kindness you have show'd me
here, [trouble,
And, part, being prompted by your present
Out of my lean and low ability
I'll lend you something: my having is nut
much ;
I'll make division of my present with you :
Hold, there's half my coffer. 381
Ant. Will you deny me now 7
Is't possible that my deserts to you
Can lack persuasion? Do not tempt my
misery.
Lest that it make me so unsound a man
As to upbraid you with those kindnesses
That I have done for yon.
Vto. I know of none ;
Nor know I yon by voice or any feature :
I hate ingratitude more in a man
Than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness.
Or any taint of vice whose strong corruption
Inhabits our frail blood. 301
Ant. O heavens themselves !
Sec. Off. Come, sir, I pray you, go.
Ani. Let me speak a little. This youtli that
' you see here
I snatch'd one half out of the jaws of death,
Relieved hito with siicli s.-iiictity of love.
And to his linage; which methought did prom-
MhitYMerable W6ttlf, did I devotion.
First Off. What's that to us? The time
goes liy : away
'Ani:' But (y how vile an idol proves this
god ' " " "' '■ ' ''
Thou hast, Sebastian,. done good.. .feature
■ ■ 'shame. ''' ' " ' '' 400
Bi nature there's no blemish but the mind ;
None cab bp.call'd defpim'd bti^tlie unkind :
Virtue is beauty, but the beauteous evil
Are empty trunks o'erftOBilsh'd I'iy the devil.
' First Of. The man grows mad t dway With
■' .1 hini'l ' Come; dome, sir.' ''I' ■
I I Anti Lead me on.' J '[Brntwith^IMckri.
I 'Fie.'' Methtoke bto Wqids do from socn poc^
. M Ilu ilui
Scene ti.]
That he believea hiraseU : bo do not 1. '
Piove true, imagination, O, prove true, 400
Tiat I, dear brother, be now ta'eu for you !
Hir To. Come hither, knight -, come hither,
Fabian : we'll whisper o'er a couplet or two of
most sage saws.
Vio. He named Sebastian : I my brother
know
Yet living in my glass ; even such and so'
In favor was my brother, and he went
Still in this fashion, color, oroament,
For hiffl I imitate : O, if it prove.
Tempests are kind ana salt waves fresh in love.
[Exit.
Sir To. A very dishonest paltry boy, and
more a coward than a hare ; his dishonesty
appears in leaving his friend here in necessitv
and denying him ; and for his cowardship, ask
Fabian.
Fab. A coward, a most devout coward, re*-
llgious in it.
Sir And. 'Slid, I'll after him again and beat
him. <
Sir To. Vo ; cuff him soundly, but never
draw thy sword.
Sir And. An I do not,— [Exit. 430
Fab. Come, let's see the event.
Sir To. I dare lay-any money 'twill be noth¬
ing yet- ' [Exeunt.
ACT IV.
Scene t. B^ore Olivia's houee.
Enter Sebastian and Clown.'
Clo. Will you make me believe fhat I am
not sent for you 7
Seb. Go to, go.to, thou art a foolish fellow:
Let me be clear of thee.i
Clo. Well held out, i' faith ! No, I do not
know you ; nor I am not sent to you by my
lady, to bid you come speak with her; nor
your name is not Master Cesarlo ; nor this is
not my nose neither. Nothing that is so is so.
Seb. I prithee, vent thy folly somewhere
else: 11
' Thou know'st not me.
Clo. Vent my folly ! , he has heard that
word of some great man and now ^plies it to
a fool. Vent my folly! I tarn afraici this great
lubber, the world, will prove a, cockney. I
prithee now, ungird thy strangeness and tell
me what I shall vent to my lady : shall I vent
to her that thou art coming 7
Seb. I prithee, foolish Greek, depart from
me :
There's money for ihee : if you tarry longer,
I shall give worse payment. 21
'do. By my troth, tiiou hast an open hand.
These wise men that give fools money get
themselves agood report—afterfourteen years'
purchase. |
Enter Sir Andrew, Sib Toby, and Fabian.
' Sir And. Now, sir, have 1 met you. again 7
there's for yon.
611
Seb. Why, there's for thee, and there, and
' there.
Are all the people mad 7
Sir To. Hold, sir, or I'll throw your di^er
o'er the house. 31
Clo. This will I tell my lady straight: I
would not be in some of your coats for two
pence. . ■ [Exit.
Sir To. Come on, sir ; hold. i,
Sir And. Nay, let him alone : I'll go an¬
other way to work with him ; I'll have an ac¬
tion of battery against him, if there be any law
in Illyria : tliough 1 struck, him first, yet it's
no matter for that
S^. Let go thy band. ' . / 40
Sir To. <S)me, sir, I will not let yon go.
Come, my yonng soldier, put up your iron:
you are well fleshed ; come on.
Seb. I will be free from thee. What wouldst
thou now 7
If thou darest tempt me further, draw thy
sword.
Sir To. What, what 7 Nay, then I must
have an ounce or two of this malapert blood
from you.
Enter Olivia.
OH. Hold, Toby ; on thy life 1 charge tliee,
hold !
Sir To. Madam 1 50
OH. Will it be ever thus 7 Ungracious
Wretch,
Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves,
Wiiei-e manners ne'er were preach'd ! out of
my sight ! . . ■
Be not offended, dear Cesario.
Rudesby, be gone !
[Exeunt Sir I'obu, Sir Andrew, and Fabian ■
I prithee, gentle friend.
Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway
In this uncivil and unjust extent
Against tliy peace. Go with me to my house,
And hear thou there how many fruitless
pranks
This ruffian hath botch'd up, that thou thereby
' Mayst smile at this: thou shalt not choose but
go: 61
Do not deny. Beshrew his soul for me.
He started one prar heart of mine in thee.
Sd>. What relish is in this 7 how runs the
. stream 7 .
Or I am mad, or else this is a dream :
Let fancy still my sense jn Lethe steep ;
If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep !
OH. Nay, come, I prithee ; would thou 'Idst
be ruled by me !
Seb. Madam, I will.
OH. O, say so, and so be I [Exeunt.
Scene II. Olivia's bouse.
Enter Maria and Clown.
Mar. Nay, I prithee, put on this gown and
this beard ; make him believe thou art Sir
Topas the curate : do it quickly ; I'll call Sit
Toby the whilst. [Exit.
TWELFTH NIGHT.
612
Clo. Well, I'll put It ob, and I will dissem¬
ble myself in't; and I would I were the first
that ever dissembled in such a gown. I am
not tall enough to become the function well,
nor lean enough to be thought a good student;
but to be said au honest man and a good
housekeeper goes as fairly as to say a careful
man and a great scholar. The competitors
enter.
Enter Sir Tobt and Maria.
Sir To. Jove biessthee, master Parson.
Clo. Bonos dies. Sir Toby : for, as the old
hermit of Prague, that never saw pen and ink,,
very wittily said to a niece of King (Jorboduc,
' That that is is ;' so I, being Master Parson,
am Master Parson ; for, what is ' that' but
' that,' and ' is' but ' is' ?
Sir To. To him. Sir Topas. 20
Clo. What, ho, I say 1 peace fai this prison !
Sir To. The knave counterfeits well; a good
knave.
Mai. r Within] Who calls there 1
Clo. Sir Topas the curate, who comes to
visit Malvolio the lunatic.
Mai. Sir Topas, Sir Topas, good Sir Topas,
go to my lady.
Clo. Out, hyperbolical fiend! how vexest
thou this man f talkest thou nothing but of
ladies ? 30
Sir To, Weil said, Master Parson.
Mai. Sir Toj^, never was man thus
wronged : good Sir Topas, do not think I am
mad : they have laid me here in hideous dark¬
ness.
Clo. Fie, thou dishonest Satan ! I call thee
by the most modest terms ; for I am one of
those gentle ones that will use the devil himself
witli courtesy: sayest thou that house is dark ?
Mai. As hell. Sir Topas. 39
Cl^. Why it hath bay windows transparent
as barricadoes, and the clearstores toward the
south north areas lustrous as ebony ; and yet
complainest thou of obstniction ?
Mai. I am not mad, Sir Topas : I say to
you, this house is dark.
Clo. Madman, thou errest: I say, there is no
darkness but ignorance ; in which thou art
more puzzled than the Egyptians in their fog.
Mat. I say, this house is as dark as igno¬
rance, though ignorance were as dark as heii;
and I say, there was never man thus abused.
I am no more mad than you are ; make the
trial of it hi any constant question.
Clo. Wliat is tlie opinion of Pytliagoras
concerning wild fowl ?
Mai. That the soul of our grandam might
haply inhabit a bird.
Clo. What thinkest thou of his opinion ?
Mai. I think nobly of the soul, and no way
approve his opinion. W
Clo. Fare thee well. Remain thou still in
darkness: thou shalt hold the opinion of Py¬
thagoras ere I will allow of thy wits, and fear
to kill a woodcock, lest thou dispossess the
soul of thy grandam. Fare thee well.
Mid. I$ii Topas, Topas I
[Act iv.
Sir To. My most exquisite Sir Topas 1 . '
Clo. Kay, I am for all waters.
Mar. Thou mightst have done this without
thy beard and gown : he sees thee not. 70
Sir To. To him in thine own voice, and
bring me word how thou findest him : 1 would
we were well rid of this knavery. If he nay
be conveniently delivered, I would he were,
for I am now so far in offence with ray siece
that I cannot pursue with anv safety thissport
to the upshot Come by and by to my cham¬
ber. [Exeunt Sir Toby and Maria.
Clo. ' Hey, Robin, jolly Robin,
Tell me how thy lady does.'
Mai. Fool! 80
Clo. * My lady is unkind, perdy.'
Mai. Fool 1
Clo. 'Alas, why is she so ?'
Mai. Fool, I say !
Clo. * She loves another '—Who calls, ha ?
Mai. Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve
well at my hand, help me to a candle, and pen,
ink and paper ; as I am a gentleman, I will
live to be thankful to thee for't '
Clo. Master Malvolio ? 90
Mai. Ay, good fool..
Clo. Al^, sir, how fell you besides your
five wits ? ,
Mai. Fool, there was never a man so noto¬
riously abused : I am as well in my wits, fool,
as thou art.
Clo. Butas well? then you are mad indeed,
if you be no better in your wits than a fool.
Mai. They have here propertied me ; keep
me in darkness, send ministers to me, asses,
and do all they can to face me out of my wits.
Clo. Advise you what you say ; the minis¬
ter is here. Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wifa the
heavens restore! endeavor thyself to sleep,
and leave thy vain bibble babble.
MaL Sir To^ I
Clo. Maintain no words with him, good fel¬
low. Wlio, I, sir ? not I, sir. God be wi' you,
good Sir Topas. Marry, amen. I will, sir, I will.
Mai. Fool, fool, fool, I say ! 110
Clo. Alas, sir, be patient. What say you
sir ? I am shent for speaking tr on.
Mai. Good fool, help me to some light and
some paper : I tell thee, I am as well in my
wits as man in Illyria.
Clo. Well-a-day that you were, sir 1
Mai. By this hand, I am. Good fool, some
ink, paper and light; and convey what I will
set down to my lady : it shall advantage thee
more tlian ever the bearing of letter did. 1^
Clo, I will help you to't. But tell me true,
are you not mad indeed 7 or do you but coun¬
terfeit?
Mai, Believe me, I am not I tell thee true.
Clo. Kay, I'll ne'er believe a madman till I
see his brains. I will fetch you light and papet
and ink.
Mai. Fool, Fll requite it in the highest de¬
gree : I prithee, be gone.
Clo. [iSinpinpl I am gone, sir, I3t
And anon, sir.
TWELFTH NIGHT.
SCEMB I.]
TWELFTH NIGHT.
613
I'll be with yoD again,
In a trice,
Like to the old Vice,
Your need to sastaln ;
Who, with dagger of lath,
in his rage ana his wrath,
Cries, ah, ha ! to the devil:
Like a mad lad.
Pare thy nails, dad ; 140
t Adieu, good man devil. [Ezit.
Scene III. Olivia's garden.
Enter Sebastian.
Seh. This is the air ; that is the glorious sun;
This pearl she gave me, I do feel't and see't;
And though 'tis wonder thatenwmi>s me thus.
Yet 'tis not madness. Where's Antonio, then ?
I could not find him at the Elephant:
Yet there he was ; and there I found this credit,
'niat he did range the town to seek me out
Bis counsel now might do me golden service ;
For though my soul disputes well with my
sense,
That this may be some error, but no madness.
Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune
So far exceed all Instance, all discourse.
That I am ready to distrust mine eyes
And wrangle with my reason that iiersuades
me
To any other trust but that I am mad
Or else the lady's mad ; yet If 'twere so.
She could not sway her house, command her
followers.
Take and give back affairs and their dls]>atch
With such a smooth, discreet and stable bear¬
ing 19
As I i^rcelve she does : there's something In't
That Is decelveable. But here the lady comes.
Enter Olivia and Priest.
OIL Blame not this haste of mine. If you
mean well.
Now go with me and with this holy man
Into me chantrv by : there, before him.
And undenieath tliat consecrated roof.
Plight me the full assurance of your faith ;
That my most jealous and too doubtful soul
May live at peace. He shall conceal It
Whiles you are willing it shall come to note,'
What time we will our celebration keep 30
According to my birth. What do you say ?
Seb. 111 follow this good man, and go with
you
And, having sworn truth, ever will be true.
OIL Then lead the way, good father ; and
heavens so shine.
That they may fairly note this act of mine !
[Exeunt
Fab.
bis letter.
ACT V. ^
Scene L Before Olivia's Aouse.
Enter Clown and Fabian.
Now, as thou lovest me; let me see
C%>. Qood Master Fabian, grant me another
revest.
Fab. Any thing.
C/o. Do not desire to see this letter.
Fob. This Is, to give a dog, and In recom^
pense desire my dog again.
Duke, Viola, Cubic, and Lords.
Bake. Belong you to the Lady Olivia,
friends t
Cto. Ay, sir ; wearesome of her trappings.
Buke. I know thee well ; how dost thou,
my good fellow ? 11
Clo. Truly, sir, the better for my foes and
the worse for my friends.
Buke. Just tiie contrary ; the better for tliy
friends.
Clo. No, sir, the worse.
Buke. How can that be ?
Cto. Marry, sir, tliey praise me and make
an ass of me ; now my foes tell me plainly 1
am an ass : so that by my foes, sir, I profit in
the knowledge of myself, and by my friends
1 am abused: so that, conclusions to be as
kisses, if your four negatives make your two
afllrmatlves, why then, the worse lor my
friends and the better for my foes. ,
Buke. Why, this is excellent.
Clo. By my troth, sir, no ; tliough it please
you to be one of my friends.
Buke. Thou shalt not be the worse for me :
there's gold. 31
Clo. But that it would be double-dealing,
sir, I would you could make It anotlier.
Buke. O, you give me ill counsel.
Clo. Put your grace In your pocket, sir, for
this ouce, and let your flesh and blood obey it.
Buke. Well, I will be so much a sinner, to
be a double-dealer: there's another.
Clo. Piimo, secundo, tertlo. Is a good play ;
and the old saying is, the third jiays for all:
the triplex, sm Is a good tripping measure ;
or the bells of ^Int Bennet, sir, may put yon
in mind ; one, two, three.
Buke. You can fool no more money out of
me at this tlirow : If you will let your lady
know I am here to speak with her, and bring
her along with you, it may awake my bounty
further.
Clo. Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till
I come again. I go, sir ; but I Would not have
you to tlilnk that my desire of having Is riie
sin of covetousness : but, as you say, sir, let
your bounty take a nap, I will awake it anon.
[Exit.
Vio. Here comes the man, sir, that did
rescue me.
Enter Antonio and Officers.
Buke. That face of his I do remember well;
Yet, when I saw It last, it was besmear'd
As black as Vulcan in the smoke of war :
A bawbling vessel was he captain of,
For shallow draught and bulk unprlzable ;
With which sucli scathfiil grapple did he malu
With the most noble bottom of our fleet, 69
614'
TWEIPTB NIGHT.
ifAcT r.
That very envy and the tonene of lose
Cried lame and honor on him. What's the
matter?
First Off. Orsino, this is tliat Antonio
That took the Phoenix and her franglit from
Candy ;
And this is he that did the Tiger board,
When your young nephew Titus lost his leg :
Here in the streets, desperate of shame and
state.
In private brabble did we apprehend him.
Via. He did me Idndness, sir, drew on my
side;
But in conclusion put strange Speech upon me ;
I know not what 'twas but distraction. 71
Dulx. Notable pirate! thou salt-water thief!
What foolish boldness brought thee to their
mercies,
Wliom thou, in terms so bloody and so dear,
Hast made thine enemies ?
' ArUi Orsino, noble sir.
Be pleased that I Shake off these names yon
give me:
Antonio never yet was thief or pirate, !
Though I confess, on base and ground enough,
Orsino's enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither;
That most ingrateful boy there by your side,
From the rude sea's enraged and foamy mouth
Did I redeem ; a wreck past hope he was : '
His life I gave him and did thereto add
My love, without retention or restraint.
All his in dedic.ation ; for his sake -
Did I expose myself, pure for his love.
Into the danger of this adverse town ;■ ■
Drew to defend him when he was beset;
Where being apprehended, his false canning.
Not meaning to partake with me in danger, 90
Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance.
And grew a twenty years removed thing
While one would wink ; denied me mine own
purse.
Which I had recommended to his use '
Not half an hour before.
Vto. How can this be ?
Duke. When came he to this town ?
AnU To-day, my lord; and for three
months before, •
No interim, not a minute's vacancy.
Both day and night did we keep company
Enter Olivia and Attendants.
Duke. Here comes the coantess: now
heaven wglks on earth. • • ■ 100
But for thee, fellow ; fellow, thy words are
madness:
Three months this youth hath tended upon me;
But more of that anon. Take him aside.
Oh. What would my lord, but that he may
not have.
Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable ? ,
Cesario, you do not keep promise with me.
fta. Madam! .
Duke. Gracious Olivia,— [lord,—
Olii What do you say, Cesario ? Good my
Vio- My lord would speak i my duty hushes
me. 110
Oli. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord/
It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear * '
As howling after music. '
Duke. ' Still so cruel 7 '
Oh. Still so cmistant, lord. /
Duke. What, to perverseness ? you uncivil
lady.
To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars
My soul thefaithfull'stofferingaliathbreathed
out
That e'er devotion tender'd ! What shall I do ?
Oh. Even what it please my lord, that
shall become him.
Duke. Why should I not, had I the heart
to do it, , 120
Like to the Egyptian thief at point of death.
Kill what I love ?—a savage jealousy ,
That sometime savors ,u^ly.. But hear m^
this : .
Since you to non-regard<ance cast my faith.
And that I partly know the instrument
That screws me from my true place in youi!
favor.
Live you the marble-breasted tyrant still;
But this your ininion, whom I knov^ you love.
And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender-
dearly.
Him will I tear out of that cruel eye, 130
Where he sits crowned in his master's spite.
Come, boy, with me ; my thoughts are ripe in
mischief: '
I'll sacrifice the lamb that I do love.
To spite a raven's heart within a dove.'
Vio. And I, mo.st jocund, apt and willingly.
To do you rest, a thousand deaths would me.
Oh. Where goes Cesario ? ■
Fio. After him I love
More than I love these eyes, more than my
life, . . I
More, by all rooresv than e'er T shall love wife.
If I do feign, you witnesses above 140
Punish my life for tainting of my love I
Oh. Ay me, detested ! how am I beguiled I
Vto. Who does beguile you ? who does do
you wrong ? , .
Off. Hast thou forgot tliyself? is it so long?
Call forth the holy fath,er.
Duke. Come, away 1
■Oli. Whitlier, my lord ? Cesario, husband,
stay. ■■. , ■ .
Duke. Husband (,
Oh. Ay, husband : can he that deny ?
Duke. Her husband, sirrah !
Vio. . No, ray lord, not I.
Oli. Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear
That makes thee strangle thy propriety : 150
Fear not, Cesario; take thy fortunes up ; f
Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou
art
As great as that thou fearisb
Enter Priest
' ' O, welcome, father'
Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence.
Here to unfold, though lately we intended -.
To keep in darkness what occasion now
ScEXfi I.]
TWELFTH NIGHT.
feeveals l)ef<»« 'tis ripe; what thou dost know
Rath newly i^s'd between this youth and
me. . ' I
Pries' A contract of eternal bond of love,
Coaflrm'd by mutual joinder of your hands,
Attested by the hol^ close of lips, ' 161
Strengthen d by interchangemeut of your
rings j 1
And all the ceremony of this compact
Seal'd In my function, bv my testimony ;
Since when, my watch hatn told me, toward
my grave
] have travell'd but two hours.
. Duke. O thou dissembling cub t what wilt
thou be
When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case ?
Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow, 169
That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow ?
Farewell, and take her ; but direct thy feet
Where thou and I henceforth may never meet.
Fio. My lord, I doiprotest—
Oli. ... O, do not swear .
Hold little faith, though thou hast too much
. ' fear... .
Enler Sir Andrew;
Sir And. For the love of God, a surgeon !
Send one presently to Sir Toby.
Oli. What's the matter ?
Sir And. He has broke my head across and
has given Sir Toby a bjoody coxcomb too;
for the love of God, your help ! I had rather
than forty pound 1 were at home. 181
Oil. Who hr.s done this. Sir Andrew ?
Sir And. The count's gentleman, one Ce-
sario : we took him for a coward, but he's the
ve^ devil incardinate.
Duke. My e^ntlemau,' Cesario ?
Sir And. 'Od's lifeiings, here he is ! Tou
broke my head for nothing ; and that, that I
did, 1 was set on to do't by Sir Toby.
, Fio. Why do you speak to me ? 1 never
' hurt you ; 190
Ton drew your sword upon me without cause ;
But I besp^e you fair, and hurt you not.
Sir And. If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt,
vou have hurt me : I think you set nothing
by a bloody coxcomb.
Ent^ Sir IJpby and Clown.
Here comes Sir Toby halting ;■ yon shall bear
more: but if he had not been in drink, he
would have tickled you othergates than he did.
Duke. How now, genUeman ! how is't with
you ? 200
Sir To. That's all one : has hurt me, and
there's the end on't. . Sot, didst see Dick sur¬
geon, sot?
Clo. O, he's drunk. Sir Tobjr, an hour
agone ; his eyes were set at eiglit i' the morm-
ing. . , t
, Sir To. Then he's a rogiiewtand a passy
measures panyn : I hate a drunken rogue.
Oil. Away with him ! Who hath made this
havoc with them ?
Sir Andi. I'll help you. Sir Toby, because
we'll be dressed together.
Sir To. Will you help ? an ass-head and .a
coxcomb and a knave, a thin-faced knave,
a gull I
Oli. Get him to bed, and let bis hurt be
look'd to. [Ezeuni Ckmn, Fabian, Sir Toby,
I and Sir Andrew.
• Enter Sebastian.
Seib. I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your
kinsman ;
But, had it been the brotiier of my blood,
1 must have done no less with wit and safety.
You throw a strange regard npon me, and by
that
I do perceive it hath offended you : 220
Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows
W made each ther but so late ago.
Duke. One face, one voice, one habit, and
two persons,
A natural perspective, that is niid is not!
Seb. Antonio, O my dear Antonio !
How have the hours rack'd and tortured me.
Since I have lost thee !
Ant. Sebastian are yon ?
Seb. Fear'st thou that, Antonio ?
Ant. How have you made division of your¬
self?
An apple, cleft in two, is not more twin 230
Tlian these two creatures. Which is Sebas¬
tian ?
Oli. Most wonderful !
Seb. Do I stand there ? I never had a bro¬
ther ;
Nor can there be that deity in my nature.
Of hers and every where. I had a sister.
Whom the blind waves and surges have de-
vour'd. '
Of charity, what kin are you to me ?
What coinitiyman ? what name?, what parent¬
age ?
Vio. C'f Messaline: Sebastian was my
father ,
Such a Sebastian was my brother too, , 240
So went, he suited to his watery tomb :
If spirits can assume both form and suit
You come to fright us. ,
Seb. A spirit 1 am indeed ■.
But am in that dimension grossly clad
Which fiom the womb 1 did participate.
Were you a woman, as the rest goes even,
I should my tears let fall upon your cheek.
And say ' "Thrice-welcome, drowned Viola !'
Vio. My father had a mole upon his brow
Seb. And so had mine. 250
Vio. And died tliat day when Viola from
her birth
Had number'd thirteen years.
Seb. O, that record is lively in my soul!
He finished indeed his mortal act
That day that made my sister thirteen years.
Vio. If nothing lets to make us happy both
But this my masculine usurp'd attire.
Do not embrace me till each circumstonce
Of place, time, fortune, do cohere and jump
That I am Viola : which to confirm, 260
I'll bring you to a captain in this town.
616
TWELFTH SIGHT.
[Act t.
Where lie my maiden weeds ; by whose gen¬
tle beip
I was preserved to serve this noble count.
All the occurrence of my fortune since
Hath been between this lady and this lord.
Seb. [To OUvid) So comes it, lady, you
have been mistook:
But nature to her bias drew in that.
You would have been contracted to a maid ;
Nor are you therein, by my life, deceived, 269
You are betrotli'd both to a maid and man.
Duke. Be not amazed; right noble is his
biood.
if this be so, as yet the glass seem.s true,
I shall iiave share in this most happy wreck.
[7o Fiiofa] Boy, tliou h:istsaid to me a thou¬
sand times
Thou never shouldst love woman like to me.
Via. And ail those sayings will I over-
swear ;
And all those swearings keep as true in soui
As doth that orbed continent the fire
That severs day from night
Duke. Give me thy hand ;
And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds.
Vio. The captain that did bring me first on
shore
Hath my maid's garments : he upon some
action
Is now in durance, at Malvolio's suit,
A gentleman, and follower of my lady's.
Oli He shall enlarge him . fetch Malvoiio
hither :
And yet, alas, now I remember me.
They say, poor gentleman, he's much distract.
Re-enter Clown with a letter, and Fabian.
A most extracting frenzy of mine own
From my remembrance clearly banish'd his.
How does he, sirrah ? 290
Clo. Truly, madam, he holds Belzebub at
the staves's end as well as a man in his case
may do: has here writ a letter to you ; I
should have given't you to-day morning, but
as a madman's epistles are no gospels, so it
skills not much when they are delivered.
Oh. Open't, and read it.
Clo. Look then to be well edified when the
fool delivers the madman. [Beads] ' By the
Lord, madam,'— 300
Oh. How now' art thou mad ?
Clo. No, madam, I do but read madness:
an vour ladyship will have it as it ought to be,
you must allow Vox.
Oli. Prithee, read i' thy right wits.
Clo. So I do, r.iadonua; out to read his
right wits is to read tlius : Gierefore perpend,
my princess, and give ear.
Oil. Read it you, sirrah. [To Fabian.
Fab. [Beads] ' By the Lord, madam, j'ou
wrong me, and the world shall know it;
thouj^ you have put me into darhne^s .md
given your drunken cousin rule over me, yet
nave i the benefit of my senses as well as
your iady^ip. I have your own letter that
mduced me to the semblance I put on, with
the which I doubt not but to do m.Tself mud
right, or you much shame. Think of me as
you please, i leave my duty a little untliought
of and sfieak out of my injury.
The mablv-uskd Malvolio.'
Oli. Did he write this ? 320
Clo. Ay, madam.
Duke. This savors not much of distraction.
Oli. See him deiiver'd, Fabian ; bring him
hither. [Exit Fmian.
My lord, so please you, these uiiugs further
thought on.
To think me as well a sister as a wife.
One day shaU crown the alliance on't, so please
you.
Here at my house and at my proper cost.
Duke. Madam, 1 am most apt to embrace
your offer.
[To Viola] Your master ijuHs you ; and tor
your service done him,
So much against the mettle of your sex, 330
So far beneath your soft and tender breeding.
And since you ^I'd me master for so long.
Here is my hand : you shall from this time be
Your master's mistress.
Oh. A sister I you are she.
Re-enter Fabian, wUh Malvoijo.
Duke. Is this the madman ?
Oft. Ay, my lord, this same.
How now, Malvolio!
Hal. Madam, you have done me wrong,.
Notorious wrong.
Oh. Have I, Malvolio ? no.
Mcl. Lady, you have. Pray you, peruse
that letter.
You must not now deny it is your liand : 339
Write from it, if you can, in hand or phrase ;
Or say 'tis not your seal, nor your invention :
You can say none of tliis : well, grant it then
And tell me, in the modesty of honor.
Why you have given me such clear lights of
favor.
Bade me come smiling and cross-garter'd to
you.
To put on yellow stockings and to frown
Upon Sir Toby and the lighter people ;
And, acting this in an obedient hope.
Why have you suffer'd me to be iniprison'd.
Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest, ^
And made the most notorious gevk and gull
That e'er invention play'd on? tell me why.
Oh. Alas, Malvolio, this is not my writing.
Though, I confess, much like the character :
But out of question 'tis Maria's hand.
And now I do bethink me, it was she
First told me thou wast mad ; tlien earnest in
smiling.
And in such forms which here were presupposed
Uiwi thee in the letter. Prithee, be content:
This practice hath most shrewdly pass'd uix>n
thee; .<j6o
But when wo know tu grounds and authors
of it,
Thon sualt be both the plaintiS and the judge
Of t^e own cause.
SCBNB I.]
TWELFTH NIGHT.
617
Fab. CSood madam, hear me speak,
And let no quarrel nor no brawl to come
Taint the condition of this present hour,
Which 1 have wouder'd at. In hope it sh^ not.
Most freely I confess, myself and Toby
Set this device against Malvolio here.
Upon some stubborn and uncourteous ports
We had conceived against him : Maria writ
The letter at Sir Toby's great importance ; 371
In recompense whereof he hath married her.
How with a sportful malice it was follow'd,
Mav rather pluck on laughter than revenge ;
If that the injuries be justly weigh'd
That have on both sides pass'd.
OH. Alas, poor fool, how have they baffled
thee !
Clo, Why, 'someare bom great, some
achieve greatness, and some have gi^tness
thrown uiion them.' I was one, sir, in tliis
interlude; one Sir Topas, sir ; but that's ail one.
' By the Lord, fool, 1 am not mad.' But do
yon remember ? ' Madam, why laugh you at
such a barren rascal ? an you smile not, he's
gagged :' and thus the whirligig of time brings
iu% revenges.
Mai. I'll be revenged on the whole pack of
you. [Exit.
Oil. He hath been most notoriously abused.
Duhe Pursue him, and entreat him to a
peace:
He hath not told us of the captain yet: 390
When that is known and golden time convents,
A solemn combination shall be made
Of our dear souls. Meantime, sweet sister.
We will not part from hence. Cesario, come ;
For so you shall be. while you are a man ;
But when in other habits you are seen,
Orsino's mistress and his fancy's queen.
[Exeunt off, except Clown.
Clo. {iStnps]
When that I was and a little tiny boy.
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
. A foolish thing was but a toy, 400
For the rain it raineth every day.
But when I came to man's estate.
With hey, ho, &c.
'Gainst knaves aud tliieves men shut their
gate.
For the rain, &c.
But when I came, alas ! to wive.
With hey, ho, &c.
' By swaggering could I never thrive.
For the rain, &c.
But when I came unto my beds, 410
With hey, ho, &c.
With toss-pots still had drunken heads,
For the raiu, &c. \
A g^t while ago the world begun.
With hey, ho, &c.
But that's all one, our play is done.
And we'll strive to please you every day.
Exit
JIJLIITS O^SAR.
(written about 1601.)
INTRODUCTION.
This troged^r was prodaced as early as 1601; so we infer from a passage in Weayert Afftror^
Martyrs (1601) in wliii^ reference is made to the speeches of Brutus and Anto.iy. The s^le of the
^ yersllication, the diction, tiie characterization, aii bear out the opinion that 1600 or 1601 is the date
of Julius Cmsar. The historiiai materials of the play were found by the dramatist in the lives of
Ctesar, of Brutus, and of Antony, as given in North's translation of Plutarch. Hints for the speeches
of Brutus and Antony seem to have been obtained from Appian's CMl IVars (B. II., ch. 137-»147)
translated into English in 1578. Every thing is wrought out in the play with great care and complete¬
ness; it is well planned and well proportioned: were is no tempestuousness of passion, and no
artistic mystery. The style is full, but not overburdened with thought or imagery; this is one of
the most perfect of Shakespeare's plays; greater tragedies are less perfect, perhaps for the very
reason that they try to grasp greater, more terrible, or more piteous themes. In King Henry V.
Shakespeare had represented a great and heroic man of action. In the serious plays, which come
next in chronological order, Julius Casar and Hamlet, the poet represents tvjo men who were forced
to act—to act in public affairs, and aff aiis of life and death—yet who were singularly disqualified
for playing the part of men of action. Hamlet cannot act because his moral energy is sapped by a
kind of skepticism and sterile despair about life, because his own ideas are more to him than de<^,
because his will is diseased. Brutus does act, but he acts as an idealist and theorizer might, with no
eye for the actual bearing of facts, and no sense of the true importance of persons. InteUeetnal Joe-
trines and moral ideas rule the life of Brutus ; and his life is most noble, hi(h, and stainless but
his public action is a series of pr.actical mistakes. Yet even while he errs we smmire him, for af. bis
errois are those of a pure and lofty spirit. In bis wife—Cato's daughter, Portia—Brutus has fimnd
one who is equal to and worthy of himself. Shakespeare has shown her as perfectly a woman- .sen¬
sitive, finely-tempered, tender—yet a woman who by her devotion to moral faleas might stand beside
such a father and such a husband. And Brutus, with all his Stoicism, is gentle andtender: he can
strike down Caesar if Caesar be a tyrant, but he cannot roughly rouse a sleeping boy (Act IV.,Sci iii.,
L. 270). Antony is a man of genius, with many splendid and some generous qualities, but self-in¬
dulgent, pleasure-loving, and a daring adventurer rather than a great leader of the State. The char¬
acter of Caesar is conceived in a curious and almost irritating manner. Shakespeare (as passatges in
other plays show) was certainly not ignorant of the greatness of one of the world's greatest men.
But here it is his weaknesses that are insisted on. He is failing in body and mind, influenced by
superstition, yields to flattery, thinks of himself as almost superhuman, has lost some of bis insist
into character, and his sureness and swiftness of action. Yet the play is rightly named JuHus
Ceesar. His bodily presence is weak, but his spirit rules throughout the play, and rises after bis
death in all its might, towering over the little band of conspirators, who at length fall before the
spirit of Cssar as it ranges for revenge.
DRAMATIS PERSON.®.
s, }
dos, )
triumvirs after
death of Julius
Caesar.
Julius C.ssar.
OcyrAvius CAtsuR,
Marcus Antonius,
M. .^MiLius Lepidus,
Cicero, 1
PuBLios, > senators
PopiLius Lena, 1
Marcus Brutus,
Cassius,
Casca,
Trebonius,
Ligarius,
Decius Brutu.s,
Metellus Cimber,
CiNNA,
Flavius and Marullus, tribunes.
Artemidorus of Cnidos, a teacher
rhetoric.
A Soothsayer.
conspirators against
Julius Caesar.
of
CiNNA, a poet Another Poet
Lucilius,
Titinius,
Messala,
Young Cato,
volumnius,
Varro,
Clitus,
Claudius,
Strato,
Lucius,
Dardanius,
pindarus, servant to Cassius.
Calpurnia, wife to Caesar.
Portia, wife to Brutus.
Senators, Citizens, Guards, Attendants, fte.
Scene : Rome; the neighborhood of,Sardi$'
the neighborhood of PhiHppi.'
friends to Brutus and
Cassius
servants to Bmtim.
ScEine II.]
JULIUS
C^.SAE.
610
ACT L
I. Scene I. Rome, A etreet.
EnUr Tl.AV1U% Marullus, and certain
Commoners.
Ftao. Hence I home, you idle creatures
get you home ;
Is this a holiday ? what! know you not,
Being mechanical, yon ouglit not walk
Upon a laboring day witliout the sign
of yottr- profession ? Speak, wliat trade Rrt
thou ?
First Com. Why, sir, a carpenter;
Mar. Where is thy leather apron and thy
rule ?
What dost thou with thy best apparel on 7'
You, sir, what trade are you 7
Sec. Com. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine
workman, I am but, as you would say, a
cobbler. 11
Mar. But what trade art thou 7 answM
me directly.
Sec. Com. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may
use with a safe conscience ; which is, indeed,
sir, a mender of bad soles. '
Mar. What trade, tliou knave 7 thou
naughty knave, what trade 7
Sec. Com. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not
out with me: yetj if you be out, sir, I can
mend you.
Mar. What meanest thou by that 7 mend
me, thou saucy fellow ! . .. 21
Sec. Com. Why, sir, cobble you. i
Ftav. ' Thou art a cobbler, art thou 7
' Sec. Com. Truly, sir, all th.at I live by is
with the awl: I meddle with no tradesman's
matters, nor women's matters, but witli awK
I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes; when
they are in great danger, I recover them.' As
proper men as ever trod niwn neat's leather
have gone upon my handiwork.' 30
Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to¬
day 7
Why dost thon lead these men about the
streets 7
Sec. Com. Truly, sir, to wear out their
shoes, to get myself into more work. But,
indeed, sir, we make holiday, to see Cxsar
and to rejoice in his triumph.
Mar. Wherefore rejoice 7 What conquest
brings he home 7 i
Wliat tributaries follow him to Rome,
To grace in captive bonds his ehariot-wheels 7
You blocks, you stones, you worse than sense¬
less things! 40
O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome,
Knew you not Pompey 7 Many a time and
oft
Have you climb'd up to wiflls and battlements.
To towers and windows, yem touhimney-topsi.
Your infants in your arms, And there have sat
The live-long day, with patient expectation.
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome i
And when you saw his chariot but appear.
Have you not made an universal shout,
That Tiber trembled underneath her banks, SO
To liear tlie replication of your sounds
Made in her concave shores 7
And do you now put on your best attire 7
And do you now cull out a holiday 7
And do you now strew flowers in his way >
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood 7
Be gone 1
Run to your houses, fall upon your knees.
Pray to tlie gods to intermit tlie plague
That needs must light on this ingratitude. CO
Fluo. Go, go,, good countrymen,, and, for
this fault.
Assemble all the poor men of your sort;
Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your
tears
Into the channel, till tlie lowest stream
Do kiss the most exalted shores of all.
[Exeunt all the Commoners.
See whether their basest metal be not moved
They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness.
Go you down that way towards the Capitol;
This way will I: disrobe the images,
If you do find tliem deck'd with ceremonies.
Mar. May we do so 7
You know it is the feast of Lupercah'
Flav. ■ It is no matter ; let no images
Be hung witli Caesar's trophies. ' I'll aliout.
And drive away the vulgar from the streets :
So do you too, where you perceive them thick.
These growing feathers pluck'd from Caesar's
wing
Will make him fly an ordinary pitch.
Who else would soar above the view of men
And keep us all in servile fearfulness. <
[EiCeant.
Scene II. A public place.
Flourish. Enter C/ESAR ; Antony, for the
■ course ; Caepurnia, Portia, Decius, Cic- '
ero, Brutus, Cassius, and Casca ; a great
' crowd following, among them a Soothsayer.
Ctes. Calpumia !
Casca. Peace, ho! Caesar speaks.
Cess. ' Calpumia!
Cal. Here, my iord.
C'ces Stand you directly in Antonius' way,
When he doth run his course. Autonius I
Ant. Caesar, my lord 7
C'ces. Forget not, in your speed, Antonius,
To touch Calpumia ; for our elders say.
The barren, touched in this holy chase.
Shake off their sterile curse.
Ant. I shall remember'.
When Caesar says ' do this,' it is perfonn'd. 10
C'ces. Set on -, and leave no ceremony out.
[Flourish.
Sooth. Caesar!
Cces. Ha I who calls 7
Casca. Bid every noise be Still: peace yet
again! ■ ■
. Cass. Whoisitinthepressthatcallsonme?
I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music, •
Cry ' Caesar I' Speak ; Caesar istum'd to hear.
Sooih. Beware the ides of Harcfi.
620 JVUUS
Can. What man is that ?
Bni. A soothsayer bids yon beware the ides
of March.
Cces. Set liim before me; let me see his
face. 20
Cos, Fellow, come from the throng ; look
upon Cmsar.
Ctes. What say'st thou to me now ? speak
once again.
Sooth. Beware the ides of March.
Cou. He is a dreamer ; let us leave him :
pass. [Sennat. Exeunt all except
Brutus and Cassius.
Cos. Will you go see the order of the course 7
Bru. Not I.
Cas. I pray you, do.
Bru. I am not gamesome: I do lack some
part
Of that quick spirit tliat is in Antony.
Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires ; 30
I'll leave you.
Cus. Brutus, I do observe you now of late:
I have not from your eyes that gentleness
And show of love as I was wont to have :
You beiir too stubborn and too strange a hand
Over your friend that loves you.
Bru. Cassius,
Be not deceived : if I have veil'd my look
I turn the trouble of my countenance
Merely upon myself. Vexed I am
Of late with passions of some difference, 40
Conceptions only proper to myself.
Which give some soil perhaps to ray beha¬
viors ; [grieved—
But let- not therefore my good fnends be
Among which number, Ci^us, be you one—
Nor construe any further my neglect.
Than tliat poor Brutus, with himself at war.
Forgets the shows of love to other men.
Cas. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook
your passion ;
By means wiiereof this breast of mine hath
buried 49
Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.
Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your hice 7
Bru. No, Cassius ; for the eye sees not it¬
self.
But by reflection, by some other things.
Cas. 'Tis just:
And it is very much lamented, Brutus,
That you have no such mirrors as will turn
Your hidden worthiness into your eye.
That you might see your wadow. I have
heard.
Where many of the best respect in Rome,
Rxcept immortal Cassar, spewing of BrutusGO
And groaning uudenieath this age's yoke,
Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes.
Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me,
Cassius,
That you would have me seek into myself
For that which is not in me 7
Cos. Therefore, good Bruttu, be prepared
• ' to hear:
And since you know you cannot see yourself
So well as by reflection, I, your glass.
CJESAR. [Act t
Will modestly discover to yourself
That of yourself which you yet know not of.
And be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus : 71
Were I a common laugher, or did use
To stale with ordinary oaths my love
"To every new prote.ster ; if you know
That I do fawn on men and hug them hard
And after scandal them, or if you know
That I profess myself in banqueting
To all the rout, then hold me dangerous.
[Flourim, and shout
Bru. What means this shouting 7 I do fear,
the people
Choose Ctesar fm: their king.
Cas. Ay, do yon fear it 7 80
Then must I think you would not have it so.
Bru. I would not, Cassius ; yet I love him
well.
But wherefore do you hold me here so long 7
What is it that you would im|)art to me 7
If it be aught towai-d the general good.
Set honor in one eye and death i' the other
And I will look on both indifferently.
For let the gods so speed me as I love
The name of honor more than I fear death.
Cas. I know that virtue to be in you, Bru¬
tus, 93
As well as I do know your outward favor.
Well, honor is the subject of my story.
I cannot tell what you and other men
Think of this life ; but, for my single self,
I had as lief not be a.s live to be
In awe of such a thing as I myself.
1 was bom free as Ciesar ; so were you :
We both have fed as well, and we can both
Endure the winter's cold as well as he : •
For once, upon a raw and gusty day, 100
The troubled Tiber chafiiig with her shores,
Ca»iar said to me ' Darest thou, Cassius, now
Leap in with me into this angry flood.
And swim to yonder point 7' Upon the word,
Accoutred as I was, 1 plunged in
And bade him follow ; so indeed he did.
Tiie torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it
With lusty sinews, throwing it aside
And stemming it with hearte of controversy ;
But ere we could arrive the point proposed,'llO
Caesar cried ' Help me, Cassius, or I sink !'
1, as .£ueas, uur great .ancestor,
Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of
Tiber
Did 1 the tired Caesar. And this man
Is now become a god, and Cassius is
A wretched creature and must bend his body,
if Caesar carelessly but nod on him.
He had a fever when he was in Spain,
And when the fit wa.<; on him, I did mark 120
How he did shake : 'tis tme, this god did
shake :
His coward lips did from their color fly.
And tliat same eye whose bend doth awe the
world
Did lose his lustre: 1 did hear him groan :
Ay, and that tongue of his that bade the
Romans
SOEKB II.]
JULIUS
CMSAR.
621
Mark him and write his speeches in their
hooks,
Alas, it cried ' Give me some drink, Titinins,*'
As a sick girl. Te gods, it doth amaze me
A man of such a feeble temper should
So get the start of the majestic world 130
And bear the palm alone. [<$AouI. Flourish.
Bru. Another general shout!
I do believe that these applauses are .
For some new honors that are heap'd on Csesar.
Cos. Why, man, he dotli bestride the nar¬
row world
Like a Colossus, and we petty men
Walk under his huge legs and peep about
To find ourselves dishonorable graves.
Men at some time are masters of their fates:
The fault, dear Brutns, is not in our stars, 140
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
Brutus and Ctesar : what should be in that
'Csesar' ?
Why shoidd that name be sounded more than
yours ?
Write them together, yours is as fair a name ;
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as welt;
Weigh them, it is as heavy ; conjure with 'em,
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Csesar.
Now, in the names of all the gods at once.
Upon what meat doth this our Csesar feed.
That he is grown so great 1 Age, thou art
sliamed! 150
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods!
When went there by an age, since the great
flood.
But it was famed with more tliau with one
mail ?
When could they say till now, that talk'd of
Rome,
That her wide walls encompass'dbnt one man?
Now is it Rome indeed and room enough.
When there is in it but one only man.
O, you and I have heard onr fathers say.
There was a Brutus once that would have
brook'd
The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome
As easily as a king. 161
Bm. Tliat you do love me, I am nothing
jealous ;
What you wonid work me to, I have some aim:
How I have thought of this and of these times,
1 shall recount hereafter ; for this present,
I would nut, so with love I might entreat you,
Be any further moved. What you liave said
I will consider ; what you have to say
I will with patience hear, and find a time 169
Both meet to hear and answer such high things.
Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this:
Brutus had rather be a villager
Than to repute himself a son of Rome
Under these bard conditions as this time
Is like to lay upon us.
Cos. I am glad that my weak words
Have struck but thus muclSSihow of fire from
Brutus. [turning.
Bru. The games are done and Cie.sar is rc-
Ckts. As they jiass by, pluck Casca by the
sleeve:
And he wUl, after his sour fashion, tell you
What hatn proceeded worthy note to-day.
Be-erUer C.«sar and his Train.
Bru. I will do so. But, look you, Ca.ssius,
The angry spot doth glow on Cserar's brow.
And all the rest look like a chidden train;
Calpumia's cheek is (lale ; and Cicero
Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes
As we have seen him in tlie Capitol,
Being cross'd in conference by some senators.
Cos. Casca will tell us what the matter is.
C'ees. Autouiiis ! 190
Ant. Ciesar ?
Cces. Let me have men about me that are
fat;
Sleek-headed men and such as sleep o' nights:
Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look ; .
He thinks too much : such men are dangerous.
Ant. Fear him not, Csesar ; he's not danger¬
ous ;
He is a noble Roman and well given. >
C<xs. Would he were fatter ! But I teat
him not:
Yet if my name were liable to fear,
I do not know the man 1 should avoid 200
So soon as that spare Cassius.' He reads much;
He is a great ob^rver and he looks
Quite through the deeds of men : he loves no
plays.
As thou dost, Antony ; he hears no music ;
Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort
As if he mock'd liimself and scorn'd bis spirit
That could be moved to smile at any thing.
Such men as lie be never at heart's ease
Whiles they behold a greater than themselves,
And therefore are they very dangerous. 210
I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd
Than what I fear ; for always I am Csewir.
Come on my riglit hand, for this ear is deaf.
And tell me truly what thou think'st of him.
[Sennet. Ezeunt Caesar and all his
Train, but Casca.
Casca. Yon pull'd me by the cloak ; would
you speak with me ?
Bru. Ay, Casca ; tell us what hath clianced
to-day,.
That Cmsar looks so sad.
Casca. Why, you were with him, were
you not ?
Bm. I should not then ask Cascii what had
chanced. 219
Casca. Why, there was a crown offered
him : and being offered him, he put it by with
the back of his hand, thus ; and then the
people fell a-shouting.
Bru. What was the second noise for ?
Casca. Why, for that too.
Cos. They shouted thrice : what was the
last cry for ?
Casca. Why, for that too.
Bru. Was the crown offered him thrice?
Casca. Ay, marry, was't, and he put it 1^
thrice, every time gentler than other, and at
every putting-by mine honest neighbors
shouted. ,
622
JULIUS CAiSAR.
I [Act t.
Cos. Who offered him the crown 1
Catcet. Why, Antony.
Bru. Tell us the manner ot it, gentle Casca.
Casca. I can as well be hanged as tell the
manner of it: it was mere foolery ; I did not
mark it. I saw Mark Antony offer him a
crown ;—yet 'twas not a crown neither, 'twas
one of these coronets and, as I told you, he
put it by once : but; for all tiiat, to my think-
feig, he would fain have had it. Thmi he of¬
fered it to him again ; then he put it by again;
but, tO' my thinking, he was very loath to lay
his fingers off it. And then he offered it the
third time ; he put it the third time by : and
still as he refused it, the rabblement hooted
and clapped their cha)>ped hands and threw
up their sweaty night-caps and uttered such a
deal of stinking breath because Caesar re¬
fused the crown that it had almost choked
CsBsar ; for he swounded and fell down at it:
and for mine own part, I durst not laugh, for
fear of opening my lips and receiving the bad
air.
Cos. Bat, soft, I pray you: what, did
Csesar swouud ?
Casca. He fell down in the market-place,
and foamed at mouth, and was speechless.
Bru. 'Tis very like : he hath the falling
sickness.
Cas. No, Caesar hath it not ; but you and I
And honest Casca, we have the falUug sick¬
ness.
Casca. I know not what you mean by that;
but, I am sure, C;esar fell down. If the tag-
rag people did not clap him and hiss him, ac¬
cording as he pleased and displeased them, as
they use to do the players in the theatre, I am
no true man.
Bru. What said he wheu he came unto
himself ?
Casca. Marry, before he fell down, when
he perceived the common herd was glad he
refused the crown, he plucked me ope his
doublet and offered them his throat to cut.
An I had been a man of any occupation, if I
wonid not have taken him at a word, I would
I might go to hell amoug tiie rogues. And so
-he fell. When he came to himself again, he
said. If he had done or said any thing amiss,
he desired their worships to think it was his
Infirmity. Three or four wenches, where I
stood, cried ' Alas, good soul!' and forgave
him with all their hearts : but there's no heed
to be taken of them ; if Ca;sar had stabbed
their mothers, they would have done no less.
Bru. And after that, he came, thus sad,
away ?
Casca. Ay. 280
Cas. Did Cicero say any thing 1
Casca. Ay, he spoke Greek.
Cas. To what effect?
Casca. Nay, an I tell you that, I'll ne'er
look you i' the face again : but those that un¬
derstood him smiled at one another and shook
their heads; but, for mine own part, it was
Greek to me, 1 could tell you more news too :
Marullus and Flavius, for pulling scarfs off
Cffisar's images, are put to silence. Fare you
well. There was more foolery yet, if I co;ild
remember it. 291
Cas. Will yon sup with me to-niglit, Cas¬
ca ?
Casca. No, I am promised forth.
Cas. Will you dine with me to-morrow ?
Casca... Ay, if I be alive and ,vout mind
hold and your dinner wortii tiie eating.
Cas. Good : I will expect you.
Casca. Do so. Farewell, both. [Exit.
Bru. AVhat a blunt fellow is this grown tc
be 1
He was quick mettle when he went to school.
Cas. ^ is he now in execution 301
Of any bold or noble enterprise,
However he puts on this tardy form.
This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit.
Which gives men stomach to digest his words
With better appetite.
Bru. And so it is. For this time I will
leave you :
To-morrow, if you please to speak with me,
I will come home to you ; or, if you will.
Come home to me, and I wUl wait for yon.
Cas. I will do so: till then, think of the
world [Exit Brutus. 311
Well, Brutus, thou art noble ; yet, 1 see.
Thy honorable metal may be wrought
From that it is disposed : tlierefore it is meet
That noble minds keep ever with their likes;
For who so firm that cannot be seduced ?
Csesar doth bear me hard ; but he loves Bru¬
tus :
If I were Brutus now and he were Cassins,
He should not humor me. 1 will this night.
In several hands, in at his windows throw,
As if they came from several citizens^ 321
Writings all tending to the great opinion
That Rome holds of his name ; wherein ob¬
scurely
Ceesar's ambition shall be glanced at:
And after this let Caesar seat him sure ;
For we will shake him, or worse days endura
[Exit.
Scene HI. Ths sarm. A street.
Thunder and lightning. Enter from opposite
sides, Casca, with his sword drawn, and
Cicero.
Cic. Good even, Casca : brought you Caesar
home ?
Why are you breathless ? imd why stare you
so ?
Casca. Are not you moved, when all the
sway of earth
Shakes like a thing unfirm ? O Cicero,
1 have seen tempests, when the scolding
winds
Have rived the knotty oaks, and 1 have seen
The ambitious ocean swell and ^e and foam.
To be exalted with the threatening clouds :
But never till to-night, never till now.
Did 1 go through a tempest dropping fira 10
SCKME III.]
JULIUS
CJESAli.
Kither thsre is a civil strife la heaveU, '
Or else the world, too saucy with the gods,
[Dueuses them to send destruction.
Cic. Why, saw you any thing more won¬
derful?
Catca. A common slave—you know him
well by sight-
Held up his left hand, which did flame and
bum
Like twenty torches joiu'd, and yet his hand,
Not sensible of fire,^remaiird uuscorch'd.
Besi"' s—I ha' not since put up my sword—
Against the Caiiitol 1 met a lion, 20
Who glared upon ine, and went surly by.
Without annoying me : and there were drawn
Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women.
Transformed with their fear; who swore
they saw
Men all in fire walk up and down the streets.
And yesterday the bird of night did sit
Even at noon-day upon the market-place.
Hooting and shrieking. When these prodi¬
gies
Do so conjointly meet, let not men say
' These aire their reasons ; they are natural;'
For, I believe, they are portentous things 31
Unto the climate that they point uixm.
C'ic. Indeed, it is a sti-ange-disposed time;
But men may construe tilings after their
fashion, [selves.
Clean from the purmse of the tilings them-
ComeCiesar to tlie Capitol to-morrow ?
Casca. He doth ; for he did bid Antonius
Send word to you he would be there to-mori
row.
Cic. Good night then, Casca: tliis dis¬
turbed sky
Is not to walk in.
Casca. Farewell, Cicero. [Exit Cicero. 40
Enier Cassius.
Cas. Who's there 7
Casca. A Koman.
Cas. Casca, by your voice.
Casca. Tour ear is good. Cassias, what
night is this 1
Cas. A very pleasing night to honest men. .
Casca. Who ever knew the heavens men¬
ace so ? ,.
Cas. Those that have known the earth so.
full of faults.
For my part, I have walk'd about the streets.
Submitting me unto the perilous night.
And, thus unbraced, Casca, as you see, '
Have bared my bosom to the thunder-stone ;
And wher the cross blue lightning seem'd to
. open ' > . 60
The bre.ast of heaven, I did present myself
Even in the aim and very flash of it. '
Casca. But wherefore did you so much
tempt the heavens ? .
It is the part of men to fear and tremble.
When the most mighty gods by tokens send
Such dreadful heralds to astonish us.
Cas. You are dulL Casca, and those spaci; -
of life
That should be in a Roman yoh'do want.
Or else you use not. Ton look pale and ghze
And put on fear and cast yourself in wonder.
To see the strange impatience of the heavens:
But if you would consider the true cause
AVhy all these fires, why all tliese gliding
ghosts.
Why birds and beasts from quality and kind,
AA'hy old men fool and children calculate,
Wliy all these things change from their ordi.
nance
Their natures and preformed faculties " ' '
To monstrous quality,—why, you shall find
Th.at heaven hath infused them with these
spirits,.
To make them instruments of fear and warn¬
ing ' • 70
Unto some monstrons state.
Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man
Most like this dreadful night, ' ' -
That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and
roars '
As doth the lion in the Capitol,
A man no mightier than thyself or me
In person.al action, yet prodigious grown
And fearful, as these strange eruptions are.
Casca. 'Tis CiEsar that you mean ; is it net
Cassius ? ' 79
Cas. Let it be who it is: for Romans now
Have thews and limbs like to tiieir ancestors ;
But, woe the while ! our fathers' minds are
dead.
And we are govern'd with our mothers' spir¬
its ; '
Our yoke and sufferance show ns womanish.
Casca. Indeed, they say the senators to¬
morrow
Mean to establish Cscsar as a king ;
And he shall wear his crown by sea and land.
In every place, save here in Italy.
Cas. I know where I will wear this dagger
then ; ■
Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius; 90
Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most
■ streng ; ■ ■ . '
Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat:
Nor stony tower, nor wails of beaten brass.
Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron.
Can be retentive to the strength of spirit;
But life, being weary of these worldly bars, '
Never lacks power to dismiss itself. • • '
If I know this, know all tlie world besides.
That part of tyranny tliat I do bear
I can shake off at pleasure. [ Thunder stUl.
Casca. ' So can 1: 100
So every bondman in his own hand bears
The power to cancel his captivity.
Cas. And why should. Ccesar be a tyrant,
then ? '
Poor man ! I know he would not be a wolf.
But that he sees the Romans are but sheep :'
He Were no lion, were not Romans hinds..
Those that with haste will make a mighty fire
Begin it with weak straws : what trt^h is
Rome,
iFhat rubbish and what offal, when it serves
«24
JULIUS
C^SAR.
[Act ii<
For the base matter to illuminate 110
So vile a thing as Caesar ! But, O grief,
Where hast thou led me ? I j^rnaps speak
this
Before a willing bondman ; then I know
My answer must be made. But I am arm'd.
And dangers are to me indifferent.
Casca, You speak to Casca, and to sue!) a
man
That Is no fleering tell-tale. Hold, my hand :
Be factious for redre.s8 of all these griefs.
And I will set this foot of mine as far
As who goes farthest.
Cos, There's a bargain made. 120
How know you, Casca, I have moved already
Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans
To undergo with me an enterprise
Of honorable-dangerous consequence;
And I do know, by this, they stay for me
In Porapey's jmrch : for now, this fearful
night.
There Is no stir or walking in the streets ;
And the complexion of tlie element
In favor's like the work we have in hand,
Most bloody, flery, and most terrible. 130
Casca. Stand close awhile, lor here comes
one in haste.
Cos. 'Tis Cinna ; I do know him by his
gait;
He is a friend.
Enter Ciinfa.
Cinna, where haste you so ?
Gin. To find out you. Who's that ? Metel-
lusCimber?
Cos. No, it is Casca ; one incorporate
To our attempts. Am I not stay'd for, Cinna ?
Cin. I am glad on't. Wliat a fearful night
is this I [sights.
There's two or three of us have seen strange
Cos. Am I not stay'd for ? tell me.
Cin Yes, you are.
O Cassius, If you could 140
But win the noble Brutus to our party—
Cos. Be you content: good Cinna, take
this paper,
And look you lay it in the prsetor's chair.
Where Brutus may but find it; and throw
this
In at his window ; set this up with wax
Upon old Brutus' statue : all this done.
Repair to Pompey's porch, where you shall
find us.
Is Decius Brutus and Trebonius there ?
Gin. All but Metellus Cimber; and he's
fane . 149
you at your house. Well, I will hie,
And so bestow these papers as you bade me.
Gas. That done, repair to Pompev's theatre.
[Exit Ginna.
Come, Casca, you and I will yet ere day
See Brutus at his house : three parts of him
Is ours already, and the man entire
Upon the next encounter yields him ours.
Casca. O, he sits high In all the people's
hearts:
And that which would appear offence in us.
His countenance, like richest alchemy.
Will change to virtue and to worthiness. 160
Gas. Him and his worth and our great need
of him
You have right well conceited. Let us go.
For it is after midnight; and ere day
We will awake him and be sure of him.
[Exewnt.
ACT H.
ScxNB I. Eome. Brutu^s orchard.
Enter Brutus.
(
Bru. What, Lucius, ho !
I cannot, by the progress of the stars,
Give guess how near to day. Lucius, I say !
I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly.
When, Lucius, when ? awake, I say! what,
Lucius !
Enter Lucius.
Luc. Call'd you, my lord ?
Bru. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius :
When it is lighted, come and call me here.
Luc. 1 wiU, my lord. [Exit.
Bru. It must be by bis death : and for my
part,
I know no personal cause to spurn at him, 11
But for tlie general. He would be crown'd :
How that might change his nature, tliere's the
question.
It is the bright day that brings forth the adder;
And that craves wary walking. Crown him 7
—^that;—
And then^ I grant, we put a sting in him.
That at his will he may do danger with.
The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins
Remorse from power : and, to speak truth of
Cmsar, 19
I have not known when his affections sway'd
More than his reason. But 'tis a common
proof.
That lowliness is young ambition's ladder.
Whereto the climber-upward turns his face ;
Bat when he mice attains the upmost round.
He then unto the ladder turns his back.
Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees
By which he did ascend. So Ciesar may.
Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the
quarrel
Will bear no color for the thing he is.
Fashion it thus ; that wliat he is, augmented,
Would run to these and these extremities : 31
And therefore thhik him as a serpent's egg
Which, hatch'd, would, as his kind, grow mis¬
chievous.
And kill him in the shell.
Re-enter Lucnjs.
Luc. The taper burneth in your closet, sir.
Searching the window for a flint, I found
This paiier, thus seal'd up ; and, I am sure.
It did not lie there when I went to bed.
[Gives him the letter.
Scene i.]
Bru. Get you to bed again ; it is not day.
Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of ^rch ? 40
Lttc. I know not, sir.
Bru. Look in the calendar, and bring me
word.
Luc. I will, sir. [Exit.
Bru. The exhalations whizzing in the air
Give so much light that I may read by them.
[Qpens the letter and reads.
' Brutus, thon sleep st: awake, and seb thy¬
self.
Shall Borne, &c. Speak, strike, redress I
Brutus, thou sleep'st: aw.tke !' '
Such instigations nave been often dropp'd
Where I have took them up. 50
' Shall Rome, &c.' Thus must I piece it out:
Shall Rome stand under one man's awe ?
What, Rome ?
My ancestors did from the streets of Rome
The Tarqnin drive, when he was call'd a king.
' Speak, strike, redress !' Am I entreated
To speak and strike ? O Rome, I make thee
promise :
If the redress wiil follow, thou receivest
Thy full petitiou at the hand of Brutus !
Re-enter Lucius.
Luc. Sir, March is wasted fourteen days.
[Knocking within.
Bru. Tis good. Go to the ^te ; somebody
knocks. [Exit Lucius. M
Since Cassius first did whet me against Cresar,
I have not slept.
Between the aicting of a dreadful thing
And the first motion, all the interim is
Like a phautasma, or a hideous dream :
I'he Genius and the mortal instruments
Are then in council; and the state of man.
Like to a little kingdom, suffers then
The nature of an insurrection.
Re-enter Lucius.
Luc. Sir, 'tis your brother Cassius at the
door.
Who doth desire to see you.
Bru. Is he alone ? 71
Luc. Ko, sir, there are moe with him,
Bru. Do you know them ?
Luc. Ko, sir ; their hats are pluck'd about
their ears.
And half their f^s buried in their cloaks.
That by no means 1 may discover them
By any mark of favor.
Bru. Let 'em enter. [Exit Lucius.
They are the faction. O conspiracy,
Shamest thou to show thy dangerous brow Oy
night.
When evils are most free ? O, then by day
Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough 80
To mask thy monstrous visye ? Seek none,
conspiracy ;
Hide it in smiles and affability ;
For if thou i>ath, thy native semblance on,
Kot Erebus itself were dim enough
(o hide thee from prevention.
626
Enter the conspirators, Cassius, Casca,
Dbcius, Cimma, Mbtrllus Cimbeb, and
Tbebonius.
Cos. I think we are too bold upoE your
rest:
Good morrow, Brutus ; do we trouble you f
Bru. I have been up this hour, awake aU
night.
Know I these men that come along with you 7
Cas. Yes, every man of them, and no mat
here iX
But honors yon ; and every one doth wish'
You had but that opinion of yourself
Which every noble Roman bears of you.
This is Trebouius.
Bru. He is welcome hither.
Cas. This, Dedus Brutus.
Bru. He is welcome too
Cas This, Casca ; this, Cinna ; and this,
Metellus Cimber.
Bru. They are all welcome.
What watchful cares do interpose themselves
Betwixt your ^es and night ?
Cos. Shall I entreat a word ? 100
[Brutus and Cassius whisper.
Dec. Here lies the east: doth not the day
break here ? >
Casca. No.
Cin. O, pardon, sir, it doth ; and yon gray
lines
That fret the clouds are messengers of day.
Casca. You shall confess that you are both
deceived.
Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises.
Which is a great way growing on the south.
Weighing the youtliful season of the year.
Some two months hence up higher toward the
noith
He first presents his fire ; and the high east
Stands, as the Capitol, directly here. Ill
Bru. Give me your hands all over, one by
one.
Cas. And let us swear our resolution.
Bru. Ko, not an oath : if not the face at
men.
The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuse,—
If these be motives weak, break off betimes.
And every man hence to his idle bed ;
So let high-sighted tyranny range on.
Till each man drop by lottery. But if these.
As I am sure they do, bear fire enough 120
To kindle cowards and to steel with valor
The melting spirits of women, then, country¬
men.
What need we any spur but our own cause,
To prick us to redress ? what other bond
Than secret Romans, that have spoke the
word,'
And wiil not palter ? and what otiier oath
Than honesty to honesty engaged.
That this shall be, or we will fall for it ?
Swear priests and cowards and men cautelous,
Old feeble carrions and such suffering souls
That welcome wrongs ; unto bad causes swear
Such creatures as men doubt; but do not
stain
dO
JULIUS C.XSAB.
m
JULIUS
CJSSAR.
[Acs! i».
Fhefiven virtne of our enterprise,
N'tr the iiisnppressive mettle of our spirits.
To think that or our cause or our performance
rhl need an oath ; \fh«n every drop of blood
Til St e\ cry Roman bears, and nobly bears
Is guilty of a several bastardy,
If hie do break the smallest irarticle
Of any promise that hath pass'd from him.
Cm. But what of Cicero ? shall we sound
him 1 141
I thiuk he will stand very strong with us.
Casca. Let us not leave him out
Cin. , No, by no means.
Met. 0, let us have him, fur his silver hairs
Will purchase us a good opiuioii ,
And buy men's voices to commeud our deeds :
It shall be said, his judgment ruled our hands;
Our youtlis and wildness shall no whit appear.
But all be buried iii his gravity.
Bnt. 0, name him not: let us not break
with him ; j50
For he will never follow any thing
That other men begin. , '
C'as. Then leave him out ,
Casca. Indeed he is not fit.
Dec. Shall no man else be touch'd but only
Cresar ?
Cas. Decius, well urged : I think it is not
meet,
Mark Antony, so well beloved of Cresar,
Should outlive Cresar : we shall hud of him
A shrewd contriver; and, yon know, his
means.
If he improve them, may well stretch so far
As to annoy us all : which to prevent, 160
Let Antony and Cmsar fall tog-^^hcr.
Bni. Our course will seem to,, oloody^ Cains
Casslus,
'So cut the head off and then hack the limbs.
Like wrath in death and envy afterwards ;
For Antony is but a limb of Ciesar :
Let ns be sacrificers, but not butchers, Cains.
We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar ;
And in the spirit of men there is no blood :
O, that we tlien could come by Cajsar's spirit,
And not dismember Caesar ! 'But, alas, 170
Caesar must bleed for it! And, gentle friends, <
Let's kill him boldly, but not wratiifully ;
Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods.
Not hew him as a carca.ss fit for bounds : j '
And let our hearts, as subtle masters do.
Stir up their servants to an act of rage.
And after seem to chide 'em. This sh^ make
Our purirose necessary and not envious :
Which so appearing to the common eyes.
We shall be call'd purgers, not murderers. 180
And for Mark Antony, think not of him ;
For he can do no more than Caesar's arm
When Caesar's head is off.
Cas. Tet I fear him ;
For in the ingrafted love he bears to Ciesar—
Bru. Alas, good Casslus, do not think of
him;
II he love Caesar, all that he can do >
Is to himself, take thought and die for Caesar:
And that were much he should; for he is given
To sports, to wildness and much company. i
• . 7'reb. There is no fear in him : let him n.ot
die ; ■, WO
For he will live, and laugh at .this hereafter.
[Clock strikes.
Bru, Peace! count the clock. >
Cos. The dock hath stricken three.
Treh. 'Tis time to part. . . .
Cus. But it is doubtful yet,
Whetlier Caesar wiU eome forth to-day, or no;
For he is superstitious grown of late.
Quite from the main opinion he held once
Of fantasy, of dreams and ceremonies: '
It may be, these apparent proi^es, <
The unaccustom'd terror of this night, ..
And tlie persuasion of his augurers, . 200
hold him from the Capitol to-day.
Dec. Never fear that: if he be so resolved,
I can o'ersway him ; for he loves to heat .
That unicorns may ^ betray'd with trees.
And bears with glasses, elephants witli holes.
Lions with toils and men with flatterers; .
But when I tell him he hates flatterers.
He says he does, being then most flattered.
Let me work;
For I can give his humor the true bent, 2lO
And I will bring him to the Capitol.
Cas. Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch
him. '
Bru. By the eighth hour: is that the utter-
inosj; ? • ■
' Cin. Be that the uttermost, and fail not
" then.
Mel. C:iius Ligarins doth bear Cresar haid.
Who rated him for speaking well of Pompeyf
I wonder none of yon have thought of him.
Bru. Now, gocw Metellus, go along by him:
He loves me well, and I have given niin rea¬
sons ;
Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him. 220
Cas. The morning comes upon's; we'll
leave you, Brutus.
And, friends, disperse yourseWes ; but all re¬
member
What you have said, and show yourselves true
Romans. [ril.Vi
Bru. Good gentlemen, look fresh and mer-
Let not our looks put on our purposes.
But bear it as our Roman actors do,
With untired spirits and formal constancy:
And so good morrow to you every one.
[Exeunt all'hut Brutus.
Boy ! Lucius ! Fastasieep? It is no matter;
Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber: 230
Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies,'
AVhich busy care draws in the brains of ment
Therefore thou sleep'st so sound.
Enter Portia.
Por. Brutus, my lord t
Bru. Portia, what mean you ? wherefore
rise you now ?
It is not for yonr health thus to commit
Your weak condition to the raw cold morning.
Par. Nor for yours neither- You've im-
gently, Brutus, ' ' '
11.1
JULIUS
C^AR
m
Stole from my bed i «ud yesternight^ at sup-'
per,
You suddenly arose, and walk'd about, . 23!)
Musing and sighing, with your arms across.
And ndien I ask'd you what tlie matter was.
You stared upon me with ungentle looks ;
I urged you Inrther; tlien you 8cral)ch'd your <
h^.
And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot;
Yet 1 iusistM, yet you auswer'd not.
But, with an angry wafture of your hand.
Gave sign for me to leave you : so I did ;
Fearing to strengthen that impatience
Which seein'd too much enkindled, and withal
Hoping it was but an effect of humor, 250
Which sometime hath his hour with every
man.
It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep,
And couid it work so much upon your sna()e
As it hath mach prevail'd on your condition,
I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my
lord.
Make me acquainted with your cause of grief.
Bru. I am not well in neaith, and Giat is
all. ,
For.. Brutus is wise, and, were he not in
health.
He would embrace the means to come by it..
ftru. Why, so I da Good Portia, go to
bed. 260
. I For. Is Brntus sick 2 and is it physical
To walk unbraced and suck up the numors
Of the dank morning ? What, is Brutus sick.
And will he steal out of his wholesome bed, ,
To dare the vile contagion of tlie night
And tempt the rheumy and unpurgra air
To add unto his sickness ? . No, my Brutus ;
You have some sick offence within your mind.
Which, by tlie right and virtue of my place,
I ought to know of : and, upon my knees, vlO
I charm you, by my onceKsommended beauty.
By all your vows of love and tliat great vow
Which did incorporate and make us one.
That you unfold to me, yourself, your half.
Why you are heavy, and what men to-night
Have had resort to you; for here have been
Some six or seven, who did liide tiieir faces
Even from darkness.
Bru. Kneel not, gentle Portia.
For. I should not need, if yon were gentle
Brutus. {
Within tlie bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus,
Is it excepted I should know no secrets 281
Tliat appertain to you 2 Am I yourself
But, as it were, in sort or limitation.
To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed.
And talk to you sometimes 2 Dwell I but in
tiie suburbs
Of your good pleasure 2 If it be no mmre,
Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife.
. Bru. You are my true and honorable wife,
As dear to me as are the ruddy drops
That visit my sad heart. 290
For. If this were true, then should I know
this secret.
I grant I am a woman ; but withal
A woman tliat Lord Brutns took to wife : .
I grant I am a woman ; but witlial
A woman well-reputed, Cato's daughter.
Think you I am no stronger than niy sex.
Being so father'd and so husbanded 2
Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose 'em;
I have made strong proof of my constancy.
Giving myself a'voiuntary wound SCO
Here, in the thigh : can I bear that with pa¬
tience, .
And not piy husband's secrets 2
Bnt. O ye gods.
Render me worthy of this noble wife I
' [Knocking within.
Hark, hark! one knocks: Portia, go in awhile;
And by and by thy bosom shall partake
The secrets of my heart.
All my engagements 1 will construe to thee.
All the eharactery of my sad brows :
Leave me with haste. \ExU Fortia.'] Lucius,
who's that knocks 2 ,
Be-enter Lucius with Lioarius.
' Luc. He is a sick man that would speaii
with you. 310
Bru. Caius Ligarius, that Metelhis spake of.
Boy, stand aside. . Caius Ligarius ! how 2
Lig. 'Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble
tongue. ■
Bru. 0, what a time have you chose out,
brave Caius^
To wear a kerchief! AYouid you were not
sick!
Lig. I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand
Any exploit worthy the name of honor.
Bru. Such an exploit have I in hand, Li-
' garius.
Had you a healthful ear to hear of it.
Lig. By all the gods that Romans pew be-
. fore, 3M
I here discard my sickness I Soul of Rome !
Brave son, derived from honorable loins ! >
Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjured up
My mortified spirit. Now bid me run.
And I will strive with things impossible ;
Yea, get the better of them. IVhat's to do 2
Bru. A piece of work that will make sick
men whole.
Lig. But are not some whole that we must
make sick 2
Bru. That must we also. "What if is, my
Cains,
I shall unfold to thee, as we ai^e going 330
To whom it must be done.
Lig. Set on yoi.r foot.
And with a heart new-fired I follow you.
To do I know not wliat : but it sufflceth
'That Brutus leads me on. ' . ,
Bru. Follow me, then. [Exeimt.
Scene IL Caesar's house.
Thunder and lightning. Enter Cjbsak, in his
' night-gown, '
CcBs. Nor heaven nor earth have beau at
peace to-night: '>
S28
JULIUS
CuESAR,
[Act ii.
Thrice hath Calxiurnia in her sleep cried out,
' Help, ho ! they murder Ciesar!' "W^o's with¬
in ?
Enter a Servant.
Serv. My lord ?
Cces. Go. bid'the priests do present sacrifice
And bring me their opinions oi success.
Serv. I will, my lord, {Exit.
Enter calpcbina.
Col. What mean yon, Caesar ? think you
to walk forth t
If on shall not stir our of your house to-day.
Ccu. Caesar shall forth: the things tliat
threateu'd mc 10
Ne'er look'd but on my back ; when they shall
see
The face of Caesar, they are vanished.
Col. Caesar, I uever stood on ceremonies.
Yet now they fright me. There is one within.
Besides the things that we have heard and
seen.
Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch.
A lioness hath whelped in the streets ;
And graves have yawn'd, and yielded up their
dead;
Fierce fiery wairiors fought upon the clouds.
In ranks and squadrons and right form of war,
'Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol; 21
'liie noise of battle hurtled in the air.
Horses did neigh, and dying men did groan.
And gliosis did shriek and squeal atout the
streets.
O Caesar! these thiugs are beyond all use.
And I do fear them.
Goes. 'Wliat can be avoided
Whose end is purposed by the mighty gods ?
Yet Cajsar shall go forth; for these predictions
Are to the world in general as to Ciesar.
Cat. When beggars die, there are no comets
seen ; 30
Ike heavens themselves blaze forth the death
of princes.
Ceet. Cowards die many times before their
deaths ;
The valiant never taste of death bnt once.
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard.
It seems to me most strange that men should
fear;
Seeing that death, a necessary end.
Will come when it will come.
Re-enter Servant
Wliat say the augurers ?
Serv. They would not have you to stir forth
to-day.
Plucking the entrails of an offering forth.
They could not find a heart within the beast.
Cee*. • 'The gods do this in shame of coward¬
ice : 41
Csesar should be a beast without a heart.
If he should stay at home to-day for fear.
No, C.-esar shall not: danger knows full well
ITiat CiEsar is more dangerous than he :
We are two lions litterid in one day,
And I the elder acd more teiriblo :
And Ceesar shall go forth.
Col. Alas, my lord.
Your wisdom is consumed in confidence.
Do not go forth to-day; call it my fear 50
That keeps you in uie house, and not your
own.
We'll send Mark Antony to the senate-house:
And he shall say you are not well to-day:
Let me, upon my knee, prevail in this.
Coee. Mark Antony shall say I am not well;
And, for thy humor, I will stay at home.
Enter Decius.
Here's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so.
Dee. CiEsar, all hail! good morrow, worthy
Csesar:
I come to fetch you to the senate-house.
C(BS. And you are come in very happy
time, 60
To boar my greeting to the senators
And tell them that I will not come to-day:
Cannot, is false, and that I dare not, falser :
I will not come to-day: tell tliem so, Decius.
Cal. Say he is sick.
Cois. Shall CsEsar send a lie ?
Have I ill conquest stretch'd mine arm so far.
To be afraid to tell graybeards the truth ?
Decius, go tell them Caesar will not come.
Dec. Most mighty Csesar, let me know some
cause.
Lest I be laugh'd at when I tell them so. 70
Celt. The cause is in my will: I will not
come;
That is enough to satisfy the senate.
But for your private satisfaction.
Because I love you, I will let you know :
Calpuruia here, my wife, stays me at home :
She dreamt to-night she saw my statua,
Wliich, like a fountain with an hundred spouts.
Did run pure blood: and many lusty Romans
Came smiling, and did Imthe their hands in it:
And these does she apply for warnings, and
portents, 80
And evils imminent; and on her knee
Hath begg'd that I will stay at home to-day.
Dec. This dream is all amiss interpreted ;
It was a vision fair and fortunate :
Your statue spouting blood in many pipes.
In which so many smiling Romans bathed.
Signifies that from you great Rome shall suck
Reviving blood, and that great men shall press
Fur tinctures, stains, relics and coxniizauce.
This by Calpumia's dream is signified. 9G
Cati. And this way have you well ex¬
pounded it.
Dec. I have, when you have heard what I
can say:
And know it now : the senate have concluded
To give this day a crown to mighty Ciesar.
I f you shall send them word yon will not come.
Their minds may change. Besides, it were a
mock
Ai>t to be render'd, for some one to say
' Break up the senate till another time,
'When Csesar's wife shall meet with better
dreams.'
ScLNB ly.]
JULIUS
C^SAR.
m
If Cicsar hide hiraself, shall they not whisper
' Lo, Ctesar is afraid' ? 101
Piirdou me, Otsar ; for my dear dear love
To your prouecding bids me tell you this ;
And reason to my love is liable.
Cms. How foolish do your fears seem now,
Calpurnia!
I am ashamed 1 did yield to them.
Give me my robe, for 1 will go.
Enler Publius, Brutds, Lioarius, Metel-
lus, Casca, Tuebonius, aiiU Cinxa.
And look wliere Publius is come to fetch me.
Rub. Good morrow, Ca;.sar
Cms. Welcome, Publius.
What, Brutus, are you stirr'd so early too ?
Good morrow, Ciisca. Caius Ligarius, 111
Ctesar was ne'er so much your euemy
As that same ague wliich hath made you lean.
What is't o'clock ?
Era. Ca-sar, 'tis strucken eight
Cms. I thank you for your imins and
courtesy.
Enter Antony.
See! Antony, that revels long o' nights.
Is notwithstanding up. Good morrow, Antony.
Ant. So to most noble Ca'sar.
Cms. Bid them prepare within;
I am to blame to be tlius waited for.
Now, Cinna: now, Metellus: what, Trebonius !
I have an hour's talk in store for you ;
Remember that you call on me to-day :
Be near me, tiiat I may remember you.
Treb. Cicsar, "I will: [Aside} and so near
will 1 be,
That your best friends shall wish I had been
further.
Cms. Good friends, go in, and taste some
wine with me ; [gather.
And'wo, like friends, will straightway go to-
Eru. [Aside] That every like is not the
same, O C'a.*sar,
The heart of Brutus yearns to think u^n I
[Exeunt.
Scene III. A street near the Capitol.
Enter Arte.miik>kus, reading a paper.
Art. ' Ca;sar, beware of Brutus ; take heed
of Ca.ssius ; come not near Casca; have an eye
to Ciuna ; trust not Trebonius : mark well
Metellus Cimber : Decius Brutus loves tiiee
not: tliou hast wronged Caius Ligarius. Tliire.
is but o|m mind in all these men, and it is bent
against Ca-sar. If tiiou beest not immortal,
look about you : security gives way to con¬
spiracy. Tlie mighty gods defend thee ! Tliy
lover,
' Abtemioorus.'
Here will I stand till Ciesar pass along, 11
And as a suitor will I give lumdlns.
My heart laments that virtue cannot live
Out of the teeth of emulation.
If thou read tliis, O Ciesar, thou maystlive ;
If not, the Fates with ^'aitors do contrive.
[Exit,
SCENk IV. Another part of the same street,
b^ore the house of Brutus.
Enter Portia and Lucnis.
Por. I prithee, boy .run to the senate-bouse;
Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone :
Why dost tliou stay ?
Luc. To know my errand, madam.
Por. I would have had thee there, and hen
again,
Ere I can tell thee what thou shonldst do
tliere.
0 constancy, be strong upon my side.
Seta huge mountain 'tween my hrart and
tongue!
1 have a man's mind, but a woman's might.'
How hard it is for women to keep counsel!
Art thou here yet 1
Luc. Madam, what should I do ? 10
Run to the Capitol, and nothing else ?
And so return to you, and nothing else ?
Por. Yes, bring me word, boy. If tliy lord
look well.
For he went sickly forth: and take good note
What Ceesar doth, what suitors press to him.
Hark, hoy ! what noise is that ?
Luc. I hear none, madam.
Por. Prithee, listen well;
I heard a bustling rumor, like a fray.
And the wind bnilgs it from the Capitol.
Luc. Sooth, madam, 1 hear nothing. 20
Enter the Soothsayer.
Por. Come hither, fellow : which way hast
thou been ?
Sooth. At mine own house, good lady.
Por. What is't o'clock ?'
Sooth. About tlie ninth hour, lady.
Por. Is C^sar yet gone to tlie Capitol ?
Sooth. Madam, nut yet: I go to take my
stand.
To see him pass on to the Capitol.
Por. Thou hast some suit to Caisar, hast thou
not ?
Sooth. That I have, lady : if it will please
Cssar
To be so good to Csesar as to hear me,
I shall beseech him to befriend himself. 30
Por. Why, know'st thou any harm's in¬
tended towards him ?
Sooth. None tliat 1 know will be, much that
I fear may chance. [row :
Good morrow to you. Here the street is nar-
The throng that follows Cassar at tlie lieels.
Of senators, of prietors, common suitors.
Will crowd a feeble man almost to death :
I'll get me to a place more void, and tliete
Speak to great Csesar as he comes along.
[Exit.
Por. I must go in. Ay me, how. Weak a
thing
The heart of woman is ! O Brutus, 40
The heavens speed thee in thine enterprise !
Sure, the boy heard me ; Brutus hath a suit
That Cmsar will not grant. O, I grow faint
Run. Lucius, and commend m$ to my lord;
JULIUS
CAISAR.
[ACT III.
Say I am merry : come to me again, '
And bring uie word what he dutli say to thee.
{Exeunt aeverally.
ACT III.
Scene I. Rome. Before Ute Capitol; the
tSenate eittiny above.
A crowd of people; among them Artehidorus
and I/te Sootlisayer. Flourish. Enter Cacsah,
Brctus, Oassius, Casca, Decius, Metel-
LUS, TrBBONIUS, ClNNA, ANTONV, Lepidus,
Popiucs, PiTBLius, and others.
Oces. [ To the Eoothmycr] The ides of March
are come.
Sooth. Ay, Ccssar ; but not gone.
Art, Hail, Csesar ! read this scbednle.
Dec. Trebonius doth desire you to o'er-
read.
At your best leisure, this his humble suit.
Art. O Csesar, read mine first; lor mine's
a suit
That touches Csesar nearer : read it, great
Csesar.
Coes. Wiiat touches us ourself shall be last
served.
Art. Delay not, Cmsar ; read it instantly,
C<Bs. What, is the feilow mad ?
Pub. Sirrah, give place. 10
Cas. What, urge you your petitions in the
street ?
Come to the CapitoL
C.£SAR goes up to the Senate-House, the rest
following.
Pop. I wish your enterprise to-day may
tlirive.
Cas. What enterprise, Popilius ?
Pop. Fare you well.
[Advances to Caesar.
Bru. What said Popilius Lena ?
Cas. He wish'd to day our enterprise might
thrive.
1 fear our purpose is discovered.
Bru. Look, how he makes to Csesar ; mark
him.
Cas. Casca, be sudden, for we fear preven¬
tion.
Brutus, what shall be done ? If this be known,
Cassius or Ciesar never shall turn back, 21
For I will slay myself.
Bru. Cassius, be constant:
Popilius Lena s^ks not of our purposes ;
For, look, he smiles, and Ciesar doth not change.
Cas. Trebonius knows his time ; for, look
you, Brutus.
He'draws Mark Antony out of the way.
[Exeunt Antony and Trebonius.
Dec. Where is Metellus Cimber ? Let him
go.
And presently prefer his suit to Csesar.
Bru. He is address'd: press near and
second him.
Cin. Casca, you are the first that rears
your haucL 30
Caes. Are we all ready ? What is now
.■jniss
Tliat Caesar and his senate must redress ?
Met,. Mrst high, most mighty, and most
puissant Ciesar,
Metellus Cimber tiirows before tliy seat
An humble h..airt,— [Kneeling.
Caes. I must prevent thee, Cimber.
These couchings and these lowly courtesies
Might fire the blood of ordiuary men.
And turn pre-ordinance and first decree
Into the law of children. Be not fond.
To think that Caesar bears such rebel blood 441
Tliiit will be thaw'd from the true quality
With that which melteth fools ; 1 mean, sweet
words.
Low-crooked court'sies and base spi:uiel-
fawuing
Thy brother by decree is banished :
If thou dost bend and (iray and fawn for him,
I spuni thee like a cur out of my way.
Know, Caesar doth not wrong, nor without
cause
Will he be satisfied.
Met. Is there no voice more worthy than
my own
To sound more sweetly in great Caesar's ear
For the repealing of my banish'd brother ? 51
Bru. 1 kiss thy hand, but not in flattery,
Caesar ;
Desiring thee that PubUus Cimber may
Have an immediate freedom of repeah
Caes. What, Brutus I
Cas. Pardon, Caesar ; Cae.sar, pardon:
As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall.
To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber.
Caes. 1 could be well moved, if 1 wereausyou:
If 1 could pray to move, prayers would move
me :
But I am constant aas the northern star, ,60
Of whose true-fix'd and re.stingquaility
There is no fellow in the firmament.
The skies are painted with umiumber'd sparks,
They are all fire and every one doth shine.
But there's but one in all doth hold his place:
So in the world ; 'tis fumish'd well with men.
And men are flesh and blood, and apprehen¬
sive ;
Yet in the number 1 do know but one
That unassailable holds on his raink,
Unshaked of motion : auid that I am he, 70
Let me a little siiow it, even in this ;
That 1 was constant Cimber should be ban¬
ish'd.
And constant do remain to keep him so.*
Cin. O Cassar,—
Caes. Hence I wilt thou lift up Olympus?
Dec. Great Cwsar,—
Cass. Doth not Brutus bootless kneel ?
Casca. Speak, bands, for me I
[Casca first, then the other Conspirators
and Marcus Brutus stab Caesar.
Caes. Et tu. Brute I Then fall, Csesar.
[Dies.
Cin. Liberty I Freedom 1 Tyranny is
lead I ' ^
SCKNE I.]
JULIUS
C^SAR.
631
Run hence, inroclaim, cry it about the streets.
Cos. Some to the common pulpits, and cry
out 80
' Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement'
tiru. Peojde and senators, be not affriglited;
Fly not; stend still : ambition's debt is iiaid.
C'ttsca. Go to the pulpit, Brutus.
Dec. And Ca.ssius too.
■Dm. Where's Publius ?
Cin. Hero, quite confounded with this
mutiny.
Met. Stand fast together, lest some friend
of Oufsar's
Should chance—
Bnt. Talk not of standing. Publius, good
cheer ;
There is no harm intended to your person, 90
Kor to no Roman else : so tell tliem, Publius.
Cos. And leave us, Publius , lest that the
people, [chief.
Rushing on us, should do your age some mis-
Dru. Do so : and let no man abide this
deed.
But we the doers.
Re-enter Trebonics.
C«s. Where is Antony ?
Tre. Fled to his house amazed ;
Men, wives and children stare, cry out and
run
As it were doomsday.
Bru. Fates, we will know your pleasures :
That we shall die, we know ; 'tis but the time
And drawing days out, that men stand upon.
Cos. Why, he that cuts off twenty years of
life 101
Cuts off so many years of fearing death.
Bru. Grant tliat, and then is death a bene¬
fit:
So are we Caesar's friends, that have abridged'
His time of fearing death. Stoop, Romans,
stoop,
And let us bathe our hands in Ca?.sar's blood
Up to the elbows, and besinejir our swords :
Then walk we forth, even to the market-place,
And, waving our red wea|)ons o'er our hcad.s.
Let's all cry ' Peace, freedom and liberty !'
Ca». Stoop, then, and wash. How many
ages hence 111
Shall this our lofty scene be acted over
''u states unborn and .accents yet unknown !
Bru. How many times shall Caesar bleed
In si>ort,
riiat now on Pompey's basis lies along
No worthier than the dust!
Cas. So oft as that shall be,
So often shall the knot of us be call'd
The men that gave their country liberty.
Dee. What, shall we forth ?
Cas. Ay, every man away •
Brutus shall lead ; .and we will grace his heels
With the most boldest an«b best hearts of
Rome. 121
Enter a Servant
3ru. Soft! who comes here ? A friend of
Antony's.
Serv. Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me
kneel:
Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down ;
And, b^ng prostrate, thus he bade me say :
Brutus is noble, wise, valiant,.and honest;
Csesar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving : ,
Say 1 love Brutus, and 1 honor him ;
Say I fear'd Csesar, honor'd him and loved
him.
If Brutus will vouchsafe that Antony 130
May safely come to him, and be resolved
How Ciesarhath deserved to lie in death,
Mara Antony shall not love Cscsar dead
So well as Brutus living ; but will follow
The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus
Thorough the hazards of this untrod state
With ali true faith. So says my master An¬
tony.
Bru. Thy master is a wise and valiant Ro¬
man ;
I never thought him worse.
Tell him, so please him come unto this place.
He shall be satisfied ; and, by my honor, 141
Depart untouch'd.
Bei-o. I'll fetch him presently. [Exit,
Bru. I know that we shall have him well
to friend.
Cas. I wish we may : but yet have I a
mind
That fears him much ; and my misgiving
still
Falls shrewdly to the purpose.
Bru. But here comes Antony.
Re-enter Antonv.
Welcome, Mark Antony.
Ant. 0 mighty Ctesar! dost thou lie so
low ?
Arealt tffy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils,
Shrunk to this little measure ? Fare thee well.
I know not, gentlemen, what you intend, 161
Who else must be let blood, who else is rank :
If i myself, there is no hour so fit
As Caesar's death hour, nor no instrument
Of half that worth as those your swords, made
rich
With the most noble blood of all this world.
I do beseech ye, if you bear me liaid.
Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and
smoke.
Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years,
I shall'iiot find myself so apt to die : KiO
No place will please me so, no mean of death.
As hiire by Caesar, and by you cutoff.
The choice and master spirits of this age.
Bru. O Antony, beg not your death of us.
Though now we must appear bloody and
cruel.
As, by our hands and this our present act.
You see we do, yet see you but our hands.
And this the bleeding business they have
done :
Our hearts yon see not; they are pitiful j
And pity to the general wrong of Rome— 170
As fire drives out fire, so pity pity—
Hath done this deed on Ciesar. For your part,
632
JULIUS
CjESAR.
[Act lit.
To you our s\rords have leaden points, Mark
Antony:
tOur arms, in strength of malice, and our
hearts
Of brothers' temper, do receive you in
With ali kind love, good thoughts, and rever¬
ence.
Cat. Your voice shall be as strong as any
man's
In the disposing of new dignities.
Brn. Only patient till we have appeased
The multitude, beside themselves with fear.
And then we will deliver you the cause, 181
Why I, that did iove Csesar when I struck him.
Have thus proceeded
Ant. I doubt not of your wisdom.
Let each man render me his bloody hand ;
First, Marcus Brutus, wiil I shake with you ;
Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand ;
Now, Decius Brutus, yours : now yours, Me-
tellus ;
Tours, Cinna ; and, my valiant Casca, yours ;
Though last, not least in love, yours, good
Trebonius.
Gentlemen all,—^alas, what shall I say ? 190
My credit now stands on such slippery ground.
That one of two bad ways you must conceit
me.
Either a coward or a flatterer.
That I did love thee, Csesar, O, 'tis true :
It then thy spirit look upon us now,
Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death.
To see thy Antony making his peace.
Shaking the bloody Angers of thy foes.
Most noble I in the presence of thy corse ?
Had I as many eyes as thou hast "wounds, 200
Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy
biood.
It would become me better than to close
In terms of friendship with thine enemies.
Pardon me, Julius I Here wast thou bay'd,
brave hart;
Here didst thou fall; and here thy hunters
stand,
Sign'd in thy six>il, and crimson'd inthy lethe.
O world, thou wast the forest to this hart;
And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee.
How like a deer, strucken by many princes, •
Dost thou here lie ! 210
Cat. Mark Antony,—
Ant. Pardon me, Caius Cassius :
The enemies of Csesar shall say this ;
Then, in a friend, it is coid modesty.
Cat. I blame you not for praisingCiesar so;
But what comp^t mean you to have with us?
Will you be prick'd in number of our friends ;
Or sliali we on, and not depend on you ?
Ant. Therefore I took your hands, but was,
indeed,
Sway'd from tlie point, by looking down on
Ciesar. 219
Friends am I with you all and love you all.
Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons
Wliy and wherein Caesar was dangerous.
Brw. Or else were this a savage spectacle :
Ilur reasons are so full of good regard
That were you, Antony, the son of Caesar,
You should be satisfied.
Ant. That's all I seek :
And am moreover suitor that I may
Produce his body to the market-place ;
And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend,
Speak in the order of his fimeral. 230
Bru. Y'ou shall, Mark Antony.
Cat. Brutus, a word with you.
[Aside to Bni.'] You know not what you do ;
do not consent
That Antony speak in his funeral :
Know you how much the people may be
moved
By tliat which he will utter ?
Bru. By your pardon;
I will myself into the pulpit first.
And show the reason of our Ciesai-'s death :
Wliat Antony shall speak, I wiil protest
He speaks by leave and by permission.
And that we are contented Cmsar shall 24<>
Have all true rites and lawful ceremonies.
It shall advantage more than do us wrong.
Cat. I know not what may fall; I like it
not.
Bru. Mark Antony, hei-e, take you Csesar's
body.
You shall not in your funeral speech blame
us.
But speak all good you can devise of Csesar,
And say you do't by our permission ;
Else shall you not have any hand at all
About his funeral: and you shall speak
In the same pulpit whereto I am going, 250
After ray speech is ended.
Ant. Be it so ;
1 do desire no more.
Bru. Prepare the body then, and follow us.
, [Bxeunt all but Antony.
Ant. 0, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of
earth.
That I am meek and gentle with these butch¬
ers I
Thou art the ruins of the noblest man
That ever lived in the tide of times.
Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood I
Over thy wounds now do 1 Drophe.sy,—
Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby
lips, 260
To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue—
A curse shall light u)xm the tlimbs "of men ;
Domestic fury and fierce civil strife
Shall cumber all the parts of Italy ;
Blood and de.struction shall be so in use
And dreadful objects so familiar
That mothers shaii but smile when they be¬
hold
Their infants quarter'd with the hands of
war ;
All pity choked with custom of fell deeds :
And Csesar's spirit, ranging for revenge, 270
With Ate by his side come hot from heli.
Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice
Cry ' Havoc,' and let slip the dogs of war ;
That tills foul deed shall smell atove the earth
With carrion men, groaning for burial.
Scene ii.]
JULIUS
C^SAR.
633
Enter a Servant
Ton serve Octavius Csesar, do you not ?
Setv. I do, Mark Antony.
Ant. Ciesar did write for him to crane to
Rome.
Serv. He did receive his letters, and is
coming;
And bid me say to you by word of month—
0 CsB.mr !— [Seeing the body. 281
Ant. Thy heart is big, get thee apart and
weep.
Passion, I see, is catching ; for mine eyes,
Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine.
Began to water. Is thy master coming ?
Serv. He lies to-night within seven leagues
of Rome.
Ant. Post back with speed, and tell him
what hath chanced :
Here is a monrning Px>me, a dangerous Rome,
No Rome of safety for Octavius yet; 281)
Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet, stay awhile;
Thou slialt not back till 1 have borne this corse
Into the market-place : there shall I try,
in my oration, how the people take
The cruel issue of these bloody men ;
According to the which, thou shalt discourse
To young Octavius of the state of things.
Lend me your hand.
[Exeunt loiih Ceesw's body.
Scene II. The Forum,
Enter Brotus and Oassius, and a throng
of Citizens.
Cititens. We wili be satisfied) let us be
satisfied.
Bru. Then follow me, and give me audi¬
ence, friends.
Oassius, go you into the other street.
And part the numbers.
Those that wili hear me speak, let 'em stay
here ;
Those that wili follow Oassius, go with him ;
And public reasons shall be rendered
Of Ciesar's death.
First CU. I will hear Brutus s|)eak.
Sec. Cit. I will hear Oassius ; and compare
their reasons.
When severally we hear them rendered. 10
[Exit Cassius, with some of the Citizens.
Brutus goes into the pulpit.
Third Cit. The noble Brutus is ascended :
silence !
Bru. Be piitient till the last.
Romans, countrymen, and lovers! hear me for
my cause, and be silent, that you may hear :
believe me for mine honor, and have re.spect
to mine honor, that you may believe ; censure
me in your wisdom, and awake your senses,
tliat you may the better judge. If there be any
in this assembly, any dear friend of Oa^.sar's,
to him I say, tliat Brutus' lobe to Cicsar was
no less than his. If then that friend demand
why Brutus rose against Csesar, this is my
answer:—Kut that I loved Ctcsar less, but that
1 loved Rome more. Had you rather Cmsar
were living and die all slaves, than that Cxsar
were dead, to live all free men 7 As Oa:sar
loved me, I wee^ for him ; as be was fortu¬
nate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honor
him : but, as lie was ambitious, I slew him.
"There is tears for his love; joy fur his fortune;
honor for his valor; and death for his ambition.
Who is here so base that would be a bondman 7
If any, speak: for him have I offended. Who
is here so rude that would not be a Roman 7
If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who
is here so vile that will not love his country 7
If any, speak; for him have I offended. I pause
for a"reply.
All. None, Brutus, none.
Bin. Then none have I offended. I have
done no more to Ciesar than you shall do to
Brutus. The question of his death is enrolled
in theOapitol; his glory not extenuated, where¬
in he was wortlw, nor his offences enforced,
for which he suffered death.
Enter Antony and others, with C.£Sar'8 body.
Here comes his body, mourned by Mark An¬
tony : who, though he had no hand in his death,
shall receive the benefit of his dying, a place
in the commonwealth; as which of you shall
not 7 With this I depart,—that, as I slew my
best lover for the good of Rome, I have the
same dagger for myself, when it shall please
my country to need my death.
All. Live, Brutus ! live, live!
First Cit. Bring him with triumph home
unto his house.
Sec. Cit. Give him a statue with his ances¬
tors.
Third Cit. I.et him be Caesar.
Fourth Cit. Ciesar's better parts
Shall be crown'd in Brutus.
First at. We'll bring him to his house
With shouts and clamors.
Bru. My countrymen,—
Sec. Cit. Peace, silence ! Brutus speaks.
First Cit. Peace, ho!
Bru. Good countrymen, let me depart alone.
And, for my sake, stay here with Antony: 61
Do grace to Ciesar's corpse, and grace his
speech
Tending to Ciesar's glories ; which Mark An¬
tony,'
By our permission, is allow'd to make.
1 do entreat you, not a man depart.
Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. [Exit.
First Cit. Stay, ho ! and let us hear Mark
Antony.
Third Cit. Let him go up into the public
chair;
We'll hear him. Noble Antony, go up.
Ant. For Brutus' sake, I am beholding to
you. [Goes into the pulpit. 70
Fourth Cit. What does he say of Brutus 7
Third Cit, He says, for Brutus' sake.
He finds himself beholding' to us all.
Fourth Cit. 'Twere best he speak no harm
of Brutus here.
First Cit. This Ciesar was a tyrant
m
JULIUS
C^SAR.
(Act 111
Third CU. Kay, that's certain:
Wc are blest tliat Rome is rid of him.
Sec. CU. Peace ! let us hear what Antony-
can say.
Ant. You gentle Romans,—
Citizens. Peace, ho ! let us hear him.
AtU. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend
me your ears ;
I come to bury Ca?sar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them ; 80
The good is oft Interred with their bones ;
So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus
Hath told you Caesar was ambitious :
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Cses."ir answer'd it.
Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest—
For Brutus is an honorable man ;
So are they all, all honorable men—
Come I to speiik in Caesar's fuuerah
He was ray friend, faithful and just to me: 90
But Brutus ssiys lie was ambitious ;
And Brutus is an honorable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Wlio.se ransoms did the general coffers fill:
Did this in Csesar seem ambitious ?
Wlien tliat tiie poor have cried, Caesar hath
wept •
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Brutus says he was ambitions ;
And Brutus is an honorable man.
You ail did see tliat on the Lupercal 100
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which hedid tlirice refuse: was this ambition?
Yet Brutus says lie was ambitious ;
And, sure, he is an honorable man.
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke.
But here 1 am to speak what I do know.
Yon all did love him once, not without cause:
What cause witliholds you then, to mourn for
him ?
0 judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts.
And men have lost their reason. Bear with
me ; 110
My heart is in the coffin there with Ciesar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.
. First Cit. Methinks there is much reason
in his sayings.
Sec. CU. If' thou consider rightly of the
matter,
Cmsar has had great wrong.
Third Cit. Has he, masters ?
1 fear there will a worse come in his place.
Fourth Cit. Mark'd ye his words? He
would not take the crown ;
Therefore 'tis ceitain he was not ambitious.
First Cit. If it be found so, soine will dear
abide it.
Sec. Cit. Poor soul! his eyes are red as fire
■with weemng. 12C .
Third Cit. There's not a nobler man in
Rome than Antony.
Fourth Cit. Now mark him, he begins
again to speak. [might
Ant. But ye.sterday the word at Caesar
Have stood against the world ; now lies he
there,
And none so poor to do him reverence.
0 masters, if I were dis]x>sed to stir
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,
1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassins Wrong,
Who, you all know, are honorable men :
I will iiot do them wrong ; I rather choose 130
To wrong the dead, to wi-oiig myself and you.
Than I will wrong such honorable men.
But here's a parchment with the seal of Cesar;
I found it in his closet, 'tis his will:
Let but the commons hear this te.stament—
Which, pardon me, I do not mean t > read—
And they would go and kiss dead Cesar's
wounds
And dip their napkins in his sacred blood.
Yea, beg a hair of him for memoiy.
And, dying, mention it within their wills, 140
Bequeathing it as a rich legacy
Unto their issue.
Fourth Cit. We'll hear the will: read it,
Mark Antony.
All. The will, the will t we will hear Cesar's
will.
Ant. Have patience, gentle friends, I must
not read it;
It is not meet you know how Cesar loved yon.
You are not wood, you are not stones, but men;
And, being men, hearing the will of Cesar,
It will inflame you, it will make you mad: 149
'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs;
For, if you should, 0, what would come of it!
Fourth CU. Read the will: we'll hear it,
Antony;
You shall read us the will, C.esar's will.
Ant. Will you be patient ? will you stay
awhile ?
I have o'ershot myself to tell you of it:
I fear I wrong the honorable men
Whose da^ers have stabb'd Cesar : I do feat
it.
Fourth Cit. They were traitors ! honorable
men!
All. The will! the testament!
Sec. Cit. They were villains, murderers
the will! read the will. ler
Ant. Yon will compel me, then, to read the
will ?
Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar,
And let me show you him that made the will.
Shall I descend ? and will you give me leave ?
Several Cit. Come down-
Sec. Cit. Descend.
Third CU. You shall have leave.
[Antony comes down.
Fourth Cit. A ring ; stand round.
First Cit. Stand from the' hearse, stand
from the body.
Sec. CU Room for Antony, most nOble An¬
tony. 170
Ant. Kay, press not so upon me; stand far
off.
Several Cit. Stand back ; room ; bear back.
Ant. If you have tears, prepare to sh^
'them now.
You aH do know this mantle : I remember
The first time ever Caesar put it on ;
SOEKE ni.]
JULIUS
C^SAR.
m
'twas on a Bummer's erenin$r, in his tent,
That day he overcame the Nervii;
Look, in this place ran Cassius'daggerthrough:
See what a rent the envions Casca made :
Through this tlie wdl-beloved Brutus stabb'dj
And as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, 181
Mark how the blood of Ca«ar foUow'd it.
As rushing out of doors, to be resolved
If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no ;
For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel:
Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved
him !
This was the most nnkindest eut of all;
For when the noble Caesar saw him stab.
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms.
Quite vauquish'd him : then burst his mighty
heart; i 190
And, hi his mantle muffling up his faee,
Kven at the base of Pompey's statua.
Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar
fell.
O, what a fall was there, my counti-ymen
'Then I, and you, and all of us felt down,
Whilst bloody ticsison flourish'd over us.
O, now you weep ; and, I perceive, you feel
The dint of pity: these are gracious'drops.
Kind} oiils, what, weep you when you wit be¬
hold
Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look you
here, 200
Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with trai¬
tors.
Rirtt at 0 piteous spectacle !
Sec. at. O noble Caesar !
Third C'rti ' O wofnl day !
Fourth at. O traitors, villains I
First at. O most bloody sight!
Sec. at. We will be revenged.
Alt. Revenge! About! Seek! Bum {
Fire 1 Kill 1 Slay I Let not a traitor live !
Ant. Stay, conutrymen. 210
First at. Peace there! hear the noble An¬
tony.
Sec. at. We'll hear him, we'll follow him,
we'll die with him.
Ant. Good friends, sweet friends, let me
not stir you up
To such a sud^n flood of mutiny.
They that have done this deed are honorable (
What i>rivate griefs they have, alas, I know
not,
Tliat made them do it: they are wise and
honorable.
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer yon.
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts:
I am no orator,,as Brutus is ; 221
But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man.
That love my friend ; and that they know full
well ,
That gave me public leave to speak of him r
For I have neither wit, nor w^^, nor worth.
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of si)eech,
To stir men's blood : I only si)eak right on ;
J tell you that which yon yourselves do know ;
Show you sweet Csesar's wounds, poor poor
dumb mouths,
And bid them speak for me but were I Bru¬
tus, 230
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony
Would ruffle up your spirits and put a tongue
In every wound of Csesar that should move
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.^
All. We'll mutiny.
First at. We'll bum the house of Brutus.
Third at. Away, then ! come, seek the con¬
spirators.
Ant. Yet hear me, countrymen ; yet hear
me speak.
All. Peace, ho ! Hear Antony. Most noble
Antony I
Ant. Why,' friends, yon go to do you know
not what: 240
Wherein hath Caesar thus deserved yonrlovesf
Alas, you know not: I must tell }-ou, then:
You nave forgot the will I told you of.
All. Most true. The will 1 Let's stay and
hear the will.
Ant Here is the will, and under Carsar's
seal.
To every Roman ciHzen he gives.
To every several man, seventy-five drachmas.
Sec. at. Most noble Caesar 1 We'll revenge
his death.
Third at. O royal Caesar f
Ant. Hear me with patience. 250
All. Peace, ho 1 [walks.
Ant. Moreover, he hath left you all his
His private arbors and new-planted orchards,
On this side Tiber ; he hath left them yon.
And to your heirs for ever, common pleasures.
To walk abroad, and recreate yourswves.
Here was a Caesar 1 when comes such another 7
First at. Never, never. Come, away, away!
We'll bum his body in the holy place.
And with the brands fire the traitors' houses.
Take up the body. 261
Sec. at. Go retch fire.
Third at Pluck down benches.
Fourth at. Pluck down forms, windows,
anything. [Exeunt Citizens tvith the body.
Ant. Now let it work. Mischief, thou art
afoot.
Take thou what course thou wilt 1
Enter a Servant.
How now, fellow
Serv. Sir, Octavius is already come to Rome.
Ant. Where Ls he ?
Serv. He and Lepidus are at Caesar's house.
Ant. And thither will I straight to visit him:
He comes uijon a wish. Fortune is merry, 271
And in this mood will give us any thing.
Seiv. I heard him say, Brutus and Cassins
Are rid like madmen through the gates of
Rome. [people.
Ant. Belike they had some notice of the
How I had moved them. Bring me to Octa¬
vius. [Exeunt
Scene IH. A street.
Enter Cinka the poet.
Cin. I dreamt to-night that I didfeaet with
CfGSM.
S86
JULIUS
CjESAR.
And things unlucky charge my fantasy
I have no will to wander forth of doors,
Yet something leads me forth.
Enter Citizens.
First at. What is your name ?
Sec Cit. Whither are you going ?
Third at. Where do you dwell?
Fourth Cit. Are you a married man or a
bachelor ?
Sec at. Answer eve^ man directly. 10
First at. Ay, and briefly.
Fourth at. Ay, and wisely.
Third at. Ay, and truly, you were best.
an. What is mjy name? Whither am I
going ? Where do I dweli ? Am I a married
man or a bachelor ? Then, to answer every
nau directly and briefly, wisely and truly :
wisely I say, I am a bachelor.
Sec at. That's as much as to say, they are
(ools that marry ; you'll bear me a bang for
2iat, 1 fear. Proceed ; directly. 21
an. Directly, 1 am going to Ctesar's funeral.
First at. As a friend or an enemy ?
an As a friend.
Sec. at. That matter is answered directly.
Fourth at. For your dwelling,—briefly.
an Briefly. I dweil by the Capitol.
Third at. Your name, sir, truly.
an. Truly, my name is Cinna.
First at. Tear him to pieces ; he's a- con¬
spirator. 31
an. I am Cinna tlie poet, I'am Cinna tlie
poet.
Fourth at. Tear him for his bad verses, tear
him for his bad verses.
Cm I am not Cinna the consi>irator.
Fourth Cit. It is no matter, his name's
Cinna ; pluck but his name out of iiis heart,
and turn him going.
TTurd Cit. ■ Tear him, tear him! Come,
brands, ho ! fire-brands ; to Brutus', to Cas¬
sias' ; burn all: some to Decius' house, and
some to Casca's; some to Ligarius': away, go!
[Exeunt.
ACT IV.
ScENS I. A house in Rome.
Antony, Octavius, and Lepidus, seated at a
table.
Ant. These many, then, shall die : their
names are prick'd.
Oct. Your brother too must die ; consent
you, Lepidus ?
Zep. I do consent,—
Oct. Prick him down, Antony.
Lep. Upon condition Publius shail not live.
Who is your sister's son, Mark Antony.
Ant. He shall not live ; look, with a spot I
damn him.
But, Lepidus, go yon to Caesar's house ;
Fetch the will hither, and we shall determine
Sow to cut oS some charge in legacies- *
Lep,. What, shall I And you here? K)
Oct. Or here, or at the Capitol.
[Exit Lepidus.
Ant. This is a slight unmeritable man,
Meet to be sent on errands : is it fit.
The three-fold world divided, he should stand
One of the tiiree to sluire it ?
Oct. So you thought him |
And took bis voice wlio should be prick'd to
die.
In our bl^k sentence and proscription.
Ant. Octavius, I have seen more days than
you :
And though we lay these honors on this man,
To ease ourselves of divers slanderous loads, 20
He shall but bear them as the ass bears gold.
To groan and sweat under the business.
Either led or driven, as we point tlie way ;
And having brouglit our treasure where we
will.
Then take we down his load, and turn him off.
Like to the empty ass, to shake his ears.
And graze in commons.
Oct. Yon may do your will;
But he's a tried and valiant soldier.
Ant. So is my horse, Octavius { and for
that
I do appoint him store of provender : 30
It is a creature that 1 teach to fight.
To wind, to stop, to run directly on.
His corporai motion govern'd by my spirit.
And, in some taste, is Lepidus but so;
He must be taught and train'd and bid go
forth ;
A barren-spirited fellow ; one that feeds
On abjects, orts and imitations.
Which, out of use and staled by other men.
Begin his fashion : do not talk of iiim.
But as a property. And now, Octavius, 40
Listen great things Brutus and Cassins
Are levying powers : we must straight make
head:
Therefore let our alliance be combined,
tOur best friends made, our means strkch'd ;
And let us presently go sit in council.
How covert matters may be best disclosed.
And open perils surest answered.
Oct. Let us do so : for we are at the stake.
And bay'd about with many enemies ;
And some that smile have in their hearts, I
fear, 50
Miilions of mischiefs. [Exaint.
Scene II. Camp near Sardis. Btfore Brutus'S
tent.
Brum. Enter Brutus, Lucilius, Lucius, and
Soldiers ; Titinius and Pindabus meeting
them.
Bni. Stand, ho !
LucU. Give the word, ho ! and stand.
Bni. What now, Liicilins ! is Cassius near ?
L'icil. He is at hand ; and Pindarus is come
To do yon salutation from his master.
Bru. He greets me welL tour master,
Pindarus,
ScKKe til.]
JULIUS
C^SAR.
637
In his own ehauge, or by ill offlcers,
llath given ine some worthy cause to wish
Things done, undone ; but, if he be at hand,
1 shall be satisfied.
Pin. I do not doubt 10
But that mjr noble master will appear
Such as he is, full of regard and honor.
liru. He is not doubted. A word, Liiciiius ;
How he received you, let me be resolved.
Lxicil. With courtesy and with respect
enough ;
But not with such familiar instances,
Nor v/ith such free and friendly conference.
As he hath used of old.
Brn. Thou hast described
A hot friend cooling : ever note, Lucilius,
When love begins to sicken and decay, 20
It useth an enforced ceremony.
There are no tricks in plain and simple faith ;
But hollow men, like horses hot at hand.
Make gallant .show and promise of their mettle;
But when they should endure the bloody spur.
They fall their crests, and, like deceitful jades.
Sink in the trial. Comes his army on ?
Lucil. They mean this night in Sardis to be
quarter'd ;
The grater part, the horse in general.
Are come with Cassius.
Bru Hark ! he is arrived. 30.
[Low march within.
March gently on to meet him.
Enter Cassicts and his powers.
Cos. Stand, ho !
Bni. Stand, ho ! Speak the word along.
First Sol. Stand I
Sec. Sol. Stand 1
Third Sol. Stand !
Cos. Most noble brother, you have done
me wrong. [enemies ?
Bru. Judge me, you gods ! wrong I mine
And, if not so, how should I wrong a brother ?
Cos. Brutus, this sober form of yours liides
wrongs ; 40
And when you do them—
.Bru. Cassius, be content ;
Speak your'griefs softly : I do know you well.
Before the eyes of both our armies here, [us.
Which should perceive nothing but love from
Let us not wrangle : bid tliem move away ;
Tlien in my tent, Cas.sins, enlarge your griefs,
And I will give you audience.
Cas. Pindarus,
Bid our commanders lead their cliarges off
A little from this ground
Bru. Lueilius, do you the like ; and let no
man 60
Come to our tent till we have done our confer¬
ence.
Let Lucius and Titinius guard our door.
^ [Exeunt.
ScENB III. Brutus's tent.
Enter Brdtus and Cassius.
Cas. That you have wrong'd me doth ap¬
pear in this :
Yon have eondemn'd and noted Lucius Fella
For taking bribes here of the Sardians ;
Wherein my letters, praying on his side.
Because I knew the man, were slighted oil.
Bru. You wronged yourself to write in
such a case.
Cas. In such a time as this it is not meet
That every nice offence should bear his com¬
ment.
Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself
Are much eondemn'd to have an itching palm ;
To sell and mart your offices for gold 11
To undeservers.
Cas. I an itching palm !
You know that you are Brutus that speak this.
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last
Bru. The name of Cassius honors this
corruption.
And chastisement doth therefore hide his head,
Cas. Chastisement!
Bru. Remember March, the ides of March
remember :
Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake 1
What villain touch'd his body, that did stab,
Aud not for justice ? What, shall one of us.
That struck the foremost man of all this world
But for supiiorting robbers, shall we now
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes.
And sell the mighty space of our large honors'
For so much trash as may be grasped thus ?
I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon.
Than such a Roman.
Cas. Brutus, bay not me ;
I'll not endure it: you forget yourself,
To hedge me in ; I am a soldier, I, 30
Older in practice, abler than yourself
To make conditions.
Bi-u. Go to ; you are not, Cassius.
Cas. I am.
Bru. I say you are not.
Cas. Urge me no more, I shall forget my¬
self ;
Have mind upon your health, tempt mc no
further.
Bru. Away, slight man !
Cas. Is't possible ?
Bru. Hear me, for I will speak.
Must I give way and room to your rash
choler ?
Shall 1 be frighted when a roadman stares ? 40
Cas. O ye gods, ye gods ! must I endure
all this ?
Bru. All this ! ay, more : fret till your
proud heart break ;
Go show your slaves how choleric you are,
And make your bondmen tremble. Must I
budge ?
Must I observe you 7 must I stand and crouch
Under your testy humor 7 By the gods.
You shall digest the venom of your spleen.
Though it do split you ; for, from this day
forth,
I'll use you for my mirth, yea, formy laughter.
When you are waspish.
Cas. Is it come to this 7 tiO
Bm. You say you are a better soldier;
BS8
Let it appeat so ; make your vaunting true,
And it sliall please me well: for mine own
part.
I shall be glad to leam of noble men.
Ca». You wrong me every way ; you wrong
me, Brutus; ^
I said, an elder soldier, not a better :
Did I say ' better' ?
Brit. If you did, I care not.
Cos. When Ciesar lived, he durst not thus
have moved me.
Bru. Peace, peace I you durst not so have
tempted him.
Cas. 1 durst not! GO
Bru. No.
C'ls. What, durst not tempt him !
Bru. For your life you durst not.
Cos. Do not presume too much upon my
love ;
I may do that I shall be sorry for.
Bru. You have done tluit you should be
sorry for. >
There is no terror. Cassias, in your threats.
Fur I am arin'd so strong in honesty
Tlwit tliey piiss by me as the idle wind.
Which 1 respect not. I did send to you
For certain sums of gold, which you denied
me: 70
For I can raise no money by vile means:
By heaven, I had ratlier coin my heait.
And drop my blood for drachmas, than to
wnim [trasli
From the hard hands of peasants their vile
By any indirection : 1 did send
To y.m for gold to i)ay my legions.
Which you denied me: was tliat done like
Cassias ?
Should I have answer'd Caius Cassius so ?
When Marcus Brutus grows .so covetous, 79
To lock such ra.scal counters from his friends,
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts ;
Dasli him to pieces !
Cos. I denied you not.
Bru. You did.
Cos. I did not: he was but a fool tliat
brought
My answer back. Brutus hath rived my
heai-t :
A friend should bear his friend's infirmities.
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are,
Bru. I do not, till you practice them on
me.
Cas. You love me not
Bru. I do not like .your faults.
Cas. A friendly eye could never see such
faults. 90
Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they
do appear
As huge as high Olympus.
Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius,
come.
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius,
For Cassius is aweary of the world ;
Hated by one he loves, braved by his brother;
Check'd like a bondman ; all us faults ob-
servedi
[Act ir.
Set in a note-book, learn'd, and conn'd
rote.
To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep
My spirit from mine eyes ! There is my
dagger, 100
And liere my naked breast; withiii, a heart
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold :
If that tliou be'st a Roman, take it forth ;
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart:
Strike, as thou didst at Csesar ; for, I know.
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst
him better
Than ever thou lovedst Cassius.
Bru. Sheathe your dagger ;
Be angry when you will, it shall have scope ;
I)o what you will, dishonor shall be humor.
O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb 110
'That carries anger as the flint bears fire ;
Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark.
And straight is cold again.
Cas. Hath Cassins lived
To be but mirth and laugliter to his Brutus,
When grief, and blood ill-temper'd, vexeth
him ?
Bru. When I spoke tliat, 1 was iil-temper'd
too.
Cas. Do you confess so ranch 7 Give me
your hand.
Bru. And my heart too.
Cas. O Brutus! 120
Bru. What's tlie matter 7
Cas. Have not you love enough to bear
with me,
Wiien that rash humor which my mother gave
me
Makes me forgetful 7
Bru. Yes, Cassius ; and, from henceforth,
Wlieu you are over-earnest with your Brntus,
He'll tliink your mother chides, and leave you
so.
Poet. [TTifftin] Let me go in to see the
generals ;
There is some grudge between 'em, 'tis net
meet
They be alone.
LuoU. [Wifhi'n] You shall not come to
them.
Poet. [WifAfn] Nothing but death shall
stay me.
Enter Poet, followed hy Luciuus, Titinius,
and Lucius.
Cas. How now ! what'., the matter 7
Poet. For shame, you generals ! what do
you mean 7 i:30
Love, and be friends, as two such men should
be;
For T have seen more years, I'm sure, than ye.
Cas. Ha, lia ! how vilely doth this cynic,
rhyme!
Brxt. Get you hence, sirrah ; saucy fellow
hence 1
Cas. Bear with him, Brutus; 'tis his
fashion.
Bru. I'll know his humor, when be knows
bis time:
.WLWS CfESAR.
sceke iii.]
JULIUS
CjESAR.
689
What should the wars do with Uiese jlggius
fools ?
Companion, henee !.
Cos. Away, away, he gone!
[Exit Poet.
Bru. Lucilins and Titiuius, bid the com¬
manders
Prepare to lodge their companies to-night 140
Cos.' And come yourselves, and bring
Messala with you
Immediately to us.
[Exeunt Lucilius and Titinius.
Bnt. Lucius, a bowl of wine! [Exit Lucius.
Cos. I did not think you could have Wn
so angry.
Bm. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs.
Cos. Of your philosophy you make no use,
If you give place to accidental evils.
Bru. No man bears sorrow better. Portia
is dead.
Cos. Ha ! Portia !.
Bru. Slie is dead.'
Cos. How 'scaped I killing when I cross'd
you so ? 150
0 insupportable and touching loss!
Uixm what sickness ?
Bru. Imijatient of my absence,
And griet that young Octjivius with Mark
Antony
Have made themselves so strmig :—for with
her death
That tidings came;—with this she fell distract.
And, her attendants absent, swallow'd fire.
Cos. And died so ?
Bru. Even so.
Cos. O ye immortal gods!
Re-enter Lucius, xoith toine and taper.
Bru. Speak no more of her. Give me a
bowl of wine.
In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius.
Cos. My heart is thirsty for tliat noble
pledge. 160
fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup ;
1 cannot drink too much of Brutus' love.
Bru. Come in, Titiuius ! [Exit Lucius.
Re-enter Titinius, wiih Messala.
Welcome, good Messala.
Now sit we close about this tagier here.
And call in question our necessities.
Cos. Portia, art thou gone ?
Bru. No more, I pray you,
Messala, I have here received letters.
That young Octavius and Mark Antony
Come down upon us with a mighty power.
Bending their expedition toward Philippi. 170
Mes. Myself have letters of the selfsame
tenor.
Bru. With what addition ?
Mes. That by proscription and bills of out¬
lawry,
Octavius, Antony, and Lepidns,-
Have put to death an hundred senators.
Bru. Therein our letters do not well agree;
Mine sjieak of seventy senators that died
By their proscriptions,
Cos. Cicero one I
Cicero being one.
Mes. Cicero is dead,
And by that order of proscription. . 180
Had you your letters from your wife, my lord t
Bru. Noy Messala.
Mes. Nor nothing in your letters writ of
her?
Bru. Nothing, Messala.
Mes. That, methinks. Is strange.
Bru. Why ask you ? hear you aught of
her in yours ?
Mes. No, my lord.
Bi-u. Now, as you are a Roman, tell me
true.
Mes. Then like a Roman bear the truth I
tell: [ncr.
For certain she is dead, and by strange man-
Bru. Why, farewell, Portia. We must die,
Messala: 190
With meditating that she must die once,
I have the patience to endure it now.
Mes. Even so great men great losses should
endure.
Cos. I have as much of this in art as you.
But yet my nature could not bear it so.
Bru. Well, to our work alive. What do
you think ?
Of marching to Philippi presently ?
Cos. I do not think it good.
Bru. Your reason ?
Cos. This it is:
'Tis better that the enemy seek us:
So shall he waste his means, weary his sol¬
diers, 200
Doing himself offence ; whilst we, lying still.
Are full of rest, defence, and nimbfeuess.
Bru. Good reasons must, of force, give
place to better.
The people 'twixt Philippi and this ground
Do stand but in a forced affection;
For they have grudged us contribution :
The enemy, marching along by them,
By^em shall make a fuller number up.
Come on refresh'd, new-added, and encour¬
aged;
From which advantage shall we cut him off.
If at Philippi we do face him there, 211
These people at our back.
Vas. Hear me, good brother.
Bru. Under your pardon. You must note
beside.
That we have tried the utmost of our friends.
Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe:
The enemy iucreaseth every day;
We, at the height, are ready to decline.
There is a tide In the affairs of men,
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life 200
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now afloat;
And we must take the current when it serves.
Or lose our ventures.
Cos. Then, with your wUl, go on ;
We'll along ourselves, and meet them at
Philippi.
640
JULIUS C^SAR.
(Act r.
Bru. The deep of night is crept upon onr
talk,
And nature must obey necessity ;
Which we will niggard with a little rest.
Th^ is no more to say 7
Vas. No more. Good night:
Early to-morrow will we rise, and hence. 230
Bru. Lucius! \_Enler Lucius.^ My gown.
[Exit Lucius.} Farewell, good Messala :
Good night, Titinius. Noble, noble Cassius,
Good night, and good repose.
Cos. O my dear brother !
This was an ill beginning of the night :
Never come snch division 'tween our souls I
Let it not, Brutus.
Bru. , Every thing is well.
Cos. Good night, my lord.
Bru. Good night, good brother.
Tit. Mess. Good night. Lord Brutus.
Bru. Farewell, every one.
[Exeunt all but Brutus.
Be-enter Lucius, with the gown.
Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument ?
Lue. Here in the tent.
Bru. What, thou speak'st drowsily 7 240
Poor knave, I blame thee not ; thou art o'er-
watch'd.
Call Claudius and some other of ray men:
I'll have them sleep on cushions in my tent
Luc. Varro and Claudius!
Enter Vareo and Claudius.
Far. Calls my lord 7
Bru. I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent and
sleep;
It may be I shall raise you by and by
On business to ray brother Cassius.
Var. So please you, we will stand and
watch your pleasure.
Bru. I will not have it so : lie down, good
sirs; 250
It may be I shall otherwise bethink me.
Look, Lncius, here's the book I sought for so ;
I put it in thejwcket of my gown.
[ Var. and Claw, lie down.
Lue. I was sure your lordship did not give
it rae.
Bru. Bear with me, good boy, I am much
forgetful.
Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile.
And touch thy instrument a strain or two 7
Luc. Ay, my lord, an't please you.
Brii. It does, my boy:
I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing.
Luc. It is ray duty, sir. 260
Bru. I should not urge thy duty past thy
might;
I know youug bloods look for a time of rest.
Luc. I have slept, my lord, already.
Bru. It was well done ; and thou shalt
sleep again ;
I will not hold thee long : if I do live,
I will be good to thee. [.tfusfc, and a song.
This is a sleepy tune. 0 murderous slumber,
Lay'st thou thy leaden mace upon my boy,
That plays thee music 7 Gentle knave, good
night; 260
I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee:
If thou dost nod, thou break'st tliy iustrument:
I'll take it from thee ; and, good boy, good
night.
Let me see, let me see ; is not the leaf tum'd
down
Where I left reading 7 Here it is, I think.
Enter the Ghost of C.£SAB.
How ill this taper bums! Ha! who comes
here 7
I think it's the weakness of mine eyes
That shapes this monstrous apparition.
It comes u]K>n me. Art thou any thing 7
Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil,
That makest my blood cold and my hair to
stare 7 280
Speak to me what thou art.
G/iost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus.
Bru. Why comcst thou 7
Ghost. To tell thee thou shalt see me at
Philippi.
Bru. Well; then I shall see thee again 7
Ghost. Ay, at Philippi.
Bru. Why, I will see thee at Philippi, then.
[Exit Ghost. ,
Now I have taken heart thou vanisnest:
ill spirit, I wouid hold more talk with thee.
Boy, Lucius 1 Yarro ! Ciaudius I Sirs, awake !
Claudius 1 201
Luc. The strings, my lord, are false.
Bru. He thinks be still is at his instrument.
Lucius, awake !
Luc. My lord 7
Bm. Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thou
so criedst out 7
Luc. My lord, I do not know that I did cry.
Bru. Yes, that thou didst : didst thou see
any thing 7
Luc. Nothing, my lord.
Bm. Sleep again, Lncius. Sirrah Clau¬
dius I 300
[To Var.] Fellow thou, awake !
Var. My lord 7
Clau. My lord 7
Bru. Why did yon so cry out, sirs, in your
sleep 7
Var. Clau. Did we, my lord 7
Bm. Ay : saw you any thing 7
Var. No, my lord, I saw nothing.
Cteu. Nor 1, my lord.
Bm. Go and commend me to my brother
Cassius;
Bid him set on his powers betimes before.
And we will follow.
Var, Clau, It shall be done, my lord. 309
[Azeunt.
ACT V.
ScEKZ L The plains of PhUippu
Enter OoTAVius, AnioifY, and their army.
Oct. Now, Antony, our hopes are answered
Scene i.]
JULIUS C^SAR.
Ml
Ton said the enemy would not come down,
But keep the hiils and upper regions ;
It proves not so : their batties are at hand ;
They mean to warn us at Pliiiippi here,
Answering before we do demand of them.
Ant. Tut, I am iu tlieir bosoms, and 1 know
Wlierefore they do it: they couid be content
To visit other places ; and come dowt)
With fearful bravery, thinking by this face 10
To fasten in our thoughts that they have cour-
« , ;
But tis not so.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Prepare you, generals :
The enemy comes on in gallant show;
Their bloody sign of battle is hung out.
And something to be done immediately.
Ant. Octavius, lead your battle softly on.
Upon •■he left hand of the even field.
Oct. Upon the right hand 1 ; keep thou the
left.
Ant. Why do you cross me in this exigent ?
Oct. I do not cross you ; but I will do so.
[March. 20
Drum. Enter Brutus, Cassius, and their
Army ; Lucilius, Titdhus, Messala, and
others.
Bru. They stand, and would have parley.
Cas. Stand fast, Titinius : we must out and
talk.
Oct. Mark Antony, shall we give sign of
battle ?
Ant. No, Caesar, we will answer on their
charge.
Make forth ; the generals would have some
Words.
Oct. Stir not until the signal.
Bru. Words before blows : is it so, country¬
men ?
Oct. Not that we love words better, as you
do.
Bru. Good words are better than bad
strokes, Octavius.
Ant. In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give
good words: 30
Witness the hole you made iu Osesar's heart.
Crying' lA>ug live ! hail, Cissar!'
vas. Antony,
The i)osture of your blows are yet unknown ;
But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees.
And 1 ave them honeyiess.
A :it. Not stingless too.
Bru. O, yes, and soundless too;
For you h.ave stol'n tlieir buzzing, Antony,
And very wisely threat before you sting.
Ant. Villains, you did not so, when your
vile daggers
Hack'd one another in the sides of Caesar : 40
You show'd your teeth like apes, and fawu'd
like hounds.
And bow'd like bondmei^ kissing Caesar's feet;
Whilst damned Casca, like a cur, behind
Stmdc Caesar on the neck. O you flatterers !
Uat. Flattereis ! Now, Brutus, thank your'
self:
This tongue had not offended so to-day,
If Cassius might have ruled.
Oct. Come, come, the cause: if arguing
make us sweat.
The proof of it will turn to redder drops.
Look; ' > , 60
I draw a sword against conspirators ;
When think you that the sword goes up again?
Never, till Caesar's three and thirty wounds
Be well avenged ; or till another Caesar
Have added slaughter to the sword of traitors.
Bni. Caesar, thou canst not die by traitors'
hands.
Unless thou bring'st them with thee.
Ocf. So I hope ;
I was not bom to die on Brutus' sword.
Bru. O, if tliou wert the noblest of thy
strain.
Young man, thou couldst not die more honor¬
able. 60
Cas. A peevish schoolboy, worthless of such
honor,
Join'd with a masker and a reveller !
Ant. Old Cassius still!
Oct. Come, Antony, away !
Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth:
If you dare fight to-day, come to the field ;
If not, when Von have stomachs.
\Ewunt Octavius, Antony, and their army.
Vas. Why, now, blow wind, swell billow
and swim bark !
The storm is up, and all is on the hazard.
Bru. Ho, Lucilius ! hark, a word with yoa
Lucil. [Standitig forth] My lord ?
[Brutus and Lucilius converse apart.
Cas. Messaia 1
Mess. [Standing forth] What says my gen¬
eral ? 70
Cas. Messaia,
This is my birth-day; as this very day
Was Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Mes¬
saia :
Be thou my witness that against my will.
As Pompey was, am I compeli'd to set
U|ion one battle ail our lilierties.
You know that I held Epicurus strong
And his opinion : now 1 change my mind.
And partly credit things that do presage.
Coming from Sardis, on our former ensign 80
"Two mighty eagles fell, and there they perch'd.
Gorging and feeding from our soldiers hands ;
Who to Philippi here consorted us :
This morning are they fled away and gone ;
And in their steads do ravens, crows and kites.
Fly o'er our heads and downward look on us.
As we were sickly prey : their shadows seem
A canopy most fatal, under which
Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost.
Mes, Believe not so.
Cas. I but believe it partly ; 90
For 1 am fresh of spirit and resolved
T - meet all perils very constantly.
Bru. Even so, Lucilius.
Cas. Now, most noble Bmtus,
The gods to-day stand friendly, that we may,
Is>vers is peace, lead on otu; days to age 1
JULIUS CJESAR.
[Act t.
But giuce tbg affairg of men rest still inceitaiu,
fiCt's reason with the worst tliat may betali.
It we • o lose'this battle, then is this
The very last time we shall speak tojtether :
AVI) at are you then determined to do ? lOO
B'-u. Even by the rule of that philosophy
By which 1 did blame Cato for tlie death
Which he did give himself, I know not how,
But I do find it cowardly and vile.
For fear of wliat might fall, so to prevent
f'he time of life ; arming myself with patience
To stay the providence of some high powers
That govern us below.
Cns. Then, if we lose this battle.
You are contented to I)e led in triumph
Thorough tlie streets of Rome ? 110
Bni. No, Cassius, no ; think not, thou noble
Roman,
That ever Brutus win go bound to Rome ;
He bears too great a mind. But this game day
Must end that work the ides of March begun ;
And whether we shall meet again I know not.
Therefore our everlasting farewell take ;
For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius I
If we do meet again, why, we shall smile ;
If not, why t len, this parting was well made.
Cos. ever, and forever, fare well, Brutus!
If we do mpetagain, we'll sinile inde^ ; 121
If not, 'tis true this parting was well made.
Bru. Why, then, lead on. O, that a man
might know
The end of this day's business ere it come !
But it sufllceth that the day will end.
And then the end is known. Come, ho! away I
[Exeunt
Scsmi II. Tha mim. Tlie field of battle.
Alarum. Enter Bkutus and Messaca.
Bru. Ride, ride, Messala, ride, and give these
bills
Unto the legions on the other side.
[Loud alarum.
Let them set on at once ; for I perceive
But cold demeanor in Octavins' wing.
And sudden push gives them tlie overthrow.
Ride, ride, Messala : let them all come down.
[Exeunt.
Scene III. Another part of the field.
Alarums. Enter Cassius and Titinics.
■ Cos. O, look, Titinius, look, t' e vil'amsfly!
Myself have to mine own turn'd enemy :
This ensign here of mine was turning back ;
f. slew the coward, and did take it from him.
Tit. 0 Cassius, Brutus gave the word too
eariy ;
Who, having some advantage on Octavius,
Took it too eagerly : his soldiers fell to spoil.
Whilst we by Antony are all enclosed..
Enter Pindarus.
Pin. Fly further off, my lord, fly further
off ;
Mark Antony is in your tents, my knrd: 10
Fly, therefore, aohle Cassias, fly far off.
Cos. This hill is &r enough. Look, look, |
Titinius; ,
Are those my tents where I perceive the fire ?'
Til. They are, my lord.
Cos. Titinius, if thou lovest me.
Mount thou my horse, and hide thy spurs in
him.
Till he have bronght thee up to yonder troops.
And here again ; that I may rest assured
Whether yond troops are fiiend or enemy.
Tit. I will be here again, even with a
thought. [Exit. 19
Cas. Go, Pindarus, get higher on that hili;
My sight was ever thick ; regard Titinius,
And tell me what thou notest about the field.
[Pindarus ascends the hill.
This day I breathed fii-st: time is come round.
And wliere I did begin, there shall I end ;
My life is run his compass. Sirrah, what
news ?
■ Pin. [Above] O my lord !
Cas. What news ?
Pin. [Above] Titinius is enclosed round
about
With horsemen, that make to him on the spur;
Yet he spurs on. Now they are almost on
liim. :!0
Now, Titinius ! Now some light. O, he lights
too. [for joy.
He's ta'en. [Shmt.] And, hark I they shout
Cas. Come down, behold no more.
O, coward that I am, to live so long.
To see my best friend ta'en before my face 1
Pindarus descends.
Come hitlier. siriah :,
In Parthia did 1 take thee prisoner ;
And then I swore thee, saving of thy life.
That whatsoever I did bid thee do.
Thou shouldst attempt it. Come now, keep
thine oath ; 40
Now be a freeman: and with this good sword.
That ran through Csesar's bowels, search this
bosom.
Stand not to answer: here, take thou the
hilts;
And, when my face is cover'd, as 'tis now.
Guide thou the sword. [Pindartis stabs him. |
Csesar, thou art revenged.
Even with the sword that kili'd thee. [Dies.
Pin. So, I am free ; yet would not so have
been.
Durst I have done my will. O Cassius,
Far from this country Pindarus shall run.
Where never Roman shall take note of him. 50
[Exit,
Ik-enter Titinius with Mbssaua.
Mcs. It is but change, Titinius; for Octa¬
vius
Is overthrown by noble Brutus' power.
As Cassius' legions are by Antony.
Tit. These tidings will well comfort
Cassius. .
Mes. Where did you leave him ?
All disconsolate.
With Pindarus his bondman, on this bill.
So£iiK v.]
Met. Is not that he that lies upon the
ground ?
Tit. He lies not like the living. O vas
heart! o -w
ilfes. Is not that he ?
Tit. No, this was he, Messala,
But Cassius is no more. U setting sun, (iO
As in thy red rays thou dost sink to-night.
So in iiis red bl<^ Cassins' day is set;
The sun of Rome is set! Our day is gone ;
Clouds, dews, and dangers come ; our deeds
are done 1
Mistrust of my success hath done this deed.
Mes. MLstrust of good success hath done
tills deed.
O hateful error, melancholy's child.
Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of
men [ceived,
Tlie things that are not? O error, soon con-
Thou never come.st unto a happy birth, 70
But kill'st the mother that engender'd thee !
Tit. What, Pindarus ! where art thou. Pin-
darns ?
Met. Seek him, Titinius, whilst I go to
meet
The noble Brutus, thrusting this report
Into his ears ; I may say, thrusting it;
For piercing steel and darts envenomed
Shall be as welcome to the dars of Brutus
As tidings of this sight.
Ttt. Hie you, Messaia,
And 1 will seek for Pindarus the while.
[Exit Messala.
Why didst tliou send me forth, brave Cassius?
Did I not meet thy friends ? and did not they
Put on my brows this wreath of victory.
And bid me give it thee ? Didst thou not
hear their shouts ?
Alas, thou hast misconstrued every thing !
But, hold thee, take this garland on thy brow;
Thy Brutus bid ine give it thee, and I
. Will do his bidding. Brutus, come aiiace.
And see how I regarded Caius Cassius.
By your leave, gods .—this is a Roman's part.
Come, Cassius' sword, and find Titmius'
heart himself, yo
Alarum. Re-enter Messai,a, with Brutus,
youny Cato, Strato, Volomnius, and Lo^
c.iuus.
Bru. Where, where, Messala, doth his
body lie ?
Mes. Lo, yonder, and Titinius mourning it
Bru. Titmius' face is upward.
Cato. He is slain
Bru, O Julius Csesar, thou art mighty
yet I
Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords
In our own proper entrails. [Low alarums.
Cato. Brave Titinius!
Look, whether he have not crown'd dead Cas¬
sius ! ♦
Bru. Are yet two Romans living such as
these ?
The last of all the Romaas, fare thee well!
It is impossible that ever Rome 100
618
Should breed thy fellow. Friends, I owe more
tears
To this dead man than you shall see me pay.
I shall find time, Cassius, 1 shall find time.
Come, therefore, and to Thasos send his body;
His funmals shall not be in our camp.
Lest it discomfort us. Lucilius, come ;
And come, young Cato ; let us to tite field.
Labeo and Fkavius, set our battles on )
'Tis tliree o'clock; and, Romans, yet ere
night
We shall try fortune in a second fight.
[Exeunt.
Scene IV. Another part of .the field.
Alarum. Enter fighting, Soldiers of doth
armies; then Brutus, young Cato, Lu¬
cilius, and others.
Bru. Yet, countrymen, O, yet hold up
your lieads!
Cato. What bastard doth not? Who will
go with me ?
1 will proclaim my name about the field :
I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho I
A foe to tyrants, and my country's friend ;
I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho 1
Bru. And 1 am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, 1;
Brutus, my country's friend know me for
Brutus! [Exit.
Lueil. O young and noble Cato, art thou
down ?
Wliy, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius
And mayst be houor'd, being Cato's son. 11
First Sold. Yield, or thou diest.
Lucil. Only I yield to die:
There is so much that thou wilt kill me
straight; [tiering money.
Kill Brutus, and be honor'd in his death.
First Sold. We must not. A noble prisoner!
Sec. Sold. Room, ho ■! Tdl Antony, Brutlis
is ta'en. [the general.
First Sold. I'll tell the news. Here comes
Enter Antony.
Brutus is ta'en, Brutus is ta'en, my loid.
Ant. Where is he ?
Lucil. Safe, Antony; Brutus is safe enough:
1 dare assure thee that no enemy 21
Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus : >
Tlie gods defend him from sogreat a shame !
When yon do find him, or alive or dead.
He will be found like Brutus, like himself.
Ant. This is n<M: Brutus, friend ; but, I
assure you,
A prize no less iu worth : keep this man safe;
Give him all kindness : I bad rather have
Such men my friends than enemies. Go on^
And see whether Brutus be alive or dead ; 30
And bring us word unto Octavius' tent
How every thing is chanced. [Exeunt
Scene V. Another part of the field.
Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitds, Strato^
and VoLUMNius.
Bru, Come, poor remains of friends, rest
on this toe*
JVLWS C^SAR.
644 JULIUS
CIL StatUius shov'd the torch-light, but,
my lord,
He came not biu;k ; he is orta'eu or slain.
Bru. Sit thee down, CUtus : slaying is the
word ;
It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus.
Cli. What, I, my lord 7 No, not for all the
world.
Bru. Peace then ! no words.
Cli. I'll rather kill myself.
Bru. Hark thee, Dardanios. [IT/tispers.
Dor. Shall I do such, a deed 7
Cli. 0 Dardanius!
Bar. O Clitus ! 10
Cli. What ill request did Brutus make to
thee 7
Dor. To kill him, Clitus. Look, he
meditates.
Cli. Now is that noble vessel full of grief.
That it runs over even at his eyes.
Bru. Come hither, good Volumnius ; list
a word.
Vol. What says my lord 7
Bru. Why, this, Yolumnius :
The ghost of Csesar hath appear'd to me
Two several times by night ; at Sardis once.
And, this last night, here iu Philippi fields :
I know my hour is come.
Vol. Not 80, my lord. 20
Bru. NaVj I am sure it is, Volumnius.
Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes;
Our enemies have beat us to the j>it:
[Low alarums.
It is more worthy to leap iu ourselves,
Than tarry till they push us. Good Volum¬
nius, .
Thou know'st that we two went to school to¬
gether :
Even for that our love of old, I prithee.
Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I ruu on it.
Vol. That s not an office for a friend, my
lord. [Alarum still.
Cli. Fly, fly, my lord ; there is no tarrying
here. ^
Bru. Farewell to you ; and you ; and you,
. Volumnius.
Strato, thou hast been all4;his while asleep ;
Farewell to thee too, Strato. Countrymen,
My heart doth joy that yet in all my life
I found no man but he was true to me.
1 shall have glory by this losing day
More than Octavius and Mark Antony
By this vile conquest shall attain unto.
So fare yon well at once ; for Brutus' tongue
Hath almost ended his life's history : 40
Night hangs upon mine eyes; my bones
froold rest,
C^SAh. {AciV,
f
That have but labor'd to attain this hour. I
[Alarum. Cry within, ' Fly, fly, fly "
. Cli. Fly, my lord, fly.>
Bnt. Hence ! I will foUovf
[Exeunt Clitus, Dardanius, and Volumniut
I prithee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord :
Thou art a fellow of a good respect;
Thy life hath had some smatch of honor in il;
Hold then my sword, and tuni away thy face.
While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato ?
Stra. Give me your hand first. Fare you
well, ray lord.
Bru. Farewell, good Strato. on his
sword.] Cse.sar, now be still : 50
I kill'd not thee with half so good a will.
[Dies.
Alarum. Retreat. Enter Octavius, Antony,
Mbssaua, Lucilius, and the army.
Oct. What man is that 7
Mes. My master's man. Strato, where is
thy master 7
Stra. Free from the bondage you are in,
Messala:
The conquerors can but make a fire of him ;
For Brutus only overcame himself.
And no man else hath honor by his death.
Ludl. So Brutus should be found. I thaiik
thee, Brutus,
That thou hast proved Lucilins' saying true.
Oct. All that served Brntus, I will entertain
them. 60
Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me 7
Stra. Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you.
Oct. Do so, good Messala.
JKes. How died my master, Strato 7
Stra. I held the sword, and he did rtm on
it.
Mes. Octavius, then take him to follow
thee.
That did the latest service to my master.
Ant. This was the noblest ^man of them
all:
All the conspirators save only he
Did that they did m envy of great Csesar ; 70
He only, in a general honest thought
And common good to all, made one of them.
His life was gentle, and the elements
So mis'd iu him that N.ature might stand up
And say to all the world ' This was a man !'
Oct. According to his virtue let us use him,
With all respect and rites of burial.
Within my tent his bones to-night shall lie,'
Most like a soldier, order'd honorably.
So call the field to rest; and let's away, 80
To part the glories ot this happy day.
{Exeunt.
HAMLET.
(
(written about 1602.)
INTRODUCTION.
ffamlet represents tbe mid period of tbe growth of Shakespeare's genius, when comedy and his.
tory ceased to be adequate for the expression of his deeper thoughts aud sadder feeiings about iite,
uid when he was just entering upon his great series of tragic writings. In July, 1602, the printe<'
Roberts entered in tbe Stationers' register, "Tbe ^yenge of Hamlett, Prince of Denmark, as y
latelie was acted by the Lord Chamberlain his serrantes," and in the next year the play was printed.
The true relation of this first quarto of Hamlet to tlie second quarto, published in 1604—" newly im¬
printed, andeiilarged to almost as much againe as it was "—is a matter in dispute. It is believed by
some critics that the quarto of 1603 is merely an imperfect report of the play as we find it in tbe edi¬
tion of the year after; but there are some material differences which cannot thus be explained. In
the earlier quarto, instead of Polonius and Iteynaldo, we find the names Corambis and Montano:
the order of certain scenes yaries from that of the later quarto; " tbe madness of Hamlet is much
more pronounced, and the Queen's innocence of her husband's murder much more explicitly
stated." We are forced to believe either that the earlier quarto contains portions of an old play by
some other writer than Shakespeare—an opinion adopted on apparently insutficient grounds by
some recent editor —or that it represents imperfectly Shakespeare's first draught' of the play, and
that the difference between it (uid the second quarto is due to Shakespeare's revision of his own
work. This last opinion seems to be the true one, but the value of any comparison between tiie two
quartos, with a view to understand Shakespeare's manner of rebandling his work, is greatly di¬
minished by the fact that numerous gaps of the imperfect report given in uie earlier quarto seem to
have been filled in by a stupid stage hack. That an old play on the subject of Hamlet existed there
can be no doubt; it is referred to in 1589 (perhaps in 1687) by Hash, in his Epittle prefixed to
Greene's JfenopAoa, andagaininl596byLodge (IPil'a Jfiserie and t/ie World'e J/adnesse), where he
alludes to " the vizard of the Ghost which cried so miserably at the Theater, like an oister wife,
' Hamlet, revenge'," A (Serman play on the subject of Hamlet exists which is supposed to have
been acted by English players in Germany in 1603 ; the name Corambus appears in it; and it is pos- <
sible that portions of the old pre-Shakemearean drama are contained in the German Hamlet. The
old play may have been one of the bloody tragedies of revenge among which we find Tifvs Andrmi-
cus and Tbe Spanish Tragedy, and it would be characteristic of Shakespeare that he should refine
the motives and spirit of the drama, soas to make tbe duty of vengeance laid upon Hamlet a painful
burden which be Is hardly able to support. Besides the old play of Hamlet, Shakespeare had prob¬
ably before him the prose Hgstorie o/HamMet (though no edition exists earlier than 1608), translated
from Belleforest's Histoires Tragiques- The story had been told some hundreds of years previously
in the Historia Danica of Saxo Grammaticus (about 1180-1208). The Hamlet of the Hystorie, after a
fierce revenge, becomes King of Denmark, marries two wives, and finally dies in battle.
No play of Shakespeare's has had a higher power of Interesting spectators and readers, and none
has given rise to a greater variety of confilcting interpretations. It has been rightly named a
tragedy of thought, and in this respect, as well as others, takes its place beside Julius Veesar. Neither
Brutus nor Hamlet is the victim of an overmastering passion as are the chief persons of tbe later
tragedies—e.g. Othello, Maclmth, Ooriolanus. The burden of a terrible duty is laid upon each of
them, and neither is fitted for bearing such a burden, Brutus is disqualified for action by his moral
idealism, his student-like habits, his capacity for dealing with abstractions rather than with men
and things. Hamlet is disqualified for action by his excess of tbe reflective tendency, and hy his
unstable will, which alternatas between complete inactivity aud fits of excited energy. Naturally
sensitive, he receives a painful shock from the hasty second marriage of his mother; already the
springs of fai.h and joy in his nature are embittered; then follows the terrible discovery of his
father's murder, with the injunction laid upon him to revenge the crime; upon this again follow
the repulses which he receives from Ophelia. A deep melancholy lays bold of his spirit, and all of
life grows dark and sad to his vision. Although hating his father's murderer, he has little beai t to
push on his revenge. He is aware that he is suspected and surrounded by spies. Partly to befile
them, partly to create a veil behind which to seclude his true self, partly because his whole moral
nature is indeed deeply disordered, he assumes the part of one whose wits have gone astray. Except
for one loyal friend, he is alone among enemies or supposed traitors. Ophelia he regards as no more
loyal or honest to him than his mother had been to her dead husband. The ascertainment of Clau¬
dius's guilt hy means of the play still leaves him incapable of the last decisive act of vengeance.
Not so, however, with the king, who now recognizing his foe in Hamlet, does not delay to despatch
him toa bloody death in England. But there Is in Hamlet a terrible power of sudden and desperate
action. From the melancholy which broods over him after the burial of Ophelia he rouses himself «
to the play of swords with Laertes, and at the last, with strength which leaps up before its final ex¬
tinction, he accomplishes the punishment of the malefactor. Horatio, with his fortitude, his self-
possession, his strong equanimity is a contrast to the Prince. And Laertes, who takes violent
measures at the shortest notice to revenge his father's murder, is in another way a contrast; but
Laertes is the young gallant of the period, and his cap^ity for action arises in part from tbe absence
of t-iose moral checks of which Hamlet is sensible. Polonius is owner of the shallow wisdom of this
world, and exhibits this grotesquely while now on the brink of dotage: he sees, but cannot see
through Hamlet's ironical mockery of him. Ophelia is tender, sensitive, affectionate, but the
reverse of heroic ; she fails Hamlet in bis need, and then in her turn becoming the sufferer, rives
iray under the pressure of her afflictious. We do not honor, we only commiserate her.
(6K0
646
BAMLET.
[Act 1.
DRAMATIS PERSON-E.
Claudius, king of Denmark.
Hamlet, son to the late, and nephew to the
present king.
PoLONius, lord chamberlain.
Hokatio, friend to Hamiet
Laertes, son to Polonius.
VoLTIMAND,
Cornelius,
Rosencrantz,
Guildenstebn,
OSRIC,
A Gentleman,
A Priest
Marcellus, 1
Bernardo,
Francisco, a soldier.
conrtiers.
Betnaldo, servant to Polonius.
Players.
Two Clowns, grave-diggers.
Fortinbras, prince of Korway.
A Captain.
English Ambassadors.
Gbrtbudr, queen of Denmark, and mother
to Hamlet.
Ophelia, daughter to Polonius.
Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Sailors, Mes-
seugers, and other Attendants.
Ghost of Hamlet's Father.
Scene : Denmark.
ACT I
Scene L Msinore. A platform ftqfore the
castle.
Francisco at his post. Znter to him Ber¬
nardo.
Ber. Who's there ?
Fran. Nay, answer me : stand, and unfold
yourself.
Bcr. Long live the king I
Fran. Bernardo ?
Ber. He.
Fran. Yon come most carefully npou your
hour.
Ber. 'Tis now struck twelve ; get thee to
bed, Francisco.
Fran. For this relief muc^ thanks : 'tis
bitterlsoTd, "
And I am sick at heart.
Ber. Have you had quiet guard ?
Fran. Not a mouse stirring. 10
Ber. Well, good night
If yon do meet Horatio and Marcellus,
The rivals of my watch, bid them make baste.
Fran. I think I hear them. Stand, hoi
Who's there ?
Fnter Horatio and Marceu
JShr. Friends to this ground.
Mar. And liegemen to the Dane.
Fran. Give you good night.
Mar. 0, farewell, honest soldier:
Who hath relieved you 7
Fran. Bernardo has my nlace.
Give you good night [EtH.
Mar. Holla I Bernardo !
Ber. Say,
What, is Horatio there ?
Hot. a piece of him.
Ber. Welcome, Horatio: welcome, good
Marcellus. 20
Mar. What, has this thing appeared again
to-night 7
Ber. I Imve seen nothing
Mar. Horatio says'tis but our fantasy,
And will not let belief take hold of him
Touching tliis dreaded sight, twice seen of us:
Therefore I have entreated him along
With us to watch ttie minutes of this night;
That if again this apparition come.
He may approve our eyes and speak to it.
Hor. Tush, tush, 'twill not appear.
Ber. Sit down awhile ; 30
And let us once again assail your ears.
That are so fortified against our story
What we have two nights seen.
Hor. Well, sit we down.
And let us hear Bernardo speak of this.
Ber. Last night of all,
When yond same star that's westward from
the pole
Had made his course to illume tliat part of
heaven
Where now it bums, Marcellus and myself,
The bell then beating one,—
Enter Ghost.
Mar. Peace, break thee off; look, where
it comes again 1 40
Ber. In the same figure, like the king that's
dead.
Mar. Thou art a scholar ; speak to it, Hora¬
tio. ————
J?erC~liOoks it not like the king 7 mark it,
Horatio.
Hor. Most like : it harrows me with feat
and wonder.
Ber. It would be spoke to.
Mar. Question it, Horatio.
Hor. What art thou that usurp'st this time
of night.
Together with that fair and warlike form
In which the majesty of buried Denmark
Did sometimes raarw 7 by heaven 1 charge
thee, speak 1
• Mar. It is offended.
Ber. See, it stalks away 1 50
Hor. Stay 1 speak, speak I I charge thee,
1 [£xi< Ghost.
Scene i.J
Mar. Ha gone, and will not answer.
Ber. How now, Horatio! you tremble and
look pale;
Is not tbis something more than fantasy ?
What think yon on't 7
Hor. Before my God, I might not this be¬
lieve
Without the sensible and true avouch
Of mine own eyes<
Mar. Is it not like the king 7 ,
Bar. As thou art to thyself:
Such was the verjr armor he had on 60
When he the ambitious Norway combated ;
So frown'd be once, when, in an angry parle.
He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice.
'Tis strange.
Mar. Thus twice before, and jump at this
dead hour.
With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch.
Hor. In what {larticular thought to work I
know not;
But in the gross and scope of my opinion,
This bodes some strange eruption to our state.
Mar Good now, sit down, and tell me, he
that knows, 70
Why this same strict and most observant watch
So nightly toils the subject of -the laud.
And why such daily cast of brazen cannon.
And foreign mart for implements of war ;
Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore-
task
Does not divide the Siu^ay froni-thtLWeek ;
WBmnrgtnr'bnSward; Ui'^lhis sw^ty hj^ i
Poth make the^yaJU^^
Who i^^hat can inform me 7
Hor. That can I;
At least, the whisper goes so. Our last King,
Whose image even but now appear'd to us, 61
Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway,
Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride,
Dared to the combat; in which our valiant
Hamlet—
For so this side of our known world esteem'd
him—
Did slay tbis Fortinbras ; who by a seal'd com¬
pact,
Well ratified by law and heraldry.
Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands
Which he stood seized of, to the conqueror :
A^nst the which, a moiety competent 90
Was gaged by our king ; which had retum'd
To the inheritance of Fortinbras,
Had he been vanquisher; as, by the some
covenant.
And carriage of the article design'd.
His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortin¬
bras,
Of unimproved mettle hot and full,
Hath in tlie skirts of Norway here and there
Shark'd up a list of lawless reaolutes.
For toddHuil diet, tffsenw ewterprlge
That hath a stomach in't; which is no other—
An it doth well appear unto our state-k 101
But to recover of us, bj' strong hand'
And tems eempulsatm^^ those foiesaid lands
647
So by his father lost: and this, I take it,
. Is the main motive of our preparations.
The source of this our water, and the chief head
Of this post-haste and rouiage in the land.
Ber, 1 think it be no other but e'en so :
Well may it sort that this portentous figure
Comes armed through our watch ; so like the
king 110
That was and is the question of these wars.
Hor. A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye.
In the most high and palmy state ol Borne,
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell.
The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted
dead
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets :
t As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood.
Disasters in the sun ; and the moist star
Upon whose infiuence Neptune's empire stands
Wassick almost to doom^y with eclipse : 120
And even the like precurse of fierce events.
As liarbingers preceding still the fates
And prologue to the omen conring on.
Have heaven and earth together demonstrated
Unto our climatures and countrymen.—
But soft, behold! lo, where it comes again !
^ Re-enter Ghost.
I'll cross it, though it blast me. Stay, illusion!
If thou hast any sound, or use of voice.
Speak to me:
If there be any good thing to be done, 130
That may to mee do ease and grace to me.
Speak to me : {Cock crows.
If thou art privy to thy country's fate,
Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid,
O,speak 1
Or if thou hast nphoarded in thy life
Extorted treasure in the womb of earth.
For which, tliey say, you spirits oft walk in
death.
Speak of it: stay, and speak 1 Stop it, Afar-
cellus.
ilfor. Shall I strike at it with my partisan 7
Hor. Do, if it will not stand. 141
Ber. 'Tis here !
Hor. 'Tis here !
Mar. "Tis gone I [Exit Ghost.
We do it wrong, being so majestical.
To offer it tbe sbow of violence ;
For it is, as the air, invulnerable,
And our vain blows malicious mockery.
Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock
crew.
Hor. And then it started like a guilty thing
Upon a fearful summons. I have heard.
The cock, that is the trumpet to tlie morn, ISO
Dbtirwttii''fais Ibftyahd shrill-somirdlng throat
Awake the god of day ; and, at his warning.
Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,
.'he extravagant and erring spirit hies
To his confine : and of the truth herein
This present object made probation.
Mar. It fadM on the crowing of the cock.
Some say that ever '^inst tliat season comes
Wherein our Saviours birth is celebrated, 159
Tbe bud ol dawuifig siagetb all night long:
HAMLET.
648
HAMLET.
[Act I.
And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad;
The uigi:ts are wholesome ; then no planets
strike,
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
So hallow'd and so gracious is tlie time.
Uor. So have 1 heard and do in part be¬
lieve it.
But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad.
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastward hill:
Break we our watch up ; and by my advice, ,
Let us impart what we have seen to-night
Unto young Hamlet; for, upon my life, 170
This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him.
Do yoa consent we shall ac(|uaiut him with it.
As needful in our loves, fittmg our duty ?
Mar. Let's do't, I pray ; and I this morn¬
ing know
Where we shail find him most conveniently.
\Exeunt.
/
ScENi: U. A room of state in the castle.
Enter the Knro, Queen, Hamlet, Polonius,
Laertes, Volti.mand, Cornelius, Lords,
and Attendants.
King. Though yet of Hamlet our dear bro¬
ther's death
The memory be green, and that it us befitted
To bear our hearts in grief and our whoie
kingdom
To be contracted in one brow of woe.
Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature
That we with wisest sorrow tliink on him.
Together with remembrance of ourselves.
Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen,
Tiie imperial jointress to this warlike state.
Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy,— 10
With an auspicious and a dropping eye.
With mirth in funeral and. with dirge in mar¬
riage.
In equal scale weighing delight and dole,—
Taken to wife : nor have we herein barr'd
Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone
With this affair along. For all, our tlianks.
Now follows, that you know, yomig Fortinbras,
Holding a weak supposal of our worth.
Or thinking BjTYmrTatfe 'deAFbrdlhef's death
Our state to be disjoint and out of frame, 20
C Jlleagued with the dream of his advantage.
He luith not fail'd to pester us with message.
Importing the surrender of those lands
Lost by his father, with all bonds of law.
To our most valiant brother. So much for him.
Now for ourself and for this time of meeting :
Thus much the business is : we have here writ
To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras,—
Who, im^tent and bed-rid, scai'cely bears
Of this his nephew's purpose,—to suppress 30
His furtlier gait herein ; in that the levies.
The lists and full proportions, are all made
Out of his subject: and we here dispatch
You, good Cornelius, and yon, Voltimand,
For bearers of this greeting to old Norway
Qiving to you no fiutber personal power
To business with the king, more than the scope
Of these delated articles a|^nr>
Farewell, and let your haste commend your
duty.
Cor. I In that and all things will we, show
Vol. ( our duty. . 40)
King. We doubt it nothing : heartiiy fare^
well.
[Exevnt Voltimand and Cornelius.
And now, l^ertes, wliat's the news with youf
You told us of some suit; what is't, Laertes ?
You cannot speak of reason to the Dane,
Ana loose your voice : what wouldst thou beg,
Laertes,
That shall not be my offer, not thy asking ?
The head is not more native to the heart.
The hand more instrumental to the mouth.
Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father.
What wouldst thou have, Laertes ?
Laer. My dread lord, 50
Your leave and favor to return to France :
Froi* whence though willingly 1 came to Den¬
mark,
To show my duty in your coronation.
Yet now, I must confess, tliat duty done.
My thoughts and wishes bend again toward
France
And bow tliem to your gracious leave and
pardon.
King. Have you your father's leave ? What
says Polonius ?
Pol. He hath, my lord, wrung from me my
slow leave
By laborsome petition, and at last
lUpou his wiii Ieeal'd my hard consent': 60
I do beseech yon, give him leave to go.
King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes; time be
thine.
And thy best graces spend it at thy will! '
But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son,—
. Ham. lAside] A little more than kin, and
less than kind. ——• - -
King. Howls it that the clouds still hang
on you ?
Ham. Not so, my lord ; I am too much i'
the sun.
Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted color
off.
And let thine eye look like a friend on Den¬
mark.
Do not for ever with thy vailed lids 70
Seek for thy noble father in the dust:
Thou know St 'tis common ; all that lives must
die.
Passing through nature to eternity.
Hani Ay, madam, it is common.
Queen. If it be,
Why seems it so particular with thee '/
ihm. Seems, madam ! nay it is ; I know
not 'seems.'.
'Tis not aione my inky cloak, good mother.
Nor customary suits of solemn black.
Nor windy suspiration of forced brea^
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, 80
Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage,
Tc^ether with all forms, moods, shapes of
grief.
That can dUBote me truly i theaejadeedaeem.
scene ii.]
HAMLET.
649
for they are actions i^t a man inigbt play :
Bnt I have that within which passeth show ;
These hat the trappings and the suits of woe.
King. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your
' nature, Hamlet,
To give these mourning duties to your father :
But, you must know, your lather lost a father ;
That father lost, lost his, and the survivor
bound ^
In filial obligation for some term
To do obsequious sorrow : but to persever
In obstinate condolement is a course
Of impious stubbornness ; 'tis unmanly grief ;
It shows a wili most incorrect to heaven,
A heart unfortified, a mind inipatient,
An understanding simide and upschool'd :
For what we know must be and is as common
As any the most vulgar thing to sense,
Wliy should we in our peevish opposition 100
Take it to heart ? Fie ! 'tis a fault to heaven,
A fault against the dead, a fault to nature.
To reason most absurd ; whose common theme
Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried.
From the first corse till he that died to^ay,
'This must be so.' We pray you, throw to
earth
This unprevailin| woe, and thhik of us
As of a father : for let the world take note.
You are the most immediate to our throne ;
And with no less nobility of love 110
Than that which dearest father bears his sou.
Do I impart toward you. For your intent
In going back to school in Wittenburg,
It is most retrograde to our desire :
And we beseech you, bend you to remain
Here, in the cheer and comfort of our eye.
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.
' Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers,
Hamlet:
I pray thee, stay witli us ; go not to Wittenberg.
Ham. I shall in all my best obey you,
madam
King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply :
Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come ;
This gentle and unforced accord of ^mlet
Sits smiling to my heart; in grace whereof.
No jocundIiealth that Denmark drinks to>day.
But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell.
And the king's rouse the heavens shall bruit
a^in.
Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away.
[Exeunt all btit Hamlet.'
Ham, 0, that this too too solid flesh would
melt, ' . -•
Thaw and resolve Itself into a dew I 130
Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd
His canon'gainst self-slaughter ! OGod! God!
How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable.
Seem to tue all the nses of this vfottdt""
Fie on't 1 ah fie! 'tis an unweeded garden.
That grows to seed ; things tank and gross in
nature
Possess it merely. That it should come to this!
But two mouths dead : nay, not so much, not
two:
Fo ncellmit aUDg; that was, to (his, . 139
Hyperion to a satyr ; so loving to my mother
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!
Must 1 remember ? why, she would hang on
him.
As if iaciekse of appetite had grown
By wliat it fed on T and yet, within a month-—
LerBre'"not think on't—Frailty, thy name is
woman !—
A littie mouth, or ere those shoes were old
With which she follow'd my poor father's
body.
Like Niobe, all tears :—why she, even she—
0 God I a beast, that wants discourse of rea¬
son, 160
Would have mourn'd longer—married with my
uncle.
My father's brother, but no more like my lather
Than 1 to Hercules : within a month :
Ere yet the salt of mo.st unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes.
She married. O, most wicked speed, to post
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets !
It is not nor it camiot come to good:
But break, my heart; for I must hold my
tongue.
Enter Horatio, Mabcellus, and Bernarpo,
Hor. Hail to your lordship !
Ham. I am glad to see you well: 160
Horatio,—or I do foiget myself.
Hor The same, my lord, and your poor
servant ever.
Ham. Sir, my good friend ; I'll change that
name with you : [tio ?
And what make you from Wittenberg, Hora-
Marcellus ?
Mar. My good lord—
Ham. I am very glad to see you. Good
even, sir.
But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?
Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord.
Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so.
Nor shall you do mine ear that violence, 171
To make it truster of your own report
Against yourself : I know you are no truant
But what is your affair in Elsinore ?
We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart
Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's
funeral.
Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-
student ;
1 think it was to see my mother's wedding.
Hor. Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon.
Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio ! the funeral
baked meats 180
Did coldlv furnish forth the marriage tables.
Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven
Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio !
My father!—methinks I see my father.
Hor. Where, my lord ?
Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio.
Hor. I saw him once ; he was a goo^y
king.
Ham. Hewasaman,takehimforall in all,
I shall not tPOR upon bis like again.
S60
HAMLET.
[Aoti.
Hot. My lord, I think I saw him yester¬
night
Ham. Saw ? who ? 190
Hor. My lord, the king voar fother.
Ham. The king my lather I
Hor. Season your admiration lor awhile
With an attent ear, till 1 may deliver.
Upon the witness ol these gentlemen,
Tltis marvel to you.
Ham. For God's love, let me hear.
Hor. Two nights together had these gen¬
tlemen,
Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch.
In the dead vast and middle ol the night.
Been thus encouiiter'd. A figure like your
lather.
Armed at point exactly, cap-a-pe, 200
Appears before them, and with solemn march
Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he
walk'd
By their oppress'd and lear-surprised eyes.
Within his truncheon's length; whilst they,
distilled
Almost to jelly with the act ol lear.
Stand dumb and speak not to liim. This to me
In dreadful secrecy lmi>art they did ;
And 1 with them the third night kept the
watch ;
Where, as they liad dellver'd, both in time.
Form ol the thing, each word made true and
go^, 210
The apparation comes : I knew your lather;
These hands are not more like.
Ham. But where was this ?
Mar. My lord, upon the platform where we
watch'd.
Ham. Did you not speak to it ?
Hor. My lord, I did ;
But answer made it none: yet once methought
It lifted up its head and did address
Itself to motion, like as it would speak ;
But even then the morning cock crew loud.
And at the sound it shrunk in haste away.
And vanish'd from our sight;
Ham. 'Tis very strange. 220
Hor. As I do live, my houoFd lora, 'tis
true:
And we did think it writ down in our duty
To let you .know of it.
Ham. Indeed, Indeed, sirs, but this troubles
me.
Hold you the watch to-night ?
Ser.' I
Ham. Arm'd, say you ?
I Arwi'd, my lord.
Ham. From top to toe ?
I My lord, from head to foot
Ham. Then saw you not his face ?
Hor. 0, yes, my lord ; he wore.hl8 beaver
up. 230
Ham. What, look'd he Irownlngly ?
Hor. A countenance more in sorrow than
in anger. « —
Ham. Pale or red ?
Hor. Nay, veiy pale.
Ham. And fix'd his eyes upon you ?
Hor. Most constantly.
Ham. I would I had been there.
Hor, It would have much amazed you
Ham. \otj like, Yery like. Btay'd It long 1
Hor. While one with moderate haste ml^t
tell a hundred.
1 Longer, longer.
Hor. Not when I saw't
Ham. His beard was grizzled,—no ? 240
Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life,
A sable silver'd.
Ham. I will watch to-night;
Perchance 'twill walk again.
Hor. I warrant it wllL
Ham. If it assume my noble lather's per¬
son,
I'll s^k to it, though hell Itself should gape
And old me hold my peace. I pray you all,
II you have hitherto couceai'd this sight,
Let it be tenable in your silence still;
And whatsoever else sh^l hap to-night.
Give it an understanding, but no tongue: 250
I will requite your loves. So, fare you well:
Upon the platform, 'twlxt eleven and twelve,
I'll visit you.
All. Our duty to your honor.
Uam. Tour loves, as mine to yon : fare¬
well. [Exeunt all but Hamlet.
My lather's spirit In arms 1 all Is not well; •
I doubt some foul play: would the night
were come I
Till then sit still, my soul: foul deeds wlU
rise.
Though all the earth o'erwhelm theim to
men's eyes. [Exit,
Scene IIL A room in Polonius' house.
Enter Laebtes and Ophei.ia.
Zaer. My necessaries are embark'd ; fare¬
well :
And, sister, as the winds give benefit
And convoy Is assistant, do not sleep.
But let me hear from you.
Oph. Do you doubt that ?
Xoer. For Hamlet and the trifling ol his
favor.
Hold It a fashion and a toy In blood,
A violet In the youth ol prlm.v nature,
Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting.
The perfume and suppliance ol a minute ;
No more.
Oph. No more but so ?
Vaer. Think It no more : 10
For nature, crescent, does not grow alone
In thews and bulk, but, as this temple waxes.
The Inward service ol the mind and soul
Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you
now.
And now no soil nor diutel doth besmirch
The virtue ol his will: but you must lear,
Hiq greatnpgs welgh'd, his « not his own;
SCKMii 111.]
HAMLET.
6^1
For he himself is subject to his birth :
He may not, as unvalued persons do,
Oarve for himself ; for on his choice depends
The safety and health of this whole state ; 21
And therefore must his choice be circum¬
scribed
tJnto the voice and yieiding of that body
Whereof he is the head. Then if he says he
loves you.
It fits your wisdom so far to believe it
As he in his particular act and place
May give his saying deed ; which is no fur¬
ther
Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal.
Then weigh what loss your honor may sus¬
tain,
If with too credent ear you list his songs, 30
Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure
open
To bis unmaster'd imiwrtunity.
Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister.
And keep you in the rear of your affection.
Out of the sliot and danger M desire.
The chariest maid is prodigal enough,
if she unmask her beauty to the moon:
Virtue itself 'scapes not calumnious strokes:
The canker galls the infants of the spring.
Too oft before their buttons be disclosed, 40
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth
Contagious blastments are most imminent.
Be wary then ; best safety lies in fear :
Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.
Oph. I shall the effect of this good lesson
keep.
As watchman to my heart. But) good my
brother.
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do.
Show me the steep and thorny way to heav¬
en ;
Whiles, like a puS'd and reckless libertine.
Himself Sie primrose rati) of dalliance treads.
And recks udCBii'dwur^e. ' 5i
Laer. O, fear me not.
1 stay toe long: but here my faSier comes.
. Enter Polonius.
A double blessing is a double grace;
Occasion smiles upon a second leave.
Pol. Yet hero, Laertes! aboard, aboard,
for shame !
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail.
And yon are stay'd for. There; my blessing
with thee!
And these few precepts in thy memory
See thou character. Give thy thoughts no
tongue.
Nor any uuproportioued thought his act 60
Be thou famillM, but by no means vulrar.
Those friends thou hast, and their adoption
tried.
Grapple them to thy sonViHth hoops of steel;
BnraS not'dull'lliyT^m with entertainmeht
Of each new-hatch'a, unfledged comrade. Be¬
ware
Of entrance to a quarrel, bnt being in,
Beart that the opposed may beware of thee.
Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice ;
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy
judgment. '
Costly thy habit as thy purse can bap, _ 70
But not express'd in fancy ; rich, nolwaudyj
For the apparel oft proclaipasHheiffn^
AmPffwy-ui Fraifcie of the best iMl «adlflts-
tion <11 iKiiiii'iM
fAre of a most select and geueebw fa
that. . o'-iii.
Neither a borrower nor a lendevlMSTi" ''
For loan oft loses both itself aMi'flMi,
And borrowing dulls the edge fliSwiSndry,
ThisTitlKnnrain to MhrOwning trtwi w
And^ftluust follSWrh^ the niJlMeday,-^
Thou canst not then be false faMtrMMi. '80
Farewell: my blessing season tMHiraW 1
Laer. Most humbly do I take nPMire, my
lord.
Pol. The time invites you ; go ; your serv-
vants tend.
Laer. Farewell, Ophelia; and remember
well
What I have said to yon.
CtoA "fis in my memory lock'd.
And you yourself shall keep the key of it.
iMer. Farewell. [Exit.
Pol. What is't, Ophelia, be hath said to
you?
Oph. So please you, something touching
the Lord Hamlet.
Pol. Marry, well bethought: 90
'Tis told me, he bath very oft of late
Given private time to you ; and you yourself
Have of your audience been roost free and
bounteous :
If it be so, as so 'tis put on me.
And that in way of caution, I must tell you.
You do not understand yourself so clearly
As it behoves my daughter and your honor.
What is between you ? give me up the truth.
Oph. He hath, my lord, of late made many
tenders
Of his affectio)) to me. 100
Pol. Affection ! pooh 1 you speak like a
green girl.
Unsifted in such perilous circumstance.
Do you believe his tenders, as you call them ?
Oph. I do not know, my lord, what I should
think.
Pol. Marry, I'll teach you : think yourself
a baby ;
That you have ta'eu these tenders for true
p»y.
Which are n«rt sterling. Tender yourself
more dearly ;
Or—not to crack the wind of the xioor phrase,
Running it thus—you'll tender me a fool.
Oph. My lord, he hath importuned me
with love 110
In honorable fashion.
Pol. Ay, fashion you may call it; go to, go
to.
Oph. And hath given countenance to his
speech, my lord.
With almost all the holy vows of heaven.
652
HAMLET.
[Act r.
Pol. Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do
'know,
When tlie blood bums, how prodigal the soul
Lends the tongue tows : these blazes', dangh-
GiviiwjiiAre light than heat, extinct In both,
Even li niir~pro~mise;'tcg it Is a-maklng,.
Yon nuist not take for fire. From this time
Se SMMWdbnt scanter of your maiden pres¬
ence 1 121
Set jiniiimitninliiii iil i at a higher rate
Than »(|MllitMid to parley. For Lord Hara-
Wlleve in him, that he is young
And with^HMK^'* letl>er may he walk
ThBlUB||yB5veu you : in few, Ophelia,
DoiHlJMMfln his vows ; for they are brokers,
Not olflBtnye which their investments show.
But mere iinplorators of unholy suits.
Breathing like sanctified and pious bawds,
The better to beguile. Tliis is for ail: 131
I would not, in plain terras, from this time
forth,
Have you so slander any moment leisure, .
As to give words or talk with the Lord Ham¬
let.
Look to't, I charge you : come your ways.
Opk. I shall ouey, my lord. [ETKunt.
Scene IV. The platform.
Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus.
Ham. The air bites shrewdly ; it is very
cold.
Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air.
Ham. What hour now 1
Hor. I think it lacks of twelve.
Ham. No, it is struck.
Hor. Indeed ? I heard it not: then it draws
near the season
Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.
[A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance
shot off, within.
What does this mean, my lord ?
Ham. The king doth wake to-night and
takes his rouse.
Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring
reels;
And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish
down, 10
The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out
The triumph of his pledge.
Hor. Is it a custom ?
Ham. Ay, marry, is't:
But to ray mind, though I am native here
And to tlie manner born, it is a custom
More houor'dift the-breach than the observ¬
ance. ..
This hewvy-headed revel east and west
Makes us traduced and tax'd of other nations:
They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish
phrase
Soil our addition ; and indeed it takes 20
From our achievements, though perform'd at
height,
The pith and marrow of our attribute.
So, oft it chances in particular men.
That for some vicious mole of nature in tiiem.
As, in their birth—wherein they are not
guilty,
Since nature cannot choose his ongin—
By the o'ergrowth of some complexion.
Oft breaking down the pales and forts of rea¬
son.
Or by some habit that too much o'er-leavens
The form of plansive manners, that these
men. 30
Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect.
Being nature's livery, or fortune's star,—
Their virtues else—be they as pure as grace,
As infinite as man may undergo—
Shall in the general censure take corruption
From that particular fault: the dram of teale
Doth all the noble substance tof a doubt
To his own scandal.
Hor. > Look, my lord, it comes t
I Enter Ghost,
' Ham. Angels and ministers of grace de¬
fend us 1
Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd,
Bring-with thee airs from heaven or blasts
from hell, 41
Be thy intents wicked or charitable.
Thou comest in such a questionable shape
That I will speak to thee : I'll call thee Ham¬
let,
King, father, royal Dane : O, answer me !
Let me not burst in ignorance ; but tell
Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst their cerements ; why the sepul¬
chre,
Wherein we saw thee quietly inum'd,
Hath oped his ponderous and marble ^aws, GO
To cast thee up again. What may this mean,
That thou, deitd corse, again in complete steel
Revisit'st thus the glUnp^ of the moon,
Makingliiglttfirdeous ; and'Vfe fools of nature
So horridly to shake our disposition
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our
souls ?
Say, why is this ? wherefore ? what should
we do ? [Ghost beckons Hamlet.
Hor. It beckons you to go away with it.
As if it some impartment did desire
To you alone.
Mar. Look, with what courteous action 60
It waves you to a more removed ground :
But do not go with it.
Hor. No, by no means.
Ham. It will not speak ; then I will follow
it.
Hor. Do not, my lord.
Ham. Why, what should be I3ie fear ?
I do not set my life at a pin's fee ;
And for my soul, what can it do to that,
Being a thing immortal as itself 7
It waves me forth again : I'll follow ik
Hor. What if it tempt you toward the flood,
my lord, .
Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff ' 70
That beetles o'er bis base into the sea,
SCBNK T.]
HAMLET,
653
And there assume some otlier horrible form,
Which might deprive your sovereiguty of
reason
And draw you into madness ? think of it:
The very pSace puts toys of desperation, •
Without more motive, into every brain
That iooks so many fathoms to the sea
And hears it roar beneath.
Ham. It waves me stiU.
Go on ; I'li follow thee.
Mar. You shall not go, iny lord.
Ham. Hold oil your hands. 80
Hot. Be ruled ; you shall not go.
Ham. My fate cries out,
And makes each mtty artery in this body
As hardy as the Nemeau lion's nerve.
Still am I caU'd. Unhand me, gentlemen.
By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets
mel
I say, away ! Go on ; I'll follow thee.
\Exexint Ghost and Hamlet.
Hot. He waxes desperate with imagination.
Mar. Let's follow : 'tis not fit thus to obey
him,
B>r. Have after. To what issue will this
come?
Mar. Something is rotten in the state ot
Denmark. go
Hot. Heaven will direct it.
Mar. Hay, let's follow him. [Exeunt.
SCEKE V. Another part of the platform,
Enter Ghost and Hamuet.
Ham. Wliere wilt thou lead me ? speak ;
. I'll go no further.
Ghost. Mara me.
Ham. I wiU.
Ghost. My hour is almost come.
When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames
Must render up myself.
Ham. Alas, poor ghost!
Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious
hearing
To what I shall unfold.
Ham. Speak ; I am bound to hear.
Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou
shaft bear.
Ham. What ?*
Ghost. I am thy father's spirit,
Doom'd for ? certain term to walk the night,
And for the day confined to fast in fires, 11
Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature
Are bunit and purged away. But that I am
forbid
To tell the semrets of my prison-house,
I could a tale unfold whose lightest word
Would harrow np thy soul, freeze thy young
blood.
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their
spheres, «
Thy knotted and combined locks to part
And each particular hair to stand ou end.
Like quills upon the fretful poriientine : 20
But tliigfeiefiiai blazon must niafbg""
To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, 0, list 1
If thou didst ever thy dear father love—
Ham. O God !
GhoU. Revenge his foul and most unnatural
murder.
Ham. Murder!
Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it
is ;
But this most foul, strange and unnatural.
Ham. Haste me to know't, that I, with
wings as swift
As meditation or the thoughts of love, 30
May sweep to my revenge. a
Ghost. I find thee apt t
And duller shouldst thou be than the fakyfeed
That roots itgelf in ease.puLe^e wharf,
Wo'iildst thou riot stir in'tKis. Now, Hamlet,
hear :
'Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard,
A serpent stung me ; so tlie whole ear of Den¬
mark
Is by a forged process of my death
Raniriy abused : but know, thou noble youth.
The serpent that did sting thy father's life
Now wears his crown.
Ham. O my prophetic soul ! 40
My uncle!
Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate
beast,'
With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous
gifts,—
O wicked wit and gifts, that have the power
So to seduce !—won to his shameful lust
The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen :
0 Hamlet, what a falliug-oif was there !
From'me, whose love was of that dignity
That it went hand in hand even with the vow
1 made to her in marriage, and to decline 50
Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor
To those of mine !
But virtue, as it never will be moved,
Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven,
So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd.
Will sate itself in a celestial bed.
And prey on garbage.
But, soft! methinks I scent the morning air ;
Brief let me be. Sleeping within my orchard,
My custom always of the afternoon, 60
Upon ray secure hour thy uncle stole.
With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial.
And in the pordies of my ears didpour
The leperous distilment ; whose effect
Holds such an emnity with blood of man
That swift as quicksilver it courses through
The natural gates and alleys of the body.
And with a sudden vigor it doth posset
And curd, like eager droppings into milk.
The thin and wholesome blood : sodiditmine;
And a most instant tetter bark'd about, 71
Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust.
All my smooth body.
Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand
Of life, of crown, of queen, at oncedispatch'd:
Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,
Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel d.
No reckoning made, but sent to my account
With all my imperfectiens on my bead;
65i
HAMLET.
[Act z.
O, horrible ! 0, horrible ! most horrible I 80
If thou hast nature lii thee, bear It not;
Let not the royal brd of Denmark be
A couch fur luxury and damned Incest.
But, howsoever thou pursuestthls act.
Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive
Against thy mother aught: leave her to heaven
And to those thorns that In her bosom lodge.
To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at
once !
The glow-worm shows the matin to be near.
And gins to pale his uneSectual fire : 90
Adleu,Adle«+TlirmleI, remember me. {Exit.
H«m,. O all you host of heaven ! O earth !
And shall 1 couple hell ? O, fie ! Hold, hold,
my heart;
And you, my sinews, grow not instant old.
But bear me stlfily up. Remember thee !
Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a
. seat
In this distracted globe. Remember thee !
Yea, from the table of my memory
I'll wipe away all trivial fond records,
All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past.
That youth and observation copied there ; 101
And thy commandment all alone shall live
Within the book and volume of my bram,
Uumlx'd with baser matter : yes, by heaven I
O most perplclous woman !
0 villain, villain, smiling, damned villain 1
My tables,—meet It Is I set It down.
That one may smile, and smile, and be a vil¬
lain ;
At least I'm sure H may be so m Denmark :
[ Writing.
So,' uncle, there you are. Now to my word ;
It Is ' Adieu, adieu! remember me.' Ill
1 have sworn't
f My ™y lord,—
Mar. [ Within'] Lord Hamlet,—
Hor. [ Within] Heaven secure him !
Ham. So be it !
Hor. [ Within'] Hlllo, ho, ho, my lord 1
Ham. Hlllo, ho, ho, boy ! come, bird, come.
Enter Hobatio and Marceixus.
Mar. How Is't, my noble lord ?
Hor. What news, my lord ?
Ham. O, wonderful I
Hor. Good my lord, tell It.
Ham. No ; you'll reveal It.
Hor. Not I, my lord, by heaven.
Mar. Nor I, my lord. 120
Ham. How say you, then ; would heart of
man once thmk It ?
But you'll be secret ?
J/ar. ! "y
Ham. There's ne'er a villain dwelling In
all Denmark
But he's an arrant knave.
Hor. There needs no ghost, my lord, come
from the grave
To tell us this.
Ham. Why, tight; you are i' the right;
And so, without more circumstance at all,
I hold It fit that we shake hands and part:
You,a8 your business and desire shall point you;
For every man has business and desire, 180
Such as It Is ; and for mine own poor part,
Look yon, I'll go pray.
Hor. These are but wild and whirling words,
my lord.
Ham. I'm sorry they offend you, heartily ;
Yes, 'faith heartily.
Hor. There's no offence, my lard.
Ham. Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there Is,
Horatio,
And much offence too. Touching this vision
here.
It Is an honest ghost, that let me tell you :
For your desire to know what is between us,
O'ermaster't as you may. And now, good
friends, 140
As you are friends, scholars and soldiers,
Give me one p(mr request
Hor. What Is't, my lord ? we wlU.
Ham. Never make known what you have
seen to-ulght.
?hr I ''''''
Ham. ' Nay, but swear't.
Hor. In faith.
My lord, not 1.
Har. Nor I, my lord. In faith.
Ham. Upon my sword.
Mar. We have sworn, my lord, already.
Ham. Indeed, upon my sword, Indeed.
Ghost {BeneaVi] Swear.
Ham. Ah, ha, boy 1 say'st thou so ? art
thou there, truepenny ? 160
Come on—you hear this fellow In the cellarage-
Consent to swear.
Hor. Propose the oath, my loid.
Ham. Never to speak of this that you have
seen.
Swear by my sword.
Ghost {Beneath^ Swear.
Ham. Hie et ubique ? tlien we'll shift oui'
ground.
Come hither, gentlemen.
And lay your hands again upon my sword :
Never to speak of this that you have heard.
Swear by my sword. 160
Ghost [Beneath] Sw«ir.
Ham. Well said, old mole ! canst work T
the earth so fast ?
A worthy ploner 1 Once more remove, good
friends.
Hor. O day and night, but tills Is wondrous
strange!
Ham. And therefore as a stranger give It
welcome.
There areADiMe-things,.in heaven and earth,
"Horatio,
Thati.aBdregmtAfiu.yaur philosophy.
But come ; ■——
Hers, as before, never, so help you mercy.
How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself, W
As 1 tierohance hereafter shall think meet
SCBHB 1.]
To put an antic disposition on,
That you, aTMch'tnties'Sheing me, never shall.
With arms encumher'd thus, or this head-
shake.
Or by pronoanchig of some donbtful phrase.
As ' Well, well, we know,' or ' We could, an
if we would,'
Or ' If we list to speak,' or ' There be, an if
they might,'
Or such ambiguous giving out, to note
That yon know anght of me; this not to do.
So grace and mercy at your most need help
you, 180
Swear.
Ghost. [Beneath^ Swear.
Ham. Rest, rest, perturbed spirit! [Tkey
swear.] So, gentiemen.
With all my love 1 do commend me to you ;
And what so poor a man as Hamlet is
May do, to express his love and friending to
you,
God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in to¬
gether ;
And still your fingers on your lips, I pray.
The time is out ^ joint: O cursed spite,
TiiafWtSifTWtiS Dofn to set it right!
Nay, come, let's go together. [£xeunt. 190
ACT 11.
ScBNE I. A room in PoUmius' house.
Enter Polonius and re-nraldo.
Pol. Give him this money and these notes,
Reynaldo.
Hey. I will, my lord. '
P<H. You shall do marvellous wisely, good
Reynaldo,
Before you visit him, to make inquire
Of his tehavior.
Eey, My lord, 1 did intend it.
PoU Marry, well said ; very well said.
Look you, sir.
Inquire me first what Danskers are in Paris ;
And how, and who, what means, and where
they keep,
Wliatcomtiany, at what exiiense ; and finding
By this encomi>assment and diltt of question
That they do know my aou, come you more
nearer 11
Than your particular demands will touch it:
Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge
of him ;
As thus, * 1 know his father and his friends,
And in pait him :' do you mark this, Rey¬
naldo ?
Eey. Ay, very well, my lord.
Pol. ' And in part him ; but' you may say
' not well:
But, if't be he 1 mean, he's very wild ;
Addicted so and so :' and niere put on him
What foigeries you please; marry, none so
rank 20
As may dishonor him ; take heed of that;
But, sir, such wanton, wild and usual sli^
665
As are compauions noted and most known
To youth and liberty.
Eey. As gaming, my lord.
Pol. Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing,
quanelling,
Drabbiug : you may go so far.
Eey. My lord, that would dishonor him.
J'ol. 'Faith, no; as you may season it in
the charge
You must not put another scandal on him.
That he is open to incontinency ; 30
That's not my meaning: but breathe his faults
so quaintly
That they may seem the taints of liberty.
The fiash and outbreak of a fiery mind,
A savageuess in unreclaimed blood.
Of general assault.
Bey. But, my good lord,—
Pol. Wherefore should you do this ?
Eey. Ay, my loid,
1 would know that.
Pol. Marry, sir, here's my drift;
And, 1 believe, it is a fetch of wit:
You laying these slight sullies on my son.
As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' tlie working,
Mark you, 41
Your party in converse, him you would sound.
Having ever seen in the prenominate crimes
Tlie youth you breathe of guilty, be assured
He closes with you in this consequence ;
' Good sir,' or so, or 'friend,' or ' gentleman.'
According to the phrase or the addition
Of man and country.
Eey. Very good, my lord.
Pol. And then, sir, does he this—he does—
what was I about to say ? By the ma.ss, I was
about to say something : where did 1 ieave ?
Eey. At 'closes in the consequence,' at
'friend or so,' and ' gentleman.'
Pol. At ' closes in the consequence,' ay,
marry ;
He closes thus :' 1 know the gentleman ;
1 saw him yesterday, or t' other day.
Or then, or then ; with such, or such ; and, as
you say.
There was a' gaming; there o'ertook in's
rouse ;
There falling out at tennis :' or perchance,
' 1 s:iw him enter such a house of sale,' 60
Videiicet, a brothel, or so forth.
See you now ;
Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth:
And thus do we of wisdom and of reach.
With windlasses and with assays of bias.
By indirections find directions out:
So by my former lecture and advice.
Shall you my son. You have me, have you
not ?
Eey. My lord, 1 have.
Pol. God be wi' you ; fare you well.
Eey. Good my lord ! 70
Pol. Observe his inclination in yourself.
Eey. I shall, my lord.
Pol. And let him ply his music.
Eey. Well, my lord.
Pol. Ta,i0V(s£ '/ {Exit Eevnoddo
HAMLET.
656
HAMLET.
[Act n
Enter Ophelia.
How now, Ophelia ! what's the matter ?
Oph- O, my lord, my lord, I have been so
affri;jhted !
Pol. With what, 1' the name of God ?
. Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in my
closet.
Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbraced ;
No hat uixm his head ; his stockings foul'd,
Ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ancle ; 80
Pale as his shirt; his knees knocking each
other ;
And with a look so x)iteous in purport
As if he had been loosed out of hell
To speak of horrors, —he comes before me.
Pol. Mad for tliy love ?
Oph. My lord, I do not know j
But truly, I do fear it.
Pol. What said he 1
Oph. Ho took me by the wrist and held me
hard ;
Then goes he to the length of all his arm ;
And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow.
He fxills to such perusal of ray face 90
As he would draw it. Long stay'd he so ;
At last, a little shaking of mine arm
And thrice his head thus waving up and down.
He raised a sigh so piteous and |>rofound
As it did seem to shatter all his bulk
And end his being : that done, he lets me go :
And, with his liead over his shoulder turn'd.
He seem'd to find his way without his eyes ;
For out o'doors he went without their helps,
And, to the last, bended their light on me. 100
Pol. Come, go with me : I will go seek
tlie king.
This is the very ecstasy of love,
' Wliose violent itroperty fordoes itself
And leads the will to desperate undertakings
As oft as any passion under heaven
That does afflict our natures. 1 am sorry.
What, have you given him any hard words of
late ? [command,
Oph. No, my good lord, bnt, as you did
I did reiiel his letters and denied
His.access to me.
P.)l. That hath made him mad. 110
I am sorry that with better heed and judg¬
ment [fie,
I had not quoted him : I fear'd he did but tri-
And meant to wreck thee j , but, beslirew my
jealousy 1
By heaven, it is as proper to our age
To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions
As it is common for the younger sort
To lack discretion. Come, go we to the king :
This must be known ; which, being kept close,
might move
More grief to hide than hate to utter love.
[Exeunt.
Scene H. A room in the castle.
Enter Kino, Qitben, Rosenckantz, Guild-
enstern, and Attendants.
King. Welcome, dear Rosencrantz and
Guildenstem 1 i
Moreover that we much did long to see you.
The need we have to use you did provoke
Our hasty sending. Something have you heard
Of Ilamlet's transformation ; so call it,
Sith nor the exterior nor tlie inward man
Resembles that it was. What it should be.
More than his Lather's death, that thus hath
X)ut him
So much from the understanding of himself.
I cannot dream of : 1 entreat you both, 10
That, being of so young days brought up witli
him.
And sith so neighbor'd to his youth and ha-
vior.
That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court
Some little time : so by your companies
"To draw him on to x>leasures, and to gather.
So much as from occasion you may glean.
Whether aught, to us unknown, afnicts hira
thus.
That, oxreu'd, lies within our remedy.
Queen. Good gentlemen, he hath much
talk'd of you;
And sure I am two men there are not living
To whom he more adheres. If it will please
you 21
To show us so much gentry and good will
As to exxxend your time with us awhile.
For the supply and profit of our hope.
Your visitation shall receive such thanks
As fits a king's remembrance.
Eos. Both your majesties
Might, by the sovereign power you have of us.
Put your dread pleasures more into command
Thau to entreaty.
Gull. But we both obey.
And here give up ourselves, in the full bent
To lay our service freely at your feet, 31
To be commanded.
King. Thanks, Rosencrantz and gentle
Guilden.stem.
Queen. Thanks, Guildenstem and gentle
Rosencrantz ;
And I beseech you instantly to visit
My too imich changed son. Go, some of you.
And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is.
Ouil. Heavens make our xrresence and our
nracticcs ■*-—
Pleasant and helpful to hira !
Queen. Ay, amen !
[Exeunt Rosencrantz, Guildenstem, and
some Attendants.
Enter Polonhjs.
Pol. The ambassadors from Norway, my
good lord, 40
Are joyfully return'd.
King. Thou still hast been the father of
good news.
Pol. Have I, my lord ? 1 assure my good
liege,
I hold my duty, as I hold my soul.
Both to my God and to mjr gracious king ;
And 1 do think, or else this brain of mine
Hunts not the trail of policy so sure
As it hath used to do, that 1 have found
bcbkb ii.]
The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy.
King. O, speak of that; that do I long to
hear. 50
Pol. Qive first admittance to the ambassa¬
dors ;
My news shall be the fruit to that great feast.
King. Thyself do grace to them, and bring
them in. [Exit Polonius.
He tblls me, my dear Gertrude, he hath found
The head and source of all your son's dis¬
temper.
Queen. I doubt it is no other but the main;
His father's death, and our o'erhasty mar¬
riage.
King. Well, we shall sift him.
Re-enter Polonius, with Voltimand and
Cornelius.
Welcome, my good friends !
Say, yoltimand, what from our brother Nor¬
way ?
Vdt. Most fair return of greetings and
desires. 60
Upon our first, he sent out to suppress
His nephew's levies : which to nim appear'd
To be a preparation gainst the Polack ;
But, better look'd into, he truly found
It wasa^inst your highness : whereat grieved.
That so his sickness, age and impotence
Was falsely home in hand, sends out arrests
On Fortinbras ; which he, in brief, obeys;
Receives rebuke from Norway, and in fine
Makes vow before his uncle never more 70
To give the assay of arms against your majesty.
Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy.
Gives him three thousand crowns in annual fee.
And his commission to employ those soldiprs.
So levied as before, against the Polack:
AVith an entreaty, herein further shown,
fOiving a paper.
That it might please you to give quiet pass
Through your dominions for this enterprise,
On such regards of safety and allowance
As therein are set down.
King. It likes us well ; 80
And at our more consider'd time we'll read.
Answer, and think upon this business.
Meantime we thank you for your well-took
labor:
Go to your rest ; at night we'll feast together :
Most welcome home !
[Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius.
Pol. This business is well ended.
My liege, and madam, to expostulate
What majesty should be, what duty is.
Why day is day, night night, and time is time.
Were nothing but to waste night, day and time.
Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, JK)
And tediousness the limbs and outward flour¬
ishes,
I will be brief : your noble son is mad :
Mad call I it; for, to define xrue madne.ss.
What is't but to be nothing else but mad ? i
But let that go.
Queen. More matter, with less art.
Pol, Madam, I swear 1 lise no art at all.
657
That he is,mad,, ,'ti8 truq : fti^ timft.!tis pity ;
And pity 'tis 'tis true : a foolish figure ;
But'rarewell it, for I will use no art.
M.ad let us grant him, then : and now remains
That we find out the cause of this effect, 101
Or rather say, the cause of this defect.
For this effect defective comes by cause :
Tims it remains, and the remainder thus.
Perpend.
I have a daughter—have while she is mine—
Who, in her duty and obedience, mark.
Hath given me this : now gather, and surmise.
[Reails.
' To the celestial and my soul's idol, the most
beautified Ophelia,'— 110
That's an ill phrase, a vile phrase ;' beautified'
is a vile phrase : but you shall bear. Thus :
[Reads.
' In her excellent white bosom, these, &c.'
Queen. Came this from Hamlet to her ?
Pol. Good madam, stay awhile ; I will be
faithful. [Reads.
' Doubt thou the sbirs are fire ;
Doubt that tlie sun doth move ;
Doubt truth to be a liar ;
But never doubt 1 love. 119 '
" O dear Ophelia, 1 am ill at these numbers ;
I have not art to reckon my groans : but that
I love thee best, 0 most be^, believe it. Adieu.
' Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst
this machine is to him, Hamlet.'
This, in obedience, hath my daughter shown
me.
And more above, hath his solicitings.
As they fell out by time, by means and place,
Al^ven to mine ear.
' Jung. But how hath she
Received his love ?
Pol. What do you think of me ?
King. As of a man >faithf ul and honorable.
Pol. I would fain prove so. But what might
you think, 131
When I had seen this hut love on the wing-
As I perceived it, I must tell you tliat.
Before my daughter told me—what might you.
Or my dear majesty your queen here, think.
If I had play'd the desk or table-book,
Or ^ven my heart a winking, mute and dumb.
Or look'd upon this love with idle sight ;
Wliat might you think ? No, I went round to
work.
And my young mistress thus I did bespeak :
' Lord Hamlet is a prince, out of thy star ; 141
Tills must not be : and tlien 1 precepts gave
her.
That she should lock herself from his resort.
Admit no messengers, receive no tokens.
Which done, she took tlie fruits of my advice ;
And he; repulsed—a short tale to make—
Fell into a sadness, then into a fast,
Tlicnce to a watch, thence into a weakness,
Tlience to a lightness, and, by this declension,
Intothe madness wherein now he raves, . 15P
And all we mourn for.
Kinf/. Dp you think 'tis this ?
Queen. It may be, very likely..
samlet.
<K8
Pol Hath there been such a time—I'd fain
know that—
That I have positively said' 'Tis so,'
When it proved otherwise ?
Kiny. Not that I know.
Pol [Poiniing to his head and shotdder]
Take this from this, if this be otherwise:
If circurastivnccs lead me, I will find
Wliere truth is hid, though it were hid indeed
Within the centre.
King. How may we try it further ?
Pol. Yon know, sometimes ''«> walks four
hours together 160
Here in the lobby.
Queen. So he does indeed.
Pol At such a time I'll loose my daughter
to him :
Be you and I behind an arras then ;
Hark the encounter : if he love her not
And be not from his reason fall'n thereon,
Let me be no assistant for a state,
But keep a farm and carters.
King. We will try it
Queen. But, look, where sadly the poor
wretch comes reading.
Pol. Away, 1 do beseech you, both away :
I'll board him presently.
\JExeunt King, Queen, and Attendants.
EtUer Hamlet, reading.
0, give me leave: 170
How does my good Lord Hamlet ?
Ham. Well, God-a-inercy.
Pol. Do you know nie, my lord ?
Ham. Kxcellentwell; you are a fishmonger.
Pol. Not 1, my lord.
Ham. Then 1 would you were so honest'a
man.
Pol. Honest, my lord !
Ham. Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world
goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thou¬
sand.
Pol. That's very true, my lord. 180
Ham. For if the sun breed maggots in a
dead dog, being a god kissing carrion,—Have
you a daughter ?
Pol. 1 have, my lord.
Ham. Let her not walk F the snn : concep¬
tion is a blessing ; but not as vour daughter
may conceive. Friend, look to t. .
Pol [Aside] How say you by that ? Still
haiping on my daughter: yet he knew me
not at first; he said 1 was a fishmonger i he
is far gone, far ^one : and truly in my youth
1 suffered mucli extremity for love ; very near
this. I'll speak to him again. What do yon
read, my lord ?
Ham. Words, words, words.
Pol. What Is the matter, my lord 1
Ham. Between who?
Pol. 1 mean, the matter that yon read, my
lord.
Ham. Slanders, sir • for t'ac satirical rogue
says here that old men have grey beards, that
their faces are wiinkled, their eyes pui^ing
thick amber and plum-tree gum and that they
(Act 11.
have a plentiful lack of wit, together with
most weak hams: all which, sir, though 1
most powerfully and jiotently believe, yet I
hold it not honesty to have it thus set down,
for yourself, sir, should be old as 1 am, if like
a crab you could go backward.
Pol. [Aside] Though this he madness, yet
there is metli^d iu't Will you walk out of
the air, myTord ?
Ham. Into my grave. 210
Pol. Indeed, that is out o' the air. [Aside]
How pregnant sometimes his replies are! a
happiness that often madness hits on, which
re.ason and sanity could not so pi-osi)erously be
delivered of. 1 will leave hira, and suddenly
contrive the means of meeting between him
and my daughter.—My honorable lord, 1 will
most humbly take my leave of you.
Ham. You cannot, sir, take from me any
thing that 1 will more willingly part withal:
except my life, except my life, except my life.
Pol. Fare you well, my loid.
Ham. These tedious old fools !
Enter RosBNCRAirrz and Gcildenstekn.
Pol. Yon go to seek the Lord Hamlet;
there he is.
Eos. [To Polonius] God save you, sir !
' [Exit Polonius.
Guil. My honored lord!
Eos. My most dear lord !
Ham. My excellent good friends! How dost
thou, Guildensteru ? Ah, Rosencrantz ! Good
lads, how do ye both ? 230
Eos. As the indifferent children of the earth.
Guil Happy, in tliat we are not over-happy ;
Oil fortune s cap we are not the very button.
Ham. Nor the soles of her shoe ?
Eos. Neither, my lord.
Ham. Tlien you live about her waist, or in
the middle of her favors ?
Guil. 'Faith, her privates we.
Ham. In the secret parts of fortune ? O,
most true ; she is a strumpet. What's the news?
Eos. None, my lord, but that the world's
grown honest 241
Ham. Then is doomsday near : but your
news is not true. Let me question more in'
mirticular : what have you. my good frie'-ds,
deserved atthe hands of fortune, that she sends
yon to prison hither ?
Guil. Prison, my lord!
Ham. Denraarli's a prison.
Eos. Then is the world one. 250
Ham. A goodly one ; in which there are
many confines, wards and dungeons, Denmark
being one o' the worst.
Eos. We think not so, my lord.
Ham. Why, then, 'tis none to you ; for
there is nothing either^jpod or bad, but think¬
ing-makes' it so : to me it fan prison. -
Jfas...Why then, your ambition makes it one;
'tis too narrow for your mind. 259
Ham. O God, 1 could be bounded in a nut¬
shell and count myself a king of infinite space,
were it not that 1 have bad dreams.
BAMLET.
SCENB II.]
GuU. Wliich dreams indeed Are ambition,
for tiie v«rv substance of tlie ambitions is
merely the suadow of a dream.
Hcan. A dream itself is but a shadow.
Ro». Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy
and light a quiUity that it is but a shadow's
shadow.
Hum. Then are our beggars bodies, and our
monarcbs and outstretched heroes the beggars'
shadows. Shall we to the court ? for, by my
fay, I cannot reason.
J We'll wait upon you.
Ham. No such matter : I will not sort yon
with the rest of my servants, for, to speak to
you like an honest man, I am most dreadfully
attended. But, in the beaten way of friend¬
ship, what make you at Eisiuore ?
Ro9. To visit you, my lord ; no other occa¬
sion.
Ham. Beggar that I am, I am even poor in
thanks ; but I thank you : and sure, dear
frienus, my thanks are too dear a balf^nny.
Were you not sent for ? Is it your own inclin¬
ing 7 Is it a free visitation 7 Come, deal
justly with me : come, come ; nay, s|>eak.
Qn.l. What should we say, my lord 7
Ham. Why, any thing, but to the purpose.
You were sent for ; and there is a kind of con¬
fession in your looks which your modesties
have not craft enough to color : I know the
good king and queen have sent for you. 291
Roa. To what end, my lord 7
Ham. That you must teach me. But let
me conjure you, by the rijphts of our fellow¬
ship, by the consonancy of our youth, by the
obll^tiou of our ever-preserved love, and by
what more dear a better proposer conid charge
you withal, be even and direct with me,
whether you were sent for, or no 7
Roa. iAaide to OuU.] What say you 7 300
Ham. [A.si<fcl Nay, then, I iiave an eye of
you.—U you love me, hold not off.
&ui\. My lord, we were sent for.
Ham, I will tell yod why ; so shall my anti¬
cipation prevent your discovery, and your
secrecy to the king and queen moult no feather.
' I have of late—but wherefore I know not—
lost ail my mirth, forgone all custom of exer¬
cises ; and indeed it goes so heavily with my
disposition that this goodly frame, the earth,
seems to me a sterile promontory, this most
excellent canmiy, tlie air, look you, this brave
o'erhanging firmament, this majesticai roof
fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no
other thing to me than a foul and pestilent
congregation of vtipors. What a piece of
work is a man ! how noble in reason 1 how
infinite in faculty 1 in form and moving how
express and admirable t in action how like an
angel! in apprehension hofr like a god I tiie
beauty of the world ! the jraragon of animals !
And yet, to me, what is this quinte.ssence of
dust 7 man delights not me : no, nor woman
neither, though by your smiling you seem to
ay so,
669
Roa. My lord, there was no such stuff in
my thoughts.
Ham. Why did you laugh tlien, when I
said ' man delights not me' f
Roa. To think, my lord, if you delight not
in man, what lenten entertainment the players
shall receive from you : we coted them on the
way ; and hither are they coming, to offeryou
service.
Ham. He that plays tlie king sliall be wel¬
come ; his majesty shall have tribute of me ;
the adventurous knigiit siiali use his foil and
target; the lover shall not sigh gratis; the
humorous man shall eiidiiis part in peace; the
clown shall make those laugh whose lungs are
tickled o' the sere ; and the lady shall say her
mind freely, or the blank verse shall halt for't.
What pikers ai-e they 7 340
Roa. Even those you were wont to take de¬
light in, the tragedians of the city.
Ham. How chances it they travel 7'their
residence, both in reputation and profit, was
better both ways.
Roa. I think their inhibition comes by the
means of the late innovation.
Ham. Do they hold the same estimation
they did when I was in the city 7 are they so
followed 7 350
Roa. No, indeed, are they not.
Ham. How comes it 7 do they grow rusty?
Roa. Nay, their endeavor keeps in tl;e
wonted pace : but there is, sir, an aei-y of chil¬
dren, little eyases, that cry out on tlie top of
question, and are most tynumicaily clapped,
for't: these are now the fashion, and so be-
rattle the common stages—so tiiey call them—
that many wearing rapiers are afraid of goose-
quills and dare .scarce come thither. 300
Hem. What, are they children 7 who main¬
tains 'em 7 how are they escoted 7 Will Diey
pursue the quality no longer than they ran
sing 7 will they not say afterwards, if they
should grow themselves to conii"on players—
as it is most like, if their ineauii are no better
—their writem do them wrong, to make them
exclaim against their own succession 7
Roa. 'Faith, there has been much to do on
both sides ; and tlie nation holds it no sin to
tarre them to controversy : there was, for a
while, no money bid for argument, unless the
poet and the player went to cuffs in the ques¬
tion.
Ham. Is't possible 7
Guil. O, there has been much throwing
about of brains.
Ham. Do the boys carry it away 7
Roa. Ay, that they do, my lord ; Hercules
and his load too. 379
Ham. It is not very strange ; for mine uncle
is king of Denmark, and those that would
make mows at him while my father lived, give
twenty, forty, fifty, an hundred ducats a-piece
for his picture in little. 'Sblood, there is some¬
thing in this more than natural, if philOBophy
muld find it out
[FlouriHi 0/ trumpeta within.
HAMLET.
660
HAMLET.
{Act xi.
GuU. There are the players.
Ham. Geutlemeu, you are welcome to Elsi-
nore. Tour hands, come then : the appur¬
tenance of welcome is fashion and ceremony :
let me comply with you in this garb, lest my
extent to the players, which, 1 tell you, must
show fairly outward, should more appear like
eutertahimeut than yours. You are welcome:
but my uncle-father and aunt-mother are de¬
ceived.
Guil. In what, my dear lord ?
Ham. I am but mad north-north-west:
when the wind is southerly I know a hawk
from a handsaw.
Enter Polonius.
Pol. Well be with you, gentlemen !
Ham. Hark you, GuUdenstern ; and you
too: at each ear a hearer : that great baby
you see there is not yet out of his swaddluig-
clonts.
Ros. Happily he's the second time come to
them; for they say an old man is twice a
child.
Ham. I will prophesy he comes to tell me
of the players ; mark it. You say right, sir :
o'Monday morning ; 'twas so indeed.
Pol, My lord, I h.ave news to tell yon.
Ham. My lord, I have news to tell you.
When Roscins was an actor in Rome,— 410
Pol. The actors are come hither, my lord.
Ham. Buz, buz '
Pol. Upon mine honor,—
Ham. Then came each actor on his ass,—
Pol. The best actors in the world, either
for tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pas¬
toral-comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-his¬
torical, tragical - comical - historical - pastoml,
scene individable, or poem .mlimited : Seneca
caimot be too heavy, nor Plantus too light.
For the law of writ and the liberty, these are
the only men. 421
Ham. O Jephthah, judge of Israel, what a
treasure hadst thou !
Pol. What a treasure had he, my lord ?
Ham. Wliy,
) ' One fair daughter and no more,
The which he loved passing well.'
Pol. \_Asida\ Still on my daughter.
Ham. Am I not i' the right, old Jephthah ?
Pol. If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I
have a daughter that I love passing well. 431
Ham. Nay, that follows not. ,
Pol. What follows, then, my lord ?
Ham. Why,
' As by lot, God wot,'
and then, yon know.
' It came to jjass, as most like it was,'—
the first row of the pious chanson will show
you more ; for look, where my abridgement
comes.
Enterfour or Jive Players.
You are welcome, masters ; welcome, all. I
am glad to see thee well. Welcome, good
friends. O, my old friend ! thy face is val-
anced since I saw thee last; comest thou to
beard me in Denmark ? What, my young lady
and mistress ! By'r lady, your ladyship is
nearer to heaven tlian when 1 saw you last, by
the altitude of a chopiue. Fiay God, your
voice, like a piece of uucurreut gold, be not
cracked within the ring. Miisters, you are all
welcome. We'll e'en to't like French falcon¬
ers, fly at any thing we see : we'll have a
speech straight: come, give us a taste of your
quality ; come, a iiassionate speech.
First Play. What speech, my lord ?
Ham. I heard thee speak me a speech once,
but it was never acted ; or, if it was, not above
once ; for the play, I remember, pleased not
the million ; 'twas caviare to the general: but
it was—as I rgcelTSttTf," and" others, whose
judgments in such matters cried in the top of
mine—an excellent play, well digested ir. tlie
scenes, set down with as much modesty as
cunning. I remember, one said there were no
sallets in the lines to make tiie matter savoiy,
nor no matter in the phrase that might indict
the author of affectation; but called it an
honest method, as wholesome as sweet, and by
very much more handsome than fine. One
speech in it 1 chiefly loved : 'twas Aineas' tale
to Dido; and thereabout of it esiiecially,
where he speaks of Priam's slaughter : if it
live in your memory, b^n at tliis line - let
me see, let me see— 471
' The rugged Pyrrhus, like the Hyrcanian
beast,'—
it is not so:—it begins with Pyrrhus :—
' Tlie rugged Pyrrhus, he whose sable arms.
Black as his'purpose, did the night resemble
When he lay couched in the ominous horse.
Hath now this dread and black complexion
smear'd
With heraldry more dismal; head to foot
Kow is he total gules ; horridly trick'd
With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters,
sous.
Baked and impasted with the parching
streets.
That lend a tyrannous and damned light
To their lord's murder: roasted in wrath
and fire.
And thus o'er-sized with coagulate gore.
With eyes like carbuncles, tire hellish Pyr¬
rhus
Old graudsii-e Priam seeks.'
So, proceed you.
Pol. 'Fore God, my lord, well spoken, with
good accent and good discretion.
First Play. ' Anon he finds him
Striking too short at Greeks ; his antique
sword.
Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls.
Repugnant to command : unequal roatch'd,
Pyrrhus at Priam drives;. in rage strikes
wide ;
But with tire whifi and wind of his fell
sword
The unnerved father falls. Then semselest
Ilium,
Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top
ScbhA )I.1
BAULET.
"061
StooiM to his base, and with a hideous ctash
IMces prisoner Pyrrhus* earlor, lo! his
sword, I
Which wow declining on the milky head 600
Of reverend Priam, seem'd i' the air to
stick )>'
So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood,
^tnd like a neutral to his will and, matter.
Did nothing. !
But, as we often see, against some storm,
A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still.
The hold wmds speechless and the orb be¬
low ■,
As hush as death, au<m the dreadful thunder
Doth rend ^e region, so, writer Pyrrhus'
pause, 509
Aroused vengeance sets him new a^work ;
And never dm the Cyclops' hammers fall
On Hars's armor fora^ for iHHwf eteme '
With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding
sword
Now faUs on Priam.
Out, out, thou strumpet. Fortune I All you
gods, .
In general synod, take away her power;
Break all the spokes and fellies from her
wheel.
And bowl the round nave down the hill of
heaven.
As low as to the fiends !'
Pol. This is too long. 520
Bam. It shall to the barber's, with your
beard. Prifiiee, say on ; he's for a jig or a
tale of bawdry, or he sle^ : say on : cometo
Hecuba.
Pt'rst Play. ' But who,' Oy who had seen the
mobled queen—'
Bam. ' The mobled queen ?'
Pol. That's good ; ' mobled queen' is good.
Fir»t Play, ' Run barefoot up and <u>wn,
threatening the flames
With bisson rheum ; a dout upon that head
Where late the diadem stood, and fora robe.
About her lank and all o'er-teemed loins,
A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up ;
Who this had seen, with tongue in venom
steei^d,
'Gainst Fortune's state would treason have
pronounced :
But if the gods themselves did see her then
Whmi she saw Pyrrhus; make molioiouB
sport ' - ■
In mincing with his sword her husband's
' limbs,.
The instant burst of clamor fbat'She made, ;
Unless things mortal move them not at all, '
Would have made milch the burning eyes of '
heaven, . ' . ' 640
And passion in the gods.'
Pol. Look, whether he has not tamed his
eder and has tears in's eyes. Pray you, no
more. *
Bam. 'Tis well; I'll have thee speak ont
the rest soon. Good my lord, will yon see the .
players well bestowed ? Do you heaiv let them
M well used ; for they ore the abstract and
brief chroniries ef the time : after yonr.death
you were better have a bad efdtaph. than their
ill report while you live. i 661
. Pol. Hy lord,' I will use them according to
their desert.
Bam God's bodykins, man, much better :
use every man after. his desert, and who
should 'scape whipping ? Use them after your
own honor and dignity : the less thm' deserve,
the more merit is m your bounty. Take Ihem
in.
Pol. : Come, sits. > 669
Bam. Follow him, friends : we'll hear a
play to-morrow. [BkK PoUx/^t with all
the Player* but the Pt'rsl.l . Dost thou hear
' me, old friend; can you ^y the Mm-der of
Gonzago?
.'\Fir»tPla. Ay, my lord.
Bam. We'll ha't to-morrow night. You
"Could, for a'need, study aspeech of some dozen
or sixteen lines, which I would set down and
insert in't. could you not ? t
Firtt Play. Ay, my lord. 669
Bam. Very well. Follo-w that lord ; and
look you mock him not [Exit Firtt Player.']
My good friends, I'll leave you till night; you
are w^corae to Elsinore.
Bo*. Good my lord !
Bam. Ay, so, God bo ■wi' ye.? [Exeunt
Bosencrantz and Guilden»tem.]i Now I am
alone.
0, what a rogue and peasant slave am. I!
Is it not monstrous that this player here,
. But In a fiction, in a dream of passion.
Could force his soul so'to his own conceit
That from her working all his visage wann'd.
Tears In his eyes, distraction in's aspect, 681
A broken voic& and his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit ? and all fornothing I
For Hecuba !
he do.
Had he the motive and the cue for passion
That I have 7 He would drown the stage with
tears
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech,
Make mad the guilty and appal the free, 590
Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeM
The very faculnes of eyes and ears. ...
Yet I,
A dull and mnddy-metlled rascal, .peak;
Like John-a-dreams, unpreguant of my cause.
And can say nothing ; no, not for a king,, >'
Upon whose property and most dear life
A damn'd defeat was made. Am I« coward 7
Who calls me vlllalu 7 breaks my pate acroSB<?
Plucks off my beard, and blows It in my face ?'
Twealrs me ny the nose 7 gives me the lie i'
Ihe throat, . . ./ i .600
As deep as to the lungs 7 who does me this 7
Ha!
'Swounds, I should take It: for it cannot be
But I am pigeon-Ilver'd and lack gall
To make oppression bitter, or ere this
I should have fatted all the region kitei
S62
BAMLBr.
I I [Act in.
■With this stave's offal: blOodv, Ixtwdy villain!
RemcMseleM, treaeheioaB, ieeherOus, ■ kindless
■ ■ villain! m • i ■ i • ■
Or'Vingeanoe }■ ' ' ' ■ ■ / ' ' 610
Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave,
: Thai t,'l(lieeon ol a dear father mm-der'di
' ■d'tompted to my revenge by heaven and heii,
Most,'I like'a whoke, unpack my heart with'
■words,- - ■ I '
' <And fait a-cutsing^ like a very drab,
A scullion !
Fie uix)n't! foh ! About, my brain'! I have
I. II'-' '^heard ' ■ ■' ■'' " ' '
That gnilty creatures sitting at a play '
Have.'by'the ivery cunniug of the scene
' Beeu'sttdck M> to titesoul tiiat presently . 620
They have prociaim'd their malefactions *
For ranrder, though It- have no tongue, Vrill
' f Speak •' . - 111 \■
11 With most miraculous organl -{Ml haVe these
> )i. 'xdayers h ■• ■ ' • ' ■-•i' ■ i ■
Flay something likeithe murder of my father ;
'-Before mine uncldi:' I'll observe ids looks :
'L'U teiit'him to the lquick;' if he but blench,
' I kno\ir nay course.! The spirit that-I huve'Seen
'ilay be thO'devil/: ivnd'tlie devil hath power
To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps'
Out of my weakness and my melaiiclioly, '&10;
As'he is very potent with such spiiits, ■ - '
.Abiises ide tpdahua me: I'll have grounds '
More 1 lative than this : the play's the tiling
WherOiui I'll'Ohtch'the eoiiscienQe oif the king.
V ' I I i' 1 I \ExU.
.ACTin: " . 1-
Enter Kvnia, QupEN, Pooonius, OPHEttA, ,
J Kp^EJJCRANTiS,'GbttpENSTEKli.
King. And can you, by no drift of circnin-
1 '-'stance,' n • ■ f.', i [
'Get from him why he-puts ottthls oonfusion,
Grating so harshly all his days of rpiiet
Wkii turbulent and> dangerons lunacy ? '
if'-Jfuai'' He'does confess be feels himself dit-
('■(thacted i . riii"' i
Bat froin.wAiat' cause he'-will' by'no means
speak. '
Gui/.ii.Noi dowb find hiin 'fortrard td'be
-n sonnded,' ■ ■ < ■ ' i. J. I
But, -with a (uiafty madness, keeps aloof, '
WheU' we would bring him on to some confeid-
"II , skmi ' ' II -I >< '
O-f'his true state. , ''■ ■ '> - '
V - Queem ' ' Did he receive you Well ?• 10
■Rot: t klost like a gentleman. " "
i <\\Guil. But with much forcing of hit dispo-
'• Hsitiioiu r> ' III" ' i , ' -'
Ros. Niggard of question ; but, of out dd-
vii t imands,- 'i ■ ■ i . i
Most free in his reply. I ■ '
Queen. > • Did you aesay him T
To anypaetimef >■'1
- NoiT. " Madami'lt so .fell out, liiat, certain
' players''' '1 i {Mm:
We o'er-raught on the way: olt theee we told
■ And there did seein in him a kind of joy "
• To'iiear bf it :'they are aboOt the court, ' •
And, as I think, tl'iey have already order 20
This nigh* to play before him.
■Poll I,"III-II I < 'Tis most true:
And he beseech'd me to entreat your majesties
To hear and see tlie matter; '
King. ■ With all my heart; akid it doth much
I -I " •
To hear him so inclined.
Gcnd gentlemen, give him a further
And drive his. purpose on to these deiightsi
' Jfos. We shall, my lord.
[Exemrtt RoiencrantZ'oad GjuMensSern.
King. ' 1 Sweet Gertrude, lea-vonstoo;
For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither,
Tliat lie, as 'twere by acoidentv heM.. 30
Affront Ophelia : 1
Her father and myself, lawful esjualsi
Will so bestow ours^ves that, seeing^ unseen.
We may of their encounter frankly judge.
And gather by hint, as he is behareid^ ' -'
If 't be tlie affliction cd -his ilove Or ito
That thus he suffers for.
Queen. < ■•< I .. 1 siiallobey ^li. '
And for your part, Ojtho..::, I do wisn
That your good brauires be tlie happy danSe
Of Hamlet 3 wilduesst so shall 1 nope your
■ virtues 40
Will bring him to his wonted way again,- '
To botii your honeca ' '
Dph. 'Madam, I wish it may. \_Exit QueeA.
Stol. Onheiia^ walk you here. Gracious, so
please you, "
We will bestow ourselves. [To OpTielia] Read
on this book ; -
Tliat show of such an eKertise may color '
Yi .ni lonelinesa We are oft to blame in this,—
'Tis too much prbved—that with devotion's
'• ■ visage- . .i .
And pious action we do sugar o'er
The devil himself, - . > , - ■ ' .
King: [Aside] O, 'tis too true 1" t
How smart a lash that speech, doth give my
consdence I. ' i ' i i 50
The harlot's cheek, beauGed with plastering
I art, I -f . . 1 . I
Is not more ligly to the tMug Giat helps it'
Than is my deed to my most iiainted word :
O heavy bnrtiieu!' . . .- . iil
PoL I hear him cominglet's withdraw,
' 11 my lordi [i^unt King and Polonius.
' , jlamllet. '
Ham. To be, or not to be : that is the qneu
tion:
Whether 'tis noblclr in the mind to suffer '.
The dings and arrows of outrageous fortune.
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, ' ■
And by opposing end them t To die: to steep ;
No more ; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural
uhocks"'
fiCENB t.]
HAMLET.
063
Thitt flesh is hen to, *tis a oonsammatioa' I
Devoutly to be Mrish'd. To die; to sleep
To sleep > ipetchanee toi dreaaa:- ay; tMie's.
"theimb; . _ i
For in tliat sleep of' death what .dreams may
. H eome ,, . ',
When we have shuffled off this'tnertal ooil;
Must ^ve us pause : there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long Ufe ; i. ' >, i . i
For who would beat the. whips and' scorns of
time; " > . i, , 7Q
The opptessor'e wrong; the proud man's eoui^
i "tumely,'1.. ' . i<
The pangS'Of despised love, the law's delay;,
The-insolence of ofilce and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes, ,
When be himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin ? who would fardels bear,
To grant and sweat under a weary life, >
But that the dread of something after deatli,.
The undiscover'd country fi-om whose bourn '
Bo traveller returns, puzzles the will 80
And makes us rather bear Uiose ills we have i
Than fly to others that we know not of ? > i
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native fane of resolution '
b sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,' ^
And enterprises of great pith and qtoraent
With this regard their wirreiits turn awry, '
And lose the trame of action. -i-iSoft yon now!
The fair Ophelia !' N'ymbh,'in thyOrisouoV
Be all my sins remember d. , .
Oph. Good my lord, 90
How does your honot for this many a day?
■Ham,' 1 humbly thauki you ; well; well,
' I ' wen. ■ ' ■
Oph. My lord, I have remembrances of
' yohrs, I ' ...
That I have longed long to re^deUvmri I
I pray yon, bow receive them.
■Hcmt. 1.. .'Bo,Bot'fp . I
I never gave you aught »i ':
' My honor'd lord, you know right WeB
■ you did; ' j ■ '
And, with then^ words of so sweet breath conx
posed . '
As made die things more rlche their perfume
' lost, I ; . I.,
Take these again { tor to tlie'nobis mind .100
Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkuid.
There, my lord. j. i i- ..
Harm 'Ha, ha I areyOn honest? h j ' f
QpA. My lord? 'I.
Hami Are you fair? i fw .... , "
OnA. What means your lorddiib ?
Ham. That if you be honest and fair, yoib
honesty should admit no discourse to yout
beauty. f
' CpA. €6nld 'beauty; iny lord, have betteii
commerce than with honeMy.?.' - 110
Ham. Ay,'trttly! for the power of beauty
Will sooner transform honeti^ from what it is
to a bawd than the force of honesty can trans-'
bte beauty into hb likeness ; this was some^
time a.raradox, but now. the time gives jt
prool«.I did love yoBooce. . ' . c • '
Oph,.. Indeed, my lord, you .made me. believe;
so. ,r .1 i .,,1 ,1 , ! I ,1 '
Ham. ; You .should not have .believed m«i
for virtue cannot so inoeulate .our ojd stoclq
but we shall relisb of it; iiloYed.yo» pot,,l^
Oph. I was the more deceived. | m
Ham. Gettheetoanuiuiiery,;Mwl>y wofuldst
thou be a breeder of siuuem 7 I am imyselt
indifferent honest; but yet I could accuse nve
of sucb.tluttgs that it were, better«iy motlter
had not borne me; 1 am very proud, revenge*
ful, ambitious, with more offences, at: my .beck
than 1 have titouglits to {Hit them iu.-imagina-
tion to give tliein. «hape,,(Hrtimeto,ac(i,tlient
ui. What should such fellows as. 1 do enmling
between earth and heaven ? We ai'e..arraut
knaves, all.; believe none of ns. jGo tliy ways
to a nuintery. Where's your fatliqr ?ri i, .i .. (
. Oph. At bqme,i my lord; ,k i ! i nor ii t ol
Ham. . Let the doors be shutnpon.^mi, that
he may play, the fool no where but iu'siown
house, .FareweU. . i . i., ,[ ii', i.i/
. QpA. O, help him; you sweet h^v.cina !. .n
Ham. If thou dost uutrry.; I'llgive thee'tbls
. plague for thy dowry: be.thou as.idiasteos ioe;
as pure as suow,i thou shalt nut cscai>e calunmy.
Get .time ..to a iMmoery,.gQi! .Oj; ii
thou wm needs marry, marry a fool; for wise
men know well enough what monsters you
make of tliem.. To.a inmhery f anifequickly
I too. Farewell.,,. ,
I Oph. O heavmffy 'i)dwers; rkstord flim 1
, I Ham.. ■ .'I have heard of yqiir panitings too,
! well eimugh; God has given you oqe f;^e,,and
' you make, yourselves anotlier: .you bgjiyou'
amble, and,you lisp, and iiickTuamef^qd's crea'^
tures, aud, nmke your wantonness your, iguor-
aiKOk ...Gq to; I'll no.,more oii|tit luith ipade
me, nwd, I say, we wiU have jiio .more mar¬
riages s tliose tiiat are married already,ial| but
one, shall live;,the rest shall.keep as wey are.)
To atiunuery, got i i AEaitt
Oph.i O, what ,a noble mind jisjhere, p>r-i
I . thrown! . jt /,■• ..j
Tliecourtier's, soldier's, 8cholaff't|,,ej'e,tougUiei.
sword.; „i; i. ,i n i
The expectancy and. rose of, the fairetf>te, ICft
The glassiof. fa-^ion aud theimcfi^^^form, j
The "Observed 'of all observieip, quitft, quite,
dCw1^i-«»-*M»sr*':' ' ' . 1 I \ A
And I, of ladies roost deject and wrqtcbed,:;;
Ibatauck'd the honey, of his music wows;. ,,
Bow See that noble aiid most sovereign reason,;
Like sweet bells jangled, out of tuoeawd harsh
TRsttnnnatclYd'-fonir and feature of jblown.
I youth , . ■. . I .1 iiK 11 Ki
Blasted with ecstasy : 0,.woeiame, 'u. . , <i
To have seen what 1 have seen, segiwhat Jpeet
end PotONIUS. 'I ' I '
• Xinpi' Love. I his affections do Bottlia^ way'
tend if - HI. . . ft , .. ITfl.
Bor what he spake,, though it lacte'd form'a.
'little, H . I ,,
Was not like madness. .Therelsaomethmg in.
' " . .bissooL . I .' ' ...1, jii .
664
HAMLET.
[Act nr.
O'er which his mManchoIy sits on biood ;
And I do doubt the hatch and the disclose
Will be some dai^er ; Which for to prevent,
I have in quick determination
Thus set it down : he shall with speed to £ng'
land,
For the demand of our neglected tribute :
Haply the seas and countnes different
With variable objects shall expel ' 180
This something-settled matter in his heart,
Whereon his brains still beating puts him thus
From fashion of himself. What think yon on't?
Pol. It shall do well: but yet do i believe
The origin and commencement of his grief
Sprung from neglected love. How noW, Ophe¬
lia !
Yon need ndt teU us what Lord Hamlet said ;
We heard it all. My lord, do as you please ;
But, if you hold it nt, after the play 189
Let his queen mother all alone entreat him
To show his grief > let her be round with him;
And I'll be placed, so please you, in the ear
Of all their conference. If she find him not, -
To England send him, or confine him where
Tonr wisdom best shall think.
King. It shall be so :
Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go.
^ [Eveunt.
SoBKB II. A hoM in the eattU.
, Enter Hamlet and Player^
Bam. Sp^k the speech, I pray you, as I
pronounced it to yon, trippingly on the tonguet
but if you mouth it, as ma^^yonr-ptayers
do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines.
Nor do not saw the air too much witn your
hand, thus, but use all gently ; for in the veiy
torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, the whirl¬
wind of passion, you must acquire and beget a
tenmerance that may give it smoothness. O,
it offends me to the soul to hear a robustious
^periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to, jatters,
to very rags, to split the ears of the ground-
lipte^ who fof the most part are'cai^ble of
nouiing but inexplicable dumb-shows and
noise:' I would have such a fellow whipped
for o'erdoing Termagant; itout-herodsJHeyod:
pray you, avoid it. • ■ ■ ' '
First Play. I warrant your honor.
Ham. Be not too tame neither, but let your
own discretion be your tutor : suit Jjie action
to the word, the word to the action ; wlHTtRls
spied'afSURffVance, that you o'erstep not the
modesty of nature: for any thing so overdose
is from the purpose of playing, whose end,
botii at the first and now, was and is, to hold,
as 'twere, the mirror np to nature ; to show
virtue her own fe^UrerScom hef own image,
and the very age and body of the time his form
and pressure. Now this overdone; or come
tardy off, though it make the uusldlful laugh,
cannot but make the judidons grieve; the
censure of the which one must in your allow¬
ance o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. O,
there be players that I have seen play, and
heard others praise, and that highly, not to
speak it profanely, that, neither having the
accent of Christians nor me gait of Christian,
pagan, nor man, hare so strutted and bellowed
that I have thought some of nature's joumeyi
men had made men and not made them well,
th^ imitated humanity so abominably, >
First Play. I hope we have reformed that
indifferently with us, sir. ' 41
Ham. O, reform it altogetiiev. And 1^
those that, play your clowns speak no more
than is-set dowp for them; for there be..of
them that will themselves laugh, to eet on
some quantity of barren spectators to laugh
too ; though, in the n^n time, smne neeessary
question of the play be tiien to be considered :
that's 'villanon^ and shows a most pitiful
ambition in the fool that uses it Go, make
you ready, {Exeunt Players.
Enter VouystOn, Rosencbantz, and Guild-
. ensteb}!,
How mow, my lord ! will tiie king hear this
piece of work ?
Pol. And the queen too, and that presently;
Ham. Bid the players make haste. [Exit
Polonius.] Will you two help to hasten them ?
j We will, my lord.
[Exeunt Eosenerantz and Ouildenstern.
Ham. What ho ! Horatio !
Enter HobAtio
Hot. Here, sweet lord, at your service. 11
Ham. Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man
As e'er my conversation coped withal: CO
Hot. O, my dear lord,— ,, i
Ham. Nay, do not think I flatter ;
For what advancement may I hope from time
That no revenue hast but thy goM spirits.
To feed and clothe thee ? Why should the
poor be flatter'd ? ,
No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp,
And crook the pregnant hingesjjLtheJaiee
Where thinlOnAy mllbwYawuing. Dost thou,
hear ?
Since mv dear soul was mistress of her choice
And could of men distinguish, iier election 69
Hath teal'd tliee for herself; for tliou hast been
As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing,
A man that fortune's buffets and rewards
Hast ta'en with, equal thanks ; and blest -are
those
Whose blood and judgment are so well com¬
mingled.
That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger
To sound what stop she please. -Give me that
man
That is net passion's slave; and I will wettt him
In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart.
As I do thee.-rSomething too much of this.—
There is a playi to-night before tlie king ; 80
One scene of it comes near the circumstance
Which I have told thee of my father's death ;
I prithee, when tlioii seest tliat act afoot.
Even 'With the very eemmentof tiiy souk
Scene ii.]
HAMLET.
665'
Observe mine uncle : if his occulted guilt
Do not itself unkennel in one speech,
It is a damned ghost that we have seen,
And my imaginations are as foul
As Vulcan''8 stithy. Give him heedful note ;
Few I mine eyes will rivet to his face, 90
And alter we will both our judgments join
In censure of his semning.
Hot. Well, my lord :
If he steal aught the whilst this play is playing.
And 'scape detecting, I will pay the theft
Ham. Tliey are coming to the play : 1 must
be idle : '
Get you a place.
Danish march. A flourish. Enter King,
Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, RosENCBANrz,
GutLDENSTEBN, and others.
Einffi How fares our cousin Hamlet ? '
Ham. Excellent, i' faith; of the chameleon's
dish •, I eat the' air, promise-etamraed: you
cannot feed capons so. 100
Kin;/. I have nothing with this answer,
Hamlet; these words are not mine.
Ham. No, nor mine now. [To Pokmiusl
My lord, you played once 1' the university,
you say r
Pol. That did I, my lord; and was ac¬
counted a good actor.
Ham. What did yon enact ?'
Pol. I did enact Julius Ctesar : I was killed
i* the Capitol; Brutus killed me. 110'
Ham. It was a brute part of him to kill so
capital a calf there. Be the players ready ?'
Eos. Ayi my lord; they stay upon your
patience.
Queen. Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit
by me.
Ham. No, good mother, here's metal more
attractiTe.
Pel. ' [7b the King] O, ho I do you mark
that ?
Hem. Lady, shall I lie in your lap ?
[Z/yinff down at Ophelia's feet,
^h. No, my lord. 120
Ham. I mean, my head npon your lap ?
^h. Ay, my lord.
- Ham. Do you think I meant country mat¬
ters?
OpA> I think nothing, my lord;
Ham. That's a fair thought to lie between
maids' l^s.
Oph. What is, my lord ?
Ham. Nothing.
QpA. You are merry, my lord.
Ham. Who, I?
OpA. ' Ay, my lord, 130
Ham. O God, your only jig-maker. What
should a man do but be'merry 7 for, look you,
bow cheerfully my mother looks, and my father
died within these two hours. .
Oph. Nay, 'tis twice two months^ my lord.
Ham. So long ? Nay then^ let the devil
wear black, for I'll have a suit of sables. O
heavens! die two months ages end not forgot¬
ten yet ? Then there's hope a great man's
memewv may outlive his life half a year ; but,
by'r la^y, he must buiid churches, then ; or
etee shall he suffer not thinking on, with the
hobby-horse, whose epitaph is ' For, O, for, O,
the hobby-horse is forgot.'
Hautboysplayi The dumb-show enters.-
Enter a King and a Queen very lovingly; the
Queen etmracing him, and he her. She
knedSi and makes show qf protestation unto
him. He takes her up, and declines his head
upon her neck : lays him down upon a bank
of flowers; she, seeing him asleep, leaves
him. Anon comes in a fellow, takes off his
crown, kisses it, and pours poison in the
King's ears, and exit. The Queen reimms;
finds the lUng dead, and makes passionate
action. The Poisoner, with some two or three
Mutes, comes in again, seeming to lament
with her. The dead body is carried away.
The Poisoner wooes the Queen with gifts;
she seems loath and unwilling awhile, but in
the end accepts his love. [Exeunt.
Oph. What means this, m^ lord ?
Ham. Marry, this is miching mallecho *, it
means mischief.
Oph. Belike this show imports the argu¬
ment of the play. 150
Enter Prologue.
Ham. We shall know by this fellow ; tlie
pliwers cannot keep counsel; they'll tell all,
I Oph. Will he tell us what this show meant?
Ham. . Ay, or any show tliat you'll show
him: he not you ashamed to show, he'll not
shame to tell you what it means.
Oph. You are naught, you are naughtI'll
mark the play. ,
Pro. For us, and for our tragedy.
Here stooping to your memency, 160
We beg your hearing patiently. [Hxit.
Ham. Is this a prologue, or the posy of a
ring?
&A. 'Tis brief, my lord.
Ham. As woman's love.
Enter two Players, King and Queen.
P. -King. Full thirty times hath Phoebus'
cart gone round
Neptnue'ssalt wasli and Tellus' orbed ground,
And thirty dozen moons with borrow'd sheen
. About the world have times twelve thirties
been.
Since love our hearts and Hymen did our
hands
Unite commutual in most sacred bands. 170
P. Queen. So many journeys may the
sun and moon
Make us again count o'er ere love be done i
But, woe is me, you are so sick of late.
So far from, cheer and from your former
state.
That I distrust you. Yet, though I distrust.
Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must;
For women's fear and love holds quantity ;
In neither aught, or in extremity. -
666
HAMLET.
[Act iu
' Nowj what ray love id, proof hath.made yon
know ; ■
And as my love is sized, ray fear Is so : 180
' Where love Is great, the littlest doubts are
fear;
Where little fears grow great, great love
grows there.
P. King. 'Faith, I must leave thee, love)
and shortly too ;
My operant powers their functions leave to
do:
And thou shalt live in this fair world be-
hindj
Honor'd, beloved and haply one as kind
For hnsband shalt tlwn—
P. Queen. O, confound the rest!
Snch love must needs be treason in my
breast:
' In second husband let me be accurst! 189
None wed the second but who kill'd the first
Ham. [Aside] Wormwood, wormwood.
P. Queen. The instances that second mar¬
riage move
Are base respects of thrift, but noufe of love:
A second time I kill my hu.sbaud dead,
When second husband kisses me iu bed.
P. King. I do believe you think what
now you speak ; )
But what we do determine oft we break.
Puriwse is but the slave to memory.
Of violent birth, but iK)or validity'; '
Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the
tree; 200
But fall, unshaken, when they iuellow be.
Most necessary 'tis that we forget
To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt r
What to ourselves in passion we iwoijose.
The passion ending, doth the purpose lose.
The violence of eitlVer grief or joy
"Their own euactures with themselves de¬
stroy: '
Where joy most revels, grief doth most la¬
ment ; .
Grief joys, joy grieves, On slender accident
This world is not for aye, nor 'tis not strange
That ,even, pur loves shaul^ with our for¬
tunes change;
For 'tis a question left us. yet to prove.
Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune
love.
' The great man do.wu, you mark bis favorite
flies', " ' I ,
The poor advanced makes friends of ene¬
mies. , . .
And hitherto doth love on fortune tend ;
For who not needs shall never lack a friend.
And who in want a hollow friend doth try.
Directly seasons him his enemy.
But, orderly to end where I begun, 220
Our wills and fates do so contrary run' ■
"That our devices still are overthrown ; -
Our .noughts are ours, their ends none of
our own t '
§0' think thou wilt no second husband wed ;
But die thy thoughts when thy first lord, is
dead. ' ■ ■ '
P. Queen: Nor earth to me give food, nor
heaven light 1 . i i
Sport and' repose lock from: me day and
night 1 . ^ .1.
To desperation turn my trust and hope t
■ An anchor's eheer iu prison he my scope 1 [
Each opposite that blanks the face of joy28C
Meet what I would have well and it destroy!
Both here and hence pursue me lasting
strife, . 'i ' . 1
If, once a widow, ever I be wife ! r
Ham. If she sliould break it now ! ,
P. King. 'Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave
me here awhile ; . . ■ ' i
My spirits grow dull, and fain I would he-
gulle . , ''
The tedious day with tleep.'' [Sfegjs.
P. Queen. Sleep rock thy braih ;
And me veil > eoms. mischance between us
' twain ! {Exit.
' Ham. Madam, ho w like yon this play ? 239
Queen. The lady protests too much, me-
. thiuksi .. """ • " "
Ham. O', but she'll keep her word. i
■King. ' Have you heaird the argument 7 Is
there no offence in't 2 ' i
Ham. No, no, they do but jest, poison in
jest; no offence i' the world. ,
King. What do you call the play 1
Ham. Tlie Mouse-trap. Marry, how ? Tio-
pically. This play is the image 4f a murder
done iu Vienna :.Gouzago istlie duke's name;
his wife, Baptista : you shall see anon ; 'tis a
knavish piece of work c but what o' tliat ?
your majeety and w« that have free souls,. it
touches us not : let the galled jade wince, pur
withers are unwxung. > «
, . Enter Ldcianus.
ThU is one Lucianus, nephew to the king.i
Oph. You are as good as a chorus, my lord.
Ham.- I could interpret between you and
your love, if 1 could see the puppets dallyhig.
. Oph. Yon are keen, my lord, you are keen.
Ham. It would cost yon a groaning to take
off my edge.. . i i • i .260
Oph. Still better, and Worse.
■ Ham. So you must take your husbands. Be¬
gin, murderer; pox, leave thy damnable fooea,
and begin. Come : ^ the croakii^ raven doth
bellow .for revenge:' .. . ■ n . . , , t
Luc. Thoughts black, bauds apt, drugs
fit, and time agreeing ;
Confederate season, else no creature seeii^;
Thoii mixtuire rank, of midnight weeds col¬
lected,
>• With Hecate's ban thriee blasted, thrice in-
1 fected, , .. I
Thy: natural magic and dire property, gjQ
On wliolesomo life usurp immediately. . . i
[Pours the poison into the sleeper's eitrso
■Ham. ^ poisons him i'tlie garden for's
estate. His name's Oonzago : the etory is ■ ex¬
tant, and writ in choice Italian ! yon shall seo
anon hoiw the murderer gets the love of Gob.-'
zago'swife,, < r " I i-,*
ScERS ih.]
HAMLET.
667
OpA. The king rises. '
Ham. What, frighted with false fir? f '
Queen. How fares my lord ?
Pol. Give o'er the play.
King.. Give me some Ught; away ! 280
All. Lights, lights, lights !
[Exeunt all but Hamlet arid Horatio.
Hev»n 1. W^, let tlip stiicken deer go ;^eep,
'The hart ungalled play ;
For ^ome mast watcn, while some
, , I ., must sleep :
So runs the world away.
Would not this, sir, and e forest of feathers-.-
if the rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me—
with two Provincial roses ou my razed shoes,
get me a fellowship in a cry of players, sir ?
Hm\ Half a share. . , , , , 290
I .JSeni. A whole one, I.
For thou dost know, O Damon dear,
, , This realm dismantled wes ,
Of Jove iiimself ; and now reigns here
A very, very^-pajock.
Hor. You might have rhymed. I
Ham. , O good Horatio^ I'll take the ghost's
word for a thousand pound, . Didst perceive ?
Hor. Very well, my lord.,
Ham. Upon the talk of the poisoning 1 300
I Hor., I did very well note him.
Ham, Ah, h%! Come, ^me ipusic !, coipe,
tlie recorders I, ,
For if the king like not the comedy.
Why then, belike, he likes it not, perdy.
Come, some nmgic |
Ke-enter RosenCPantz and Guildenstern.
Ouil. Good my lordj vouchsafe me a word
with you. ., I
Ham. Sir, a whole history.
GuU. The king, sir,— 310
Ham. 1 Ay, .sir, what of him 7 ,
GuU. Is in his retirement marvellous dis¬
tempered. ,
Ham. With drink, sir ?
GuiL \ No, my lord, rather with choler. . i
Ham. Your wisdom should show itself more
richer to signify this to his doctor ; for, for
me to. put him to his purgation would perhaps
plunge him into far more clmler. 319
Ouil., Good my lord, put your discourse
into some frame and start not so wildly from
my affair, , : i
Ham. I am tame, sir : pronounce.
Gutl The queen, your mother, in most great
affliction of spirit, bath sent me to you. ■,
Ham., You are welcome. , • •
OuU.Nay,, good my lord, this courtesy is
Botnf the right hreed.i If it shall please you
to make me a wholesome answer, 1 will do
your motheris commandment: if not, your
pardon and my return shall be the end of my
ousiness. i . # , 33C|
Hem. Sir, I cannot. ,,., .
GuU. What, my lord ?
Ham. Make you a wholesome answer ; my
frit's diseased i but, sif, such answer as I can
make, you shall command ; or, ratheir; as you
say, my mother : therefore no- more, but to
the matter : my mother, you say,— • •
Ro$. Then tlius she says; yoor behavior
hath struck her into amazement and admira¬
tion. ^9
Ham. O wonderful son, that can so aston¬
ish a mother I But is there no s^uel at the
heels of this mother's admiration 7 Impart.
Ros. She desires to speak witlryou in her
closet, ere you go to bed.
Ham. We Shall obey, were she ten times
our mother. Have you any further trade with
us ?
Ros. My lord, you once did love me.
Ham. ^ 1 do still, by tliese pickers and
stealers. —~ 349
" ""JMS. Good my lord,'what is your cause of
distemper ? you do, surely, bar the door upon
your own liberty, if you deny your griefs fo
your friend. , ■ '
' Ham. Sir, 1 lack advancement.
Ros^ How can that be, when you have the •
voice of the king himself for your succession
in Denmark? '
Ham. Ay, but sir, ' While the grass grows,'—
the proverb is something musty. 359
Re-enter Players with recorders.
O, the recorders I let me see one. To with¬
draw with you :—why do you go about to re¬
cover tlie wind of me, as if you would drive
me into a toil ?
Guil. O, my lord, if my duty be too bold,
my love is too unmannerlyt
Ham. 1 do not well understand that. Will
you play upon this pipe ?
Guil. My lord, 1 cannot. 1
Ham. I pray you.
Guil. Believe me, 1 cannot.
Ham. 1 do beseech you. 370
Guil., ■ I know no touch of it, my lord.
Ham. 'TU as easy as lying; govern these
ventages with your lingers and thumb, give it
breath with your mouth, and it will discourse
most eloquent music. Look you, these are the
StOM.
Guil. But these cannot 1 command to any
utterance of harmony ; 1 have not the skill,
Ham. Why, look you now, how nnwoithy
a thing you make of me ! You would play
upon me ; you would seem to know my stops ;
you would pluck out the heart of my mystery;
you would sound me from my lowest note ta
the top of my compass t and there is much
music, excellent voice, in this little organ; yet
cannot you malce it. speak. 'Sblood, do you
think 1 am easier to be played on than a pipe?
Call me what instrument yon will, though
you can fret me, yet you cannot play upon
me. ■ . , .i ■ . -I
Enter Poixjnics.
God bless you, sir I ' 390
Pol. My lord, the queen would speak with
you, and presently.
Ham. Do yon see yonder cloud that's al¬
most in shape of a camel ?
668
HAMLET.
[Ac* ih.
Pol By the mass, and tis like a camel, in¬
deed.
Hjtm. Methinks it is like a weasel.
Pol. It is iKicked like a weasel.
Ham. Or like a whale ?
Pol. Very like a wikiic. 399
Ham. Then I will come to my mother by '
and by. They fool me to the top of my bent.
Iwill.come.by and by. ■■
Pol. I will say so. [
Ham. By and by is easily said. [ExU Polo-
niut.] Leave me, friends. ■
[Eamntall hut HamleL
'Tis now the very witcliinj; time of night.
When churchyiuxis yawn and hell itself
breathes out
Contagion to this world : now could I drink
,, hot blood,
And do such bitter business as the day
Would quake to look on. Soft I now to my
mother. , 410
0 heart, lose not thy nature ; let not ever
The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom :
Let me be cruel, not unnatural :
1 will spejik diiggers to her, but use none ;
My tongue and soul in this be hyimcrites ;
How in my words soever she be sheut.
To give them seals never, my soul, consent!
\Exit.
ScENK III. A room in the castle.
Enter kino, rosenckantz, and
guitdensteklf.
Kiliy. I like him not, nor stands it safe with
us
To let his madness range. Therefore jirepare
you ;
I your commission will forthwith dispatch.
And he to England shall along with you :
The terms of our estate may not endure
Hazard so dangerous as dom hourly grow
Out of his lunacies. '
Guil. We will ourselves provide:
Most holy and religious fear it is
To keep those many many bodies safe
That live and feed upon your majesty. 10
R>.i. The single and peculiar life is' bound,
With all the streiigth and armor of the mind.
To keep itself from uoyance ; but much more
That spirit upon who.se weal depend and rest
The lives of many. The cease of m.ajesty ■
Dies not alone ; but, like a gulf, doth draw
What's near it with it: it is a massy wheel,
Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount.
To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser
tilings
Are mortised and adjoin'd ; which, wheii it
• falls, • 20
Each sm.all annexment, petty consequence,
Attends the boisterous ruin. Never alone
Did the king sigh, but with a general groan.
King. Arm yon, 1 pr.ay you, to this speedy
voyage ; '
For we will fetters put upon this fear,
VVhich now goes too licee-,^ooted.
I We will haste us.
[Exeunt Eosenorantz and Huildenstern.
Enter Pouunns. '
Pol. My lord, he's'going to Tiik mother's
■ closet: " "
Behind the arras I'll convey myself.
To hear the process; I'll wanant she'll lax
him home: ' i
And, as you said, and wisely was it said, 80
'Tis meet that some more audience than a
mother, [hear
Since nature makes them mrtial, should'o'er-
The speech, of vantage. Fare you well, my
liege: '
I'll call uixm yoS ere yon go to bed.
And tell you what I know.
King. ' Thanks, dear my lord.
[Exit Potonius.
O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven ;
It hath the primal eldest curse upon't,
A brother's ninrder. Pray can 1 not.
Though inclination be as sharp as Will: 39
My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent;
And, like a man to doable business bound,
I stand in irause where I shall first begin.
And both neglect. What if this cursM hand
Were thicker than itself with brother's blood.
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens
To wash it white as snow ? Whereto serves
mercy
But to confront the visage of offence ?
And what's in prayer but this two-fold force,
To be forestalled ere. we come to fall, 49
Or pardon'd being down ? Then I'll look up;
My fault Is past. But, O, what form of prayer
Can serve my turn? "Forgive me my foul
murder'?
That cannot be ; since I ametill possess'd
Of those effects for which I did the murder.
My crown, mine Own ambition and my qneen.
May one be jjardon'd and retain the offence ?'
In the corrupted currents of this world
Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice,
And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself
Buys out the law ■: but 'tis not so above ; 60
There is no shufiling, there the action lies
In his true nature ; and' we ourselves com-
peil'd.
Even to the teeth and for«he.ad of our faults.
To give in evidence. What then ? what
rests ? ■ ' ■
Try What repentance cfin : what can it not ?
Yet what can it when one can not repent ?
0 wretched state 1 O bosom black as death 1
O limed soul, that, straggling to bo free.
Art more engaged! Help, angels ! Mak«
assay 1
Bow, stubborn knees and, heart 'with strings
of steel, ' 76
Be soft as sinews of the new-born babet
All may be well. [Retires and kneels.
Enter Hamlet. '
Ham. Now might I do it pat, now he Js
praying; , ,
Scene it.]
/
HAMLET.
669
And now I'll do't. And so he goes to heav«i;
And iio am 1 Tevenged. That would be
scann'd:
A Tillain kills my father; and for that.
I, his sole son, do this same villain send
To heaven.
O, this is hire and salary, not revenge. ■
He took i»y fatlier grossly, full of bread ; 80
With all lits erimes broad blown, as flush as
May ;
And how his andit stands who knows save
heaven ?
But in our circumstauce and course of
thought, ' i
"Tis heavy with him : and ami then revenged,
To take him in the purging of his soul.
When he is fit and season'd for his passage ?
No!
Up, sword ; and knoW' thou a more horrid
lient:
When he is drank asleep, or in his rage.
Or in the incestuous pleasure of his bed ; 90
At gaining, swearing, or about some act
That has no relish of salvation in't;
Then trip him, that his heels may kick at
heaven.
And that his soul may be as damn'd and
' black
As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays:
This physic but'prolongs thy sickly days.'
[Exit.
Kinff. [Rising}' My words fly up, my
thoughts remain beloW :
Words without thoughts never to heaven go.
[Exit.
1
Scene IV. The Queen's closet.
Enter Queen and Foi.onius.
PdL ' He will come straight. Look yon lay
' home to him :
Tell him his pranks have been too broad to
bear with.
And that your grace hath screen'd and stood
between
Much heat and him. I'll sconce me even here.
Pray you, be round with him.
Ham. [Within} Mother, mother, mother !
Queen. > I'll warrant you,<
Fear me not: withd'raw, I hear him coming.
1 [Polonius hides behind the arras.
, Enter Ha]iii,et.
Ham. Now, mother, what's the matter 7
Queen. Hamlet, thou hast tbv father much
offendeiL
Ham. Mother, you have my father much
offended. if)
Queen. Come, come, yon answer with an
idle tongue, i >
Ham. Go, go, you questiou with a wicked
tongue. •
Qteen. Why,> how now, Hamlet! i
Ham. What's the matter now 7
Queen. Have yon forgot me 7
Hhtm No, by tiie rood, not so i
You are the queen, your husband's brother's
wife ;
And—would it were not so l-r-you are my
mother,
Queen. Nay, then, I'll set those to yoU
that'can speak.
Ham. Come, come, and sit you down ; you
shall not budge ;
You go not till 1 set you up a glass
Wheie you may see the inmost partof yon. 20
Queen. Wliat wilt thou do 7 thou wilt not
murder me 7
Help, help, ho !
Pol. [Behind} What, ho ! help, help, help !
Ham. [Drawing} How now ! a lat 7 Dead)
for a ducat, deml !
I [Makes a jioss through the arras.
•Pol. [Behind} 0,1 am slain !
[EaUs and dies.
Queen. O me, what hast thou done 7
Ham. Nay, 1 know not:
Is it the king 7
Queen. O, what a rash and bloody deed is
this 1
Harm A bloody deed I almost as bad, good,
mother.
As kill a king, and marry with his brother.
Queen. As kill a king !
Ham, Ay, lady, 'twas my word. 30
[Lifts up the arras and discovers Polonius.
Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, 'fare>
well!
I took thee for thy better : take thy fortune j
Thou find'st to be too busy is some danger.
Leave, wringing' of your hands ; peace ! sit
you down, r
And 1^ me wring your heart; for so I shall,
1 f it be made of penetiabie stuff,
if damned custom, have not brass'd it so
That it is proof and bulwark against sense.
Queen. What have I done, that thou darest
wag thy tongue ' . ' :
In noise so rude against me 7
Ham. Such an act 40
That blurs tlie grace and blush of modesty,
Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose
From the fair forehead of an innocent love
. And sets a blister there, makes marriage-
vows
As false as dicers' oaths : 0, such a deed
As from the body of contraction plucks
The very soul, and sweet religion makes
A rhapsody of words : heaven's fare doth
glow ;
Yea, this solidity and compound mass.
With tristful visage, as against the doom, SO
Is thought-sick at the act. .
Queen. Ay me, what act,
That roars so loud, and thunders in the im-
dex 7
Ham. Look here, upon Gils picture, and on
this.
The counterfeit pr sentment of two brothers.
See,' what a grace was seated on this brow f .
Hy^rion's curls ; the'front of Jove himself;
An eye like Mars, to threaten and command;
070
HAMLET.
[Aot lie
A statiou like the herald Mercnry
New-lighted ou a heaveu-kissiug hill;
A eombiuation and a form indeed, 60
Where every god did seem to set his seal,
Toigive the world assnranc^mf a man :
This was your husband. Look you now, what
. loliows: J '
Here is your husband ; like a mildew'd ear.
Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you
eyes'?. i ■ , i ■
Could you on this fair monntaan leave to feed,
And batten on this moor ? Ha ) have you
eyes ? .
You ennuot call it love ; for at your age
The hey-day in the blo(^ is tame, it's humble.
And waits upon the Judgment; >and what
judgment . i 70
Would step from this to' this ? Senpe, sure,
you have,
Else could you not have motion*; but sure,
r. that sense'
Is apoplex'd ; for madness would not err,' .
Nor sense to ecstasy, was ue'er so thrall'd
But it reserved some quantity of choice.
To serye in such a difierencei What devil
was't -1 !j...
That thus hath' cozen'd yhu at hoodmaa*
blind ?
Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight,
E^s without hands or eyes, smelling sane all.
Or but a sickly pait of one true sense'' ' dO
Could not so mope. "
O shame ! where is thy blush ? Rebellious
. hell.
If thou canst mutine in a matron's boues^. i
To flaming youth let virtue be as wax.
And melt in her own fire : proclai'm no sliame
When the compulsive ardor gives the cliarge,
Since frost itself as actively doth buitn . i
And reason panders will.
Queent i O Hamlet, speak no more :
Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul ;
And there I see such bhick and grained spots:
As will not leave their tinct. 91
Ifam. ' I .. Nayy but to live
In the rank sweat ef an enseamed bed,
Stew'd in corruption, honeying and making'
■love . I ■
Over the nasty sty,—
Queen. O, speak-to ihe no alore 4
These words, like' daggers, enter in mine
ears ;
No more, sweet Hamlet 1 i ■ i
Ham. A murderer and a villain ;
A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe
Of your precedent lord ; a vice of kings ;
A cutpurse of the empire and the rule.
That from a shelf the i>recious diadem stole.
And put it in his pocket !< i 101
Queen. No more !
Ham. ■ A king of shreds and patches,—-
, Enter Ghost. , 11
Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings,
Yon heavenly guards !•' What would your
1.1 gracious figtae 7
Queen.' ' Alas, he's mad !
Ham. "DO'.yeu not come your tardy son to
chide, i ■
That, lapsed in time and passion, lets go by
The important' acting' of your dread com*
maud ?
0, say! , i i
GhoHt. . Do not forget: this visitation 110
Is but to whet thy. almost blunted purpose
But, look, amazement on thy mother sits ;
O, step Isetween her and her fighting soul:
Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works :
Speak to her, Hamleti. ... ' .
Hum. How is it with you, lady ''
Queen. Alas, how is't with you, i • .!
Th;it yon do hend your eye on vacancy •'
And with the iucorporal air do hold dis^
course ?
Forth at youjt eyes your.'^iriti wildly peep ;
And, as the sleeping soldiers in the SMrm, 120
Your bedded hair, like life in excrements, "
Starte up, and stands on end. 'O gentle son,
Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper
Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon .do yoa
I look? p ,
Ham. On him, on him ! Look you, how
pale he glares !' pp.
His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to
stones, ' p., ;.pi I.'
Would make them' capable.. Do not look upon
p me ;
Lest with this piteous action you convert. '
My stem effects-: tlien what I have to do
Will waut troOi coloir ;i tears p perchance for
blood. 130
uecn. To whom do you speak this ?
am. ' Do you see nothing there ?
Queen. Nothing at all; ye|t all that is I see.
Ham. NCr did you nothing hear ? "
Queen. i No, nothing bntoArselves.
Ham. Why, look you there! look, .how it
steals away 1 , . p
My father, iu his habit as he lived !
Look, where he goes, even now, out at the
portal! p [Exit Ghost.
Queen. This p is p the very coinage of your
braiu :
This bodiless creation ecMasy '
Is very cunning in.
Ham Ecstasy! ■ .. .p . • i
My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep
time, i4fl
And makes as healtiifnl tnusic^: it is nof mad¬
ness: ■ • , • ., '
That I have ntter'd : bring me. to the test,
And I the matter will re-word; which mad¬
ness I
Would gambol from. Mother, for love of
' grace, ...
Lay not that flattering unction to your soul.
That not your ' trespw^ but my*-tnadness
speaks: ...
It will but skin and film the ulcerous {dace,
Whilst rank corruption.,, mining all within, •
Infects unseen. . Confess youself ti> h^ven ;
Repent what's past *. avoid what is to come;
SCBIN !■!
. BAMLET.
^671
And do not spread th^ compost od the woeds,
iVo make them ranker.' Forgive Oiethis my
. 1virtue; i .
For in the fatness of these, pursy times
Virtue itwif of vice must pardon beg, '
Yea, curb and woo for. leave to do him good.
Queen. O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heait
' totwaiii. •" ' •• ^
Ham. O, throw away the worser part of it.
And live the purer' with tlie other h.alf.
Good night: but go not to mine uncle's bed ;
Assume a Virtue, If you h.avo It not ' IfiO
ThatinonsterJ'clf^inT^dTiirsense dotli eat,
,tOf habits devil, is angel yet iu this, •' . ,
That to the HsC of actions fair and good
He likewise gives a frock or liveify, ,
That aptly Is put mi. "Rfefrain to-night, '
And that shall lend a kind of easiness
To the next abstinence: the next more easy ;
For use almost Cart change the stamp of nature,
' t.\nd eithet..: .the devir, or throw nim out
With wondrous potency. Once more, good
night; . I , . 170
And when you are desirous tc; be bless'd,
I'll blessing beg of you. For this same lord,
[Pointing to Polonius.
' do repent: but heaven hath pleased it so, t,
■'o punish me with this'and this with me,,
Tiiat I must be thibir scourge and minister.
1 will be.stow him, and will answer well
The death 1 gave liim. So, again,good night.
I must be cruel, only to ho kind : ,
Thus had begins and worse remains nehind.
One word more, good lady.' ' ''
Omen. > What shall I do ? 180
Ham. Not this, by no means, that I hid
you do ; ■ ■ , i t
. Let the bloat king tempt you again to lied ;
Finch vranton on your cheek; call you his
monse ;' . < i ' i
And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses; >
Pr paddling in your neck with his Akmn'd
fingers; ' ' • 1 '
Hake yon to ravel all this matter out,
Hiat 1 essentially am not in madness.
But mad iu craft. 'Twero good you let him
know; ^
For who, that's but a queen, fair. Sober, wise,
Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib, liiO
Such dear conoemiugs hide ? wlio would do
I so? ■ : I ■ '
jNOt'ia despite of sensSaiid secrecy,
Unpeg the basket on the house's top.
Let the birds fly, n.ud, like tlie famous ape;
To try ceuclnsions, 'in the basket creep, ',
And break your own neck down.
Queeni ite tltou assured, if words be made
I of breath, ■ - ! ■ li '
:^.nd breath of life, I have no life to breathe
What thou hast said to -ine. ' -
.Ham. I must to England ; you know that ?
Queen. i n m • ■ Alack, 200
.11^ forgot i 'tis so concluded on.
There's letters seal'd : and my two
schoolfellows,
Whom l vrlU trust as I wUl adders fang'd,' »
They bear tlie mandate ; they must sweep my
Way, . ,
And marshal me to knavery. Let it'work ;
For 'tis tiie sport to have the euginer
Hoist with his own petar : and't shall go hard
But I will delve one yard below their mines,
Aud blow them at the moon : O;' His post
sweet,. ' I ■ I ■ ' ■
I When in. one line two crafts directly meet. 210
Tliis man shall set me packing : >
I'll lug tlie giitsinto the neighbor room.
Mother, go^ night. Indeed this counsellor
Is now most still, roost secret and most grave,
Who was in life a foolish prating knave.
Come, sir, to draw toward an end with yon. •
Good night, mother.
' i [Exeunt teverally; Hamlet dragging
I in Polonius.
■ ' , AOTIV.
ScEiml. Aroominthetattie^ ^, >
Enter Kurc, Queen, Rosencbantz, and
Guildenstekn.
King. There's matter In,these s^hs, these
profound heaves:
You must translate :! 'tis fit we understand
them.
Where is your son ?
Queen. i Bestow this place <m us a little
while. '
' '' [Exeunt Roiencraniz and Guildenstern.
Ah, my good lord, what have I seen to-night!
King. What, Gertrude ? , Bow does Ham¬
let?
Queeni M.nd' CS the sea and wlpd.'^en
both contend
Which is the migbtirt.- i in his lawless fit.
Behind the arras hearing something stir.
Whips out his rapier, cries, ' A i-at, a rat 1'
And, in this braiiiisli a))piehension, kill^ H
The unseen good old man.
King. ' 0 heavy'deed!'
' It liad been so with us, had we been there :
•His liberty is full of threats to all;
To you yourself, to us, to every one. '
Alas, how shall this bloody deed be answePd?
It will be laid to us, who.«e providence
Should have kept snort, restrain'd and out of
haunt,
Tliis mad young rhan : hut so .much was out
love, ■ ' . .
We would not understand what waS most fi^
But, like the owner of a foul disease, ' 21
To keep it from divulging, let It feed
Even on the pith of life.' Where is he gone ?
Queen. To draw apart the body he hath
kill'd: ' '
O'er whom hW ■Very madness, like Some ore
Among a mineral of metals base.
Shows itself pure ; he weeps for 'yvhat is dpne.
King. Q Gertrude, come away !' ■ '
The Sun no sooner shall the nsbuntains touch,
BntiweVrill 'ship him hence; and this- vile
V deed -'80
m
We must, with all our majes^ and skill,
Both coantenance and excuse. Ho, 'Gnilden-
stem! ,
Rc'cnter ROsencbantz and Guildenstebn.
Friends both, go join yoa with some further
aid :
Hamlet in madness hath Polouius slain, i
And from his mother's closet hath he dragg'd
him :
Go seek him out; speak fair, and bring the
body
Into the chapeL I pray you, haste in this.
[Exeunt Boaencrantz and Guildenstem.
Come, Gertrude, we'll call up our wisest
frieuds ;
And let tliem know, both what we mean to do,
tAud what's untimely done 40
Whose whisper o'er the world's diameter.
As level as the canuoii to his blank.
Transports his poison'd shot, may miss our
name,
And hit the woiindless air. 0, come away !
My soul is full of discord and dismay.
[Exeunt.
Scene It. Another room in the castle.
. Enter Hamlet.
Ham. Safely stowed.
GuS j Hamlet f Lord Hamlet I
Ham. What noise ? who calls on Hamlet ?
. 0, here they come.
Enter Rosbncbantz and Guildenstebm.
Bos. Wliat have you done, my lord, with
the dead body ?
Ham. Comix>tmded it with dust, whereto
'tis kiu.
Bos. Tell us where 'tis, that we may take
I it thence
And bear it to the chapel.
Ham. Do not believe it.
Bos. Believe what? 10
Ham. That 1 can keep your counsel and
not mine own. Besides, to be demanded of a
simnge 1 what replication should be made by
the son of a king ?
Bos. .Take you me for a sponge, my lord ?
Ham. Ay, sir, that soaks up the king's
countenance, his rewards, his authorities. But
such officers do the king best service in the
end : he keeps them, like an ape, in the corner
of his jaw; first mouthed, to be last swallowed:
when ne needs what you have gleaned, it is
but squeezing you, and, sponge, you shall be'
dry again, r
Bos. I understand you not, my lord.
Hatn, I am glad of it :■ a knavish speech
sleeps in a foolish ear.
Bos. My lord, you must tell us where the '
body is, and go with us to the king.
Ham, The body is with the king, but the <
king is not with the body. The king is a
thing— 30
[Act It.
GttiL A thing, my lord! ,. „il
Ham. Of nothing : bring me to lum. Hide
fox, and all after. ^ ' [Exetint.
Scene HL Another room in the castle. •
Enter King, attended.
King. 1 have sent to seek him, and to find
the body. ,
How dangerous is it that this man goes loose I
Yet must not we put the strong law on him :
He's loved of the detracted multitude.
Who like not in their judgment, but their
6v6s * '
And where' 'tis so, the, offender's gcourge is
weigh'd.
But never the offence. To bear all smoqth
and even.
This sudden sending him away mitst seem
Deliberate pause : diseases de^rate grown
By desperate appliance are relieved, • 10
Or not at all, ,
Enter Rosenceantz.
How now ! what hath befall'n
Bos. Where the dead body is bestow'd, niy
lord.
We cannot get from him.
King. But where is he ?
Bos. Without, my lord ; guarded, to know
. your pleasure.
King. Bring him before us.
Bos. Ho, Guildenstqm ! bring in my lord.
Enter Hamlet and Gcilsenstebn.
King. Now, Hamlet, where's Polonius ?
Ham. At supper.
King. At supper ! where ? 19
Ham. Not where he eats, but where he is
eaten : a certain eonvocation of politic worms
are e'en at him. Your worm is your only em¬
peror fur diet: we fat all creatures else to fat
us, and we fat ourselves for maggots ; your
fat king and your lean beggar is but variable
service, two dishes, but toone table: tbgt'sthe
end.
King. Alasy idas ( '
Ham. A man may fish with the worm that
hath eat of a king, and eat of the fish, that
hath fed of that worm. 30
King. What dost yon mean by this ?
Ham. Nothing but to show you how a king
may go a progress through tiie guts of a
beggar.
King, Where Is Polonius ?
Ham. ■ In heaven ; send hither to see : if
your messenger find him not tiiere, seek him
i' the other place yourself. Butihdeed,'if j-ou
find him not within this month, yon shall nose
him as you go up Ihe stairs into the lobby.
King. Go seek him there.' 40
[To some Attendants.
Ham. He will stay till ye come.
1 ' ' ■ [Exeunt Attendanti,
■ King. Hamlet, this deed, for thine especial
safety,—
Which we do thiider, as we dearly grieve
hamlet.
Scene v^j
HAMLET.
m
F«r tliat which thou bast done,4-]n(lst send
tliee lieiice
With quickness ^ therefore prepare tUy-
The bark, is ready, and the wind at help,
The associates tend, and every thing is bent
For England. i i <
Ham.' I ForEuglaudl F
King. Ayt Hatnlet
Ham. Good.
King. So is it, if thoh knew'st our purposes.
Ham. fseeaelierubtliatseestkeni. But,
come ; for England 1 Fai-ewell, dear mother.
King. Thy loving lather, Hamlet. '
Ham. My mother: father and mother is
man and vrife ; man and wife is one flesh ;
and 80^ my mother. Come, for England !
[Exit.
King.' Follow him at foot; tempt him with
speed abroad ; - .
Delay it not; I'll have him hence to-night:
Away ! for every thing is seal'd and done
That else leans on tlie affair : pray yon, make
haste. - '
[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenttem.
And,. Eugland, if my love tltou hold'st at
au^it— :
As my great power thereof may give thee
' sense.
Since yet tliy cicatrice loolts raw and red
After the Danish sword, and thy free awe
Pays homage to ns—thou mayst not eoldly set
Our sovereign process ; which imports at full.
By letters congruing to that effect,
The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England;
For hke the hectic in my blood he r^es.
And thou must cure me i 'till 1 know tis done,
Howe'er my haps, my joys were ne'er begun.
I ' [Exit, 70
Scene IT, A\B\aininDenimrk._ ,
Entet FobTinbras, d Captain, and Soldiers,
' marching.
For. Go, qaptain, from me greet the Danish
king;
Teil him that, by his license, Fortinbras
Craves the conveyance of a promised march
Over his kingdom. You know the rendezvous.
If that his majesty would atight with us.
We shall express our duty in his eye ;
And let him know so.
Cap. I will'do't, my lord.
For. Go TOftly on.
[Exeunt Fortinbras and Soldiers.
Enter Hamlet, Rosencbantz, Gcilpen-
sTEJtN, and others.
Ham. Good sir, whose powers are these ?
CSap. They are of Norway, sir. 10
Ham. How purposed, sir, I pray you 7 '
Crqx Against some part of Poland.
Ham. Who commands them, sir ?
Vap. The nephews to Old Norway, Fertin-
bras. -
Ham. Goes it against the main of Poland,
sir.
Or for some frontier?
; • Cap. Truly to speak, and with no addition.
We go to gain »little patch of ground
That bath in it no profit but the name.
To pay five ducats, five, 1 would not farm it;
Nor wBl it yield to Norway Or tlie Pole • 21
A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee.
' Ham. Why, then the Polack never will
defend it. f
Cop. Yes, it is already garrisOu'd.
Ham. Two thousand souls and twenty tliou-
saudducats ' i
Will not debate the question of this straw
This is the imposthume of much wealth mid
j peace, ^'
. That inwahd breaks, and shows no cause witli-
out I
Wl^ the man dies. 1 humbly thank you, sir.
Cap. God he wi' you, sir. ' [Exit.
Ros. Wil't please you go, my lord ? 80
Ham. I'll be with you straiglit. Go a littie
before. [Exeiml aM except Hamlet.
How all oecaskms do inform against me,
.And spur my dull revenge '1 What is a man,
If ills chief good and market of his time
Be but to sleep and feed ? a beast, no more.
Sure, he that made us with sucn large dis¬
course, I
Looking before and after, gave us not
That capability and god-like reason
To fust in us unused. Now, whether it be
Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple 40
Of thinking too jweeisely on the event,
A thought which, quartei'd, bath but one part
wisdom
And ever three parts coward, I do not know
' Why yet I live to say ' This thing's to do ;'
Sith I have cause and will and strength and
means
To do't Examples gross as earth exhort me :
Witness this army of such, mass and diarge
Led by a delicate aud tender prince^
Whose spirit witli divine ambition puff'd
Makes moutiis at the invisible event, 60
Exposing wliat is mortal and luisnre
To all that fortune, death aud danger dare.
Even for an egg-sliell. Kightly to lie groat
Is not to stir without great argument,
But groatly to find quarrel in a straw
When honor's at the stake. How stiuid I then.
That have a father klll'd, a mother stain'd.
Excitements of my reason and my blood,
And let all sleep ? while to my shame, I see
The imminent oeatii of twenty thousand men,
That, for a fantasy and trick of fame, 61
Go to tlieir graves" like beds, fight for a plot
Whoreou the numbers cannot try the cause.
Which is not tomb enough and continent
To hide the slain 7 O, from this time forth,
My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth t
I [Exii.
scene v. Elsinore. A room in the castle.
Enter Qoeen, Horatio, and a Gentleman.
Queen. 1 will not speak with her.
HAMLET.
[Act rv.
Gent. She is importanatet indeed distract:
Her mdod will needs be pitied. •
ueen. i . What would site hare ?
eni. She speaks niudi of her &thenr; sayd
. I isbe hears < i - i . '
There's itrieks i'the world; and hems, and
beats her heart; i
Spurns eiiiWonsly at straws; speaks things in
doubt,
That carry) bnt half sense: her speech is noth-
ii> .:tii^ , 11' I - I i
Yet the unshaped use of it doth move
The bearers to collectionij'they aim at it' ''
Affid botoh/ the words up fit to their owfi
thoughts; ' 10
Whioh, as her winks, and nodst and gestured
yield them,
Indeed would, make one think.there migd'f be
. thought, '
Thouglt nothing sure, yet much nnhappiljr.)
Hot. 'Twere good she were spoken with ;
for she may strew
Dangerous conjectures in iil-hreeding minds. U
Queen. Let her come iu. [ExU Horatiot
To my siok soul, as sin's true nature is.
Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss:
So full of artless jealousy is guilt,
It spills itself iu fearing to be spilt. 20
Re-mier JIpEAiio, with^ Ophelia. ,
Oph. I Where is the beauteous majesty of
'•I Denmark f ■ >
Queen. ■ How nOW, Ophelia !
I Oph. [Si/igrs] How should I your true love
know
' From another one f ' '
' By his cockle hat and Otaff, '
I' > 'And his sandal shoon.
Queen. Alas, sweet lady, what imports this
'I houfe'? '
Opii.) I Say you ? nay, pray you, mai^.
[Sings} He is dead and gone, lady, • ' >
He is dead and gone ; 30
<) At his head a grass-green turf, i'
At his heels a stone.
Qteeen.' • Nayi bnt, Ophelia,—
Op/ij Pray you, mark.
[Sinp.?] White bis shroud as the mountain
snow,'— I I I
Ait^r
Qu^n,' Alasy look herey ray lord. >
.Lnrded with sweet flowers; •
. , I Wliicli bewept to the grave did go
I t Witli true-love Siiowers.
King. How doi yon, pretty lady ? • 40
OpAi.u,\V.di, God 'iid you ! Theysaytheowl
was a balcer'a dunghtev. • Lord, we know what
we are, butnldiow not what we may he. God
be at your table 1 ' ,f ' • '
Ei7\g. Conceit upon lier father.
Oph. Pray you, let's have no words of this;
nut when they ask you what it means, say you
To-morrow is Saint'Valentine's day,
Ail in the morning hetimey .
And I a maid at your window, i M
To be your Vaientina .
Then pp he rosey sftid donn'd his clothes,'
And dupp'd tne chamber-door ;
Let in the maidy that out a maid'
-iNever departed more' i i
King. Pretty Ophelia! ,. I
Oph. Indeed, la, without an oath, I'll make
au end ou't: "
By Gis and by Saint Charity, ■ •
'' Alack, and fie for shame! '
Youug men will do'ty if they come tot;
. ' By cook, they ate to blame. 1 . 61-
Quoth she, before you tumbled me,
' You promised roe to wed. i>'
So would I ha' doue, by yonder suny-
> Ah thou hadst not cx>me to my bed. "
King. How long hath she been tims ?
Oph. 1 hope all will ;be well. We must be
patient: but I cannot choose but weexi, to think
they should lay him i' the cold ground. My
brother shall know of it: and so I thank you
for your good counsel. Come, my coach S
Good night, ladies ; good night, sweet ladies ;
good night, good night. ' ' [Exit.
King. Fmlow her close p give 'her* gbod
watch, '
I pray you. i [Exit Horatiot
O, this is the poison of deep grief : it spriugs
All from her father's death. O Gertrude,
Gertrude, ' [spies,
When sorrows oome, they come not single
But iu l^l^lmns. - First, hefThtfaerslain :
Next, your sou gone ;>sad be most violent
author 80
Of his own just zee ove : thepMple muddied.
Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and
whispers, i . ' i '
For good Polonius' death ; and we have doue
but greenly, , ,
In hugger-mugger to inter him : poor Ophelia
Divided from herself aud her fair judgment,'
Without the which we are pictures, or mere
beasts :
Last, and as much cohtaiuing as all these,'
Her brother is in secret come from France ; ,
Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself iu clouds.
And wants not buzzers to infect his ear 00
With pestilent speeches of liis father's death •
Wherein necessity. Of matter beggar'd.
Will nothing stick our person to arraign , ,
In ear and car. O my dear Gertrude, this,
Like to a murdcrihg-piece, in many places
Gives me superfluous death. [A norse wit¥fi.
ihieen. Alack, what noise is t'.iir,?
King. Where are my Switzers ? Let thmn
gnatd the door.
Enter another G mtfeman,' , ' ,
What is the matter ? ■ n
Gent. I Save yourself, my lord *.
The ocean, overpeering of his list,
Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste
Thau young Laertes, iu a riotous head, 101
O'erbears your olOcm^s, The rabble call him
lord;
SCBRi V.J
HAMLET.
m
And, as the world were now bat tobe^n, - >
Antiquitv forgot, castom not kuoww,
the rtttiners and props of overjr word, " '
They cry 'Choose' we : Laertes shaU be'kingi' ,
Gaps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to uie
clouds:
' Laertes shall be king, Laertes nhig!" ' "*
^ueen. How cheerfully on the.^fal8e trail |
they cry! i
O, this is counter, yon false Danish dogs ! 110
Kin.!/, '^'he doors are broke. {iVofse vrithin.
i . Enter LAXBii]SB,iarme<ii- Danes/p/kuo/n^ii.'
Laer.' Where letiiis king? Siri, stand you '
all without. ' ' I . ' I
Dimes. No, let's coine in.'
Laeer. 'I pray you, give me leaVe.
Danes. We wilL we will. '
[They retire ieithciut'the door,
Laer. I thank you t keep the door. O thou I
vile king, ' ' ■ ' • ,
Give me my father!'' '
Queen. , Calmly, good Laertes.
■■^Laef. I' That drop of blood that's calm pro¬
claims me bastard, ' ' '
Cries cuckold to my fatlier, brands the harlot'
Even here, between the chaste unsmirched
, 'brow' . 1 .,1 u
Of tny trufe mother., ' ■ ' i
Kin<). What is the caush, LaerteS, 120 '
Tluit thy rebellioiT lOoks' so giant-like ? ■' '
Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our person
Wiere's snch£v1tdtx4^^^
That tpeasoinBJtirDut peep to what it would.
Acts little of his will. Tell me, Laertes,
•Why thOti art thus incensed. Let him gol !
"Gertrude. ' ' ! ,
Speak, man. ' ' , ' ' I
Laer, Whereis'myfather? ' '
Kinal Dead. , • ' '
Queen. , ■ But not by him. '
Mng: Let him demand his fill. " ' ' "
Laer. How came he dead ? ' I'll not be Jug¬
gled with i ' 130
,To hell, allegiance !''Tows, to the blackest
. devil ! ' I-'"
Cbnscieuce and grace.'tothepilofoHndestpIt! '
^ dare damnation. To this point I stand, ' '
i^hat both the worlds I give to negligence,
let come'what cftiUee ; only Til berevenged-
Most thoroughly for my father. , .
Kiny. ' ' ' ' ' Who shall stay yon ^
Laer. My will,'hot all the world : ' '
And for my menus, I'll husband them so well.
They shall go far with little.
King. ' ' Good LaerteS, ' '
If you'deSireto'knew the Certainty ' 140
,0f your dear fatheT"? deatlj, is't writ iii your
■' • revenge; ' /. ■
That, swoonstake, yon Will dravt both friend ;
and foe, • i. •
'Winner and loser? ' "• ' . '
' .laer. None but his enemies. i
King. Will you know them then ? '
LaeK . TbhiSgOodfrieudsthus wide Til'ope
myarmsi ... jr.
And like the kind life-rendering pelican,.) .1
Bep^t them with my blood, i. .
King. Why, now you speak
Like a good child and a true geutlemuu. i -i) >
That i am gnUtless of. your futheris death,. i'
And am most sensible m grief for it,l' 160
It slutllas level to your ijudgmetit pierce l.n^
As day does to your ewe. ./i j-.o ii. i
Danei. {ITimtU'] .Let her come irai • 11'
Laer. How now I what noise is that?
' ' ' 'Be-enfei* OPBkLi&. lu c i' mO
O heat, dry up, my braifis ! fears''peyei'itSrhes
M' salt,, ' ■! : , '/
Bum out the sense and virtue of m>tte'<eye'i' .
By heaven, thy . ipadi^ess shall be' paid, by
weight, ' ' I ,1 ,r 1 , ' " I
.Till our sc:^, turn the beam. , V rosfe 'pjf May!
Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia, j'
O heavens !,^'t possible, ,a young n>ai<l's.wits
Should be as moral as an old map's lifp ' lOP
Nature is fine iii love, and where 'tis fine.
It sends some precious instapoe.of iteelf ,, ,,
After the thing it loves. ■ ^ ^ n i r i i
t Oph. {Sings], , .,11 ,
, They bore him barefaced on, uiCbi^r;,
Hey non nonny, iionny, heynohiiy; ' '
... And in hia grave rainld mfmy^tear:—
Fare yon well, , my dove ! , . , .v
Laer. Hadst thou thy'wits,' aUd didst per-
'suade revenge)' ' ' .-i-i/' . M
It could not move tlius.
Oph. [Sings] ToU Winst sing a-doWn adoWn,
An you call him a-down-a.'.'''i 171
0, how the wheel becomes it 1 j ft ii the false
steward, that stole his master's daugbteTi * i
Laeri Thhs'Uothhig's'more than matter.- I
Oph. Tliere's- rosemary, that's for remem¬
brance ; pray, Jove, remembej:: and th,eiie is
pansies, tliat's for thoughts. , 1 1-.i '
„Laer.,.A. document'ip. GlPU'ghts
and remembrance fitted. ..'.,17^
Oph.. There's )fenqel for .yon, and colum¬
bines ; there's rue for you'.;iaud bere'e ao.ple
for me : we may call it herb-grace o' Sunday^:
0,.you must wear your rue with a differ^ice.
TWe'sadaisy: I would give yop some yiolets,
but tiiey witbereq. all when ,m.v fpthpr .die^:
tliey say he made a good endl^, ,, ^, ,,, .j
[Ni«i/s] For bonny, sw^t all my
•30y ,, ,Litself,
Laer. Thought and afilictiop, passiop,,bell
She turns to favor and to prettiness.
OpA
And will he not come aptm ?
And* will he not come .again 7 , un
NO) no,'he is dead t , 'tlj-i
Go toi thy death-bed : jj
He never.wiU come agam.1 rii > 1
His beard was as white ps snow,,
' Ail flaxen was his poll '
He Is gone, he is gone '
, . And we cast away moan : "
God ba^mcrcy ou]|lg spuH ,, ^
.And of all Christian souls, I ^ra^ God/-j Grid
briwT ye.-'-j'
[Exit. 200
m
HAMLET.
[Act it.
Laer. Do you see this, 0 God ?
JSTinj. Laertes, I must eommune with your
grief,
Or you deny me right Go but apart,
Make choice of whom your wisest friends you
wiii. ■ [me:
And they shaH hear and J^udge 'twist you aud
If by direct or by coUateral hand
They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom
Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours.
To you iu satisfaction ; but if not.
Be yod content to lend your patience to us.
And we shaii jointly laW with your soui 211
To give it due content. .
Laer'. Letthisbeso;
His means of death, his obscure -funeral—
No trophy, sword, nor hdtchment o'er hfe
bones, '
No noble rite nor formal ostentation— '
Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to
earth, ,
That I must calTt in question. ' '
King. So you shall;
And where the offence .is let the great axe fall.
I prdy ^ou, go with me. [Exeunt,
ScfiitE VI. Another room in the eaetle.
,, I Enter Hobatio and a Servant.
ffor. What are they that would speak with
me 7
Ser», Sailors, sir: they say they have let¬
ters for yon.' .
ffor. Let them come in. [Exit Servant,
I do not know from what part of the world
I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamiet
Enter Sailors.
Eirst Sail. God bless you, sir,
ffor. Let him biess thee too.
First Sail. He shall, sir, ant please him. '
There's a letter for you, sir; it comes from the
ambassador that was bound for England ; if
your name be Horatio, as I am let to know it
13. 11
ffor.' [ Reads'] ' Horatio, Vhen thou shait
have overlooked this, give these fellows some
means to the king : they have letters for him.
Ere we were two days old at sea, a pirate of very
-warlike appointment gave us chase. Finding
ourselves too slow of sail, we put on a com¬
pelled valor, and in the grapple I boarded them:
on the instant they got clear of our ship ; so I
alone bqcame their prisoner. Tliey have dealt
with me like thieves of mercy: but they knew
what they did; 1 am to do a good turn for them.
Let the king have the letters I have sent; aud
repair thou to me with as mneh speed as tliou
wouldst fly death. I have words to speak in
thine ear will make thee dumb ; yet are they
much too light for the bore of the matter. These
good fellows will bringtbee where I am. Rosen-
crantz aud Gulldenstem hold their course for
England : of them I have much to tell thee.
Farewell. 30
* He that thou knowest thine, Hamt.kt.'
Come, 1 will make you way for these your
letters ;
And do't tlte speedier, that you nmy direct me
To him from whom you brought them.
. , , [Exeunt,
ScENB yiL Another room in the castle.
' Enter Kikg and Lasktes,
King, Now must your conscience my ac¬
quaintance seal.
And you must put me in your heart for friend
Sith you have beard, and with a knowing ear.
That he which hath your noble fatlier shiin
Pursued my life.
Laer. It weU appears : but tell me
Why you proceeded not against these feat#,
So crimef ui and so capital iu nature.
As by your safety, wisdom, all things else.
You mainly were stirr'd up.
King. O, for two special reasons ;
Whicli may to you, perhaps, seem much nu-
.. sinew'd, 10
But yet to me Giey are strong. The queen his
mother
Lives almost by his looks; and for myself—
My virtue or my plague, be it either which—
She's so conjunctive to my life and soul.
That, as the star moves not but iu his sphere,
I could not but by her. The other motive.
Why to a public count I might not go.
Is the great love the general gender bear him;
Who, dipping all his faults iu their affection.
Would, like the spring that tumeih wood to
stone,
Convert his gyves to graces; so tliat my arrows.
Too slightly timber'd for so loud a wind,
Would have reverted to my bow again.
And not where I had aim'd them.
Laer. And so have I a noble father lost;
A sister driven into desperate terms.
Whose worth, if praises may go back again.
Stood challenger on mount of ail the age
For her perfections: but my revenge will come.
King, Break not your sleeps for that: you
must not think ' 30
That we are made of stuff so flat and dull
That we can let our beard be shook -with
danger .
And think it pasC.ae. You shortly shall hear
more:
I loved your father,^ and we love ourself :
And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine—
Ehtev a Messenger.
How now 1 what news 7
' Mess, Letters, my lord, from Hamlet:
This to your majesty; this to the queen.
King. From Hamiet! who brought them 7
Mess, Sailors, my lord, they say: I- saw
them not:
They were given me by Ciaudio ; he received
them 40
Of him that brought them.
King, XMrtM, you shall hear them.
Leave us. [Exit Messenger,
Boom vii.*
IRewl*] ' High and mighty, You shall know
I am set uaked ou yonr kiiigdooai To-morrovr
shall I leave to see your kinglv eyes; when
I shall, first asking your pardou tlieieninto, re¬
count tlie occasion of my sudden and more
strauge returu. ' HaMlet.'
What should this mean?' Are all the rest
come back ? -■ ,50
Or is it some abuse, and no such thing Z
Laer. Know you the hand ?
Kinft. ''Tis Hamlet's cbairacter. ' Naked t'
And in a posteript here, he says 'aloue,'
Can you advise me ?
Laer. I'm lost in it, my lord. But let him
come ;
It warms the very sickness in my heart,
That I shaii live and tell him to ins teetl),
* Thus didest thou.'
King. If it be'so, Laertes—
As bow should it be so ?, how otherwise ?—
Wiii you be ruled by me ?
Laer. Ay, my lord ; 60
So you will not o'ermle me to a j^ce.
King. To thine own peace, r. he be now
• return'd.
As checking at his voyage, and that hei means
No more to undertake it, I will work him.
To a_ e:rploit, now ripe in my device, » ,
Under be whieh he wall not choose but fail:
And for his deatii no wind of blame slmll
breathe,
But even his mother shall uncharge tlie pra<>,
tico
And eall it accident.
Laer. My lord, I will be ruled ;
The rather, if yow could devise it so 70
That I might be the organ.
King. , . It falls right.
Yon liave been talk'd of since your travd
much,
And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality
Wherein, they say, yon shine: your sum of
puts I,
Die not together pluck such envy from him ,
Ac die', that one, and that, in my regard,
Of the unworthiest siege.
Laer. What part is that, my lord ?
King. A very riband in the cap of youtli.
Yet n^fnl too; for youth no less becomes
Th' light and earelees livery that it wears . 80
Than settled age his sables and his weeds.
Importing health and gtaveness. Two montlis
since.
Here was a gentleman of Normandy :•" .
I've seen myself, and served against, the
French,
And they can well on horseback : hut this gai-
Umt
Had witchcraft in't; Ve grew unto his seat;
And to such wondrous doing brought his horse,
As he had been incorpsed and demi-natured
With the brave beast: go far he topp'd my
thought,
fhat I, in forgery of shapes and bricks, 90
Come short of what he did.
Laer.. . , j . A Normaw was't ? ,
«77
King. A.Norman.. i . >
Laer. Upon my life, Lamoud.
I King. The very same.
Laer. I know him well: he is the brooch
indeed
And gem of all the nation.
King, He made confession of you,
And gave you such a masterly repmt
For art and exercise in your defence
And for your rapier most especially.
That he cried out, 'twould be a sight indeed,
if one could matdi yon : the sciimeis of ttieir
nation, lui
He swore, had had neither motion, guard, nor
eye.
If yon opposed them. Sir, this report of his
Did Hamlet so envmiom with his envy
That the could nothing do bi.t wish and beg'
Your sudden coming o'er, to play with him.
Now, outotthis,-7- r ■
Laei\ What out of this, my lord 7
King. Laertes, was yunr father dear ta
you ? ,.
Or are you like tlie painting of a sorrow,
A face without a heart 7
Laer. Why ask yon this 7 110
King. Not thatl think you'did not love
your father ; i .
But that I know love is begun by time
And that I see, in passages of proof.
Time qualifies tlie spark and fire of it
There lives within the very flame of love
A kind of wick or snuif that will abate it;
And nothing is at a like goodness still;
For go< Iness, growing to a plurisy.
Dies in his own too mnch : that we would do.
Weshoald do when we would ; for this,'would'
changes. 120:
And hath abatements and delays as many
As there are tongues, are hands, are acci-
' dents;
And then tliis ' should' is like a spendthrift
sighy
That hurts by easing. But, to the quick o' the
ulcer:—
Hamlet comes back i what would yon imder-
take,
To show yourself yonr father's sou in deed
More than in words 7
Laer. To cut his throat i' the church.
King. No place, indeed, sliould murder
sanctuanze;
Revmige should havei no bounds. But, good'
l.aerte8,
lYUl you do this, keep close within yonr cham-i
ber. 130
Hamlet retum'd shall know yon are come
, home:
'We'll put on those diall praise your excellence
And set a double varnish on the fame
The Frenchman gave you, bring you in fine, to-'
getlier
And wager on your heads : he, being remiss,
Most generous and free from all contriving, '
Will not peruse the foils so that, with ease,
Or with a little shuffling, you may choose
HAMLET.
678
hamlet.
' [Acrpv.
A sword unbated, and in a pass of uraetice
Requite him lor ycnt father. * ' ,
Lt«i\ ' I I will do't; . >1140
And,' for that po^se, I'll anoint my sword.
I bought ail miction of a mountebank,
So mortal that, but dip a knife ioH,' ^ hi/. ,
Wliere it draws'blood no eataplasili so rare,
Collected from all simples that have virtue
Under the moon^ can save the thing from death '
That is but scratch'd withal ? I'll touch my
' point • ■ h 1 • I . I I
With this oontagion, that, if i gall him slightly,
It may be death.
King. . Let's further think of this ; '
Weigli what convenience both of time and
means > ■ ■ i • 150
May At os to our shape : if tiiis sliould fail, j
And that oar drift look through our bad ^r-
- formanoe,
'Twere better not assay'd : therefore this pro¬
ject i
Should have a back or second, that might hold.
If this should blast in proof. Soft I let me see:
We'll maise a solemn wager on your cunnings 1
I ha't. '
When in your motion you are hot and dry-i-
As make your bouts more ivloleUt to that end—
And that he calls for diiuk, I'll have prepared
him ' ' ' ■ ' 16®
A chalice for the nonce, whereon but sipping,
If he by chance escape your venom'd stuck, ''
Our purpose may hold there. " '
Enter QoEEir, ,
How now, sweet queen!
Queen.' One woe doth tread upon another'^
' ' heel, • ■""
So fast they follow ; your sister's drown'd,
Laertes. '• ' t >
■ Laen Drown'd 1 O, where ? ' '
Queen. There is a willow grows'aslant a
^ I ' brook, ' '
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy
I 'Stream ; i . . ' , ; .
There with fantastic garlands did she'come
Of crow-Aowers, nettles, daisies, and long puH
pies 170
That'liberal shepherds'give a grosser, name,'
But our cold maids do dead men's Angers caU
• them : ' '
There,'on the pendent boughs her coronet
weeds "
Clambering to hang, an envious Sliver broke'}
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes' spread
' wide ; '
And, mennaid-Iike, awhile they'bore her'bp i
Which time she chanted snatches Of old tuiies^
As one incaiiable of her own distress, ' ■
Or like a creature native a'nd indued 100
Unto that element : but long it could not be '
Till that her garments, heavy with tbeirdrink,
'Pull'd tlie poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.
Laer. Alas, "then, she is drowifd ?
Queen. ' Drown'd, drown'd. " '
f Laer. Too much of ivatet. hast thou,'^loor
Ophelia, 'II
.And tlierefore 1 Icn-bid my tearS': but yet
It is our triirk ; nr iurebm custom holds, - >
il^t shame say wliat it will i wlieu these are
■i:i gone, ' 180
The woman will be out.'" Adieu, my lord i''
'1 have a speech of Are, that fain would blazt.
But that tills folly donts it. -. [Exib
King. p' Let's follow,'Gertrude »
How much I bad to do to calm bis rage ! i
Now fear I this will give it start again <; *
Therefore let's follow. i [Exeunt
' I 1 I ' ' I ' ' '
, , ACt'.V. , ' , J.
1 -1 I
ScBNS L. A fhurchyard. ,
Enter two Clowns', with'spqdei, &c.
First CM. Is she to be buried in Christian
burial that wilfully seeks her Own Salvation ?
'Nee. Clo. 'I tell thee she iS': and therefore
make her grave straight: the 'crownei- hath
sat on her, and Ands it Christian' burial.
First Clo. How can -that be, unless she
di-owned herself in her own defence ?
Nee.' Clo. Why, 'tis found so. ''
First CM. It must be ''se oAendendo it
cannot be else. For here lies the point; if I
drown myself wittingly, it argues an act'? and
an act hath three branches: it is, to act, to do,
to perform: argal, she drowned herself wit¬
tingly. ' ' .
' Nee. Clo. ■ Nay, but hear you, gOodman
delver,— . . ' j , ' .J
First Clo. Give' me leave. Here lies dlie
water; good ! here Stands tiie tnau ; good ; if
the man go to this water, aud drown himself,
it is, will he, nill he, he goes,—mark you that;
but if-the water come to him and drown him,
he drowns not himself : argal, be that is not
guilty of his own death shortens not his owii
fife. ' ■ • ■ . • •
Sec. Clo. But is this law f '' ■ ■■ 'i '
First Clol Ay, marry, is't; crowner's quest
law. . ' M ■ I ' . a '
Nccj ' Cto: Wjll you ha' the-truth ont ?' If
this had not been a gentlewoman, she slioiild
have been' buried out o' -Christian burial.' '
First Clo. Why, theie-tliou say'ct: and the
more pity that great folk should liave ooiiiite-
naiice in thistvorld to drown or-hang ihcnl-i
selves, more than their even Christian. Coine,i
my spade. There is no ancient gentleman but
gardeners, ditchers,' ■ and grave-makers:' d»«y
hold up Adam's professiou. i >
Sec. Clo. Was he a gentleman ? f i ''
•FirstClo. He was the Arstthat ever bote
arms. '•'■ ' ' ' ■ i
See. Cfo: Why, he had none. > 39
First Clo. What, art a heathen ? How dost
thou understand the Scripture ? Tlie Scrip*
t'jre says ' Adam digged could'he dig witM
out'arms t I'll puV another question to thee .
Scmik ]i.]
BJWLEn
67»
It ttiott aiwwelrest ttxi not to tho ptuixMe, confess
thyself-*'' ''' ' ' '''' ' '''
- Bee. €to.' Go to. , " ■ ■ i . ;i <■)
What is'he that bnilds stronger
fiian' either the mason, tiie shipwright or the
carpenter 7 '' ' ' ' ' •. i . '
'ike.Ch. The"^lo)ws-mhker ;> tor that
frame outBves a thousand tenants. > : " 60
Firtt Ch. I like thy wit weli. in good faith:
the gallows does'welihut how does it wMl ?
it does weil to those that do ili: now thou dost
HI'to say tiie ^llo Ws is buHt stronger than the
church: argai, the gallows may do Well to
diee. To'tagai^, coSae.' ''■!
Sec. Clo. ' Who builds strouger than a
mason, a shipwright,^ cir a carpenter ?, .
Firtt Oo, Ay, teb me that, and unyoke.
See. Clo. Marry, now 1 can tell, ... 60
Firtt Clo. To't.
Sec. Clo. Mass, I cannot teli: > I
Entef Mamuit and MobahOi dt e distance, >
Firtt Clo. Cudgel thy brains no more about
It,'for your dull asS will'not mend his pace
with beating ; and,'when yon are asked thi:l
question next, saya* grave-makerthe'
nouses that he makes last till doomsday. Go,
get thee to fYaughan i fetch me' a stoup of
liquon I ■ ' \ExU Sec. Clown.
■' ' ' [w diyt and sinf/tl
In youth, witeii I did iove, did love, '
Metlionghtlt was very sweet, ' 70
To contract, O, the time, for, all, my hehove, ^
O. methought, there was nothing meet. -
' Ilam. Has this feliow no feeling of his busi¬
ness, that lie sings at grave-making ? Mi/
Hor. Custom hath made it in hini' a prop¬
erty of easiness. " '-I'll.
tkcm.' 'Us e'en so ; the hand of little eraJ
ployraent liath the daintier sense.''
iirtt Clo. [.V/nf/s.]
But age. With his stWiling steps,' ' '
■' ' Hath claw'd hie in his clutch, 80
And hath shipped me iiitril tlte laud,
As if I had neve* been snehi
" ' [Tkrowtlep a tkull.
Ham.'' That Skull bad a tongue hi it, and
eould sing ouce i'liow-tlie knave jowls it to
the ground, as if it were Cain's jaw-bone, tbat
did the first'murdbr ! It might be the pate of
a yiolitiuian, which this asS now d'er-Teache.s ;
one flitrt Would circumvent God, might it not ?
Hor. • It might, my lord. '
Ham. Or of a courtier; which could say
Good morrow, sweet lord ! How dost thou,
good lord ?' This might he hiy lord such-a-
one, that praised' my lord snch-a-one's, horse.
When he lueaiit to begit; might it ndtt
Hor., Ay, my lord,
Ham.'' why, e'en so: and liow my lAdy
Worm's ; cliapless, and knocked 'about the
mazzard with a sexton'k l^ade: here's flue
tevolntion, ad we had the trick to see't Did
these bones cost no more the breeding, but to
play at loggats with 'em t mine ache to think
•n't - '' ' ' ioi
" AVrlt'dfO', c ' V , /
A pick-axe, and a siiade, a spade,
ii' I. for and a riirouding sheet: \
III ID;>a nit «f clay fur to be made
For such a guest is meet i
[Throws lep another tkall.
: Ham. 11 iTherei's miotlier :' iwhy may not that
be the skull of a lawyer. 7 - Where he hisqnid.4
dities now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures,
and his tricks 7> why does he suffer this rude
knave now to knock him about the seouoe with
a dirty shovel, and will not tell him oi his
action of battery ? Unm 1 This fellow.miglit
be in's time a great buyer of land, Wito his
statutes, histecuguizances, his fines, hJsduuble
vouchers, his reeevenes : is this the flue 'Of
his fines, and the recovery of his recoverl^
to have his fine pate lull oi fine dirt ? will
his vouchers vonch hkn no more of his pur*
chases, and double bnes too, than the lengtot
and breadth of a mir of indentures ? Theve^
conveyances of his lands .will hardly lie' iW
this boxand must the iuheritoi himself have
110 more, ■lia ? ' ' ■ ' '
Hor. ■ Not a jot more; my lord. ' "
Ham. is not parclimeiit 'made of she^i*
skins ? ' ' • ,
Hor.' Ay,' my lord, and of calf-skins too.
' Ham. 'They are sheep and calves .which
seek out assurance iu tiiat. I will speak to this
feMoW. • Wliose grave's tills, sirmh 7
First Clo. Mine, sir; ' ' '
^ [/S'fn^s] O, a pit of clay foil to be made ■'
' ' Fpr'snch a guest is meet, i 130
Ham. I think it be thine, indeed ; fob-thou
liestiu't.' ' '' ' •
First Clo. You lie out on't, sir, and there¬
fore it is not yours : for my part, I do not lie
in't, and yet it is mine. ' ^
Ham. Tliou fiost lie hi't, to he in't and'Say
it is' thine 1 'tis for the dead, not for the quick)
therefore thou Best. ' ' I'
First Cto. 'Tis a quick lie;'sir ; 'twill away
again, from'me to yon. ' / n i . i 14®
Hntn^' What man doSt tlicu dig it for 7 - "■
First Clo. For no man; sir. ' . ; i
Ham. What woman, tlieii ? ■ ' ' ' '
First Cto. For none, neither.' ' ' •
Hani. 'Who is to he buried in't ? '
I ''Fii-st do. ■ One that was a wuinan,'sir; but,
rest lier soul, slie's dead. '
Ham.. HowiibspUitethekiiar'e is ! wemusf
speak by the card, or equivocation Will lindo
us." BylTfc Lord, Hordtio, tlrese three yeai-s f
' have taken a noty of it; tlie age is grown so
picked that the toe of tlie peasant comeS so
near the lieel of tlie courtier, lie galls his kibe.
How long hast tliou been a grave-maker ?
First Clo. Of all the days i the year, I
came to't that day tluit our last king Hamlet
overcame Fortinbras. ~
■'Ham. ' How long is that since''? ' ''
First Cto. Cannot yoU tell that ? every lodf
can tell that; it was the very day that young
Hamlet vTas bom ; he that is mad, and sent
into Ei^land.'
<80
Ham. Ay, m.arry, why was he sent into
England ?
First Clo. Why, because he was mad : he
shall recover his wits there ; or, U he do not,
it's no great matter there.
Ham. Why?
First Clo, 'Twill not he'seen in him there ;
there the men are as mad as hei 170
Ham. How came he mad ?
First Clo. Very strangely, they say.
Ham. How strangely 7
First Clo. Faith, e'en witit losii^; his wits.
Ham. Upon What ground ?
First Clo. Why, here in Denmark s I have
been sexton here, man and hoy, thirty years.
Ham. How long will a man lie i' the earth
ere he rot ? ' 179
First Clo. r faith, if he be not rotten before
he die—^as we have many ixwky corses now-a-
days, that will scarce hold the laying in—^lie
will last )X)U some ei|;ht year or nine year : a
tanner will last you nine year. >
Ham. Why he more than another ? .
First Clo. Why, sir, his hide is so tanned
•with his trade, that he will keep out water a
great while ; and your water is a sore decayer
of your whoreson dead body. Here's a skull
now ; this sknll has lain in the earth three and
twenty years. 191
Ham. Whose was it? '
First do. A whoreson mad fellow's it was ;
whose do you think it was ?
Ham. Nay, I know not..
First Clo- A Mstilence on him for a mad
rogue 1 a' poured a flagon of Rhenish on my
h^d once. This same skull, sir, was Yorick's
skuli, the king's jester.
Hum. This ? 200
First Clo. E'en that.
Ham. Let me see. [Takes the skvll.] Alas,
poor Yoridc! I knew him, Horatio : a fellow
of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy : he
hath tMme me on his b<ack a tliousaiid times ;
and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is j
my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that
I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be
your gibes now ? your gambols ? your songs ?
your flashes of iQerriment, that were wont to
set the table on a roar ? Not one nowt to mock
your own grinning ? quite chaii-fallen ? Now
get yon to my l^y's chamber, and tell Iter,
let her paint an inch thick, to thia favor s|ie
must come ; make her laugh at that. Prith:e^
Horatio, tell me one thing.
Hor. Wliat's that, my lord ?
Ham. Dost thou think Alexander looked
o' this fashion i' the earth ? ,
Hor, E'en so. 220
Ham. And smelt so ? pah !
[Puts down the skull.
Hor. E'en so, my lord.
Ham. To what base uses we may return,
Horatio! Why may not imagination ' ace the
I noble dust of Alexander, till he find it stopping
a bung-hole ? [consider so.
Hor. 'Twere to consider too curiously, to
jaot v.
Ham, No, faith, nota jot; but to follow hfm
thither with modesty enough, and likelihood
to lead it : as thus : Alexander died, Alex¬
ander was burled, Alexander retunieth hito
,du8t; the dust is earth f of earth we make
loam ; and why of that loam, whereto he was
converted, might thev not stop a beer-barrel ?
Imperious Csesar, dead and tnm'd to clay.
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away :
O, that that earth, which kept the world in
awe.
Should patch a wall to expel tiie winter's
flaw! •
But soft! but soft! aside; bere comes tlie
king, t
£n<er Priest, <fec. in procession; the Cotpse of
Ophelia, Laertes and HoaTxrera following;
King, Queen, their trains, dc.
The queen, the courtiers I who is this tliey
follow ?
And with such maimed rites? This doth be¬
token
The corse they follow did with desperate hand
Fordo its own life : 'twas of some estate.
Couch we awhile, and mark.
[Setiring wUh Horatio.
Laer. What cermnony else ?
Ham. That is Laertes,
A very noble youth : mark.
Laer. What ceremony else ?
First Priest, Her obsequies have been a;
far enlarged
As we have waraantise; her death was doubt¬
ful ; 250
And, but that great command o'crsways the
order.
She should in ground unsanctifled have lodged
Till the last trumpet: for cliaritable prayers,
Shards, flints and pebbles should be thrown on
her;
Yet here she is allow'd her virgin crants.
Her maiden strewments and tlie bringing home
Of bell and burial.
Laer. Must there no more be done ?
First Priest, No more be done :
We sliould profane the service bf the dead
To shig a requiem and such rest to her 260
As to peace-parted souls.
Laer. Lay her i' the earth :
And from her fair and imixiliuted flesh
May violets spring! Itell thee, churlish priest.
A ministering angel shall my sister be.
When thou hest howling.
Ham, What, the t.air Oidielia I
Queen, Sweets to the sweet: farewell i
[Scattering flowers,
I hoped thou shouldsthave been my Hamlet's
wife;
I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet
maid.
And not have strew'd thy grave.
iMer, 0 treble woe
Fail ten times treble on that cursed head, 270
Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense
Deprived thee of i Hold off the earth awhile.
HAMLET,
floravii.]
Till I have can^ bar aoea monla nine arms:
' ' ' [Leapt inU> the rrraee.
Kov pile your dust upon the quick and dead,
Till 01 this flat a mouutafai you have made,
To o'ertcm old PelioB, or tlie skyish head
Of blue OWmpus.
Ham. [Adoancingjl What is he whose grief
Bean snch aa emphasis? whose phzas of
sorrow
Oon jnres tiie wandering stars, and makes them
stand
Like wonder-wounded hearers ? This is I, 280
Hamlet the Dane. [Leap* into the grave.
Lout, The devH take thy soul!
' [Orappling vnth him.
Ham. Thou pray'st not well.
I prithee, take thy flngers from ray throat \
For, though I am not ^lenitive and rash.
Yet have 1 something in me dangerous,
Which let thy wiseness fear: hoM off thy hand
King. Pluck them a sunder. ,
' Queen. Hamlet, Hamlet I
Jff, Gentlemen,M< <
Hor. Good my lord, be quiet.
' [T%e Attendant* part them, ana they
come out of the grave.
Bam. Why I will fight with him upon this
. theme :
Until my eyelids will no kmger wag. 290
Queem O my son, what theme ?
Ham. I' loved Ophelia c forty thousand
brothers
Could net, with all their quantity of love,
Hake up my sum. What wilt thou do for her?
King. ' O, he is mad, Laertes.
Queen. For love of (Jod, forbear him.
Bam. 'Swounds, show me what tbou'lt do:
Won't weep? woo't.fight? woo'tfast? woo't
tear thyself?
WOo't drink up eisel ? eat a crocodile ?
I'll dot. Dost thou come here to whine ? 300
To outface me with leaping in her grave ?
Be buried quick with her, and so will 1:
And, if thou prate of mountains, let them
throw
Millions of acres on us, till our ground.
Singeing his pate against the burning zone,
Make Ossa like a wart I Nay, an thou'lt
tnoutli,
I'll rant as well as tlion.'
Queen. This is mere madness :
And thus awhile the fit will work on him ;
Auob, as patient as tlie female dove.
When that her golden couplets are disclosed,
His silence will sit drooping.
Ham. ' Hear you, sir;
Wliat is the reason that yoa use me thus ?
I loved you ever: but it is no matter t
Let Hercules himself do what he may.
The cat will mew and dog will have his day
• [Exit.
King. I pray you, goM Horatio, wait upon
' hkn-' t [Exit Horatio.
[To LaertesJ Strengthen your patience in omr
last night's speech ;
WB put the matter to the preseat pash.
eHx
Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son.
This grave shall have a living roonum^t: 320
An hour of quiet shortly shall we see ;
Till then, in patience our proceeding be
[Exeunt
ScBKE II. A hall in the cattle. <
Enter Hamlet and Horatio.
Ham. So much for this, sir: now shall yon
see the other ;
You do remember all the circumstance ? '
Hot. Remember it, my lord ?
Jbun. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of
fighting.
That would not let me sl^: me^honght I lay
Worse than the mntines in the bilboes. Rashly,
And praised be rashness for it, let ns know.
Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well.
When our deep plots do pall: and that should
teach us
There's a divinity that shapes our ends, 10
Rough-hew them how we will,—
Hor. That is most certain.
Ham. Up from my cabin.
My sea-gown scarf'd aliout me, in the dark
Groped 1 to find eut them ; had my desire,
Finger'd their packet, and in fine withdrew
To mine own room again ; making so bold.
My fears forgetting manners, to unseal
Their grand commission ; where 1 found, Ho¬
ratio,—
0 royal knavery !—^an exact command,
Larded with many several sorts of reasons 20
Impoiting Denmark's health and England's too.
With, ho ! such bugs and goblins in my life.
That, on tlie ..npervise, no leisure bated.
No, not to stay the grinding of the aze,
My head should be struck off.
Hor. Is't possible ?
Ham. Here's the commission ; read it at
more leisure.
But wilt thou hear me how I did proceed ? '
Hor. I beseedi you.
Ham. Being thus be-netted round with viT-
lanies,—
Ere I could make a prologue to my brains, 30
They had begun the play—I sat me down,
Devised a new commission, wrote it fair:'
1 once did hold it, as our statists do,
A baseness to write fair and labor'd much
How to forget that learning, but, sir, now
It did me yeoman's service : wilt thou know
The effect of what I vrrote ?
Hor. Ay, good my lord.
Ham. An earnest conjuration from the
king.
As England was his faithful tributary.
As love between them like the paun might
flourish, 49
As peace should stiU her wheaten garland
wear
And stand a comma 'tween their amities.
And many such-like ' As'es of great chai^,
That, on the view and knowing of these con-
tentS)
HAMLET.
«)S2
SAMLET.
(ilAei fc
WithoDt debatemeirt fnitiifer, more or least *
' He shoQld the bearers put to sudden deatii,
Not shrivittg-time aUow'd. ' • <
Hor. I ■' How WAS this seal'd ?
'jffant.; Why, even in that was heaven or-
diiiaiit.
I had my father'fe signed in my pnrse;
Which was the mode) of tibat Danish seal; 50
Folded the writ iip in form of the other,
'Subscribed it, gave't the impression, jdaced it
safely, ■■
The changeling never known. 'Now. the next
day r.,' . , ,| [qaent
^WhS'tainr'sea'-flghtand iwhat to this was >se-
Thou kuow'st already.
Hoiv' So'Guiideustem and Roeeneranlii gb
,1 - tot. < ■ i ■ I •
Ham: Why, man, they did make love to
' this employment; ' '
They are not near my conscience ; tb^ de¬
feat I
I Does by their own insinuation grow .! '
'Tis dangerous when the baser natnre'eomes:
Between the pass and fell incensed points 61
Of mighty opposites. i r \
JBhr, ■ !i ■ iWhvy whatakingistiiiS'l
Ham. Does it not, thuik'st thee,' stand me
. now upon— i ' '
He that hath kill'd my king and'wbored my
mother, ' ... !■ i ■ i
Popiyd in between the eleotion aud layhopes.
Thrown out his angle for my proper life,
And with snch oozmiage—is't' not perfect
<' ' conscience,. i - >1 ti i (
To quit him with this arm ?. and is't not to be
damn'd, > . r
To let tliis canker of our nature cmne <"
In further evil ? ' ■ .i ■ . 70
Hor. It must be shortly kno'Wn to him fronl
England . v
iWhat is ilie issue of the business there. > V
Ham. It will be short ; tlie interim is mine;
And A man's life's no more than to say ' One.l
But I am very sorry, good Horatio, i ■ '
That to Laertes 1 forgot myself.; 1 '
For, by the image of my cause, I see n
The portraiture of hisI'll ccurt iAvofs.
But, sure, the bravery Of liisgper! did put me,
Into a towering passion. . i >.
Hor. . Peace ! who comes here ? 80
Enter Ossic.
OtTi 'Your lordship is right welcome back
to Denmark. ' 'i i . . .
Ham. 11 humbly thank you, sir. Dost know
this water-fly ? i . ..
Hor. No, my good lord. .
Ham. Thy state is tlie more gracious ; for
'tis a vice to know him. He hath much land',
end fertile : let a beast be lord of beasts, and
his crib shall stand at the king's mess : 'tis a
chough ; but, as I say, spacious in the pos¬
session of dirt' 'i .1'. ' ' ' 90
' Osr. Sweet lord, if 'your lordship were at
Insure, I should impart A'thii^ to you from
his majesty. -'.i
Ham. iwlB tec^v* ih nitirwith all dilh
genceof spirit Put your bonnet to his right
use I''tis for tiie head. i • ' ■■ii' > >'
Osr. I thank.yourlordshipi. His very hot.1
Ham. No, believe men'tis'.very ; tlie
wind is northerly. n , i .(> ■ 99
t Osn It is iudiffeieift oold, my lord, indeed.
.iHarni Bot 'yet metliinkei it is very sultry
and hot for my complexion.
■ Osr, ExceMingly, my ktrd j- it- la very suli
try,r-as 'twere,—I cannot tell how. . But, my
lord,' lus majesty bade «ne signify to you that
he lias laid a great v^ager on. your head : sirj
this is the raatte^,^TI « fT
.Ham. > 1 beseech .you, remember—
[Hamlet moves him to put on his hut.
OsTi Nay, good my lord ; for mbie ease, id
good faith J .Sir, here is newly oome.to court
Laertes ; believe mei an absolute geiitlemauj
full Of most excellent differences, of very soft
society and great showing ; indeed, to speak
feelingly of him,:he is the card or calmdarof
gentry, for you shall find in him the oonti-
uont oi- w^t pi^ s^ gentleman would see.. \
Ham. Sir, hie deflnement suffers no perdi¬
tion in you ; .though, I know, to divide him
inventorially'wonid dizzy'the arithmetic of
memory, tand yet but yaw neitrier, in re¬
spect of his qirick'sall. a But, in the verity of
extolment, I take him to be a soul of great
article; and his tnfnsion of 'such dearth, and
rareness, as, to make true diction of him, bis
semblable is his mirror ; and who else wonld>
trace him, his umbrage,'itething more.."
Osr. Your lordship speaka most- iiifallihly
of him. ' I' I ' • , • 1 1 ''
Ham. . The coucemaaey, sir 7 'Why do we
wrap the gentleman in our tnore 'SaweS'
breath ? .• i • t
Osr. SirY i ' ' i 13(7
< Hor. Is't not possible to understand in au-J
other tcmgue ? ' Von will do':l, sir...'really. . >
Ham. What imports the nomination of this'
gentleman? . ' .-i , n i .
Osr Of Laertes ?
Hor 1 'Hid' purse. is empty already ; all't
gold.n words are spent . - - -
' Hm Of him, sir. . "
J r. I know you are not ignoiantn-. .
Ham. I would you. did, sir ; yet, in faiih,
if '':adid,<H' would, hot much approve me.
Well, Sirs • .. " •,
Osr. « are not ignoriuit of what :ezcel«
ledce laerVa is—i . i .
Ham. I dar-' not confess that, lest I should
comp,are with him in excellence ; but, to
know aman well, were to know himself. ' •
Osr. ,1 mean, sir, for his weaoon ; but itf
the imputation laid on him by tbm, -in bis'
meed he's nnfellowed. I ■. , ! • •. jga
' Ham. What's his weapon ?
Osr.i Rapier and dagger. •■-.•! u
Ham, That*# two of his weapons J but
well. ■ ' . It I TJ
Osr. The Hng, sir, hath wager^ hrith him
six Buhary horses : agafauit the which ha hha
Scdm^ ii.]
aA%II£Tj^
imponed, as I take it, six Freadh labiers and
poniards, with their- assigns, as girdle, bang-
ttSi and so : three ot the carriages, in laith,
are very dear to fancy, very responsive to the
UIth, 'niost delicate carriage^, and of^very Irh-
eral conceit. - <
I/am. ' What oaU'yoU the carriage^ ?
Hor. I knew you must be edified by the
margent ere yod had done. -
Osf. The carriages, sir, are the hangers.
' .Ham) The phrase would be more gennau
to the matter, if we could carry -cannon by
our sides : i would it might be- hangers till
then. But,- on f Ux Bartory horses against
six French swords, their assigns, and'three
Uberal-conCeited carriages ; tiiat's the French i
against the Danish. - Why is tliis ' im- -
poned,' as you call it ? ' 171
Osr. The king, sir, hath laid, tiiat In a dot-
en passes between yourseif and him,- he shall
not exceed you tltree hits : he hath laid on
twelve for nine ; and it would come to im¬
mediate trial, if your lordship would vonch-
safe the answer.;'' ' ' ' ' • > ■
- Ham. How if 1 answer ' no' 7 • "
'Osr. ' 1 hiean, my lord, the opposition' of
your perton hi trial. ' ' ' i -179
Ham. Sir, 1 will walk here hi the liall: if
It please his majesty, 'tis tite- breathing time
ofray with we; let the foils be brought, the
genUeinau willing, and the king hold his pur¬
pose, I will' Win for-him an 1 can : if not, I
vdll gain nothing but my shauie and tlie odd
hits. ■ ' i ' -■■■■■-. •'
'Osr. Sk;fil-.-ro-JieliveryeW^e'enso? " .
'Ham. '^0 ' effect, pir; after What flou¬
rish your nature will; I - I . , I
Orr. i commend my duty to you'r lordship.
Hem. Y-urt, yours. [EnU Osric.'] lie does
well 10 Qommcud it himself; there are no
tMigncs else fur's turn.' ^
Hor. This lapwing runs away wlffi the
shell W his head.' ' "
Ham. He did coWply with' his dng, before
he Sucked it. Thus has he^^md many more
of the same bCvy that I knoW the drossy age
dotes on—Only got tlie tune of the time and
outward habit of encounter ; a kind of - yesty
collection, Which carries them through and
through .the mbsttfond and winnoWed opln-^
ions f and do but blow them to their trial,-the-
bttbbles are put. ...
Enter a Lord. ' 1
lori My lord, his majes^ cilnmCnded
him to you by young Qsric, who brings hack,
to him, that yon attend him in the hallhe:
sends to know if your ples^nre holdtp' plaF
with Laertes, or that you will take longbr,
rime, J ., , ' ,,
Ham. I am constant tomy purposes : they
follow the king's pleaStire; if his fitness
speaks, mine is ready ; now or whensoever,
provided I be so able as now."' 211
tori. The king and queen and ail ^ com¬
ing down.
I Ham. In happy time.. . >
Lord. • Tlie queen desirea you to use some
gentle, eutertaiumeut to Laertes before yon
fall to play.
. Ham: She well instructs me. [Exit Lord.
Hor.. You will lose tills wager, my lord.
Ham. I do not tliiuk so : since he went
: into France, I hanie been in icontiuual prac.:
tice: I shall win at tlie odds. But tliou
! wouldst not think how ill all's here about my
, heart :.hut it.is no matter.
Hor. Nay, good my lord,-.-
Uam. It is but foolery ; but -it -is suck a
kind ot gaiu-giving, as would perhaps trouble.
, a womau. . - . . .1
I Hor.. If your mind dislike any thing, obey
it 1'I will forestal their lepaii- hither, and say
you are not fit 229
. > Mam.' Not a whit, we defy augutj': there's
a special providence in the lall of a spfirrow.
If it be now, 'tis not to -oome ;..if it be not to
-come, it will be now ; if it be not now, yet it
will come-s tiie readiness is all : since no man
has aught Of what he leaves, whatit't to leave
betimes? , ■ . .
Enter King, Quben, Laertes, fkirds, Osric,
and Attendants with foils, d'c.
King. Oome; Hamlet,- eorae^ and take this
band from me. • ' ....
\T%e King puts Laerte^ hand info'Ihimh fs.
Ham.' Give ine your pardouy-sir :.-l'.ve.done
you wrong'! ' ' -' ' '
But pardon't, as you are a gentleman.' '
This presence Icnows, .. 1 -
And you must needs have heard; how I am
punish'd - - -- •• . . r. 240
' With sore distraction. - What I ha've done,
' That might your, natnre, honor and exception
Roughly awake, 1 here proclaim was' mad¬
ness. I'll.
Was't Hamlet wrong'd Laertes ? Never Ham-
I let! . • ■' J. . - ...
If Hamlet fj-om himself be ta'en away,
I And when he's'not himself does wrong LaCr-
tes, ''
Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it. *
Who does it, then ? His madness : if't be So,
; Hamlet is ojE the faction that is wrong'd ;
His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy. ■ 250
1 Sir, in this audience,'' »
Let my disclaiming from a purposed evil
, Free me so far in your most .geneioor
I thoughts, I ' . . - ' I
I That I have shot mine arrow o'er the house,
' And hurtmy brother. '
Laer. < I am satisfied in natnte,
I Whose motive, in this .case, should stir nee
I ' ■most' 'I ' 1 ■' ' . |. . .
i To my revenge : hut jn my terms of honor
^ I stand aloof ; and will no reconcilement," ]
I Till by some eider masters, of'known honori
I .f have k vbice and' precedent Pf j^ace, 260
I TP' keep my naiAe ongered. -But tfll that
timg, . . : - . I
«I doreceive your offar'd love Uke-lPW.-"''
G84
HAMLET.
[Act T'
And will not wrong it
Ham. I embrace it freelr;
And will this brother's wager frankly play.
Give us the toils. Come on.
.,Lmr, Come, one for me.
Ham. I'll he your foil, Laertes ; in mine
ignorance
Your skill shall, .like a star i' the darkest
ni^it,
Stiek fiery oS iiideedj ...
Laer. You mock me, sir..
Ham. No, by this hand.
King. Give them the foils, young Osric.
Consiu Ilamlet, 270
You know the wager ? '
■ Ham. Very well, my lord ;
Your grace hath laid tlie odds o' the weaker
side.
King. I do not fear it '^ I have seen you
botli: .
But since he is better'd, we have therefore
odds.
Laer. This is too heavy, let me see another.
Ham. This likes me well. These'foils have
all a length ?• [They prepare to play.
Osr. Ay, my good lord.
King. Set me the stoups of wine upon that
table.
If Hamlet give the first or second hit.
Or quit in answer of tlie tiiird exchange, 2S0
Let all the battlements their ordnance fire ;
The king shall drink to Hamlet's better breath;
And in the cup an union shall he throw.
Richer than that which four successive kings
In Denmark's crown have worn. Give me tlie
cups ; ■ ,
And let the kettle to the trumpet speak.
The trumpet to the cannoneer without.
The cannons to the heavens, the heavens to
eartli,
' Now the king drinks to Hamlet' Come, be¬
gin : -
And you, the judges, bear a wary eye. 290
Ham. Come om sir.
Laer. , Come, my lord. [Theypkiy.
Ham. One.
Laer. No.
Ham. Judgment.
Oer. A hit, a very palpable hit.
Laer. .Wfell; again.
King. Stay ; give me drink. Hamlet, this
pearl is thine ;
Here's to thy health.
[Trumpets eound, and catinon shot of
: within.
Give him the cup.
Ham. I'll play this bout first; set it by
awhile.
Come. [They play.] Another hit; what say
■ yon ?
Laer, A touch, a touch, I do confess.
King. Our son shall win.
Queen. He's fat, and scant of breatli.
Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy'
brows;
The queen carouses to .thy fortune, Qnmlet .
.Ham. GoodmadamI 301
King. Gerb^ude, do not drink.
Queen. I will, my lord; I pray yon, pardon,
me.
King. [Aside] It is the poisou'd eup : it is
too late. I
Ham. I dare not drink yet, madam; by
and W.
Queen. Come, let me thy face.
Laer. My lord, I'll hit him now..
King. I do not thiuk't.
Laer. [Aside] And yet 'tis .almost 'gainst|
my conscience. :
Ham. Come, for the third, ,Laertes : you
but dally; . > .
I pray you, pass with your best violence i
1 am afeard you make a wanton.of . me. .. 310
Laer. Say you so? come on. [They play,
Osv. Nothing, neither way,
Laer. Have at you now I '
[Laertes weninds Handel.; then in seuffling,.-
they change rapiers^ and Hamlet woun/iSi
.. Laertes. , .
King. Part them ; they are incensed.' '
Ham. Nay, cpme, again, [The Queen/alts.
Osr. Look to the. queen titere, ho .'
Hor. They bleed on botb sides. How is it,
my lord ? ;. r
Osr. How is't, Laertes ? ■
Laer. Why, as a woodcock to mine'own
springe, Osric:
I am justly^ll'd With mine own trea<^ofy.
Ham. How does the queen ? ,
King. She swounds to see them bleed.
Queen. No, no, the drink, the drink,—O
my dear Hamlet,-:-
The drink, the drink ! I am poisou'd. , [Dies.
Ham. O villany I Ho ! let the door be
lock'd :
Treachery ! Seek it out. .,
Laer. It is here, Hamlet: Hamlet, thqq,
art slain; , '
No medicine in the world can dothep good
In thee there is not half an hour of life ; .
The treacherous instrument is in thy hand, <
Unbated and euvenom'd; .: tlie foul practice
Hath tum'd itself on me lo, here I lie, 329
Never to rise again : thy mother^s poisou'd:
I can no more: the king, the king's to blame.
Ham. The point!—euvenom'd too ! ,
Then, venom, to thy work. [Nfabs the King.
All. Treason ! treason !
King. O, yet defend me, friends ; I am but
hurt > '
Ham. Here, thou incestpous, murderous,
damhed Dane,
Drink off this potion. " Is thy union here ?
Follow my mother. , [King dies.
Laer,. ' He is justly served ;
It is apoisontemper'd by himself. ' 339
Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet;
Mine and my father's death come not upon
thee.
Nor thine on me. [Dies.
Ham.Heaven make thee free of it I 1 fol¬
low'thee. '
Scbmb;!.]
I 1 i
I am dead, Horatio. Wretched queen, adieu I
You tliat look pale and tremble at this chance,
That are but mutes or audience to this act.
Had I but time—as this feli sergeant, death,
is strict in his aixest—O, I could tell you—
But let it be. Horatio, I am dead ;
Tlion livest; report me and my cause aright
To the unsatisfied.
Ilor. Never believe it: 351
; am more an antique Roman than a Dane':
Here's yet some liquor left.
Ham. As thou'rt a man,
Give me tiie' eup i let go ; by heaven, I'll
have't.
0 good Horatio, what a wounded name,
'Things staiidiug thus unknown, shall live be¬
hind meT
If thou didst ever hold me intiiy heart
Absent tiiee from felicity awhile, •
And in this harsh world draw tiiy breath in
' p:iin,
To tell my story. '
r.Vai'cTk ({far q^, and fhot within.
What warlike noise is this ? 300
Osr. Young Furtiubras, with conquest come
from Poland,
To the ambassadors of England gives '
This warlike volley. '
Ham. O, I die, Hoihtio ;
The potent poison quite o'er-crows ii^ spirit :
1 cannot live to hear tlm news from England ;
But I do prophesy the election lights
On FOrtin'oras : he has my dying voice ;
^ tell him, with the occurrents, more and
less.
Which have solicited. The rest is silence.
[Dies.
Hot. Now cracks a noble heart. Good
night, sweet prince : 370
And flights of angels sing thee to tiiy rest!
Why does the drum come hither ?
[Meaxh within.
Enter FoRTiirBRAs, the English Ambassadors,
and others.
Fort. Where is this sight ?
Hor. What is it ye would see ?
If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search.
Fort. This quarry cries on hayoc. O proud
death,
Wliat feast is towkrd in thine eternal celL *
Tnat thou so many princes at a shot
. 686
So bloodily hast struck ?
First Amb. Hie sight is dismal;
And: our affairs from England come too late ;
The ears are senseless that should give us
hearing.
To tell him his commandment is fulfllTd, 38!
Tliat Kosencraiitz and Guildenstern are dead :
Where should we have our tlianks ?
Ilor. Not from his mouth.
Had it the ability of life to thank yon :
He never gave commandment for tlieir death.
But since, so jump upon this bloody question.
You from tlie Poiack wars, and you from Eng-
' laud, ' '
Are here arrived, give order tliat these bodies
High on a stage be placed to tlie view; 389
And let me speak to the yet unknowing world
How tliese things came about: so shall you
hear
Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts,
Of accidental judgments, casual slaugliters.
Of deaths put on by cunning and forced cansei
And, in this upshot, purposes mistook
FaH'u on tiie inventors' heads : all this canl
Truly deliver.
Fort. Let us haste to hear it.
And call the noblest to the audience.
For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune :
I have some rights of memory in this kingdom.
Which now to claim my vantage doth invite
me.
Hor. Of that I shall have also cause to
speak^
And from his month whose voice will draw on
more ;
But let this same be presently perform'd,
Even while men's minds are wild ; lest morq
mischance
On plots and errors, happen.
Fort. Let four captains
Bear Hamlet, like a soldier, to tiie stage;
For he was likely, had he been put on.
To have proved most royally ; and, f6r his
Tlie so?dier^ music and the rites of war 410
Speak loudly for him.
Talce up tlie bodies : such a sight as this
Becomes the field, but here shows much amiss.
Go, bid the soldiers slioot.
[A dead march. Exeunt; bearinr/ off the
dead bodies; after tchich a peal o/ord-
a ittO tojf.
ILL'S WELL Ta'Al" ENDS WLLL'
■; 1' II II II
I \ I I , ' I,
(WBITTEH' ABOUT 1602.)
INTJlODUCTION.
' Among tlia plays of Sbajcespeare mentioned by Meres in ills PdliadU T'amiOi (1598) occurs tbo
name, of Love't Labour's Won. This has been, ideutifted by some critics with TAe Tanting oftM
Shrew and by others With Much Ado About Nothing; but the weight Of authority IrtcUnes to thO
opinion that under this title Meres spoke of the play kno#n to us as A(('s Welt that Ends WW.''It
seems not improbable that AWs'We(/, as rhe possess it In the I'irSt KoUo—and no earlier edition
exists—is a rehaiidling, very thoroughly carried out, of an earlier version of this comedy. . Coleridge
believed that two styl^ ,were disoernible in it; and there is certainly a larger proportion of rhyming
lines in it than in any other play written after the year liJOh. It is, however, far from certain that
any portion of the play is of, early origin, and assigning cohjecturally the date about 1602 as that of
the completion of thj whole, We may view it as belonging to the later group of the second cycle of
Shakespeare's comedies, not se earW, therefore, as Twelfth Night or As Yens Like It, and Certainly
earlier than Measure for Measure. The story of Helena and Bertram was found by ShakesMare in
Paynter's Palace cf Pleasure Paynter iiaving translated it from tlie Decameron of BoocarfO
(Novel a, Third day). Shakespeare added the characters of the Countess, Lafen, Parolles, and the
Clown, Wliat iitterested the port's imaginatim in Boccacio's story was evidently the position and
person of the heroine. In Boccabio, Giletta, the physician's daughtef, is inferior in rank to the
young Count, Beltramo, hut she is rich. Shakespeare's Helena is of humbler birth than his Ber-
tilain, and she is also poor. Yet poor,' and comparatively low-bom, she aspires to be the young
Count's wife, she pursues him to PaiiS; and wins him gainst his will; To show Helena thus re¬
versing in a measure the ordinary relations of man and woman, and yet to show her neither self-
seeking nor unwomanly, was th.*, task which the dramatist attempted. On the one hand he insists
much on Bertram's youth, aaid gives him the faplts and vices of y< nth, making the reader or spectar
tor of the play feel that his hero has great need of such a finely-'^mpered, right-willed and loyal
nature to stand by his side as that of Helena, Chi the other hand he shows us Helena's enthusiastic
attachment to Bertram, herfeais and cares on his belialf.her adhesion to him rather than to herself,
when her husband seems to set their interests in oppositioh to One another, until we cOme to feel
that the imperious need which makes Heleiia overstep social conventions is the need of perfect
service to the man she loves. Bertram's beauW and courage must bear part of the blame for
Helena's loving him better than he deserves. With the youtbfui desire for independence which
makes him break away from her, she can intelligently sympathize. In the last Act she appears—
when he has entangled himself in falseltood and shame—to save him, and rescue him from his baser
self. We feel that when he has at last really foUnd Helena, he is safe, and all ends well. Parollesi
the incarnation of bragging meanness, is the counterfoil of Helena—she, the doer of virtuous deeds;
he, the utterer of vain and swelling words ; she, all braVe womanliness'; he, too cowardly for man¬
hood. Parolles has been compared to FalstaiT, but they ought rather to be contrasted; for Sir John
is a man of genius, with real wit and power of fascination, and no ridicule can destroy him, but tha
exposure of Parolles makes him dwindle into his native pitifulness. The Countess is a charming
creation of Shakespeare ; in no play, unless it be some qi his iatest romantic dramas, is old age
made more beautiful and dignifted,'
I ' I I-
into OP Fbancb.
Duke of FuoRBatCE;
Bertram, Oiint of RouslUon.
Lafeu, an old lord. ,
Parolues, a follower of Bertram.
Steward, | servants to the Countess of
Clown, j Rousillon.
A Page.
Countess OF Rousillon, mother to Bertram.
Helena, a gentlewoman protected by the
Count^g,
(6K)
DRAMATIS PERSON.®.
. I
An old. Widow pf Florence. •
Diana, daughter to the 'WidoW.
Yiolenta, ) neighbors and friends 'to tb*
Mariana, j , ,, ]Yi4f?w., ■. n,. ,
Lords, Officers, Soldiers, &c., French and
Florentine.
Scene : Eousillon ; Paris ; Floreruse i
Marseilles.
Scenei]
jaX'S WELL THA T ENDS WELL.
687
' ' ^ Ai5Tl;i J I f I , K.n.i
■ • I I'i I , ^ J.
'Scene L RouHlUm, The-Caoie^apaloMk'
/fn(er Bertram, Uie Countess of koustLLON,)
. I Helena, and Laeeu, pi black.
' Courtt. ' IB delivering "my Son from me, I
bury a second husband. 'i' • i
Jier. And f in going, Biadani, weep O'er
my firther's d^ath anew ; bnt 1 tiiust attena
his majesty's command, to whom I am now in
ward, evermore in SubjectioM. ■ j
La/. You shaH find of the king a hitSband;
madam ; you, sir, a father : he'that so genei
tally is a;t all times good must of necessity hold
His Virtue to' you whose Worthiness would
stir* it np where it waitted rather than lack it
wheretnere is such abundance.'' ■■ ' '
"What hoite is there of his majesty's
amendment? ■ ' .u . ■
' La/. He'hatl) abandtmed his physicians,
madam; under whose practices he''hath per¬
secuted time withhope, and finds no Other ad¬
vantage in the process but. only the losing of
hope by time. '
Cotint. This yonug geutlewomah had a fa-
ther,-i-0, riiat ''had'"'! how sad -a'passage
'tis i-L-whOse skill Was almost as great as his
honesty ; had it stt etched so far, would have
made nature immortal, and death should have
play for lack of work. Would, for the king's
sake, he were living 1, I think It would be the
death of the king's disease.'
How balled you the mmi'yon speak'bf,
madam ?
Cowtd.' He'was famous,'sib, in^bis profbs-
siou, and it was his great right to be- so :
Oerard do Narbou. ' ' " 31
Luf. He was excellent indeed, madam: the
king very lately spok^ of hint admiringly and
moumingly'he was ekilful' enough'to have
lived still. If knowledge could be set up against
mortality. '■■ ■ ' * ■
' Ber. Whai is it, my good lord; the king
laimuishesof? ' ■ '
Lufi 'A fistula, my lord.'I
Ber, I heard not of it before. '
Laf) I would k were not nbtorioiis. Was
this gentlewoman the daughter of (^rard de
Narbon ? ' • 'i ' '1
• Cbi'fftfi* 'Hii''soIe child,' iBy"lord,'aud be-
qneatbed' tO Wiy overlooking.' I bave those
hopes of her good that her education {rfomises;
her dispositions she inherits, which makes fair
gifts fairer ; for Where an nnelean mind car-
.ries virtfnOns qualities, there commendations
go with pity; they are virtnes and traitors'too;
III her they are the better for their simpleness;
she derives her honesty and achieves her good¬
ness. " ■ "" ' . - II
Laf. Tour ooiBmendatioiis, madam, getfromi
her tears. " * J ■ . / . j
Cbunf. '"Tis the *>est ihrisea' maiden can
season her praise ia. The remembrance of lies
father never apprea^esher heat* but tlie tyrJ
eany of Iter sorrows takes all livelihood froaa
her cheek.' No more of this, Helena ;> go to,
nd more';,lest'it be rather tliought you affect
a sorrow tbau have it,, i. i , ' 61'
JSd, 1 do affect a sorrow ipdeed, but J have
it too.
Laf. Modemte llamentatitm is tha right of
the dead, excessive grief the enemy 'to tlie
living. . '1(11 1 _ I ' ' ' ', I .
Count. If the living be enemy to the griel,
the excess makes it soon mortal, i. / \
Ber. Madam, I desire your holy .wishes;
Laf. How understand we that 1;
Count^' Be thou blest, Bertram,/ and suc-
I I' eeed thy father ' vTO
hi manners, as in shape ! thy blood and virtnei
Contend for empire, in thee, and thy goodnesS'
Share with thy birthright! Love all, trust,a
few, .' i'
Do wrong to none : be able lor thine enemy.
Rather ia power loan use, and .keep thy
friend 'iiu,..i... . [lence,
Under tliy own life''S key s be cheekM for ei-
Bnt never tax'd for speech.. What, lieaveu
; more will, [down.
That thee may furnish and my prayers pluck
Fall on thy head ! Farewell, my lord ;
'Tis an uuseason'dcourtier; good my lord, kd.
Advise him. ' k . . ' . ii
' Laf He cannot want the best ■ I i i i
Tliat shall attend his love. ; . . , ,
■ Count.' Heaven bless him.'! Farewell, Bert?
tram.' r ■> . < . . .[Lieit.
f Ber J [To Helena^ the best wishes that
Caube forged In your tlioughts be servants to
you! Be comfortable to .my mother; your
mistress, and make much of her. ., .,. .
. Laf. Farewell, pretty lady : you must hold
the credit lol your father. .j
. 1 I [Eieeunt Bertram and Lafeu.
liel. O, were that all! I.tiulk not on my
, 'father;. n,' ■ • i . i ,90
And these great'tears grace , his remembrance
more i " , ■ , ' ' ,
Than those I shed for him. What was he like 7
I have forgot him : my imagination.
Carries no favor in't hut Bertram's.
I am undone : there is no living, none, i '
If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one ',
That I should love a bright i>articular star
And think to wed it, he is so above me :
In his bright radiance and collateral light
Must I be comforted, not in his sphere.. 100
The ambition in my love thus plagues itself ;,
The hind that would be mated by the lion i i
Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, (though..a
plague,' . . , i
To see hira every hour ; to sit and draw . 'c
His arched brows, his hawking eye, bis curie.
In our heart's table ; heart too capable i .
Of every line hnd trick of his sweet feivor t'
Bnt now he's gone, and my idolatrons fancy
Must sanctify nis reliques. Who oomes here 7
, I' , ' JVlferjPAROLIfES,,
[Asidel One that 'goes w<th him { love 'him
' > mrhieeakei ' o n i ^ llfi
688
ALLS WELL THAT ENDS WELL,
(Act i
And y(!t I know him a notorioos liar,
Tiniik him a zreat way fool, solely & coward ;
Yet these fixed evils sit so fit in hmi,
Titat they take place, when yiitne'a steely
bones
tLook bleak P the cold wind 9 withal, full bft
'we see
Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.
Pcur. Save you, fair queen I
Hel. And you, monarch 1
Par, No.
Hel. And' «o. 120
Par. Are you meditating on Tirgiaity ?
' Hel. Ay. You have some stahi of soldier
in yon : let me ask you a question. Man is
enemy to vii^nity ; how may we barricado it
against him 7
Par. Keep him oUt.
Hel. But he assails ; and our virginity,
though valiant, in the defence yet » weak i
unfold to us some warlike resistance.
Par. There is none: man, sitting down
before you, will undermine yon and blow yon
up. 130
Hel. Bless our poor vii^ttity from nnder-
miuers and blowers up I Is there no military
policy, how virgins might blow up men 7
Par. Virginity being blown down, man will
Suicklier be olown up: marry, in blowing him
own again, with the breach yourselves made,
you lose your city. It is not politic in the
commonwealth of nature to preserve virginity.
Loss of virginity is rational increase and there
was never virgin got till virginity was first
lost That you were made of is metal to make
virgins. Virginity by bemg once lost may be
ten times found; by being ever kept, it is ever
lost: 'tis too cold a companion ; away with't 1
Hel. I will stand lor't a little, though there¬
fore I die a virgin.
Par. There 8 little can be said in't; 'tis
against the rule of nature. To speak on the
part of virginity, is to accuse your mothers ;
which is most mfallible disobedience. He that
hangs himself is a rirgm : virginity murders
itself and should be buried in highways outof
all sanctified limit, as a desperate offendress
against nature. Virginity breeds mites, much
like a cheese; consumes itself to the very
paring, and so dies with feeding his own
stomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, prond,
idle, made of self-love, which is the most in¬
hibited sin in the canon. Keep it not; yon
cannot choose but loose by't: out with 't 1
within ten year it will make itself ten, which
is a goodly increase ; and the principal itself
not much the worse: away with't 1
Hel. How might one do, sir, to lose it to
her own liking ?
Par. Let me see : marry, ill, to like him
that ne'er it likes. "lis a commodity will
lose the gloss with lying ; the longer kept, the
less worth : off with't while 'tis vendible ;
answer the time of request. Virginity, like an
old courtim, wears her cap out of fashion :
Nchly suited, br' msuitable: just like the
brooch and the too&-pick, which -wear not
now. Your date is better in your pie and
your porridge than in your clieek ; and yoni
virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our
' French withered pears, it looks ill, it eats drily;
marry, 'tis a withered pear; it was formerly
better; marry, yet 'tis a withered pearr wiU
you anything with it ?
Hel. fNot my virginity yet.... >
There shall your master hare a thousand loves;.
A mother and a mistress and a friepd, 181,
A phcenix, captain and an enemy,
A guide a goddess, and a soverei^,
A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear ;
His humUe ambitkm, proud humility.
His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet.
His faith, nis sweet disaster ; with a world
Of pretty, fond, adoptions Christendoms,
That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he—
1 know not what he mialL Godsend him welii
The court's a learning {dace, and be is one—
Par,. YYliat one, i' mith ?
HeL That 1 wish welL 'Tis pityTi^
Par. What's pity ?
Hel. That wishing well had not a body iu't.
Which might be felt; that yre, the poorer boru.
Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes.
Might with effects of them follow our friends,
And show what we alone must think, which
never
Return ns thanks. 200
Enter Page.
Page. Monsieur Farolles, my lord eaUs for
yon. , Exit..
Par. Little Helen, farewell; if 1 can re¬
member thee, 1 will think of thee at court.
Hel. Monsieur ParoUes, you were bom
under a charitable star.
Par, Under Mars. L
Ikl. 1 especially think, under Mars.
Par. Why under Mars ?
Hel. The wars have so kept you under that
you must needs be bom under ^rs. 210
Par. When he was predominant.
Hel. When he was retrograde,,' 1 think,
rather.
Par, Why think you so 7 , [fight.
Hel. You go so much backward when you
Par. Thar s for advantage.
Hel. So is running away, when fear pro-
poses the safety ; but the composition that
your valor and fear makes in you is a virtue
of a good wing, and 1 like die wear well. 219
Par. 1 am so full of businesses, I cannot
answer thee acutely. I will return- perfect
courtier ; in the which, my instruction shall
serve to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capa¬
ble of a courtier's counsel and understand wh^
advice shall tlirnst n{>on thee ; else thou diest
in thine nnthankfnlness, and thine ignorance
makes thee away ; larewell. W^en Siou hast
leisure, say thy prayers ; when thou hast
none, remember thy friends get thee a good
husband, and use him as he uses thee ; so
faieweUi 230
sobkbiii.]
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
«8»
Hd. Oar remedies oft in ourselves do lie.
Which we ascribe to heaven : the fated sky
Gives us free sc<^, only doth backward pml
Our slow desiras when we ourselves are dulL
What power u it which mounts my love so
That makes me see, and cannot feed mine
eye ?
tThe mightiest space in fortune nature brings
To join uke likes and kiss like native things.
Impossible be strange attempts to those
That weigh their ^tips in sense and do sup¬
pose 240
tWliat hath been cannot be : who ever strove
So show her merit, that did miss her love ?
The king's disease—my project may deceive
me.
But my intents are fix'd and will not leave me.
[Exit.
Scene II. Paris. 3%e KiMo'spaioce.
Flourish of comets. Enter the Kino Of
Francf., with letters, and divers Attendantsi
Kino. Tlie Florentines and Senoys are by
the ears j
Have fought with equal, fortune and continue
A braving war.
First Lord. So 'tis reported, sir.
King. Nay, 'tis most credible ; we here te-
ceive it , , '
A certainty, vouch'd from out* counii Austria,
With caution that the Florentine will move us
For speedy aid ; wherein our dearest friend
Preiudicates the business and would seem
To have us make denial.
First Lord. His love and wisdom.
Approved so to your majesty, may plead 10
For amplest credence.
Kirw. He hath arm'd our answer,
And Florence is denied before he comes :
Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see
The Tuscan service, freely have they ieavO
To stand on either part.
Sec. Lord. It well may serve '
A nursery to our gentry, who are sick
For breatiiing and exploit
King. What's he comes heie ?
Enter Bertbam, Lafeu, omd Parolles.
First Lord. Itls the Count RousiUon, my
good lord.
Young Bertram.
King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father'a
face ;
Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, 20
Hath well composed thee. Thy father's moral
parts
M^rtthou inherit too I Welcome to Paris. .
Ber. My thanks and duty are your maj¬
esty's.
King. I would I had that corporal soundness
now, #
As when thy father and myself in friendship
First tried our soldiership i I He did look far
Into the service of the time and was . ,
Disc^ed of the bravest; he lasted.Iong i
But on us both did haggish age steal on
And wore us out of act. It much repairs me
To talk of your go(^ father. In his youth 31
He had the wit which 1 can weU observer
To-^y in our young lords ; but they may jest
Till their own scorn return to them nnnotra
Ere they can hide their levity in honor ;
like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness
Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were,
His equal had awaked them, and his honor,'
Clock to itself, knew the true minute when '
Exception bid him apeak, and at this time 4t
His tongueobey'd his liand : who were below
him
He used as creatures of another phice
And bow'd his einmeut topto their low ranks.
Making them proud of his humility,
tin their poor praise he humbi^ Such. a
, man
Might be a copy to these younger times,
Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them
now I 1.1'
But goers backward.'
Ber. His good remeubrance, sir,
Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb;
So in approof lives not his epitaph . SO
As in your royal speech. '
King. Would 1 were witli him ! He wotdd
always say—
Metiiinks I hear him now ; his plausive words
He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them,
To grow there and tOi bear,—' Let me not
live,'—
. This his good melancholy oft began, -
On the catastrophe and neel.of pastime.
When it was OHt,-r-' Lot me not live,' quoth be,
' After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff 60
Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
All but new things disdain; whose judg'
meuts are [stancies
Mere fathers of their garments ; whose eon-
Expire before their fashions. This he wish'd,.
1 after him do after him wish too, -
Since I nor wax nor honey can bring bmne,
1 quickly weie dissolved from my hive,
To give some laborers room.
Sec. Lord. You are loved, sir;
They that least lend it you shall lack you fir.<V
King. Iflllaplace,lkuow't How long is't,
I ' count, , .
Since the physician at ypur father's died ?,, 70
He was much famed.
Ber. Some six months since, my lord.
Kiitg, If ho were living, 1 would try him
yet.
Lend me an arm ; the rest have worn me out
With several applications ; nature and sickness
Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count;
My son's no dearer.
Ber. Thank your maje^.
[ExeutU.- Flourish.
Scene III. Rousillon. The Count's pafoes.'"
Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown. ' ,
Count. I will now bear; what say yoii of
tills gentlewoman ? , ' . i
690
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
' , [ACT I
Stm. Madam; th« cms I hart 'Had) to>eKrea
yooT- conteut, I might be fband in tlie
calendar of my past endeavors ) lor' theo we
wound our modesty and make foul the clear)-
ness of 'lour deservings, wbeir of ourselves we
publish tliem. ' ' • n
Coimt.-' - What does this knave here ? Get
fou gone, sirrahthe complaints I have heard
ti you I do not all believe: 'tis my slewuess that
1 do not; for I know you lack not fcdly toeomi
mitfthem;' and have ability enough.to, make
such ikuaveries yours. I ' > '
< Clo, "Tis not unknown to you, madam,'!
am a poor fellow.
Count. Well, sir. .1 ■ II
Oh..' No, madam, 'tis not so well tliat I am
poor, though many of the* rich are damned:
but, if I may have your ladyship's g<iOd will
to go to the world, Isbel the woman and I will
do as we may; j . ' ' j " 21
. 'Gbunt; Wilt thou needt be a beggar ?
Clo. I do be" your good will in this case.
Count. In what case ? li ■ / i. ■ ''
'Clo> In Isbel's case and'mine own. Service
is BO heritageand 1 think I shall never have
the blessing of God till I have issue o' my body;
for they say barnes are blessings:' ■ [marry.
Cmint. ' Ttell. me thy reasbn why thou wilt
Clo. My poor body, madam,-requires it: I
am driven on by the flesh ; and be mast needs
go that the devil drives. -
OoanL . Is this all your worship's reason ? >
Clo. Faith, madam, I have other holy rea¬
sons, such as they are. - > ' ' >
Count. May the world know them ?
Clo.' ■ I have been; madam, a wicked creai-'
tore, as you and all flesh and blood are and,
indeed, i do marry that {-may repent. : ' '
Count. Thy 'tnaniage, sooner thatt' thy
wickedness. - 41
Clo. ■ I am out o' friends, madam'; and t
hOM tO'have friends for my wife's sake. ■ '
Count. Such friends ate thine enemies,
knave; ■ • .. . . ■
Clo. You're shaliow,'madam,in great fribnds;
for the knaves come to do that for me whicli I
am aweary of; He that ears my land spares
my team and gives me leave toi hi the crop ; if
I be his cuckold, he's my drudge: hethat com¬
forts my wife is the cherisher of my fiesh and
blood ; he that cherishes my flesh and blood
loves my flesh and blood ; lie that loves my'
flesh and blood is my friend : ergo, be >that
kisses my Wife is my friend. If men could be
contented-to be what they are, tliere were no
fear in raarrfage ; for young CHarbon the
Puritan and <fld Poysam the Papist, howi
some'er their hearts are severed in religion,
their heads are both one ; they may jonl horns
together, like any deer F the herd.
Courtt. Wilt 'thoU! ever he a foul-monthed
and calumnious knave ? - . .i r , 61-
Clo. A prophet I, mftd^qi I tP^akithe
tenth Hie ne.\t wav:
' ''For I the ballad'Wilffeiieat,'
Which men fi^ true shaB ffiid f -
■>H • Yoar.'marriaga comsfs by destiny,. '
' I Your cuckooningsiby kind.;: n 1 '
^Cotint. €et'yowgone, sir ; 1*11 talk* with
yon more anon. ' ■, ' ■"
■ Steu). May it please you, madam, that iW
bid Helen come to you : of her I am to speak.
' Count. Sirrah, teM my gentlewoinan l would
speak with her ; Helen, I mean. •
' irtql lyhsthis fair face the cause, qlioth she.
'' '■ Why the Grecians ^ked 'Troy ? |
pond done, do»e fond;, ^ ,
' Was this King Priam's joy ?
With that she sighed as she stood,
Wrth that she sighed as she stood,
' J And gave this sentence then ; , 80
Among nine bad if one be good,
. , Among nine bad, if one be good, .
"There's yet'one good In ten.'
Cowif. What, one good in ten ? you corrupt
the song, sirrah. II
■ Ch. .One good woman in ten, madam-:
which is a purifying o' the song ;. would God
would serve tli© world ^ all tlie year ! we'ld
find no fault with the tithe-woman, if I were
the parson. One in ten, quoth a'! An we
might haVe a good Woman born,but one every
blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mcn'd
the lottery well: a man may dravy his heart
but, ere a pluck One.
Count. , You'll gone, «ir knave, and do as
I command you. ' ' . , . ■
Clo. ' That man should be at woman's com¬
mand, hud yet no hurt done! Though honestp
be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt [ it will
wear the surplice of .hninility over the black
gown of a big.heart. I am going, forsooth,:
the business is for Heleh tb come hither. [Exit.
Count. Well, now. '
Stew. I know, madam, y<^n love your gentle¬
woman entirely.
Count. Faith, t do : her father bequeathed
her to me ; and she herself, without other ad¬
vantage, may lawfully make title to as much
love as she finds: there is more owing hertlian
is iiaid ; and more shall be pmd.her tnau she'll
demand. '
Stew. Madaih, I was very late more near
her than -! think'she wished ine; alone'she
was, and did oommouicate toberself her own
words to her own ears ; she tliooght,--! dare
vow for her, they touched not any stcai^er
sense. Her matter was, she loved your sou :
Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had
put sndt'difference - betwixt - their- two estates;
Love- no god, that would not extend bis might,!
only where qualities were level; Diaai no queen
of viigtns, that w<wiM suffer her poorkniglis
surprised, without rescrte in the flvst assault or
ransom afterward-. Tliis slie delivered-in the
most' bitter toucli of sorrow that e'er 1 heard
virgin exclaim in: which I held my duty speed¬
ily to Rcqnaint you withal; sithence, in thd
lose that may Imppen, it concerns yon som»4
thing to know it - 1
Oouni. Yott have discharged this honestly^
SctiSli 111.]
4lL'g WELl TBAT Ems WEU^
691
Jceep it yourself j naany likelihoods inforfned
me of this before, which hung so .tottering in
the balance that 1 could ueiuier believe nor
misdoubt Proy you, leave me i stall this in
your bosom ; and I thank you for your honest
care ; I will speak .with you further anon.
I I I. I [£ixt'( Stewcerd.
• '.Ehfer Hblkwa. I
'I ' ' 'M , t »
Even so it was with me when I was young ;
. If ever we are nature's, these are oursthis
thorn
Ihith toiour rose of ywth rightly belong j
Our blood to us, tfiis to our blood is bom ;
It is the show and seal of nature's truth,
tVliere love's strong passion is impress'd in
youth ;
By our remembmnces of days foregone. 140
touchwwe.our. faults, or. then we.thought
them iione. . . j |
Her eye is sick on't: I observe her novy.
IIcl., What is your pleasure, madam ?
Count. . \ I You know, Helen,
I am a mother to you... i
Hel. Mine honorable mistress.
Count. .11 ■ • I , Nay, a mother :
Why not a mother ? When I said ,1 a motlier,'
Mettiought you. saw, a serpent : .what'si in
' motlier,'
That you start at it ? I say, lam your mother;
And put you in tlve catalogue of those
That were eiiwombed mine: 'tis often seen 150
Adoption strives with nature and choice breeds
A native slip to us from foreign seeds•
You ne'er oppress'd me with a motlier's groan.
Yet I express to you a mother's care t .
God's merey, maiden 2, does it curd thy blood
To say 1 am thy mother ? What's the matter.
That Ihis disteraper'd messenger of wet,
Tlie manyKiolor'd Iris, rounds thine eye ?
W^ ? that you are my daughter ? \
• Bel II. . That I am not.
.Count. 1 say, 1 am your mother.
Hel. Pardon, madam ; 160
The Count RonsiUon'cannot be my brother {
I am from humble, he from honor'd name ;i
No note upon my parents, his all noble : - M
My master, my dear lord he is | and I . .
His servant Uvei and will his vassal die : .
He must not he ay brother, i. . i i
Cewnf. . I nil I N<wl your .motiier ?
. Uel. Yon are my motbee, madam ; would
you wete,*-i , . . , [ther,'—
So tlmt my lord your son were .not. my bro-
Indeed my. mother I or-were .you both oui
mothers, ■ ,. r , . 'r . i ,
I care no more for than I do for heaven, 170
So I were not his sister.... C^'t no oriier, .
But, I your daughter, he must be my brother?
' Count. Yes, Heleay'ymi might; be my
daughter-in-law:
Sod shield yon mean'ft het! daughter and
mother '
So strive upon your pnled. Y'bat, pale agam?
My fear hath odch d your fonduess: now I
1 SM . " .. I .
The mystery of your ioneltness, and hud '
Your salt t^rs' head.: now. to all sense..'.tis
gross . . , I
You love.my son ; invention is ashamed,
Against the proclamation of thy .passion, ISO
To say thou dost not,; therefore tell me true;
But tell me then, 'tis so; for, look, thy cheeks
Confess it, th' one to th' other; and tliine eyes
See it.81?grossly shown in thy .behaviors, -, i
That in their kind they speak it i.|0qly sin .
And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue, - i
That truth should be suspected- Speak, is't
h , so ? . . , . , , , , 1. ;
If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew ;
If it . be not, .forswear't.: howc'er, I charge
- thee, , ,
As heaven shall work in me for tliine avail,. I
Tell me truly. r ., .191
Hel. . .Good madam, pardon me. 1
Count. Po yon love my sou ? . i ;
Ilel. , Yotti pardon; upbleimistress'!
Count, Love you my son ? , • i i , i
Hel. Do not you love him, madam ?
Count. Go not about; my love hath iH',t a
a bond, , i i
Whereof the world takes note : come,.coaiiei,
disclose ,. , .
The state of your affection; for your passions
Have to the full appeach'd.
■ Hel. I Then, I confess, .
Here on iny kneei, before high heaven and you.
That before you, and.next unto high heaven,,
I love your son. 200
My frieuds .were poor, but houest.; so's my
.. love: I .
Be not offended ; for if. hurts not him....
That.he is loved of me : I follow him not
By any token of presumptuous suit;
Nor would.I have him till I do deserve him i;
Yet never know how that desert should be.
I kuow j love in vaiu,.strive against hope i
Yet in this captious and iutembie sieve , ., i'
1 still pour in the waters of my love , .
And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like, .
Religious in mine error, J adore ,. i 211
The sun,; that looks upon his worshipper.
But knows of him_no more. My dearest
madam.
Let not your hate encounter with my love
For loviiig where you do : but if yourself,
Wliose aged honor cites a virtuous, .youth,
Did ever in .so true a flame of liking .
Wish chastely and love dearly, that your Dian
■Was both hereelf and lovS : O, then, give pity
To her, whose state is such that cannot choose
But'leud.and give where she is sure to lps«(;
That seeks not to find that her search implies,
But rtddie-Iiko lives sweetly where she dies 11
Count. Had you not lately an intent,-i-speak
,i' truly,-,-, II. 7 I I I I- ml , ir
To go to Paris ?
Hel, 1. ' Madam; I had.
Count. Wherefore ? tell tyue.
Heh I will tell truth; by grace itself I swear.
You know my father (left me some prescrip¬
tions .III' I ' 1.1 <. II ' iji
1192
Of rare and effects, snch as his reading
And manifest expeiieuoe had collected
For generiil sovereignty; and that he wUl'd me
In heedfnll'st reservation to bestow them, 231
As notes whose faculties inclusive were'
More than they were in note: amongst the
rest,
There is a remedy, approved, set dovoi.
To cure tlie desperate langnishings wnereof
The king is renmr'd lost.
Count. This was your motive
For Paris, was it? speak.
Hel. My lord your son made me to think of
this ;
Else Paris and the medicine and the king
Had from the conversation of my thoughts
Himly heen absent then. •' 2dl
Cotint. But think yon, Helen,
If yo« should tender your supimsed aid.
He would receive it ? he and liis physicians
Are of a mind ; he,thatthe.y cannot help him.
They, that they cannot help : how shall they
' Credit
A imor unlearned virgin, when the schools,
Einboweli'd of their doctrine, have left off
The danger to itself ?
Hel. Tliere's something in't.
More Wian my fiither's skill, which was the
greatest
Of his profession, that his good receipt 250
Shall for my legacy be sanctified
By the luckiest stars in heaven': and, would
your honor
But give me leave to try success, I'ld venture
The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure
By such a day and hour.
Count. Dost thou believe't ?
HkL Ay, madam, knbwingly.
Count. ' Why, Helen, thou shalt have my
leave and love.
Means and attendants and my loving greetings
To those of mine in court: I'll stay at home
And pray God's blessing into thy attempt: 2ti0
Be goiie to-morrow ; and be sure of this,
M^at I can help thee to thou shalt not miss.
[Exeunt.
ACT 11;
Scene I. Paris. The King's palace.
Fhierish of cornets. Enter the King, attended
with dirers youn;/ Lords taking leave for the
Florentine war; beittbam, and Pabolles,
King. Farewell, young lords ; tliese war¬
like principles'
Do not throw from you t and you, my lords,
farewell:'' '
Share the advice betwixt you ; if botli gain,
a'l ...
The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis received.
And is enough for both.
First Lord. 'Tis our hope, sir.
After well euter'd soldiers, to return
And find your grace in health.
(Act ii.
' Klrtd. Ifo, no, it oannot be ; and yet my
heart . •
Will not confess he owes the malady '
That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young
lords J 10
Whether I live or die, be yon the sons.
Of worthy Frenchmen: let higher Italy,—
tThose bated tiiat inherit but tlie fall
Of the last inonarcliy,—see-that you come
Not to Woo honor, bnt to wed it; when
Tiic brawst qnestaut shrinks, find wliat you
seek.
That fame may cry yon loud : I say, farewell.
ifec. Lord. Hc^ttli, at your bidding, serve
your majesty !
King. Those girls of Italy, take heed of
them :
They say, our French lack langnage to deny,
If they demand : beware of being captives, 21
Before you serve.
Both. ' Our hearts receive your Warnings.
King. Farewell. ■ Come liither to me.
[Exit, attended.
First Lord. O ray sweet lord, that you will
stay behind us ! "
Par. 'Tis not his fault, the spark.
A'ce. Loi'd. ■' O, 'tis brave wars !
Par. Most admirable : I liave seen those
wars. [with
Ber. I am commanded here, and kejit a coil
' Too young' and ' the next year' and ' 'tis too
early. '■
Par. An thy mind stand to't, boy, steal
away bravely.
Ber. I shall stay here tlie forehorse to a
smock, 30
Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry.
Till honor be bouglit up and no sword worn
But one to dance witli I By heaven, I'll steal
aw.ay.
First L >rd. There's honor in the theft,
■Pan Commit it, coniit.
Sec. Lord. I am your accessary ; and so,
farewell.
Ber. I grow to yon, and onr parting is a tor¬
tured body.
First Lord. Farewell, capta'hi.
Sec. Lord. Sweet Monsieiib Parolles !
Par. Noble lieroes, my sword and yours are
kin. Good siiarks and lustrous, a word, good
metals : yon shall find in the regiment of the
Spinii oiie Captain SpuTiofWith his cicatrice,
an emblem of war, here on his sinister bheek ;
it was this very sword entrenched it: say to
him, I'Uve ; and observe bis reports for me. •
First Lord. We shall, noble captain.
[ETteunt Lords.
Par. Mars dote on you for liis novices •
what will ye do f
Ber. Stay : the king. 50
Be-enter King, Bebtkaai and Paboi.i.es
retire.
Par. [To Bei\] Hse amorespacionwcere.
mony to tlie noble lords ;■ you iiave restiaiux^
yourself within the list of too cold an adieu :
ALL'S WELL THAT £NDS WELL.
Scene i.]
ALU3 WEIL THAT ENDS WELL.
693
be more erpresfire to them : for they wear
themselves in .e cap of the time, there do
muster true gait, eat, speak, aud move under
t)»e mfluence of the most i-eceived star ; and
thougli the devil lead tlie measure, such are to
he followed, after them, aud take a more,
dilated farewell.
Ber. And I will do so. 60
Pur. Worthy fellows ; and like to prove
most sinewy sword-men.
[Exeunt Bertram and ParoUes.
Enter Lafeu.
Laf. [Kneelin()\ Pardon, my lord, for me
and for my tidings.
Kiny. I'll fee thee to stand up.
Laf. Then here's a man stands, that has
brought his pardon.
I would you had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me
mercy.
And that at my bidding you could so stand up.
Kinn. I would 1 had ; so 1 had broke thy
pate.
And ask'd thee mercy for't.
Laf. Good faith, across : but, my good lord
'tis thus ; TO
Will you be cured of your infirmity ?
Kind. No.
Laf. 0, will you eat no grapes, my royal
fox ?
Yes, but you will my noble grapes, an if
My royal fox could reach them : 1 have seen a
medicine
.That's able to breathe life into a stone.
Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary
Witii spritely fire and motion ; whose simple
touch.
Is powerful to araise King Pepin, nay.
To give great Cliarlemain a pen in's hand. 80
And write to her a love-line.
Kinfj. What ' her' is this ?
Laf, Why, Doctor She: my lord, there's one
arrived.
If you will see her : no-.v, by my faith and
honor.
If seriously I mry con /ey my thoughts
In this my liglit deliverance, I have sjxike
With one that, in her sex, her years, profes¬
sion.
Wisdom and constancy, hath amazed me more
Than 1 dare blame my weakness : will you see
her.
For that is her demand, aud know her business?
That done, laugh well at me.
Kino. Now, good Lafeu, 90
Bring in the admiration ; tliat we with thee
May spend our wonder too, or take off thine
By wondering how thou took'st it.
Laf. Nay, I'll fit you,
And not be all day neither. [Exit.
King. Thus he his special nothing ever pro¬
logues. *
Be-entcr Lafeu, loith Helena
Laf. Nay, come your ways.
King, This haste bath wings indeed.
Laf. Nay, come your ways: ■ ^ ■
Tiiis is his majesty ; say your mind to him :
A traitor you do look like ; but^uch traitors
His majesty seldopi fti^rs : I am Cressifi's un¬
cle, . , 1 100
That dare leave two together ; fare you welL
[Exit.
King. Now, fair one, does your business
foliow us ?
Hel. Ay, my good lord.
Gerard de Narbon was my father ;
In what he did profess, weU found.
King. I knew him.
Hel. The rather will I sparp my praisesi
towards him:
Knowing him is enough. On's bed of death
Many receipts he gave me : chiefly one,
Which, as the dearest issue of his practice,
And of his old experience the only darling, 11(1
He bade me store up, as a triple eye.
Safer than mineowutwo, more dear;I havesOj-
And hearing your high majesty is touch'd
With that malignant cause wherem the honor
Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power,
I come to tender it and my appliance
Witii all bound humbleness.
King. We thank you, maiden ;
But may not be so credulous of cure.
When our most learned doctors leave us and
The congregated college have concluded 120
That laboring art can never lansom nature
Prom her inaidibie estate ; 1 say we mu,st nof)
So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope,
To prostitute our past-cure malady
To empirics, or to dissever so
Our great self and our credit, to esteem
A senseless help when help past sense we deem.
Hel. My duty then shall pay me fot{ my
pains :
I will no more enforce mine office on yon ;
Humbly entreating.from your royal thoughts
A modest one, to bear me back again. 131
King. I cannot give thee less, to be call'd
grateful:
Thou thought'st tp help me ; and such thanks
I give
As one near death to those that wish him live;
But what at full I know, thou know'st no part,
I knowing all my peril, tliou no ait.
Hel. What 1 can do can do no hurt to try, ■
Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy.
He that of greatest works is finisher
Oft does them by the weakest minister ; 140
So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown,
When judges have been babes ; great floods
have flown
From simple sources, and gr»it seas have
dried
When miracles have by the gseatest been denied.
Oft expectation fails and most oft there
Where most it promises, and oft it hits
Where hope is coldest and desiiair most fits.
King. I must not iiear tliee ; fare tliee well,
kind maid ;
Thy pains not used must by thyself be paid ;
Proffers not took reap thanks for their rewarff.
m
ALL'S WELL THAT EyDS WELL.
[Act ih
Hel. Inspired merit so bv breath is barr'd :
It is not so wltl) Him that all things knows
As 'tis witli us tiiat squaieonrguess i>y shows;
Rut most it is presnmptiou in us wlien
The Iielp of heaven we count tlie act of men.
Dear sir, to my endeavors give consent;
Of heaven, not me, make an experiment.
1 am not an ini|x>stor that proclaim
Myself against the level of mine aim ;
But know I think and tliink 1 know most sure
My art is not past power nor you pa.st cure.
Kinff. Art thou so confident ? within what
space
Honest thou ray cure ?
Hel. The great'st grace lending grace
Ere twice the horses of tlie sun shall bring
Their fiery torclier his diurnal riiig.
Ere twice in murk and occidental damp
Moist Hesperus hath qnencli'd his sleepy lamp,
Or four and twenty times tlie pilot's glass
Hath told tiie thievish minutes how they pass.
What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly.
Health shall live free and sickness freely die.
Klnt/. Upon thy certainly and confidence
What darest thou venture ?
^Hel. Tax of impudence,
A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame
Traduced by odious ballads: my maiden's
name
Sear'd otherwise ; nay, worse—if worse—ex¬
tended
With vilest torture let my life be ended.
Kinr/. Methinks in thee some blessed spirit
doth speak
His powerful sound within an organ weak :
And what impossibility would slay 180
In common sense, sense saves another way.
Thy life is dear ; for all tiiat life can rate
Worth name of life in thee hath estimate.
Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, all
That happiness and prime can happy call :
Thou thH to hazard needs must intimate
Skill infinite or monstrous desperate.
Sweet practise!-, thy physic I will try.
That ministers thine own death if I die.
Hd. If I break time, or flinch in property
Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die.
And well deserved : not helping, death's my
fee;
But, if I help, what do you promise me ?
Kinr/. Hake thy demand
HeL But will you make it even ?
Kinri. Ay, by my sceptre and my hopes of
heaven.
Hel. Then shalt thou give me with thy
kingly hand
What husband in thy power I will command :
Exempted be from me the arrorance
To choose from forth the royal blood of France,
My low and humble name to propagate 200
With any branch or image of thy state ;
But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know
Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow.
Kinr/. Here is my hand ; the premises ob¬
served.
Thy will by my performance shall be served :
So make the choice of th3' own time, for I,
Tiiy resolved patient, on thee still rely.
More should I question thee, and more I must
Though more to know could not be more to
trust.
From whence thou camest, how tended on :
but rest 2W
Uiiquestion'd welcome and undoubted blest.
Give me some help here, ho ! If thou proceed
As high as word, my deed shall match thy
meed. [Flourish. Exeunt.
Scene II. Rousillon. The Count's palace.
Enter Countess and Clown.
Count. Come on, sir ; I sliall now put you
to the height of your breeding.
Clo. I will show myself highly fed and
lowly taught; I know my business is but to
the court.
Count. To the court! why, what place
make you s))ecial, when you put off that with
such contempt ? But to the court!
Clo. Truly, madam, if God have lent a man
any manners, he may easily put it off at court:
he that cannot make a leg, put off's cap, kiss
his hand and say nothing, has neither leg,
hands, lip, nor cap ; and indeed such a fellow,
to say precisely, were not for the court ; but
for me, I have an answer will serve all men.
Count. Marry, that's a bountiful answer
that fits all questions.
Col. It is like a barber's chair that fits all
buttocks, the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock,
the brawn buttock, or any buttock.
Count. Will your answer serve fit to all
questions ? 21
Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of
an attomej', as your French crown for your
taffeta punk, as Tib's riisli for Tom's fore¬
finger, as a pancake for Shrove Tuesday, a
morris for Ma,\ -Jay, as the nail to his hole, the
cuckold to his horn, as a scolding queen to a
wranglingknave,as the nun's lip to tlie friar's
mouth, nay, as the pudding to his skin.
Count. Have you, I say, an answer of such
fitness for all questions ? 31
Clo. From below your duke to beneath
your constable, it will fit any question.
Count.- It must be an answer of most mon¬
strous size that must fit all demands.
Clo. But a trifle neitlu-r, in good faith, it
the leanied should speak truth of it: here it
is, and ail that belongs to't. Ask me it I am
a courtier : it .shall do you no liarin to learn.
Count. To be young again, if we could : I
will be a fool in question, hoping to be the
wiser by your answer. I pray you, sir, are
you a courtier ?
Clo, O Lord, sir ! There's a simple putting
off. More, more, a hundred of them.
Count. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours,
that love.s you. [me.
Clo. O Lord, sir ! Thick, thick, siiare not
Count. I think, sir, you can eat none of
this homely meat.
Scene hi.]
Clo. O Lord, Sir ! Nay, put me to't, I war-
taut you. 61
Count. You were lately whipped, sir, as I
thiuk.
Cto. O Lord, sir ! spare not me.
Count. Do you cry,' O Lord, sir !' at your
whipping, and ' spare not me ?' Indeed your
' O Lord, sir !' is very sequent to your whip¬
ping : you would answer very well to a whip¬
ping, if you were but bound to't.
Clo. I ne'er had worse luck in my life in
my ' O Lord, sir !' I see things may serve
long, but not serve ever. 61
Count. 1 play the noble housewife with the
time.
To entertaiu't so merrily with a fool.
Clo. O Lord, sir! why, there't serves well
again.
Count. An end, sir; to your business.
Give Helen this.
And urge her to a present answer back :
Commend me to my kir smen and my son :
This is not much.
Clo. Not much commendation to them. 70
Count. Not mucli employment for you ;
you understand me ?
Clo. Must fruitfully : lam there before my
legs.
Count. Haste you again. [Exeunt severally.
Scene HI. Paris. The King's palace.
Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles.
L((f. They say miracles are past, and we
have our pliilosophical persons, to make mod¬
em and familiar, things supernatural and
causeless. Hence is it that we make trifles of
terrors, ensconcing ourselves into seeming
kuowWge, when we should submit ourselves
to an unknown fear.
Par. Why, 'tis the rarest argument of won¬
der that hath shot out in our latter times.
Ber. And so 'tis.
Laf. To be reliuquish'd of the artists,— 10
Par. So I say.
Laf. Both of Galen and Paracelsus.
Pur. So 1 say.
Laf. Of all the learned and authentic fel¬
lows,—
Par. Right; so I say.
Laf. That gave him out incurable,—
Par. Why, tliere 'tis ; so say 1 too.
Laf. Not to be helped,—
Par. Right; as 'twere, a man assured of a—
Laf. Uncertain life, and sure death. 20
Par. Just, you say well r so would I liave
said.
Laf. I may truly say, it is a novelty to the
world.
Par. It is, indeed ; if you will have it in
showing, you shall read it in—what do you
call there ? ^
iMf. A showing of a heavenly effect in an
earthly actor.
Par. That's it; I would have said the very
same. 30
696
Laf. Why, your dolphin is not lustiw:
'fore me, 1 speak in respect-
Par. Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange,
that is the brief and the tedious of it;
he's of a most facinerious spirit that will not
acknowledge it to be the—
iMf. Very hand of heaven.
Par. Ay, so I say.
' Laf. Ill a most weak—[pausin^r] anddebiie
minister, great power, great transcendence:
which should, indeed, give us a fi.rther use to
be made than alone the recovery of the liing,
as to be—[pausin{i\ generally thankful. i
Par. I would have said it; you say well.
Here comes the king.
Enter King, Helena, and Attendants.
Lafeu end Parolles retire.
Laf. Lustig, as the Dutchman says: I'll
like a maid tlie better, whilst I have a tooth in
my head : why, he's able to lead hera coraiito.
Par. Mort du vinaigre ! is not this Helen 7
Laf. 'Fore God, 1 think so. 51
Kiny. Go, call before me all the lords in
court.
Sit, ray preserver, by thy patient's side ;
And with tliis healthful hand, whose bani:h'd
sense
Thou hast repral'd, a second time receive '
The confirmation of my p;.omked gift,
Which but atten.ls thy naming.
Enter three or four Lords.
Fair maid, send forth thine eye : this youthful
parcel
Of noblu bachelors stand at my bestowing.
O'er whom both sovereign power and father's
voice 60
1 have to use : thy frank election make ;
Thou hast power to choose, and they none to
forsake.
Hel. To each of you one fair and virtuous
mistress
Fall, when Love please ! marry, to each, but
one !
Laf. rid give bay Curtal and his furniture.
My moutli no more were broken than those
boys'.
And writ as little beard.
Kiny. Peruse them well :
Not one of those but had a noble father.
Hel Gentlemen,
Heaven hath through me restored the king to
health. 7C
All. We understand it, and thank heaven
for you.
Hel. I am a simple maid, and therein weal¬
thiest.
That I prote.st I simply am a maid.
Please it your majesty, I liave done already :
The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me,
' We blush that thou shouldst choose ; but, be
refused.
Let the white death sit on thy cheek forever ;
We'll ne'er come there again.'
King. Mwe choice : and, see^
ALL'S well %riAT ENDS WELL.
COG
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.'
[Act It.
Wlro shuns thy love shuns all his love in me.
Hel. Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly, 80
And to imperial Love, that god most high,
Do my sighs stream. Sir, will yon hear my
suit ?
First Lord. And grant it.
Hel. Thanks, sir ; all the
rest is mute.
Laf. I had ratlier he in this choice than
throw ames-ace for my life.
Hel. The honor, sir, that flames in your fair
eyes.
Before I speak, too threateningly replies :
Love make your fortunes twenty times above
Her that so wishes and her humble love !
Sec. Lord. No better, if you please.
Hel. My wjsh receive, 90
Which great Love grant! and so, I take my
lea\-e.
Laf. Do all they deny her ? An they were
sons of mine, I'd have them whipped ; or I
would send them to the Turk, to make eunuchs
of.
Hfef. Be not afraid that I your hand should
take ;
I'll never do you wrong for your own sake :
Blessing upon your vows ! and in your bed
Find fairer fortime, if you ever wed !
Laf. These boys are boys of ice, they'U
none have her : sure, they are bastards to the
English ; the French ne'er got 'em. 101
Hel. You are too young, too happy, and
too good.
To make yourself a son out of my blood.
Fourth Lord. Fair one, I think not so.
Laf. There's one CTape yet; I am sure thy
father drunk wWe : but if thou be'st not an
ass, I am a youth of fourteen ; I have known
thee already.
' Hel. [To 3«rtram] I dare not say I take
you ; but I give
Me and my service, ever whilst I live, 110
Into your guiding power. This is the man.
King. Why, then, young Bertram, take her;
she's thy wife.
Ber. My wife, my liege ! I shall beseech
your highness.
In sucli a business give me leave to use
The help'of mine own eyes.
King. Know'St thou not, Bertram,
What she has done for me ?
Ber. Yes, my good lord ;
But never hope to know why I should marry
her.
King. Thou know'st she has raised me
from my sickly bed.
Ber. But follows it, my lord, to bring me
down
Must answer for your raising? I know her
well : 120
She had her breeding at my father's charge.
A poor physician's daughter my wife ! Disdain
Bather corrupt me ever!
King. 'Tis only title tliou disdain'st in her,
the which
I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods.
Of color, weight, and heat, pour'd all together,
AVould quite confound distinction, yet stand off
In differences so mighty. If she be
All tlxat is virtuous, save what thou dislikest,
A poor physician's daughter, thou dislikest 130
Of virtue for the n.ame : but do not so :
From lowest place when virtuous things pro¬
ceed.
The place is dignified by the doer's deed :
Where great additions swell's, and virtue none.
It is a dropsied honor. Good alone
Is good without a name. Vileness is so :
The property by what it is should go,
Not % the title. She is young, wise, fair ;
In these to nature she's immediate heir.
And these breed honor : that is honor's scom.
Which challenges itself as honor's bora 141
And is not like the sire : honors thiive,
When rather from our acts we them derive
Than our foregoers : the mere word's a slave
Debosh'd on every tomb, on every grave
A Ij-ing trophy, and as oft is dunib
AVliere dust and damn'd oblivion is the tomb
Of honor'd bones indeed. What should be
said?
If thou canst like this creature as a maid,
I can create the rest: virtue and she 150
Is her oivn dower ; honor and wealth from
me.
Ber. I canuot love her, nor will strive to
do't.
King. Thou wrong'st thyself,If thou shouldst
strive to choose.
Hel. That you are weU restored, my lord,
I'm glad :
Let the rest go.
King. My honor's at the stake : which to
defeat,
I must produce my power. Here, take her
hand.
Proud scornful boy, unworthy tliis good gift:
That dost in vile misprision shackle up
My love and her desert; that canst not dream,
AVe, iioising us in her defective scale, Kil
Shall weigh thee to the beam ; that wilt not
know.
It is in us to jlant thine honor wlrere
We please to have it grow. Check thy con¬
tempt :
Obey our will, which travails in thy good :
Believe not thy disdain, but presently
Do thine own fortunes that obedient right
Which both thy duty owes and our power
claims ;
Or I will throw thee from my care for ever
Into the staggers and the careless lapse 170
Of youth and ignorance ; both my revenge
and hate
Loosing upon thee, in the name of justice.
Without all terms of i>ity. Speak ; thine an¬
swer. [mit
Ber. Pardon, my gracious lord ; for I sub-
Aly fancy to your eyes : when I consider
What great creation and what dole of honor
Flies where you bid it, I find that she, which
late
SCGNB III.]
Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is noii-
The praised of the king ; who, so ennobled.
Is as 'twere born so.
King. Take her by the baud,' 180
And tell her she is thine : to whom I promise
A counterpoise, if not to thy estate
A lalauce more replete.
Bev. I take her hand.
King. Good fortune and the favor of the
king
Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony
Shall seem e.vpedient on the now-born brief.
And be perform'd to-night: the solemn feast
Shall more attend upon tlie coming space,
E-xpectiug absent friends. As thou love.st her.
Thy love's to me religious ; else, does err. 190
\Exeunt all but Lafeu and Parolles.
Laf. [Aavancing'\ Do you hear, monsieur ?
a word with you.
Par. Your pleasure, sir ?
Laf. Your lord and master did well to
make his recantation.
Par. Recantation ! My lord ! my master !
Laf. Ay; is it not a language I speak?'
Par. A most harsh one, and not to be un¬
derstood without bloody succeeding. My
master ! ' 200
Laf. Are you Companion to the Count Rou-
sillon ?
Par. To any count, to all coimts, to what
is man.
Laf. To what is count's man ; count's mas¬
ter b of another style.
Par. Yon are too old, sir; let it satisfy
you, you are too old.
Laf. I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man ;
to which title age cannot bring thee.
Par. What I dare toO well do, I dare not
da ■ 210
Laf. 1 did thmk thee, for two ordinaries,
to be a pretty wise fellow; thou didst make
tolerable vent of thy travel ; it might pass ;
yet the scarfs and the bannerets about thee did
manifoldly dissuade me from believing thee
a vessel of too great a burthen. I have now
found thee ; when I lose thee again, I care
not; yet art thou good for nothing but taking
np; and that thou't scarce worth.
Par. Hadst thou not the privilege of anti¬
quity upon thee,-- 221
Laf. Do not plunge thyself too far, in anger,
lest thou hasten thy trial ; which if—Lord
have mercy on thee for a hen ! So, ray good
window of lattice, fare thee well : thy case¬
ment I need not open, for I look tlirough thee.
Give me thy hand.
Par. My lord, you give me most egregious
Indignity.
L^. Ay, with all my heait; and thou art
worthy of it. ■ 231
Par. I have not, ray lord, deserved it.
Laf. Yes, good faith, everj^drara of it; and
I will not bate thee a scruple.
Par. Well, I shall be wiser.
Laf. Even as soon as thou canst, for thou
hast to pull at a smack o' the contrary. If
097
ever thou be'st bound in thy scarf and beaten,
thou shalt find what it is to be proud of thy
bondage. I have a desire to hold my acquaint¬
ance with thee, or rather my knowledge, that
I may say in the default, he is a man 1 know.
Par. My lord, you do me most insupport¬
able vexation.
Laf. I would it were hell-pains for thy sake,
and my poor doing eternal : for doing I am
past : as I will by thee, in what motion age
will give me leave. [Erit.
Par. Well, thou hast a son shall take this
disgrace off me ; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy
lord! Well, I must be patient ; there is no
fettering of authority. I'll beat him, by ray
life, if I can meet him with any convenience,
an he were double and double a lord. I'll
have no more pity of his age than I would
of— I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him
again. '
Re-enter Lafeu.
Laf. Sirrah, your lord and master's mar¬
ried ; there's news for you : you have a new
mistress.
Par. I most nnfeignedly beseech your lord¬
ship to make some reservation of your
wrongs : he is my good lord : whom 1 serve
above is my master.
Laf. Who? God?
Par. Ay, sir.
Laf. The devil it is that's thy master. Why
dost thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion ?
dost make hose of thy sleeves ? do other ser¬
vants so ? Thou wert best set thy lower part
where thy nose stands. By mine honor, if I
were but two hours younger, I'ld beat thee :
methinks, thou art a general offence, and
every man should beat thee : I think tliou
wast created for men to breathe themselves
upon thee.
Par. This is hard and undeserved measure,
my lord.
Laf. Go to, sir you were beaten in Italy
for picking a kernel out of a pomegranate;
you are a vagabond and no true traveller: you
are more saucy with lords and honorable per¬
sonages than the commission of your birth
and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not
Worth another word, else I'ld call yon knave.
I leave yon. [Exit. £81
Par. Good, very good ; it is so then : good,
very good ; let it be concealed awhile.
Re-enter Bertram.
Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares for
ever 1
Par. What's the matter, sweet-heart ?
Ber. Although before the solemn priest I
have sworn,
I will not bed her.
Par. What, what, sweet-heart 7
Bei\ 0 ray ParoUes, they have married
me 1
I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her.290
Par. France is a dog-hole, and it no more
merits '
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
The tread of a man's foot: to the wars !
Ber. There's letters from my mother : what
the import is, I know not yet.
Par. Ay, that would be known. To the
wars, my boy, to the wars !
He wears his honor m a box unseen,
That hugs his kicky-wicky here at home.
Spending his manly marrow in her arms,
Which should sustain the bound and high
curvet
Of Mars's fiery steed. To other regions 300
France is a stable ; we that dwell in't jades ;
Therefore, to the war !
Ber. It shall be so : I'll send her to my
house.
Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,
And wherefore I am fled ; write to the king
That which I durst not speak ; his present
gift
Shall furnish me to those Italian fields,
Where noble fellows strike : war is no strife
To the dark house and the detested wife. ,
Par. Will this capriccio hold in thee ? art
sure ? 310
Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and ad¬
vise me.
I'll send her straight away : to-morrow
I'll to the wars, she to hersiugle sorrow.
Par. Why, these balls bound ; there's noise
in it. 'Tis hard '.
A young man married is a man that's marr'd;
Therefore away, and leave her bravely ; go :
The king has done you wrong : but, hush, 'tis
so. [Exeunt.
Scene IV. Parie. The Kino's poface.
Enter Helena and Clown.
Hel. My mother greets me kindly ; is she
well?
Clo. She is not well ; but yet she has her
health : she's very merry ; but yet she is not
well : but thauks be given, she's very well
and wants nothing i' the world ; but yet she
is not well.
Hel. If she be very well, what does she ail,
that she's not very well ?
Clo. "Truly, she's very well indeed, but for
two things.
Hel. What two things? 10
Clo. One, that she's not in heaven, whither
God send her quickly ! the other that she's in
earth, from whence God send her quickly !
ErUer Parolles.
Par. Bless you, my fortunate lady .
Hel. I hope, sir, I nave your good will to
have mine own good fortunes.
Par. You liad my prayers to lead them on ;
and to keep them on, have them still. O, my
knave, how does my old lady ?
Clo. So that you hail her wrinkles and I her
money, I would she did as you say. 21
Peer. Why, I say nothing.
Clo. Marry, yoii are the wiser man ; for
many a man's tongue shakes out his master's
undoing ; to say nothing, to do nothing, to
[Act 11.
know nothing, and to have nothing, is to 'oc a
great part of your title ; which ir within a
ve^ little of nothing.
Par. Away ! thou'rt a knave.
Clo. You should have said, sir, before a
knave thou'rt a knave ; that's, befoie me
thou'rt a knave ; this had been truth, sir. 31
Par. Go to, thou art a witty fool; I have
found thee.
Clo. Did you find me inyourself, sir ? or
were you taught to find me ? The search, sir,
was profitable ; and much fool may yon find
in you, even to the world's pleasure and the
increase of laughter.
Par. A good knave, i' faith, and well fed.
Madam, ray lord will go away to-night ; 40
A very serious bu.siness calls on him.
The great prerogative and rite of love,
Which, as your due, time claims, he does ac¬
knowledge ;
But ))uts it off to a compell'd restraint;
Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with
sweets.
Which they distil now in the curbed time.
To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy
And pleasure drown the brim.
Hel. What's his will else ?
Par. That you will take your instaut leave
o' the king,
And make this baste as your own good pro¬
ceeding, 50
Strengthen'd with what apology you think
Mav make it probable nera.
Ael. What more commands he ?
Par. That, having this obtain'd, you pres¬
ently
Attend his further pleasure.
Hel. In every thing I wait-upon his will.
Par. I shall report it so,
Hel. I pray you. [Exit Parolles.]
Come, sirrah. [Exeunt.
Scene V. Paris. The King's palace.
Enter Lafec and Bertram.
Luf. But I hope your lordship thinks not
him a soldier.
Ber. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant ap-
proof.
Laf. You have it from his own deliver¬
ance.
Ber. And by other warranted testimony.
iMf. Then my dial goes not true : I took
this lark for a bunting.
Ber. I do assure you, my lord, he is very
great in knowledge aud accordingly valiant
Laf. I have then sinned again.st ins ex¬
perience and transgressed against his valor ]
and my state that way is dangerous, since I
cannot yet find in my heart to repent. Here
he comes : I pray you, make us friends: I
will pursue the amity.
Enter P.-.rolles.
Par. [To Bertram\ These things shall be
done, sir.
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
Scene i.]
Im./. Pray you, sir, who's his tailor ?
Par. Sir ?
Laf. O, I know him well, I, sir ; he, sir, 's a
good workman, a very good tailor. 21
Ber, [Aside to Par.] Is she gone to the king?
Par. She is.
Ber. Will she away to-night ?
Par. As you'll have her.
Ber. I have writ my letters, casketed my
treasure,
Given order lor our horses ; and to-night.
When I should take possession of the bride,
End ere I do begin. 29
La/. A good traveller is something at the
latter end of a dinner ; but one that lies three
thirds and uses a known truth to ]>ass a
thousand nothings with, should be once heard
and thrice beirten. God save you, captain.
Ber. Is there any unkiiidness between my
lord and you, monsieur ?
Par. I know not how I have deserved to
rue into my lord's displeasure.
Laf. You have made shift to run into't,
boots and spurs and all, like him that leaped
into the custard ; and out of it you'll run
again, rather than suffer question for your
residence:
Ber. It may be you have mistaken him, my
lord.
Laj. And shall do so ever, though I took
him at's prayers. Fare you well, my lord ;
and believe this of me, tiiere can be no kernel
in this light nut: the soul of this man in his
clothes. Trust him not in matter of heavy
consequence ; I have kept of tliem tame, and
know their natures. Farewell, monsieur : I
have spoken better of yon t than you have or
will to deserve at my hand ; but we must do
good against evil. [Exit.
Par. An idle lord, I swear.
Ber. I think so.
Par. Why, do you not know him ?
Ber. Yes, I do know him well, and common
sp^ch
Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my
clog.
Elder Helena.
HeX. I have, sir, as I was commanded from
you.
Spoke with the king and have procured his
leave 00
For present parting ; only he desires
Some private speech with you.
Ber. I shall obey his will.
You must not marvel, Helen, at my course.
Which holds not color with the time, nor does
Tlie minhstratiou and required office
On my pirticnlar. Prepared I was not
For such a business ; therefore am I found
So much unsettled ; this dri^s me to entreat
you
That presently you take your way for home ;
And rather muse than ask why I entreat you,
For my respects are better than they seem 71
Asd my appointments have in them a need
6S^
Greater than shows itself at tlie first view
To you that know them not. This to my
mother : [Giving a letter.
'Twill be two days ere I shall see you, so
I leave you to your wisdom.
Ilel. Sir, I can nothing say.
But that I am your most ol^dieiit servant.
Ber. Come, come, no more of that.
Hel. And ever shall
With true observance seek to eke out that
Wherein toward me my homely stars have
fail'd
To equal my great fortune.
Ber. Let that go : 81
My haste is very great: farewell; hie home.
Hel. Pray, sir, your pardon.
Ber. Well, what would you say ?
Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe, '
Nor dare I say 'tis mine, and yet it,is ;
But, like a timorous thief, most fain would
steal
What law does vouch mine own.
Ber. What would you have ?
Hel. Something ; and scarce m much ;
nothing, indeed.
I would not tell you what I would, my lord :
Faith, yes ; 90
Strangers and foes do sunder, and not kiss.
Ber. I piay you, stay not, but in haste to
horse.
Hel. 1 shall not break your bidding, good
my lord.
Ber. Where are my other men, monsieur ?
Farewell. [Exit Helena.
Go thou toward home ; where I will never
come
Whilst I can shake my sword or hear the
drum.
Away, and for our flight.
Par. Bravely, coragio I
[Exeunt.
ACT III.
Scene I. Florence. The Duke's palace.
Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence,
attended; the two Frenchmen, with a troop
qf soldiers.
Duke. So that from point to point now have
you heard
The fundamental reasons of this war.
Whose great decision hath much blood let
forth
And more thirsts after.
First Lord. Holy seems the quarrel
Uixin your grace's part ; black and fearful
On the opposer.
Duke. Therefore we marvel much out
cousin France
Would in so just a business shut his bosom
Against our borrowing prayers.
6'ec. Lord. Good my lord,
The reasons of our state I cannot yield, 10
But like a common and an outward man,
I
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
]0G
That the great figure of a council frames) ,
By self-uuable motion : therefore dare not
Say what I tliink of it, since I have found
^lyself in my incertain grounds to fail
As often as I guess'd. i
Duke. Be it his pleasure.
FirU Lord. But I am sure the younger o|
our nature,
That surfeit on tlieir ease, will day by day
Come here for physic.
Duke. Welcome sliall they be ;
And ail the honors that can fly from us 20
Shall on tliem settle. You know your places
well;
When better fall, for your avails they fell :
To-morrow to the field. [Flourish. Exeunt.
• ScENK n. RousUhn. The Count's palace.
Enter Countess and Clown. ■
Count. It hath happened all as I would
have had it, save that he comes not along with
her.
Clo. By my troth, .1 take my young lord to
be a very melancholy )naiL
Count. By what observance, I pray you ?
Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot and
sing i mend the ruff and sing ; ask questions
and sing ; pick his teeth and sing. I know a
man that had this trick of melancholy sold a
goodly manor for a song. 10
Count. Let ]ne see what he writes, and
when he means to come. [Opening a letter.
Clo. I have no mind to Isbel since I was at
court: our old ling and our Isbels o' the couu-
trV are nothing like your old ling and your
Isbels o' the court: the brains of my Cupid's
knocked out, and I begin to love, as an old
man loves money, with no stomach.
Count. What have we here ?
Clo. E'en that you have there. [Exit. 20
Count, [.feadsj I have sent you a daughter-
in-law : she hath recovered the king, and un¬
done me. I have wedded her, not bedded her ;
and sworn to make the ' not' eternal. You
shall hear I am run away : know it before the
report come. If there be breadth enough in
the worid, I will hold a long distance. My duty
to you. Your unfortunate son,
Bertram.
This is not well, rash and unbridled boy, 30
To fly the favors of so good a king ;
To pluck his indignation on thy head ^
By the misprismg of a maid too virtuoils
For the contempt of empire.
Re-enter Clown.
Clo. O madam, yonder is heavy news with¬
in between two soldiers and my young lady !
Count. What is the matter ?
Clo. Nay, there is some comfort in the
news, some coinfort; your son will not be
killed so soon as I thought he would. 40
Count: Why should he be killed ?
Clo. So say I,.madam, if he run away, as I
bear be does; the danger is, in standing to't;
{Act in
that's the loss of men, though it be the getting
of children. Here tliey come will tell you
more : for my part, I only hear your son was
run away. [Exit.
Enter Helena, and two Gentlemen.
First Gent. Save you, good madam.
Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever
gone. ^
Sec. Gent. Do not say so.
Count. Think upon patience. Pray you,
gentlemen, fiO
I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief,,
That the fii-st face of neither, on the start.
Can woman me unto't ; where is my sou, I
pray you ?
Sec. Gent. Madam, he's gone to serve the
• duke of Florence :
We met him thitherward ; for thence we came,
And, after some dispatch in hand at court.
Thither we bend again.
llel. Look on Ms letter, madam ; here's
my passpoit. >
[Reads'\ When thou canst get the ring upo»
my finger which never shall come on, and
show me a child begotten of thy body that I
am father to, then call me husband : but in
such a ' then' I write a ' never.'
This is a dreadful sentence.
Count. Brought you tMs letter, gentlemen ?
First Gent. Ay, madam ;
And for the contents' sake are sorry for our
pains.
, Count. I prithee, lady, have abetter cheer;
If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine.
Thou robb'st me of a moiety ; he was my son ;
But I do wash his name out of my plood, 70
And thou art all my child. Towards Florence'
is he ?
Sec. Gent. Ay, madam.
Count. And to be a soldier ?
Sec. Gent. Such is his nobis purpose ; and,
believe't,
The duke will lay upon him all the honor
That good convenience claims.
Count. Return you thither ?
First Gent. Ay, madam, with the swiftest
wing speed.
Hel. [Reads] Till I have no wife I have no¬
thing in France.
'Tis bitter.
Count. Find you that there ?
Hel. Ay, madam. ,
First Gent. 'Tis but the boldness of his
hand, haply, which his heart was not consent¬
ing to. ,80
Count. Nothing in France, until he have
no wife!
There's nothing here that is too good for him
But only slie ; and she deserves a lord
Tlmt twenty such rude boys might tend upon
And call her hourly mistress. Who was with
him ?
First Gent. A servant only, and agentle*
man
Wluch I have sometime known.
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
SCKNB TV.]
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
701
Count. I Parolles, was it not ?
First Oent Ay, my good lady, he.
Count. A very tainted teliow, and full o£
wickedness.
My son corrupts a well-derived nature 90
mth his inducement..
First Gent. ' Indeed, good lady,
The fellow has a deal of that too much,
Which holds him much to have. '
Count. You're welcome, gentlemen,
t will entreat you, when you see my son.
To tell him that his sword can never win ,
The honor that he loses: more I'll entreat you
Written to hear along.
See. Gent. We .serve yon, madam,
In that and all your worthiest aftairs.
Count. Not so, but as we change our cour¬
tesies. , 100
Will you draw near !
f Exeunt Countess and Gentlemen.
I have no wife, 1 have nothing
in France.'
Nothing in France, .until he has no wife !
Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in
' ■ France; ' '
Then hast thou all again. Poor lord ! is't I
Tliat chase thee fi-oin thy country and e.xpose
Those tender limbs of thine to the event
Of tlie none-sparing war? and is it I
Tiiat drive tiiee from the sportive court,
where thou
Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
Of smoky muskets ? O you leaden messen¬
gers, 111
That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
tFly with false aim ; move the still-peering
air, [lord.
That sings with piercing; do not touch my
Whoever shoots at him, 1 sethira there ;
Whoever charges on his forward bieast,
I am the caitiff that do hold hun to't;
And, thougli I kill him not, 1 am the cause
His death was so effected : better 'twere
I met tlie ravin lion when he roar'd 120
With sharp constraint of hunger; better
'twere
That all the miseries wliich nature owes
Were mine at once. No, come thou home,
Rousillon,
Wlience honor but of danger wins a scar.
As oft it loses all : I will be gone ;
My being here it is that holds tliee hence :
Shall I stay hero to do't ? no, no, although
The air of paradise did fan tlie house
And angels officed all ; I will be gone.
Thai pitiful rumor may report my flight, 1.30
To consolate thino ear. Come, night; end,
day!
For with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away.
\Exit.
Scene III. Florence. B^jore the Duke's
palace.
Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence. Ber¬
tram, Parolees, Soldiers, Drum,. and
limpets.
Duke. The general Of our horse thou art;
and we.
Great in our liope, lay our best love and cre¬
dence
Upon thy jiromising fortune'.
Ber. Sir, it is
A charge too heavy for my strength, but yet
We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake
To the extreme edge of h.azard. '
Duke. Then go thou forth ;
And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm.
As thy auspicious mistress ! .
Ber. This very day, ,
Great Mars, I put myself into thy file :
Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall
prove 10
A lover of thy drum, hater of love. [Exeunt.
Scene IV. Rottsillon. The Count's pafuce.
Enter Countess and Steward.
Count. Alas ! and would you take the let¬
ter of her ?
Might you not know she would do as she has
done, >
By sending me a letter ? Read it again.
Steio. [Aeads]
I am Saint J.Tques' pilgrim, thither gone :
Ambitious love hatli so in me offended,
That barefoot plod I the cold ground upon.
With sainted vow my faults to have
amended.
Write, write, that from the bloody course of
war
My dearest master, your dear son, may
hie :
Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far
His name with zealous fervor sanctify ! 11
His taken labors bid him me forgive ;
I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth
From courtly friends, with camping foes to
live, 1
Where death and danger dogs the heels of
wortli:
He is too good and fair for death and me:
Whom X myself embrace, to set him free.
Count. Ah, what sharp stings are in her
mildest words !
Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much, .
As letting her pass so ; had 1 spoke with her,
I could have well diverted her intents, 21
Which tiius she hath prevented.
Stew. Pardoir me, madam :
If I had given you this at o\ cr-uight.
She might have been o'erta'en ; and yet she
writes,
Pursuit would be but vain.
Count. ' What angel shall
Bless this Unworthy husband '? he cannot'
thrive.
Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to
hear
And loves to grant, reprieve him from the
wrath
Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rinaldo,'
To this imwortby husband of his wife ; 80
702
AWS WELL THAT ENDS WELL
[Act tlL
Let every word weigh lieavy of her worth
That he does weigh too light: my greatest
frief,
iittie he do feei it, set down sliarply.
Dispatch the most convenient messenger ;
Wlien haply he shall hear that slie is gone,
He will return ; and hope I may that slie.
Hearing so much, will speed her foot again,
Led hither by pure love : which of tliem botli
Is dearest to me, I have no skill in sense
To make distinction : provide this messen¬
ger : 40
My heart is heavy and mine age is weak ;
Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me
[Exeunt.
SCEKE V. Florence. Without the walls. A
tucket afar off.
Enter an old Widow of Florence, Diana, Vio-
lenta, and Mariana, xoith other Citizens.
Wid. Nay, come ; for if they do approacli
the city, we shall lose all the sight.
Dia. They say the Freucli count has done
most honorable service.
Wtd. it is reixirted that he tias taken their
greatest commander ; and tliat with liis own
hand he slew the duke's brother. [Tucket.']
We luive lost our labor ; they are gone a con¬
trary way : harkt you may know by their
trumpets. 9
Mar. Come, let's return again, and suffice
ourselves with the report of it. Well, Diana,
take heed of this French earl : the honor of a
maid is her name ; and no legacy is so rich as
honesty.
Wid. I have told my neighbor how you
have been solicited by a gentleman his com¬
panion.
Mar. I know that knave ; hang him I one
Parolles : a filthy officer he is in those sug¬
gestions for the young earl. Beware of them,
Diana ; their promises, enticements, oaths,
tokens, and all these engines of lust, are not
the things they go under : many a maid hath
been seduced by them ; and the misery is, ex¬
ample, that so terrible shows in the.wreck of
maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade suc¬
cession, but that they are limed with the
twigs that threaten them. 1 hope I need not
to Mvise you further ; but I hope your own
gaace will keep you where you are, though
there were no further danger known but the
modesty which is so lost. 30
D'la. You shall not need to fear me.
Wid. I hope so.
Enter Helena, disguised like a Pilgrim.
Look, here comes a pilgrim ; I know she
will lie at my house ; thither they send one
another : I'll question her. God save you,
piln-im ! whither are you bound ?
Hel. To Saint Jaqnes le Grand.
Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech
you ?
Wid. At the Saint Francis here beside the
port.
Hel. Is this the way 1 40
Wid. Ay, marry, is't. [A march afar.]
Hark you ! they come this way.
If you will tarry, holy pilgrim.
But till the troops come by,
I will conduct you where you sliall be lodged;
The rather, for I think I know your hostess
As ample as myself.
Hel. Is it yourself ?
Wid. If you shall please so, pilgrim.
Hel. I thank yon, and will stay upon your
leisure.
Wid. You came, I tliiufc, from France?
Hel. I did so.
Wid. Here you shall see a countryman of
yours 50
That has done worthy service.
Hel. His name, I pray you.
Dia. The Count Rousfllou ; know you such
a one ?
Hel. But by the ear, that hears most nobly
of him :
His face I know not.
Dia. Whatsome'er he is.
He's bravely taken here. He stole from
France,
As 'tis reported, for tlie king had married him
Against his liking : think you it is so ?
Hel. Ay, surely, mere the truth ; I know
his lady.
Dia. There is a gentleman that serves the
count
Reports but coarsely of her.
Uel. What's his name 7 CO
Dia. Monsieur Parolles.
Hel. O, I believe with him.
In argument of praise, or to the worth
Of the great count himself, she is too mean
To have her name repeated : all her deserv¬
ing
Is a reserved honesty, and tliat
1 iiave not heard examined.
Dia. Alas, poor lady I
'Tis a hard bondage to become the wife
Of a detesting lord.
Wid. I warrant, good creature, whereso-
e'er she is,
Her heart weighs sadly: this young maid
might do her 70
A shrewd turn, If she pleased.
Hel. How do you mean ?
May be the amorous count solicits her
In the unlawful xmrpose.
Wid. He does indeed ;
And brokes with all that can in such a suit
Corrupt the tender honor of a maid :
But she is arm'd for him and keeps her guard
In honestest defence.
Mar. The gods forbid else J
Wid. So, now they come :
Drum and Colors.
Enter Bertram, Parolles, and the whoit
army.
That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son :
That, Escalus.
sceke vi.]
Hel. Which is tlie Frenchman ?
Jha. He; 30
That with the plume : 'tis a most gallant fel¬
low.
1 would he loved his wife : if he were honest-
er
He were much goodlier : is't not a handsome
gentleman ?
Hel. 1 like him well.
Dia. 'Tis pity he is not honest: yond's
that same knave
Tliat leads him to these places : were I his
lady,
I would poison that vile rascal.
Hel. Which is he ?
Dia. That jack-an-apes with scarfs : why
is he melanchoiy ?
Hel. Perchance he's hurt 1' the battle. C6
Par. Lo.se our drum ! well.
Mar. He's shrewdly vexed at something :
look, he has spied us.
Wid. Many, hang you !
Mar. And your courtesy, for a ring-car¬
rier ! [Exeunt Bertram, Parolles, and army.
Wid. The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I
will bring you
Where you shall host: of enjoin'd penitents
Tliere's four or five, to great Saint Jaques
bound,
Already at my house.
Hel. I humbly thank you:
PIea.se it this matron and this gentle maid 100
To eat with us to-night, the charge and thank¬
ing
Shall be for me ; and, to requite you further,
I will bestow some precejits of this virgin
Worthy the note.
Both. We'll take your offer kindly.
[Exeunt.
Scene VI. Camp before Florence.
Enter BeAtram and the two French Lords.
Sec. Lord. Nay, good my lord, put himto't;
let him have his way.
FirKt Lord. If your lordship find him not a
hilding, hold me no more in your resjiect.
Sec. Lord. On my life, my lord, a bubble.
Ber. Do you think I am so far deceived in
him ?
Sec. Lord. Believe ii, my lord, in mine own
direct knowledge, without any malice, but to
speak of him as my kinsman, he's a most
notable coward, an infinite and endless liar,
an hourly promise-breaker, the owner of no
one good quality worthy your lordship's en¬
tertainment.
First Lord. It were fit you knew him ; lest,
veiiosing too far in his virtue, which he hath
not, he might at some great and trusty busi¬
ness in a main danger fail^ou.
Ber. I would I knew in what particular
action to try him. 19
First Lord. None better than to let him
fetch off his drum, which you hear him so
confidently undertake to do.
703
Sec. Lord. I, with a troop of Florentines,
will suddenly surpiise him ; such I will have,
whom I am sure he knows not from the
enemy : we will bind and hoodwink him so,
that he shall suppose no other but that he is
carried into ihe leaguer of the adversaries,
when we bring him to our own tents. Be but
your lordship present at his examination : if
lie do not, for the promise of his life and in
the highest compulsion of base fear, offer to
betray you and deliver all the intelligence hi
his power against you, and that witli the di¬
vine forfeit of liis soul uiion oath, never trust
my j'lidgment in any thing.
First Lord. O, for the love of laughter, let
him fetch his drum ; he says he has a strata¬
gem for't: when your lordship sees the bot¬
tom of his success in't, and to what metal this
counterfeit lump of ore will be melted, if you
give him not John Drum's eiitertainmeiit, your
inclining cannot be removed. Here he comes.
Enter Pakolles.
Sec. Ijord. [Aside to Be)\] 0, for the love
of laughter, hinder not the honor of his de¬
sign : let him fetch off his drum in any hand.
Ber. How now, monsieur 1 this drum sticks
sorely in your disposition.
First Lord. A pox on't, let it go ; 'tis but a
drum. 49
Par. 'But a drum'! is't'but a drum'? A
drum so lost! There was excellent command,
—to charge in with our horse upon our own
wings, and to rend our own soldiers !
First Lord. That was not to be blamed in
the command of the service: it was a disaster
of war that Caesar himself could not have pre¬
vented, if he had been there to command.
Ber. Weil, we cannot greatly condemn our
success : some dishonor we had in the loss of
that drum ; but it is not to be recovered. 60
Par. It might have been recovered.
Ber. It might; but it is not now.
Par. It is to be recovered ; bui that tho
merit of service is seldom attributed to the
true and exact performer, I would have that
drum or another, or ' hie jacet.'
Ber. Why, if you have a stomach, to't,
monsieur : if you think your mystery in strat¬
agem can bring this instrument of honor again
into his native quarter, be magnanimous in
the enterprise and go on ; I will grace the at¬
tempt for a worthy exploit: if you speed well
in it, the duke shall both speak of it, and ex¬
tend to you what further becomes his great¬
ness, even to tiie utmost syllable of your
worthiness. [dertake it.
Par. By the hand of a soldier, I will uii-
Ber. But you must not now slumber in it.
Par. I'll about it this evening: and I will
presently pen down my dilemmas, encourage
myself in my certainty, put myself into my
mortal preparation ; and by midnight look to
hear further from me.
Ber. May I be bold to acquaint his grace
are gone about it 1
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
704
ALL'S WELL THAX ENDS WELL.
[Act w.
Par. I know not what the success will be,
'my lord ; but the atteinjit I vow.
Per. I know thou'rt valiant; and, to the
possibility of thy soldiership, will subscribe
for thee. Farewell. 90
Par. I love not many words. [Exit.
Sec. Lord. No more than a fish loves water.
Is not this a sti-auge fellow, my lord, that so
confidently seems to undei-take this business,
which he knows Is not to be done; damns
hlm.self to do and dares better be damhed than
to do't ?
First Lord. You do not know him, my
lord, as we do : certain It Is that he will steal
himself Into a man's favor and for a week
escai>e a great deal of discoveries ; but when
you find him out, you have lilm e\ er after. 101
Bar. Why, do you think he will make no
deed at all of this that so seriously he does ad¬
dress himself unto ?
Sec. Ijord. None in the world ; but return
with an Invention and clap upon you two or
three probable lies : but we have almost em¬
bossed him ; you shall see his fall to-night ;
for Indeed he Is not for your lordshlp'r; re¬
spect. lOJ
First Lord. We'll make you some sport
with the fox ere we case him. He was first
smoked by the old lord Lafeu : when his dis¬
guise and he Is parted, tell me what a sprat
you shall find him ; which you shall see this
very night
Sec. Lord. I must go Icsok my* twigs : he
' shall be caught.
Per. Your brother he shall go along with
. me.
Sec. Lord. As't x>lease your lordship ; I'll
leave you. [Exit.
Per. Now will I lead you to the house, and
show you
The lass I spoke of.
First Lord.' But you say she's honest.
Bar. That's all the fault: I spoke with her
but once 120
And found her wondrous cold ; but I sent to
her.
By this same coxcomb that we have T the
wind.
Tokens and letters which she did re-send ;
And this is all I have done. She's a fair
creature :
Will yon go see her ?
First Lord. With all my heart, my lord.
[Exeunt.
Scene VII. Florence. Tlie Widow's house.
Enter Helena, and Widow.
Hel. If you misdoubt me that I am not she,
I know not how I shall assure you further.
But 1 shall lose the grounds I work upon.
Wid. Though my estate be fallen, I was
well born.
Nothing acquainted with these businesses ;
And would not put my reputation now
In any staining act.
Hel. Nor would I wish you.'
First, give me trust, the count he Is my hus¬
band,
And what to your sworn counsel I have spoken
Is so from word to word and then you can¬
not, 10
By the good aid that I of you shall borrow,
Frr In bestowing It.
'Wid. I should believe you : .
For you have she w'd pie that which well ap¬
proves
You're great in fortune. , i
Hel. Take this purse of gold,
And let me buy your friendly help thus far,
Which I will over-pay and pay again
When I have found it, The count he wooes
your daughter.
Lays down his wanton siege before her
beauty,
Resolved to carry her ; let her In fine consent.
As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear It. 20
Now his important blood will nought deny
That she'll demand; a ring the county wears.
That downward hath succeeded In his house
From son to son, some four or five descents
Since the first father wore it: this ring he
holds
In most rich choice ; yet in his idle fire.
To buy his will, it would not seem too dear
Howe'er repented after.
Wid. Now I see
The bottom of your purpose.
Hel. You see It lawful, then : it is no moreij
But that your daughter, ere she seems as
won, 31
Desires this ring ; appoints blman encounter;
In fine, delivers me to fill the time, ,
Herself most chastely absent: after this,
To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns
To what Is passed already.
Wid. ' I have yielded :
Instruct my daughter how she shall persever.
That time and place with this deceit so lawful
May prove coherent. Every night he comes
With musics of all sorts and songs composed
To her unworthlness : It nothing steads us 41
To chide him from our eaves ; for he persists
As If his life lay on^t.
Hel. Why then to-night
Let us assay Our plot; which. If It speed.
Is wicked meaning In a lawful deed
And lawful meaning In a lawful act.
Where both not sin, and yet a slnfiU fact:
But let's about It. , [Exeunt.
ACT IV.
Scene I. Without the Florentine camp.
Enter Second French Lord, with Jive or six
other Soldiers in ambush. '
Sec. Lord. He can come no other way but
by this hedge-comer. When you sally upon
hun, speak what terrible language you will:
though you understands not yourselves^ no
SCBME II.]
matter ; for we must not seem to understand
him, unless some one among us whom we
must produce for an interpreter.
First Sold. Good captain, let me be the in¬
terpreter.
Sec. Lord. Art not acquainted with him ?
knows he not thy voice 1 XI
First Sold. No, sir, I warrant you.
Sec. Lord. But what linsey-woolsey hast
thou to speak to us again ?
First Sold. E'en such as you speak to me.
Sec. Ijord. He must think us some band of
strangers 1' the adversary's entertiiiuraent.
Now he hath a smack of all neighboring lan¬
guages ; therefore we must every one be a man
of his own fancy, not to know what we speak
one to another ; so we seem to know, is to
know straight oar purpose; choughs' language,
gabble enough, and good enough. As for you,
interpreter, you must seem very politic. But
couch, ho! here he comes, to beguile two
hours in a sleep, and then to return and swear
the lies he forges.
Enter Parolles.
Par. Ten o'clock: within these three hours
'twill be time enough to go home. "What
shall I say I have done ? It must be a very
plausive iuveution that canies it: they begin
to smoke me ; and disgraces have "of late
Knocked too often at my door. 1 find my
tongue is too foolhardy ; but my heart hath
the fear of Mars before it and of bis creatures,
not daring the reports of my tongue.
Sec. Lord. This is the first truth that e'er
thine own tongue was guilty of.
Par. What the devil should move me to
vadertake the recovery of this drum, being
not ignorant of the impossibility, and know¬
ing I liad no such purirose ? I must give my-
e'Ai some hui'ts, and say 1 got them in exploit:
yet slight ones will not carry it ; they will
say, ' Came you off with so little ?' and great
oues I dare not give. Wherefore, what's the
instiince ? Tongue, I must put you into a but¬
ter-woman's mouth and buy myselt anotlier
of Bajazet's mule, if you prattle me into these
penis.
Sec. Lord. Is it possible he should know
what he is, and be tliat he is ? 49
Par. I would the cutting of my garments
would serve the turn,- or the breakuig of my
Spanish sword.
Sec. Lord. We cannot afford you so.
Par. Or the baring of my beard; and to say
it was in stratagem.
Sec. Lord. "I'would not do.
Par. Or to drown my clothes, and say I
was sbripped.
Sec. Lord. Hardly serve.
Par. Though I swor^I leaped from the
vindow of the citadel. * 61
Sec. Lord. How deep ?
Par. Thirty fatliom.
Sec. Lord, Three ^at oaths would scarce
make that be believed ,
7(W>
Par. I would I had any drum of tlie ene¬
my's : I would swear I recovered it.
Sec. Lord. You shall hear one auon.
Par. A drum now of the enemy's,--
[Alarum witi.ln.
Sec. Lord. Throca movousus, cargo, cargo,
cargo. 71
All. Cargo, cargo, cargo,, villiaudo par
corbo, cargo. ■ , i '
Par. 0, ransom, ransom! do not hide
mine eyes. [They seize and blindfold him.
First Sold. Boskos tliroinnldo boskos. r
Par. I know you are the Muskos' regiment:
And 1 shall lose my life for want of language;
If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch,
Italian, or French, let him speak to me ; I'll I
Discover that which shall undo the Florentine.
First Sold. Boskos vauvado : I understand
thee, and can speak thy tongue. Kerelybonto,
sir, betake thee to thy faitlr, for seventeen
poniards are at tlry bosom.
Par. O!
First Sold. O, pray, pray, pray t Manka
revania dulche.
Sec. Lord. Oscorbidulchos volivorco.
First Sold. The general is content to spare
thee yet;
And, hoodwiuk'd as thou art, will lead thee
on ■ 1 90
To gather from thee : haply thou mayst in¬
form ,
Something to save thy life. , i ■
Par. O, let me live I
And all the secrets of our camp I'll show.
Their frrce, their purposes ; nay, I'll speaik
that
Which you will wonder at.
Fii'st Sold. But wilt tliou faithfully ?
Par. If I do not, damn me.
First Sold. Acordo linta. ■ .
Come on ; thou art granted space.
[Exit, with Parolles yiiwded. A short
alnrvm within.
Sec. Lord. Go, tell the Count Rousillon,
and my brother,, .
We have caught the woodcock, and will keep
him muffled IW
Till we do hear from them.
Sec. Sold. Captain, I will.
Sec. Lord. A' will betray us all unto our¬
selves :
Infom on that.
Sec. Sold. So I will, sir.
A'ec. Lord. Till then I'll keep him dark and
safely lock'd. [Exeunt.
Scene H. Florence, The Widow's house.
Enter Bertram and Diana. '
Ber. They told me that your name was
Fontibell.
Dia. No, my good lord, Diana. ■ ■ t
Ber. F^led goddess:
And worth it, with addition I But, fair soul,
Ja your fine frame hath love no quality ?
U VI9 quick fire of youth light not your iuin4,
46
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
706
Too are no maiden, but a monument:
When you are dead, you ahould be such a one
As you ai-e now, for you are cold and stem ;
And now you slioutd be as your mother was
When your swee, self was got. 10
Dia. She then was honest.
Ber. So should you be.
Dia. No:
My mother did but duty ; such, my lord.
As you owe to your wife.
Ber. No more o' that;
I prithee, do not strive against my vows :
I was corapeli'd to her ; but I love thee
By love's own sweet constraint, and will for
ever
Do thee all rights of service. < '
Dia. Ay, so you serve us
Till we serve you ; but when you have our
roses.
You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves
And mock us with our bareness.
Ber. How have I sworn ! 20
Dia. "Us not the many oaths that makes
the truth,
But the plain single vow that is vow'd true.
What Is not holy, that we swear not by.
But take the Hlgh'st to witness : then, pray
you, fell me.
If I should swear by God's great attributes,
I loved you dearly, would you believe my
oaths,
When I did love you 111 ? This has no hold¬
ing,
To swear by him whom I protest to love,
That I will work against him : therefore your
oaths
Are words and poor conditions, but unseal'd.
At least In my opinion. 31
Ber. Change It, change It;
Be not so holy-cruel: love Is holy ;
And my Integrity ne'er knew the crafts
That you do charge men with. Stand no more
off.
But give thyself unto my sick desires,
Who then recover : say thou art mine, and
ever
My lovo as It begins shall so persever.
Dm. tl see that men make ropes In such a
scarre
That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that
ring.
Ber. I'll lend It thee, my dear ; but have no
power • 40
To give it-from me.
Dia. Will you not, my lord ?
Ber. It Is an honor 'longing to our house.
Bequeathed down from many ancestors ;
Which were the greatest obloquy 1' the world
In me to lose,
Dia. Mine honor's such a ring :
My chastity's the jewel of our house,
Beqiieathed down from many ancestors ;
Which were the greatest obloquy T the world
In mc to lose: thus your own proper wlsdoin
Brings in the clramplon Honor on my part, .60
Aggiust your vain assault,
[Act IV.'
Ber. Here, take my ring :
My house, mine honor, yea, my life, be thine.
And I'll be bid by thee.
Dia. When midnight comes, knock at my
chamber-window :
I'll order take my mother shall not hear.
Now will I charge you hi the band of truth.
When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed.
Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me ;
My reasons are most strong ; and you shall
know them
When back again this ring shall be dellverid:
And on your finger In the night I'll put CI
Another ring, that what In time proceeds
May token to tlie future our past deeds.
Adieu, till then ; then, fail not. You have won
A wife of me, though there my hope be done.
Ber, A heaven on earth I have won by
wooing thee. lExil.
Dia. For which live long to thank both
heaven and me!
You may so In the end.
My mother told me just how he would, woo.
As If she sat In's heart; she s.ays all men 70
Have the like oaths: he had sworn to marry
me
When his wife's dead ; therefore Til lie with
him
When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so
braid.
Marry that will, I live and die a maid :
Only in this disguise I thlnk't no sin
To cozen him that would unjustly win. [Exit,
Scene 111. The Florentine camp.
Enter the two French Lords and some two qr
three Soldier?.
First Lord. You have not given him his
mother's letter ?
Sec. Lord. I have delivered It an hour since :
there Is something In't that stings his nature ;
for on the reading it he changed almost Into
another man.
First I.fird. He has much worthy blame
laid upon him for shaking off so good a wife
and so sweet a lady. 9
Sec. Lord. Especially he hath Incurred the
everlasting displeasure of the king, who had
even tuned his bounty to sing happiness to
him. I will tell you a thing, but you shall let
It dwell darkly with you.
First Lord. When you have spoken it, 'tis
dead, and I am the grave of It.
Sec. Lord. He hath perverted a young gen¬
tlewoman here In Florence, of a must chaste
renown ; and this night he fleshes his will In
the spoil of her honor : lie hath given her Ms
monumental ring, and thinks himself made in
the unchaste composition.
First Lord. Now, God delay our rebeUloui
as we are ourselves, what things are we t
Sec. Lord. Merely our own traitors. And
as In the common course of all treasons, we
Btili see them reveal themselves, till they
attain to zheif a>borred ends, so be that la tlda
AEL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
Scene hi.]
action contrives against his own nobility, in
bis proper stream o'erfiows himself. 30
1< irst Lord,. Is it not meant damnable in us,
to be trumpeters of our unlawful intents ? We
shall not then have his company to-night 7
Sec. Lord. Not till after midnight; for he
is dieted to his hour.
Firit Lord. That approaches apace; I
would gladly have him see his company anat¬
omized, that he might take a measure' of his
own judgments, wherein so curiously he had
set this counterfeit. 40
Sec. Lord. We will not meddle with him
till he come ; for his presence must be the
whip of the other. ,
First Lord. In the mean time, what hear
you of these wars ?
Sec. Lord. I hear there is an overture of
peace.
First Lo^-d. Nay, I assure you, a peace con¬
cluded.
Sec. Lord. What will Count Rousillon do
then 7 will he travel higher, or return again
into France 7 51
First Lord. I perceive, by this demand,
you are not altogether of his council.
4>'cc. Lord. Let it be forbid, sir; so should
I be a great deal of his act.
_ First Lord. Sir, his wife some two months
since fled from his house : her pretence is a pil¬
grimage to Saint Jaques le Grand ; which holy
undertaking with most austere sanctimony
she accomplished ; and, there residing, the
tenderness of her nature became as a prey to
her grief; in fine, made a groan of her last
breath, and now she sings in heaven.
Sec. Lord. How is this justified 7
First Lord. The stronger part of it by her
own letters, which makes her stor.y true, even
to the point of her death : her death itself,
which could not be her office to say is come,"
was faithfully confirmed by the rector of tlie
place. 60
Sec. Ixyrd. Hath the count all this intelli¬
gence 7
First Lord. Ay, and the particular confirm¬
ations, point from point, so to the fuU arming
of the verity.
Sec. Lord. I am heartily sorry that he'll be
glad of this.
First Lord. How mightily sometimes we
make us comforts of our losses !
Sec. Lord. And how ijiightily some other
times we drown our gain in tears ! The great
dignity tliat his valor hath here acquired for
him shall at home be encountered with a
shame as ample.
First Lord. The web of our life is of a
mingled yarn, good and ill together : our vir¬
tues would be proud, if our faults whipped
them not; and our crimes would despair, if
they were not cherished 1j|^ our virtues.
Enter a Messenger.
How now ! Where's your master 7
Serv. He met the duke in the street, sir, of
707
whom he hath taken a solemn leave : h s lord¬
ship will next morning for France. The duke
haw offered him letters of commendations to
the king.
Sec. Lord. They shall be no more than
needful there, if they were more than they can
commend.
First Lord. They cannot be too sweet for
the king's tartness. Here's his lordship now.
Enter Bertram.
How now, my lord ! is't not after midnight 7
Ee)-. I have to-night dispatched sixteen
businesses, a month's length a-piece, by an
abstract of success : I have congied with the
dulce, done my adieu with his nearest; buried
a wife, mourned for lier; writ to my iady
mother I am returning ; entertained my con¬
voy ; and between these main parceis of dis-
]>atch effected many nicer needs ; the last was
the greatest, but that I have not ended yet.
Sec. Lord. If the business be of any diffi¬
culty, and this morning your departure hence,
it requires haste of your lordship. 109
Ber. I mean, the business is not ended, as
fearing to hear of it hereafter. But shall we
have this dialogue between the fool, and the
soldier 7 Come, bring forth this counterfeit
module, he has deceived me, like a doubie-
meaning prophesier.
Sec. Ijord. Bring him forth : has sat i' the
stocks all night, poor gallant knave.
Ber. No matter ; his heels have deserved
it, in usurping his spurs so long. How does he
carry himself 7 120
Sec. Lord. I have told your lordshipalready,
the stocks carry him. But to answer you as
you would be understood ; he weeps like a
wench that had shed her milk : he hath con¬
fessed himself to Morgan, whom he supposes
to be a friar, from the time of his remembrance
to this very instant disaster of his setting:' the
stocks : and what think you he hatn confessed7
Ber. Nothing of me, has a' 7 129
Sec. Lord. His confession is taken, and it
shali be read to his face : if your lordship be
in't, as I believe you are, you must havo the
patience to hear it.
Enter PARonnES ffuarded, and First Soldier.
Ber. A plague upon him ! rauffied ! he can
say nothing of me : hush, hush !
First Lord. Hoodman comes ! Portotarta-
rosa.
First Sold. He calls for the tortures : what
will you say without 'em 7
Par. I will confess what I know without'
constraint: if ye pinch me like a pasty, I can
say no more. 141
First Sold. Bosko chimurcho.
First Lord. Boblibindo chicurmurco.
First Sold. You are a merciful general.
Our general bids you answer to what I shall
ask you out of a note. ,
Par. And truly, as I hope to live.
First Sold. [Beddsl ' First demand of him
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
708
ALL'S WELL THAT ENUS WELL
[Act iv.
how many horse the duke is strong.' What
say you to that ? _ 150
Tar. Five or six tliousand'; biit very weak
and unserviceable; the troops are all scattered,
and the commanders very poor rogues, upon
Jny reputation and credit and as I hope to live.
First iSold. Sliall I set down your answer so?
Par. Do : I'll take the sacrament ou't, how
and which way you will.
Ber. All's one to him. What a past-saving
slave is tliis ! 159
First Lord. You've deceived, my lord : this
is Monsieur Parolles, the gallant militarist,—
that was his own phrase,—that had the whole
tlieoric of war in the knot of his scarf, and the
pnictice iu the chape of his dagger.
Sec. Lord. I will never trust a man again
for keeping his sword clean, nor believe he
can have every thing in him by wearuig his
aprnrei neatly.
First Sold. Well, that's set down. 169
Pdi'. Five or six thousand horse, I said,—I
will say true,—or thereabouts, set down, for
I'll speak truth.
First Lord. He's very near the truth in
this.
Ber. But I con him no tlianks for't, in the
nature he delivers it.
Par. Poor rogues, I pray you, say.
First Sold. Weil, tiiat's set down.
Par. I humhiy thank you, sir: a truth's a
trutli, tlie roguSs are luarveiious poor. 179
First Sold, [TJeads] ' Demand of him, of
what strength they are a-foot.' What say you
to that, ?
Par. By my troth, sir, if I were to live this
present hour, I wiii teil true. Let me see :
Spurio, a liundred and fifty ; Sebastian, so
many; Corarabus, so many ; jaques, so many;
Guiltiau, Cosmo, Lodowick, and Gratii, two
hundred and fifty each ; mine own company,
Chitopher, Vaumoud, Bentii, two liundred and
fifty each : so that the muster-fiie, rotten and
sound, mion my life, amounts not to fifteen
thousand poll ; half of the which dare not
shake the snow from off their cassocks, lest
they shake themselves to pieces.
Ber. Wliat shall be done to him ?
First Lord. Nothing, but let him have
thanks. Demand of him my condition, and
what credit I have with tiie duke.
First Sold. Weil, that's set down. [JJeads]
'You shall demand of him, whether one Cap¬
tain Dumain be i' the camp, a Frenchman ;
what ills reputation is with the duke ; what
his valor, honesty, and expertuess in wars ; or
whether lie thinks it were not possible, with
well-weighing sums of gold, to coiTupt him to
a revolt.' What say you to this ? what do
you know of it ?
Par. I beseech yon, let me answer to the
particular of the iuter'gatories : demand them
singly.
First Sold., Do you know this captain
Duraain ? 210
' Pfir, I know him: a' was a botcher's 'pren¬
tice in Paris, from whence he was whipped for
getting the shrieve's fooi with child,—a dumb
innocent, that could not say him nay.
Ber. Nay, by your leave, hold your hands;
though I know his brains are forfeit to tlie
next tile that falls.
First Sold. Well, is this captain in the duke
of Florence's camp ? ^ 219
Par. Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy.
First Lord, hfay, look not so upon me ; we
^hali hear of your lordship anon.
First Sold. What is his reputation with the
duke ?'
Par. The duke knows him for no other but
a i)Oor officer of mine ; and writ to me this
other day to turn him out o' the band : I think
1 have his letter in my pocket.
First Sold. Marry, we'll search. 229
Par. In gO(;d sadiiess, I do not know; either
it is tliere, or it is upon a file with the duke's
other letters in my tent.
First Sold. Here 'tis ; here's a paper : shall
I read it to you ?
Par. I do not know if it be it or no.
Ber. Our interpreter does it well.
First LorL Excellently.
First Sold. [Reads'] ' Dian, the count's a
fooi, and full of gold,'—
Par. That is not the dul;e'c letter, sir ; that
i.s an advertisement to a proper maid in Flor¬
ence, one Diana, to take heed of the allure¬
ment of one Count Rousilion, a foolish idle
boy, but for all that very ruttish : 1 pray you,
sir, put it up again.
First Sold. Nay, I'll read it first. By your
favor.
Par. My meaning hi't, I protest, was very
honest in the behalf of the maid ; for I knew
tlie young count to be a dangerous and las¬
civious boy, who is a whale to virginity and
devours up all the fry it finds. 250
Ber. Damnable both-sides rogue !
First Sold. [Reads] ' When he swears oaths,
bid him drop gold, and take it;
After he scores, he never paj's the score :
Half won is match well made ; match, and
well make it ;
He ne'er pays after-debts, take it before ;
And say a soldier, Dian, told thee this.
Men are to meii with, boys are not to kiss :
For count of this, tlie count's a fool, I know it,
Who pays before, but not when he does owe it.
Thine, as he vowed to thee in thine ear, 260
Pakolles.'
Ber. He shall be whipped through the army
with this rhyme in's forehead.
Sec. Lord. This is your devoted fideud, sir,
the manifold linguist and the armipotent
soldier.
Ber. I could endure any thing before but a
cat, and now he's a cat to me.
First Sold. I perceive, sir, by the general's
looks, we shall be fain to hang you. 269
Par. My life, sir, in any case : not that I
am afraid to die ; but that, my offences being
many, I would repent out the remainder of
Scene iv.]
nature : let me live, sir, in a dungeon, 1' the
stocks, or any where, so I may live.
First Hold. We'll see what maybe done,
bo you confess freely; therefore, once more to
this Captain Dumaiu : you have answered to
his re|nitatiou witli tlie duke and to his valor :
what IS his honesty ? 279
Par. He will steal, sir, an egg out of a
cloister: for rapes and ravishments he paral¬
lels Nessus: he professes not keeping of oaths;
in breaking 'em he is stronger tlian Hercules:
he will lie, sir, with such volubility, tliat you
would think truth were a fool : drunkenness
is his best virtue, for he will be swine-drunk ;
and in his sleep he does little harm, save to
his bed-clothes about him ; but they know his
conditions and lay him in straw. I have but
little more to say, sir, of his honesty; he has
every thing that an hone.st man should not
have ; what an honest man should have, he
has nothing.
First Lr>rd. I begin to love him for this.
Ber. For this descriidion of thine honesty?
A pox upon him for me, he's more and more a
cat.
First Sold. What say you to his expertness
in war ?
Par. Faith, sir, he has led the drum before
the English tragedians; to belie him, I will not,
and more of his soldiership I know not; ex¬
cept, in that country he had the honor to be
^e officer at a place there called Hilc-end, to
iu.struct for the doubling of files : I would do
the man wliat honor I can, but of this I am
not certain.
First Lord. He hath out-villained villany so
far, that the rarity redeems him.
li<sr. A pox on him, he's a cjit still.
First Sold. His qualities being at this poor
price, I need not to ask you if gold will corrupt
him to revolt. 310
Par. Sir, for a quart d'ecu he will sell the
fee-simple of his salvation, the inheritance of
it; and cut the entail from all remainders, and
a perpetual succession for it perijetually.
First Sold. What's his brother, the other
Captain Dumain ?
Sec. Lord. Why does he ask him of me ?
First Sold. Wlvit's he ?
Par. E'en a crow o' the same nest; not
altogether so great as the first in goodness, but
greater a great deal in evil : he excels his
brother for a coward, yet his brother is reputed
one of the best that is : in a retreat he outruns
any lackey ; man-y, in coming on he has the
cramp.
First Sold. If your life be saved, will you
undertake to betray the Florentine ?
Par. Ay, and the captain of his horse.
Count Eousillon.
First Sold. I'll whisper ™th the general,
and know his pleasure. 330
Par. [Aside] I'll no more drumming ; a
plague of all drums 1 Only to seem to deserve
well, and to beguile the supposition of that
lascivious young boy the count, have I run
709
into this danger. Yet who would have
pected an ambush where I was taken 7
First Sold. There is no remedy, sir, -but
yon must die : the general says, you that have
80 traitorously discovered the secrets of you#
army and made such pestiferous reporte of
men very nobly held, can serve the world for
no honest u.se ; therefore you must die. Come,
headsman, off with his head. [my death !
Par. O Lord, sir, let me live, or let me see
First Lord. "That shall you, and take your
leave of all your friends. [Unblindinf/ iiim.
So, look about you : know you any here ?
Ber, Good morrow, noble captain. 349
Sec Lord. God bless you. Captain Parolles.
First Lord. God save you, noble captain.
Sec. Lord. Captain, what greeting will yoU
to my Lord Lafeu ? I am for France.
First Lord. Good ciiptain, will yon give me
a copy of the sonnet you writ to Diana in be¬
half of the Count Roiisillon ? an I were nbt a
very coward, I'ld compel it of you : but fare
you well. , [Exeunt Bertram and Lords.
First Sold. You are undone, captain, all
but your scarf ; that has a knot on't yet. 359
Par. Who cannot be crushed with a plot ?.
First Sold. If you could find out a country
where but wonven were that had received so
much shame, you might begin an impudent
natibn. Fare ye well, sir ; £ am for France
too : we shall speak of yon there.
[Exit with Soldiers.
Par. Yet am I thankful : if my heart were
greats
'Twould burst at this. Capttiin I'll be no more.;
But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft
As captain shall: simply the thing I am
Shall make me live. Who knows himself a
braggart, 370
Let him fear this, for it will come to pass
'riiat every braggart shall be found an ass.
Rust, sword ! cool, blushes ! and, Parolles, live
Safest in shame ! being fool'd, by foolery
thrive 1
There's place and means for every man alive.
I'll after them. [Exu.
Scene IV. Florence. The Widow's house. '■
Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana.
Hel. That you may well perceive I have not
wrong'd yon.
One of the greate.st in the Christian world
Shall be my surety; 'fore Whose throne 'tis
peedful,
Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel:
Time was, I did him a desired office, ^
Dear almost as his life ; which gratitude '
Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep
forth.
And answer, thanks : I duly am inform'd
His grace is at Slarseilles ; to which place
We liave convenient convoy. You must know,
I am supposed dead : the army breaking, 11
My husband hies him home ; where, heaven
aiding,
AtVS WELL rilAT EkDS WELL.
710
And by the leave of my good lord the king,
We'll be before our welcome.
WM. Gentle madam,
You never had a servant to whose trust
Your business was more welcome.
Hel. Nor you, mistress.
Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labor
To recompense your love: doubt not but heaven
Hath brought me up to be your daughter's
dower.
As it hath fated her to be my motive 20
And helper to a husband. But, O strange men!
That can such sweet use make of what they
hate.
When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughts
Defiles the pitchy night: so lust doth play
With what it loathes for that which is away.
But more of this hereafter. You, Diana,
Under my poor instructions yet must suffer
Something in my behalf.
Dia. Let death and honesty
Go with your impositioin^, I am yours
Upon your wili to suffer.
Hel. Yet, I pray you : 30
But with the word the time will brmg on sum¬
mer,
When briers shall have leaves as well as
thorns.
And be as sweet as sharp. We must away ;
Our wagon is prepared, and time revives us :
All's well that ends well : still the fine's
the crown ;
Whate'er the course, the end is the renown.
[Exe^mt.
Scene V. Rousillon. 271e Count's palace.
• Enter Countess, Lafeu, and Cix)wn.
Laf. No, no, no, your son was misled with
a suipt-taffeta fellow there, whose villanous
saffron would have made ail the unbaked and
dougliy youth of a nation in his color : your
daugliter-iu-law had been alive at this hour,
and your son here at home, more advanced by
the king than by that red-tailed hnmble-bee I
speak oL
Count. I would I had not known him ; it
was the death of the most virtuous gentle¬
woman that ever nature had praise for
creating. If she had partaken of my flesh,
and cost me the dearest groans of a mother, I
could not have owed her a more rooted love.
Laf. 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady :
we may pick a thousand salads ere we light on
such another herb.
Clo. Indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjo¬
ram of the salad, or rather, the herb of grace.
Laf. They are not herbs, you knave ; they
are nose-herbs. ^
Clo. I am no grec.t Nebuchadnezzar, sir ; I
have not much skill in grass.
iMf. Whether dost thou profess thyself, a
knave or a fool ?
Clo. A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a
knave at a man's.
Laf. Your distinction ?
[Act iv.
Clo, I would cozen the man of his wife and
do his service.
Laf. So you were a knave at his service,
indeed. 31
Clo. And I would give his wife my bauble,
sir, to do her service.
iMf. I will subscribe for thee, thoii art
both knave and fool.
Clo. At your service.
Laf. No, no, no.
Clo. Why, sir, if I cannot serve yon, I can
serve as great a prince as yon are.
Laf. Who's that ? a Frenchman ? 40
Clo. Faith, sir, a' has an English name ;
but his fisnomy is more hotter in France than
there.
Laf. What prince is that ?
Clo. The black prince, sir; alias, the
prince of darkness ; alias, the devil.
Laf. Hold thee, there's my purse : I give
thee not this to suggest thee from thy master
thon talkest of ; serve him still.
Clo. I am a woodland fellow, sir, that
alwavs loved a great fire ; and the master I
speak of ever keeps a good fire. But, sure, he
is the prince of the world ; let his nobility re¬
main ill's court. I am for the house with the
narrow gate, which I take to be too little for
pomp to enter : some that humble themselves
may ; but the many will be too chill and
tender, and they'll be for the flowery way that
le.ads to the broad gate and the great fire.
Laf. Go thy ways, I begin to be aweary of
thee; and I tell thee so before, because I would
not fall out with thee. Go thy ways : let my
hoLses be well looked to, without any tricks.
Clo. If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they
shall be j.ades' tricks ; which are their own
right by the law of nature. [Exit.
Laf. A shrewd knave and an unhappy.
Count. So he is. My lord that's gone made
himself much spoit out of him : by his author¬
ity he remains here, which he thinks is a
patent for his sauciness ; and, indeed, he has
no pace, but runs where he will. 71
Laf. I like him well ; 'tis not amiss. And
I w.ts about to tell yon, since I heard of the
good lad3''s death and that my lord your son
was upon his return home, I moved the king
my master to speak in the behalf of my daugh¬
ter ; which, in the minority of them both, his
majesty, out of a self-gracious remembrance,
did first propose ; his highness hath prorai.sed
me to do it: and, to stop up the displeasure
he hath conceived against your sou, there is
no fitter matter. How does your ladyship
like it?
Cmint. With very much content, my lord ;
and I wish it happily effected.
Laf. His hi^ness comes post from Mar¬
seilles, of as able body as when he numbered
thirty : he will be here to-morrow, or I am de¬
ceived by him that in such intelligence hath
seldom failed.
Count. It rejoices me, that I hope I shall
see him ere I die. I have totters that my sou
ALL'S WELL THAT EN1)S WELL.
Scene II.]
will be here to-night; I shall beseech your
lordship to remain with me tiii they meet to¬
gether. .
Laf. ■ Madam, I was thinking with what
manners I might safely be admitted.
Count. You need bnt plead your honorable
privilege.
Laf. Lady, of that I have made a bold
charter ; but I thank my God it holds yet
Re-enter Cu)wrN.
Clo. O madam, yonder's my lord your son
with a patch of velvet oil's face: wiiether
there be a scar nnder't or no, the velvet
knows ; but 'tis a goodly patch of velvet: his
left cheek is a cheek of two pile and a half, but
his right cheek is worn bare.
Laf. A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a
good livery of honor ; so belike is that.
Clo. But it is your carbonadoed face.
Laf. Let us go see your son, I pray you ; I
long to talk with the young noble soldier. 109
Go. Faith there's a dozen of 'em, with
delicate Ane hats and most courteous feathers,
which bow the head and nod at every man.
[Exeunt.
ACT V.
Scene I. Marseilles. A street.
Ente^ Helena, Widow, and Diana, with two
Attendants.
Hel. But this exceeding posting day and
night
Must wear your spirits low ; we cannot help
it:
But since you have made the days and nights
as one,
To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs.
Be bold you do so grow in my requital
As nothing can unroot you. Iii happy time ;
Enter a Gentleman.
Tills man may help me to his majesty's ear.
If he would spend his power.. God save you,
sir.
Gent. And you.
Hel. Sir, I have- seen you in the court of
France. 10
Gent. I have been sometimes there.
Hel. I do presume, sir, that you are not
fallen
From the report that goes upon your good¬
ness ;
And therefore, goaded with most sharp occa¬
sions.
Which lay nice manners by, I put you to
The use of your own virtues, for the which
1 shall continue thankful.
Gent. Wlnrt's your will ?
Hkl. That it will please you
To rive this poor petition to the king.
And aid me with that store of xiower you
have 30
To come into bis ptesence.
VH
Gent. The king's not here.
Hel. ■ Not here, sir I
Gent. Not, indeed ;
He hence removed last night and with more
haste
Than is his use.
Wid. Lord, how we lose our pains 1
Hel. All's well that ends well yet,
Tliough time seem so adverse and means un¬
fit
I do beseech you, whither is he gone ?
Gent. Marry, as I take it, to Kousillon ;
Whither I am going.
Hel. I do beseech you, sir.
Since you are like to see the king before me.
Commend the paper to his nacious hand, 31
Which I presume shall render you no blame
But rather make you thank your pains for it.
I will come after you with what good speed
Our means will make us means.
Gent. This I'll do for you.
Hel. And you shall find yourself to be well
thank'd,
Whate'er falls more. We must to horse
again.
Go, go, provide. [Exexmt.
Scene H. Rousillon. Before the Count's
palace.
Enter Clown, qpdBAitiot.Li:9, following.
Par. Good Monsieur Lavache, give my
Loi-d Lefeu this letter : I have ere now, sir,
been better known to you, when 1 have held
familiarity with fresher clothes ; but 1 am
now, sir, muddied in fortune's mood, and
smell somewhat strong of her strong dis¬
pleasure.
Clo. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but
sluttish, if it smell so strongly as thou speak-
est of: I will henceforth eat no fish of for¬
tune's buttering. Prithee, allow the wind. 10
Par. Nay, you need not to stop your nose,
sir ; I spake^ but by a metaphor.
Clo. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I
will stop my nose ; or against any man's meta¬
phor. Prithee, get thee further.
Par. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper.
Go. Foil! prP.hee, stand away : a paper
from fortune's cVse-stool to give to a noble¬
man ! Look, here he comes himself. 19
Enter Lapeu.
Here is a purr of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's
cat,—bivi hot a musk-cat,—that has fallen in¬
to the unclean fishpond of her di.spleasure,
and, as he says, is muddied withal : pray you,
sir, use the carp as you may ; for he looks
like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, ras¬
cally knave. I do pity his distress in my
similes of comfort and leave him to your lord¬
ship. [Exit.
Par. My lord, I am a man whom fortune
hath cruelly scratched. 2S
Laf And what would you have me to do ?
"Tis too late to pare her nails now. Wherein
have yen played the knave with 'ortune, that
ALL'is WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
712 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
she should scratch you, who ot herself is a
good lady and would not have knaves thrive
long under her ? There's a quart d'wu for
you : let the justices make you and foitune
friends : I am lor other business.
Par. I beseech your honor to hear me one
single word.
Laf. You beg a single penny more : come,
you shall ha't; save your word. 40
Par. My name, my good lord, is Parolles.
Laf. You beg more than 'word,' then.
Cox my irassion ! give me your hand. How
does your drum ?
Par. O my good lord, you were the first
that found me !
Laf. Was 1, in sooth ? and I was the first
that lost thee.
Par. it lies in you, my lord, to bring me in
some grace, for you did bring mj^ out. 50
Laf. Out upon thee, knave ! do.st thou put
upon me at once both the offlcd' of God and
the devil ? One brings thee iu grage and the
other brings thee out. [^Trumpets sound.'] The
king's coming; f know by his trurairets.
Sirrah, inquire further alter me ; I had talk of
you last night : though you ai-e a fool and a
knave, you shall eat; go to, follow.
Par. I praise God for youi [Exeunt.
Scene III. RousiUon. The Count's palace.
Flourish. Enter Kjng, Countess, Lafeu,
the two French Lords, with Attendants.
Kinc/. We lost a jewel of her ; and our
esteem
Was made much poorer by it : but your son.
As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know
Her estimation home.
Count. 'Tis past, my liege ;
And I beseech your majesty to make it
Natural rebellion, done i' the blaze of youth ;
When oil and fire, too strong for reason's
force,
O'erbears it and bums on.
King. My honor'd lady,
I have forgiven and forgotten all; '
Though my revenges were high bent upon
him.
And watch'd the time to shoot.
Inf. This I must say, 11
But first I beg my pardon, the young lord
Did to his majesty, his mother and his lady
Offence of mighty note ; but to himself
The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife
Whose beauty did astonish the survey
Of richest eyes, whose words all ■ ears took
captive.
Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn'd to
serve
Humbly call'd mistress.
King. Praisingwhat Is lost
Makes the remembrance dear. WeU, call him
hither; ' . 20
We are reconciled, and the first view shall
kill
An repetition : let hin^nc^ ask our pardon
[Act ti
The nature of his great offence is dead,
And deeper than oblivion we do bury
The incensing relics of it: let him approach,
A stranger, no offender ; and inform him
So 'tis our will.he should.
Gent. I shall, my liege. [Exit.
King. What says he to your daughter ?
have you simke'?
Laf. All that he is hath reference to your
highness.
King. Then shall we have a match. 1 have
letters sent me 30
That set him high in fame.
Enter Bertbam.
Ixtf. He looks well on't.
King. I am not a day of season.
For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail
In me at once : but to the brightest beams
Distracted clouds give way ; so stand thou
forth ;
The time is fair again.
Ber. My high-repented blames.
Dear sovereign, pardon to me.
King. All is whole ;
Not one word more of the consumed time.
Let's take the instant by the forward top ;
For we are old, and on ourquick'st decrees 40
The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time
Steals ere we can effect them. You remember
The daughter of this lord ?
Ber. Admiringly, my liege, at first
I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart
Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue
Where the impression of mine eye infixing.
Contempt his scornful perspective did lend
me.
Which warp'd the line of every other favor :
Scom'd a fair color, or express'd it stolen ; 50
Extended or contracted all proportions
To a most hideous object: thence it came
That .she whom all men praised and whom
myself.
Since 1 have lost, have loved, was in mine eye
The dust that did offend it.
King. Well excused:
That thou didst love her, strikes some scores
away
From the great compt : but love that comes
too late.
Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried.
To the great sender turns a sour offence.
Crying, 'That's good that's gone.' Our rash
faults 60
Make trivial price of serious things we have.
Not knowing them until we know their grave;
Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust.
Destroy our friends and after weep their dust:
tOur own love waking cries to see what's
done.
While shame full late sleeps out the after¬
noon.
Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget
her.
$end forth yonr amorous token for fair Maud¬
lin :
sc£n£ iii.j
AlUS WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
718
Tlie main consents are had ; and here we'll
stay
To see our widower's second marriage-day. 70
Count, Which better than the first, O dear
heaven, bless 1
Or, ere tliey meet) in me, O nature, cesse !
iMf, Come on, my son, in whom my
house's name
Must be digested, give a favor from you
To Biiarkle in the spirits of my daughter.
That she may quickly come. [iJertram gives
a ring,] By my old beard,
And every hair that's on't, Heleur that's
dead.
Was a sweet creature: such a ring as this.
The last that e'er I took her leave at court,
I saw upon her finger.
Jier. Hers it was not. 80
King. Now, pray you, let me see it; for
mine eye.
While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to't.
This ring was mine and, when I gave it
Helen,
1 bade her, if her fortimes ever stood
Nece.ssitied to help, that by this token i
I would relieve her. Had you that craft, to
reave her
Of what should stead her most ?
Ber. My gracious sovereign,
Howe'er it pleases you to take it so.
The ring was never hers.
Could. Son, on my life,
I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it
At her life's rate. . 91
Jm/. I am sure I saw her wear it.
Ber. You are deceived, my lord ; she nev¬
er saw it: [me.
In Florence was it from a casement thrown
Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name
Of her that threw it: noble she was, and
thought
I stood engaged : but when I had subscribed
To mine own fortune and iuform'd her fully
I could not answer in that course of honor
As she had made the overture, she ceased
In heavy satisfaction and would never 100
Receive the ring again.
King. Plutus himself.
That knows the tlnct and multiplying medi¬
cine,
Hath not in nature's mystery more science
Than I have in this ring : 'twas minej 'twas
Helen's,
Whoever gave it you. Then, if you know
That you are well acquainted with yourself.
Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough en¬
forcement
You got it from her : she call'd the saints to
surety
That she would never put it from her finger.
Unless she gave it to yourself in bed, 110
Where you have, never cqme, or sent it us
Upon her great disaster. .
Ber. ' She never saw it
King, Thou spejik'st it falsely, as I love
mine horior;
And makest conjectural fears to come into
me
Which I would fain' shut out. If it should
prove [so ;—
That thou art so inhuman,—'twill not prove
And yet I know not; thou didst hate her
deadly.
And she is dead; which nothing, but to close
Her eyes myself, could win me to believe,
More than to see this ring. Take him away.
[Guards seize Bertram,
My fore-jjast proofs, howe'er the matter fall.
Shall tax my fears of little vanity,
Having vainly fear'd too little. Away with
him 1
AVe'll sift this matter further.
Ber. If you shall prove
This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy
Prove that 1 hu.sbanded her bed in Florence,
Where yet she never was. , [Exit, guarded.
King. I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings.
Enter a Gentleman.
Gent. Gracious sovereign,
whether I have been to blame or no, I know
not:
Here's a petition from a Florentine, 130
Who hath for four or five removes come short
To tender it herself. I undertook it,
■Yauquish'd thereto by the fair grace and
speech
Of the poor suppliant, who by this I know
Is here attending : her business looks in her
With an importing visage ; and she told me,
In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern
Your highness with herself.
King. [Reads] Upon his many protestations
to many me when his wife was dead, I blush
to say it, he won me. Now is the Count Rou-
slllon a widower : his vows are forfeited to
me, and my honor's paid to him. He stole
froin Florence, taking no leave, and 1 follow
him to his country for justice : grant it me, O
king I in yon it best lies ; otherwise a seducer
flourishes, and a poor maid is undone.
Diana Capilet.
Laf. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair,
and toll for this I'll none of him.
King. The heavens have thought well on
thee, Lafeu, 150
To bring forth this discovery. Seek these
suitors ;
Go speedily and bring again the count.
I am afeard the life of Helen, lady,
Was foully snatch'd.
Count. Now, justice on the doers !
Re'^nter Bertram, guarded.
King. I wonder, sir, sith wives are mon¬
sters to you.
And that you fly them as you swear them
lordship.
Yet you desire to many.
Enter Widow and Diana.
What woman's that 1
Dia. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine,
714
Derived from the ancient Capllet:
My suit, as 1 do understand, you know, 160
And therefore know how far I may be pitied.
Wid. I am her motlier, sir, whose age and
honor
Both suffer under this complaint we bring.
And both shali cease, without your remedy.
Kint). Come hither, count; do you know
these women ?
Ber. My lord, I neither can nor will deny
But that I know them: do they charge me
further ?
Dia. Why do you look so strange upon
your wife ?
Ber. She's none of mine, my lord.
Dia If you shall many.
You give away this hand, and that is mine ;
You give away heaven's vows, and those are
mine; 171
You rive away myself, which is known mine;
For 1 by vow am so embodied yours.
That she which marries you must many me.
Either both or none.
Laf. Your reputation comes too short for
my daughter ; you are no husband for her.
Ber. My lord, this is a fond and desperate
creature.
Whom sometime I have langh'd with : let
your highness 179
Lay a more noble thought upon mine honor
Tha)i for to think that I would sink it here.
King. Sir, for my thoughts, you have them
ill to friend
Till your deeds gain them: fairer prove your
honor
Than in my thought it lies.
Dia. Good my lord,*
Ask him upon his oath, if he does think
He had not my virginity.
King. What say'st thou to her f
Ber. She's impudent, my lord.
And was a common gamester to the camp.
Dia. He does me wrong, my lord ; if I were
so.
He might have bought me at a common price:
Do not believe him. O, behold this ring,
Whose high respect and rich validity
Did lack a parallel ; yet for all that
He gave it to a commoner o' the camp.
If I be one.
Count. He blushes, and 'tis it:
Of six preceding ancestors, that gem.
Con ferr'd by testament to the sequent issue,
Hath it been owed and worn. Tliis is his
wife ;
That ring's a thousand proofs.
King. Methought you said
You saw one here in court could witness it
Dia. I did, my lord, but loath am to pro¬
duce 201
So bad an instrument: his name's Parolles.
La/. I saw the mau to-day, if man he be.
King. Find him, and bring him hither.
[Exit an Attendant.
Ber. What of him ?
He's quoted for a most perfidious slayq,
[Act r.
With aU the spots o' the world tax'd and de-
bosh'd;
Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth.
Am I or that or this for what he'll utter.
That will speak any thing ?
King. She hatn that ring of yours.
Ber. I think she has ; certain it is 1 liked
her, 210
And boarded her i' the wanton way of j'outh :
She knew ber distance and did angle for me.
Madding my eageniess with her restraint.
As ali impediments in fancy's course
Are motives of more &ncy ; and, in fine.
Her i;:finite cunning, with her modem grace.
Subdued mc to her rate: she got the ring ;
And I had that which any inferior might
At market-price have bought.
Dia. I must be patient:
You, that have tum'd off a first so noble
wife, 220
May justly diet me. I pray you yet;
Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband ;
Send for your ring, I will return it home.
And give me mine again.
Ber. I have it not.
King. What ring was yours, I pray you ?
- Dia. Sir, much like
The same upon your finger.
King. Know you this ring ? this ring was
his of late. ^bed.
Dia. And this was it I gave him, being
King._ The story then goes false, you threw
it him
Out of a casement.
Dia. I have spoke tne truth. 230
Enter Pabolijbs.
Ber. My lord, I do confess the ring was
hers.
King. You boggle shrewdly, every feather
starts you.
Is this the man you speak of ?
Dia. Ay, my lord.
King. Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, t
charge you,
Kot fearing the displeasure of your master.
Which on your just proceeding I'll keep off.
By him and by this woman here what know
you ?
Par. So please your majesty, my master
hath been an honorable gentleman : tricks be
hath had in him, which gentlemen have. 240
King. Come, come, to the purpose : did he
love this woman 7
Par. Faith, sir, he did love her; but how?
' King. How, I pray you ?
Par. He did love her, sir, as a gentleman
loves a woman.
King. How is that 7
Par. He loved her, sir, and loved her not.
King. As tlmu art a knave, and no knave.
What an equivocal companion is this! 250
Par. Iamapoorman,andatyottrmaje8^'s
command.
Laf. He's a good drum, my lord, but •
naughty oxator.
ALL S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
SCEKB Itl.J
ALL'S WELL TBAT EiJDS WELL
716
Dia. Do you know lie promised me mar¬
riage ?
Par. Faith, I know more than I'ii speak.
King. But wilt tiiou not speak ail thou
knowest ?
Par. Yes, so please your majesty. I did
go between them, as 1 said : but more than
that, he ioved her ; for indeed he was mad for
her, and talked of Satan and of Limbo and of
Furies and I know not what; yet I was in that
credit with them at that time that I knew of
their going to bed, , and of other motions, as
promising her marriage, and things which
would derive me ill will to speak of ; therefore
I will not siieak what I know.
King. 1 liou hast spoken aU already, unless
thou canst say they are married : but thou art
too fine in thy evidence ; therefore stand aside.
This ring, you say, was yours ? 271
Dia. Ay, my good lord.
King. Where did you buy it ? or wko gave
it you ?
Dia. It was not given me, nor I did not buy
ik
King, Who lent it you ?
Dia. It wag not lent me neither.
King. Where did you find it, then ?
Dia. I found it not.
King. If it were yours by none of all these
ways.
How could you give it him ?
Dia. I never gave it him.
Laf. • This woman's an easy glove, my lord;
sh^oes off and on at pleasure.
King. This ring was mine : I gave it his
first wife. 280
Dia. It might be yours or hers, for aught I
know.
King. Take her away; I do not like her
now;
To prison with her : and away with him.
Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this
ring,
Tliou diest within this hour.
Dia. I'll never tell you.
King. Take her away.
Dia. I'll put in bail, my liege.
King. I think thee now some common cias-
, tomer.
Dia. By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas
you.
King. Wherefore hast thou accused him all
this while ?
Dia. Because he's guilty, and he is not
guilty: 290
He knows I am no maid, and he'll swear to't;
I'll swear I am a maid, and he knows nut.
Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life ;
1 am either maid, or else tliis old man's wife.
King. She does abuse our ears : to prison
with her.
Dia. Good mother, fetcH my baiL Stay,
royal sir : [Kxit Widow.
Tlie jeweller that owes the ring is sent for,
And he shall surety me. But for this lord.
Who br^ abused me, as he knows himself.
Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit
him: 300
He knows himself my bed be hath defiled ;
And at that time he got his wife with child :
Dead though she be, she feels her young one
kick :
So there's my riddle: one that's dead is quick:
And now behold the meaning.
Be-enter Widow, uoUh Helena.
King. Is there no exorcist
Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes 7
Is't real that 1 see 7
Hel. No, m"y good lord ;
'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see.
The name and not the thing.
Ber. Both, both. 0, pardon 1
Hel. O my good lord, when I was like this
maid, 310
1 found yon wondrous kind. There is your
ring;
And, look yon, here's your letter; this it says:
' When from my finger you can get this ring
And are by me with child,' &c. This is done:
Will you be mine, now you are doubly won 7
Ber. If she, my liege, cau make me know
this clearly,
I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly.
Hel. If it appear not plain and prove un¬
true.
Deadly divorce step between me and you !
0 my dear mother, do I see you living 7 320
Laf. Mine eyes smell onions ; 1 shall weep
anon :
[To Parolles] Good Tom Drum, lend me a
handkercher : so,
1 t'aank thee: wait on me home, I'll make sport
with thee:
Let thy courtesies alone, they are scurvy ones.
King. Let us from point to point tliis story
Icnow,
To make the even truth in pleasure flow.
[To Diana\ If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped
flower.
Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy
dower ;
For I can guess that by thy honest aid
Thou keep'st a wife herself, thyself a maid.
Of that and all the progress, more or less, 331
Resolvedly more leisure shall express :
All yet seems well; and if it end so meet.
The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.
[Flouriih.
EPILOGUE.
King. The king's a beggar, now the play is
done:
All is well ended, if this suit be won.
That you express content; which we will pay.
With strife to please you, day exceeding day:
Ours be your patience then, and yours our
parts :
Tour gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts.
IEtxuwI. 34fi
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
(written about 1603.)
INTRODUCTION.
This is one of the darkest and most painful of the comedies of Shakespeare, but its darkness^ is
lit by the central Ugiire of Isabella, with her white passion of purity and of indiguation against sin.
The play deals with deep things of our humanity—with righteousness and charity, mth selfHieceit,
and moral weakness and strength, even with life and death themselves. All that is soft^ inelodiou^
romantic, has disappeared from the style; it shows a fearless vigor, penetrating imagination, and
mnch intellectual force and boldness. Its date is uncertain. Two passages (Act I., Sc. i, L. 68-73,
and Act II., Sc. i v., L. 24-20) have been conjectured to contain a courtly apology for King James
l.*8 stately and ungracious demeanor on bis entry into England; ** and possibly the revival in 1664
of a statute which punished with death any divorced person who married again while his or her
former husband or wife was living, may have added point to one chief incident in the play. Shake¬
speare took the story from Whetstone's play Promos and Cassandra (1578), and the pros© telling of
the tale by the same author in his Hepfatneron of Civil Discourses (1582). Whet8tone*.s original
was a story in the Hecatomithi of Cilraldi Ointhio. Shakespeare alters some of the incidents, making
the ]>uke present in di.iguise throughout, preserving the honor of the heroine, and introducing the
character of Mariana to take her wifely place by Angelo as a substitute for Isabella. Measure for
Measure, like The Merchant of Venice, is remarkable for Its great pleading scenes ; and to Portia's
ardor and intellectual force Isabella adds a noble severity < £ character, a devotion to an ideal of
rectitude and purity, and a religious enthusiasm. In Vienna, where corruption boils and bub¬
bles," appeai-s this figure of virginal strength and uprightness; at the last she is to preside over the
sinful city and perhaps to save it. She is almost a thing ensky'd and sainted," yet she returns
from the cloister to the world, there to fill her place as wife and Duchess. Angelo, at the outset,
tho.tgh he must be conscious of the wrong he has done to his betrothed, is more self-deceived than a
de<iciver. He does not know his ownheart, and is severe againstothers in his imagined superiority
to every possible temptation. A terrible abyss is opened to him in the evil passion of his own na¬
ture. The unmasking of the self-deceiver is not here, as in the happy comedies, a piece of the
mirth of the play ; It is painful and stern. The Duke acts throughout as a kind of overruling
providence ; he has the wisdom of the serpent, wliich he uses for good ends, and he looks through
life with a steady gaze, which results in a justice and even tenderness towards others. Claudio is
made chiefly to be saved by his sister, but he has a grace of youth and a clinging enjoyment of life
and love, which interest us in him suthoiently for pity if not for admiration. The minor characters
possess each his characteristic feature, but are less important individually than as representatives,
of the wide-spread social corruption and degradation which surround the chief characters, aad form
the soil on which they move and the air they breathe. We never throughout the play get into the
free open joyous atmosphere, so invigorating in other works of Shakespeare ; the oppressive gloom
of the prison, the f>>al breath of the house of shame, are only exchanged for the chilfy damp con¬
ventual walls, or the oppressive retirement of the monastery."
DRAMATIS PERSONS.
ViNCENTio, the Duke.
Anoelo, Deputy.
Kscalus, au ancient Lord.
Claudio, a young gentleman.
Lucio, a fantastic.
Two otlier gentlemen.
Provost
Thomas, )
Peter, (
A Justice.
Varrius.
Elbow, a simple tonstable.
Froth, a foolish gentleman.
(716)
two friars.
PoMPEV, servant to Mistress Overdona '
Abhokson, au executioner. ,
Babrardine, a dissolute prisoner.
Isabella, sister to Claudio.
Mariana, betrothed to Angelo.
Juliet, beloved of Claudio.
Francisca, a nun.
Mistress Overdone, a bawd.'
Lords, Offlcers, Citizens,' Boy, and Attendants.
Scene i Vienna,
sceke 11.]
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
717
ACT I.
Scene I. An aparlment in IheDvKR's palace.
Enter Duke, Escaeus, Lords and Atteiidauts.
Ihike. Escalus.
Escal. My lord.
Duke. Of - government tbe ^iroperties t6
unfold, . , , [course ;
Would seem in me to affect speech and dis-
Since I am put to know that your own science '
Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice
My strength can give you : then no more re¬
mains,
tBut that to your snfBciency...'
1 as yottr Worth is able.
And let them Work. The nature of our people.
Our city's institutions, and the terms 11
For common justice, you're as iiregnant in
As art and practice hath enriched any
That we remember. There is our commission.
From which we would not have you warp.
Call hither,
I say, bid come before us Angelo.
[Erit an Attendant.
What figure of us think you lie will bear ?
For you must know, we liave with special soul
Elected him our absence to supply.
Lent him our terror, dress'd him with our love.
And given his deputation all tlie organs 21
Of our own jxiwer : what think you of it ?
Escal. If any in Vienna be of wprth
To undergo such ample grace and honor.
It is Lord Angelo.' '
Duke. Look where he comes.
Enter AngElo.
Any. Always obedient to your grace's will,
I come to know your pleasure.
Duke. Angelo,
There is a kind of character in thy lite.
That to the observer doth tliy history
Fully unfold. Thyself and thy belongings 30
Are not thine own so proper as to waste
Thyself upon thy virtues, thejr on thee.
Heaven doth with us as we with torches do.
Not light, them for themselves; for, if our vir¬
tues
Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike
As if we had them not. Sx>irits are not finely
' touch'd , ■ . I
But to fine issues, nor Nature never lends '
The smallest scruple of her excellence
But, like a thrifty godde.ss, she determines
Hei-self the glory of a creditor, ■ 40
Both thanks and use. But I do bend my .speech
To one that can my jjart in him advertise ;
Hold therefore, Angelo ;—
In our remove be thou at full ourself ;
Mortality and mercy iu Vienna
Live in thy tongue and hejirt: old Escalus,
Though first in question, is thy secondary.
Take thy commission. •
, .4)ip. Now, good my lord.
Lot there be some more test made of my metal.
Before so noble and so great a figure 5®
Be stamp'd upou it,
Duke. No more evasion
We have with a leaven'd and prepared choice
Proceeded to you ; therefore take your honors.
Our haste from hence is of so quick condition
That it prefersitself and leaves unquestion'd
Matters of needful value. We shall write to you,
Asfime and our concernings shall importiiue.
How it goes with us, and do look to know
What doth befall you here. So, fare you well:
To the hopeful execution do I leave you 60
Of your commissions.
Any. Yet give leave, my lord.
That we may bring you something on the way.
Duke. My haste may not admit it ;
Nor,need you, on mine lionor, have to do
With any scruple ; your scope is as mine own
So to enforce or qualify the laws
As to your soul seems good. Give me your
hand :
I'll privily away. I love the people.
But do not like to stage me to their eyes'.
Tliough it do well, I do not relish well 70
Their loud applause and Aves vehement ;
Nor do I think the man of safe discretion
That does affect it. Once more, fare you well.
Any. The heavens give safety to your pur¬
poses !
Escal. Lead forth and bring you back in
happiness ! ''
Duke. I thank you. Fare you well. [Exit.
Escal. I shall desire you, sir, to give me
leave [cerns me
To have free speech with you ; and it con-
To look into the bottom of my place :
A iiower I have, but of what strength and
uatui-e 80
I am not yet instructed.
Any. 'Tis so with me. Let us withdraw
together,
And we may soon our satisfaction liave
Touching that point.
Escal. I'll wait iqion your honor. [Exeunt.
Scene II, A street.
Enter Lucio and two Gentlemen.
Lueio. If the duke with the other dukes
come not to composition with the King of Hun¬
gary, wlnr then all the dukes fall upon the king.
First Gent. Heaven grant us its iieace, but
not the King of Hungary's !
Sec. Gent. Amen.
Lueio. Thou concliidest like the sanctimo¬
nious pirate, that went to sea with the Ten
Commandments, but scraped one out of the
table. •
See. Gent. ' Thou shalt not steal' ? 10
Lueio. Ay, that he razed. '
First Gent. Why, 'twas a commandment to
command the captain and all the rest from
their functions : theyxmt forth to steal. There's
not a soldier of us all, tliat, in the thanksgiving
before meat, do relish the petition well that,
prays for peace.
Sec. Gent. I never Uwrd any soldier dislike
?18
iuc/o. { believe thee; for I tliink thou
never wast where grace was said. 20
Sec. Gent. No ? a dozeu times at least.
First Gent. Wiiat, in metre ?
Lucio. In any proix>rtiou or in any language.
First Gent. 1 think, or in any religion.
Lucio. Ay, why not ? Grace is grace, de¬
spite of all controversy: as, for example, thou
thyself art a wicked villain, despite of all grace.
First Gent. Well, there went but a pair of
shears between us.
Lucio. I grant ; as there may between the
lists and the velvet. Thou art the list. 31
First Gent. And thou the velvet: thou art
good velvet; thou'rt a three-piled piece, 1 war¬
rant thee : I had as lief be a list of an English
kersey as be piled, as thou art piled, for a
French velvet Do I speak feelingly now ?
Liicto. 1 think thou dost; aud, Indeed, with
most painful feeling of tliy speecli : 1 will, out
of thine own confession, learn to begin tliy
health ; but, whilst I live, forget to drink after
thee. 40
First Gent. I think I have done myself
wrong, have I not ?
Sec. Gent. Yes, that thou hast, whether
tliou art tainted or free.
Lucio. Belioid, behold, where Madam
^litigation comes ! I have purchased as many
diseases under her roof as come to—
Sec. Gent. To what, I pray ?
Lucto. Judge.
Sec. Gent. To three thousand dolors a year.
First Gent. Ay, and more. 51
Lucio. A French crown more.
First Gent. Thou art always figuring
diseases in me ; but thou art full of error ; I
am sound.
Lucio. Nay, not as one would say, healthy ;
but so sound as things that are hollow; thy
bones are hollow ; impiety has made a feast of
tiiee.
Enter Mistress Overdone.
First Gent. How now ! which of your hips
has tlie most profound sciatica ?
Mrs. Go. Well, well •, there's one yonder ar¬
rested and carried to prison was worth five
thousand of you all.
Sec. Gent. Who's that, I pray thee ?
Mrs. Ov. Marry, sir, that's Ciaudio, Siguier
Claiidio.
First Gent. Ciaudio to prison ? 'tis not so.
Mrs. On. Nay, but I know 'tis so : I saw
him arrested, saw him carried away ; and,
which is more, within these three days his
head to be chopped off. 70
Lucio. But, after all this fooling, I would
not have it so. Art thou sure of this ?
Mrs. Of. I am too sure of it; and it is for
getting Madam Julietta with child.
Lucio. Believe me, this may be : he prom¬
ised to meet me two hours since, and he was
ever precise in pi-omise-keeping.
Sec. Gent. Besides, you know, itdraws some¬
thing near to the speech we U?td to siich a pur¬
pose. '
[Act i.
Firsi Gent. But, most of all, agreeing with
the proclamation. ^
Lucio. Away ! let's go learn the truth of it.
[Exeunt Lucio and Gentlemen.
Mrs. Go. Thus, what with the war, what
with the sweat, what with tlie rallows and
what with poverty, I am custom-dirunk.
Enter Pompey.'^
How now ! what's the news with you ?
Pom. Yonder man is carried to prison.
Mrs. Go. Well; what has he done ?
Pom. A woman.
Mrs. Gv. But what's his offence 'i 90
Pom. Groping for trouts in a peculiar river.
Mrs. Go. What, is therd a maid with child
by him ?
Pom. No, but there's a woman with maid
by him. You have not heard of the proclama¬
tion, have you ?
Mrs. Gv. What proclamation, man ?
Pom. All houses in the suburbs of Vienna
must be plucked down.
Mrs. Go. And what shall become of those
in the city ? 101
Pom. They shall stand for seed : they had
gone down too, but that a wise burgher put in
for them.
Mrs. Gv. BuJ shall all our houses of resort
in the suburbs be pulled down 7
Pom. I'o the ground, mistress.
Mrs. Go. Why, here's a change indeed in the
commonwealth ! What shall become of me 7
Pom. Come ; fear you not: good counsel¬
lors lack no clients : though you change your
place, you need not change your trade ; I'll be
your taiister still. Courage 1 there will be pity
taken on you : you that liave worn your eyes
almost out in the service, you will be consid¬
ered.
Mrs. Gv. What's to do here, Thomas taii¬
ster 7 let's withdraw.
Pom. Here comes Signior Ciaudio, led by
the provost to prison; and there's Madam
Juliet. [Exeunt.
Enter Provost, Claudio, Juliet, and
Officers.
Claud. Fellow, why dost thou show .me
thus to the world 7 120
Bear me to prison, where I am committed.
Prov. I do it not in evil disposition,
But from Lord Angelo by special cliaige.
Claud. Thus can the demigod Authority
Make us pay down for our offence by weight
Tlie words of heaven ; on whom it will, it will;
On whom it will not, so ; yet stiU 'tis just.
Re-enter Lucio and two Gentlemen.
Lucio. Why, how now, Ciaudio 1 whence
comes this restraint 7
Claud. From too much liberty, my Lucio^
liberty:
As surfeit is the father of much fast, 190
So every scope by the immoderate use
Turns to restiaiut. Our natures do pursue,
fate that raviu down their proper bano.
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
ScKNE 111.]
A thirsty evil; and when we drink we die.
Liicio. If I could speak so wisely under an
arrest, I wouid send for certain of mv credit¬
ors : and yet, to say the truth, 1 had as lief
have the foppery of freedom as the morality
of imprisonment. Wliat's thy offence, Ciau-
dio ?
Claud. What but to speak of would offend
again. 110
Lucio. What, is't murder?
Claud. No.
Lucio. Lechery ?
CUmd. Caii it so.
Prm>. Away, sir ! you must go.
Claud. One word, good friend. Lncio, a
word witii yon.
Lucio. A hundred, if they'll do you any
good.
Is lechery so look'd after ?
Claud. Thus stands it with me : upon a
true contract
I got possession of Julietta's bed : 150
You know the lady ; she is fast my wife.
Save that we do the denunciation lack
Of outward order : this we came not to,
Only for propagation of a dower
Kemaining in tlie coffer of her friends.
From whom we thought it meet to hide our
love
Till time had made them for us. But it chances
The stealth of our most mutual entertainment
With character too gross is writ on Juliet
Lucio. With child, perha|>s ?
Claud. Unhappily, even so. 160
And the new deputy now for the duke—
Wliether it be the fault and glimpse of new¬
ness.
Or whether that the body public be
A horse whereon the governor doth ride.
Who, newly in the seat, that it may know
He can command, lets it straight feel the spur;
Whether the tyranny be in his place.
Or in his eminence titat tills it up,
I stagger in :—but this new governor
Awakes me all the enrolled penalties 170
Which have, like nnscour'd armor, hung by
the wall
So long tliat nineteen zodiacs liave gone round
And none of them been worn: and, for a name.
Now puts tlie drowsy and neglected act
Freslily on me : 'tis surely fur a name.
Lucio. 1 warrant it is : and thy head stands
so tickle on thy shoulders that a milkmaid, it
she be in love, may sigh it off. Send after the
duke and appeal to him.
Claud. 1 have done so, but he's not to be
found. 180
1 prithee, Lncio, do me this kind service :
This day my si.ster should the cloister enter
.\nd tliere receive her approbation :
Acquaint her with the danger of my state;
Implore her, in my voice,^that she make
friends ,
To the strict deputy ; bid herself assay him :
1 have great hoi>e in tiiat; for in her youth
There is a prone and speechless dialed^
719
Such as move men; beside, she hath prosper¬
ous art
Wlien she will play with reason and discourse.
And well she can persuade. 101
Lucio. 1 piay she may ; as well for the
encouragement of the like, which else wouid
stand under grievons imposition, as for the
enjoying of thy life, who I wonid be sorry
should be thus foolishly lost at a game of tick-
tack. I'll to her.
Claud. 1 thank yon, good friend Lucio.
Lucio. Within two hours.
Claud. Come, officer, away!
[Exeunt.
Scene III. A monastery.
Enter Duke and Friar Thomas.
Duke. No, holy father ; throw away that
thought;
Believe not that the dribbling dart of love
Can pierce a complete bosom. Why I desire
thee
To give me secret harbor, hath a purpose
More grave and wrinkled than the aims and
ends
Of burning youth.
Fri. T. May your grace speak of it :
Duke. My holy sir, none better knows than
you
How I have ever loved the life removed
And held in idle price to haunt assemblies
Where youth, and cost, and witless bravery
keeps. 10
I havedeliver'd to Lord Angelo,
A man of stricture and firm abstinence.
My absolute power and place here in Vienna,
And he supposes me travell'd to Poland ;
For so I have strew'd it in the common ear.
And so it is received. Now, pious sir.
You will demand of me why 1 do this ?
Fri. T. Gladly, my lord.
Duke. We have strict statutes and most
biting laws.
The needful bits and curbs to headstrong
weeds, 20
Which for this nineteen years we have let slip;
Even like an o'ergrown lion in a cave.
That goes not out to prey. Now, as fend
fathers.
Having bound up the threatening twigs of
birch.
Only to stick it in their children's sight
For terror, not to use, in time the r<5i
Becomes more mock'd than fear'd ; so our
decrees.
Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead ;
And liberty plucks justice by the nose ;
The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart
Goes all decorum. 31
Fri. T. It rested in your grace
To unloose this tied-up justice when you
pleased :
And it in you more dreadful would have
seem'd
Thau in Lord Angelo
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
720
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
{Ac* t.
Duke. I do fear, too dreadful:
Sith 'twas my fault to give the people scope,
'Twould be my tyranny to strike and gall them
For what I bid them do : for we bid this be
done.
When evil deeds have their jiermissive pass
And not the punishment. Therefore indeed,'
my father,
I have oh Augelo imposed the office ; 40
Who may, in tlie ambush of my name, strike
home,'
tAiid yet my nature never in tlie fight
To do In slander. And to behold his sway,
1 will, as 'twere a brother of your order.
Visit both prince and people : therefore, I pri¬
thee.
Supply me with the habit and in.struct me
How I may formally in person bear me
Like a true friar. Store reasons for ihis action
At our more leisure shall 1 render you ;
Only, this one : Lord Angelo is precise ; 50
Stands at a guard with envy ; scarce confesses
That his blood flows, or tliat his appetite
Is more to bread than stone : hence shall we
see,
If IK) wer change purpose, what our seemers be.
\_Exeztnt.
Scene TV. A numwy.
Enter Isabella and Fkancisca.
J$ab. And have you nuns ho farther priv¬
ileges ?
Fran. Are not these large enough ?
Isab. Yes, truly ; I speak not as desiring
more ;
But rather wishing a more strict restraint
Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of Saint
Clare.
Lucio. \_WitHln'\ Ho! Peace be in this place!
Isab. Who's that which calls ?
Fran. It is a man's voice. Gentle Isabella,
Turn yon the key, and know his business of
him ;
You may, I may not; you are yet unsworn.
When you have vow'd, you must not speak
with men 10
But in the presence of the prioress :
Then, if you speak, you must not show your
face.
Or, if you show your face, you must not speak.
He calls again ; I prjiy you, answer him. [Exit.
Isab. Peace and prosperity ! .Who is't that
calls ?
Enter Lucio.
Lucio. Hail, virgin, if you be, as those
cheek-roses
Proclaim you are no less ! Can you so ste^d
me
As bring me to the sight of Isabella,
A novice of this place and the fair sister
To her unhappy brother Claudio ? 20
Isab. Why ' her unhappy brother'? let me
ask.
The rather for I now must make you know
I am that Isabella and his aister.
Lucio. Gentle and fair, J-our brother kindly
greets you:
Not to be weary with you, he's in prison.
Isab., Woe me ! for what ? .
Lucio. For that which, if myself might be
his judge.
He should receive his punishment in thanks
He liHth got his friend with child.
Isab. Sir, make me not your story;
Lucio. It is true. 30
I would not—though 'tis my familiar sin
With maids to seem the lapwing and to jest.
Tongue far from heart—flay with all virgins
so :
I hold you as a thing eiLsky^d and sainted.
By your renouncement an immortal spirit.
And to be talk'd with in sincerity.
As with a saint.
Isab. You do blaspheme the good in mock¬
ing me.
Lucio. Do not believe it. Fewness and
truth, 'tis thus:
Your brother and his lover have embraced :
As those that feed grow full, as blossoming
time • 41'
That from the seeduess the bare fallow brings
To teeming foison, even so her plenteous womb
Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry,
Isab. Some one with child by him ? My
cousin Juliet ?
Lucio. Is she your cousin ? '
Isab. Adoptedly ; as school-maids change
their names
By vain though apt affection.
Lucio. She it is.
Isab. 0, let him marry her. .
Lucio. This is the point.
Tlie duke is very strangely gone from hence ;
Bore many gentlemen, myself being one, 51
In hand and hope of action : but we do learn
By those that know the very nerves of state.
His giviugs-out were of an infinite distance
From his true-meant design. Upon his place,
And with full line of his authority.
Governs Lord Angelo ; a man whose blood
Is very snow-broth ; one who never feels
Tlie wanton stings and motions of the sense,
But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge 60
With profits of tlie mind, study and fast.
He—to give fear to use and liberty.
Which have for long run by the hideous law,
As mice by lions—hath pick'd out an act.
Under whose lieavy sense your brother's life
Falls into forfeit: he arrests him on it;
And follows close the rigor of the statute.
To make him an example. All hope is gone.
Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer
To soften Angelo ; and that's my pith of bus¬
iness 1 iQ
'Twixt you and your poor brother.
Isab. Doth he so seek his life ?
Lucio. ■ • Has censured him
Already ; and, as I hear, the provost hath
A warrant for his execution.
Isab. Alas ! what poor ability's in me
To do him good ?
ScENG 1.3
MEASVRE EOn MEASURE.
721
lAtcio. Assay the power you have.
Isab. My power ? Alas, 1 doubt—
Lucio. Our doubts are traitors
And make us lose the good we olt might win
By fearing to attempt. Go to I^ord Angelo,
And let him learn to know, when maidens sue.
Men give like gods ; but when they weep and
kneel.
All their petitions are as freely theirs
As they tliemselves would owe them.
Isab. I'll see what 1 can do.
Lvcio, But speedily.
Isab. I will about it straight;
No longer staying but to give the mother
Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you:
Commend me to my brother : soon at night
I'll send him certain word of my success.
Lucio. I take my leave of you.
Isub. Good sir, adieu. 90
\_Exeunt.
ACT If.
Scene I. A hall in Angeijo's hovse.
Enter Angeeo, Escalus, and a Justice, Pro¬
vost, Officers, and other Attendants, behind.
Any. We must not make a scarecrow of the
law.
Setting it up to fear the birds of prey.
And let it keep one shape, till custom make it
Their perch and not their terror.
Escal. Ay, but yet
Let us be keen, and rather cut a little,
Thau fall, and bruise to death. Alas, this gen¬
tleman,
Whom I would save, had a most noble father!
Let but your honor know,
Wliom I believe to be most strait in virtue.
That, in tlie working of your own affections.
Had time cohered with place or place with
wishing, 11
Or that the resolute acting of your blood
Could have attaiu'd the effect of your own
purpose.
Whether you had not sometime in your life
ErPd in this point which now you censure
him,
And puil'd the law upon you.
Aniy. 'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus,
Another thing to fall. I not deny,
The jury, passing on the prisoner's life.
May in the sworn twelve have a tliief or two
Guiltier than him they try. What's opeil made
- to justice, 21
tTliat justice seizes : what kitow the laws
That thieves do pass on thieves ? 'Tis very
pregnant.
The jewel that we find, we stoOp and take't
Because we see it; but whal^e do not see
We tread npon,'and never think of it.
You may not so ejrteniiate his offence
For I have had such faults ; but rather tell
me.
When I, that censure him, do so offend.
Let mine own judgment pattern out my death.
And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must
die.
Escal. Be it as your wisdom will.
Anij. Where is the provost 7
Prov, Here, if it like your honor.
Any. See tiiat Claudio
Be executed by nine to-morrow moining:
Bring him his confessor, let him be jirepared ;
For uiat's the utmost of his pilgrimage.
[Exit Provost.
Escal. [Aside] Well, heaven forgive him !
and forgive us all I
Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall :
fSome run from brakes of ice, and answer
none :
And some condemned for a fault alone. 40
Enter Elbow, and Officers with Froth and
pompey.
Elb. Come, bring them away : if these be
good people in a commonweal tiiat do notiiing
but use their abuses in common houses, I know
no law : bring them away.
Ang. How now, sir i What's your name 7
and what's the matter 7
Elbt If it please your honor, I am the poor
duke's constable, and my name is Elbow : I do
lean upon justice, sir, and do bring in here
before your good honor two notorious benefac¬
tors. 50
Ang. Benefactors 7 Well ; what benefac¬
tors are they 7 are they not malefactors 7
Elb. If it please your honor, 1 know not
well what they are : but precise villains they
are, that I am sure of ; and void of all profa¬
nation in the world that good Christians ought
to have.
Escal. This comes off well; here's a wise
officer.
Ang. Go to: what quality are they of 7
Elbow is your name 7 wby dost thou not speak.
Elbow 7 60
Pom. He cannot, sir ; he's out at elbow.
Ang. What are you, sir 7
Elb. He, sir ! a tapster, sir ; parcel-bawd ;
one that serves a bad woman ; whose house,
sir, was, as they say, plucked down In the
suburbs ; and now she professes a hot-house,
which, I think, is a very ill house too.
Escal. How know you that 7
Elb. My wife, sir, whom I detest before
heaven and your honor,— 70
Escal. How 7' thy wife 7
Elb. Ay, sir ; wliom, I thank heaven, is
an honest woman,—
Escal. Dost thou detest her therefore 7
Elb. I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as
well as she, tiiat this iiouse, if it be not a
bawd's house, it is pity of her lite, for it is
a naughty house.
Escal. How do.st thou know that, constable 7
Elb. Marry, sir, by my wife ; who, if she
had been a woman cardinally given, might
have been accused in fornication, adultery,
and all uucleanliuess tliere.
40
722
Escul. By the woman's means ?
Elb. Ay, sir, by Mistress Overdoiie's
means : but as she spit in his lace, so she de¬
fied him.
Pom. Sir, if it please your honor, this is
not so.
Elb. Prove it before these varlets here,
thou honorable man ; prove it.
Kscal. Do you hear how he misplaces ? 90
' Pom. Sir, she came in great with child ; and
longing, saving your honor's reverence, for
stewed prunes ; sir, we had but two in the
house, which at that very distant time stood,
as it were, in a fruit-dish, a dish of some
three-pence; your honors have seen such
dishes ; they are not China dishes, but very
good dishes,— [sir.
Escal. Go to, go to : no matter for the dish.
Pom. No, indeed, sir, not of a pin ; you
are therein in the right: but to the point. As
I say, this Misti-ess Elbow, being, as I say,
with child, and being great-bellied, and long¬
ing, as 1 said, for prunes ; and having but two
ill the dish, as I said. Master Froth here, this
very man, having eaten the rest, as I
said, and, as I say, paying for them very
honestly ; for, as you Ituow, Master Frotli,
I could not give you three-pence again. ♦
Froth. No, indeed.
Pom. Very well; you being then, if you
be remembered, cracking the stones of the
foresaid prunes,— 111
Froth. Ay, so I did indeed.
Pom. Why, very well ; I telling you then,
if you be rememberedi that such a one and
such a one were past cure of the thing you
wot of, unless they kept very good diet, as I
told you,—
Froth. All this is true.
Pom. Why, very well, then,—
Escal. Come, you are a tedious fool: to
the purpose. What was done to Elbow's
wife, that he hath cause to complain of ?
Come me to what was done to her.
Pom. Sir, your honor cannot come to that
yet.
Escal. No, sir, nor I mean it not.
Pom. Sir, but you shall come to it, by
your honor's leave. And, 1 beseech you, look
into Master Froth here, sir ; a man of four¬
score ixnind a year ; whose father died at
Hallowmas ; was't not at Hallowmas, Master
Froth ?
Froth. All-hallond eve. 130
Pom. Why, very well; I hope here be
truths. He, sir, sitting, as I say, in a lower
chair, sir ; 'twas in the Biuich of Grapes,
where indeed you have a delight to sit, have
you not ?
Froth. I have so ; because it is an open
room and good for winter.
Pom. Why, very well, then ; I hope here
be truths.
Any. This will last out a night in Russia,
When nights are longest there : I'll take my
leave, 140
[Act 11.
And leave yon to the hearing of the cause ;
Hoping you'll find good cause to whip them
all.
Escal. I think no less. Good morrow to
your lordship. [Exit Anyelo.
Now, sir, come on : what was done to Elbow's
wife, once more ?
Pom. Once, sir ? there was nothing done
to her once.
Elb. I beseech yon, sir, ask him what this
Eia-i did to my wife.
Pom. I beseech your honor, ask me. 150
Esoal. Well, sir ; what did this gentleman •
to her ?
Pom. I beseech you, sir, look in this gen¬
tleman's face. Good Master Froth, look u|)on
his honor ; 'tis for a good puriwse. Doth
your honor mark his face ?
Fiscal Ay, sir, very well.
Pom. Nay, I beseech you, mark it well.
Escul. Well, I do so.
Pom. Doth your honor see any harm in
his face ? 160
Escal. Why, no.
Pom. I'll be supposed upon a book, his
fai^e is the worst thing about him. Good,
then ; if his face be the worst thing about
him, how could Master Froth do the con¬
stable's wife any harm ? I would know that
of your honor.
Escal. He's in the right. Constable, what
say you to it ?
Elb. First, an it like you, the house is a re¬
spected house ; next, this is a respected fel¬
low ; and his mistress is a respected woman.
Pom. By this hand, sir, his wife is a more
respected (lei-son than any of us all.
Elb. Yarlet, thou liest; thou liest, wicked
varlet! the time has yet to come that she
was ever respected with man, woman, orchild.
Pom. Sir, she wag respected with him be¬
fore he married with her.
Escal. Which is the wiser here't Justice
or Iniquity ? Is this true ? 181
Elb. O thou caitiff! O thou varlet! O thou
wicked Hannibal! I respected with her be¬
fore I was married to her ! If ever I was re¬
spected with her, or she with me, let not your
worship think me the poor duke's officer.
Prove this, thou wicked Hannibal, or I'll have
mine action of battery on thee.
Escal. If he took you a box o' the ear,
you might have your action of slander too. 190
Elb. Marry, I thank your good worship for
it. What is't your worship's pleasure I shall
do with this wicked caitiff ?
Escal. Truly, officer, because he hath some
offences in him that thou wouldst discover if
thou couldst, let him continue in his courses
till thou knowest what they are.
Elb. Marry,-I thank your worship for it.
Thou seest, thou wicked varlet, now, what's
come uiioii thee ; thou art to continue now
thou varlet; thou art to continue. 201
EscaU Where were you born, friend ?
Froth. Here in Vienna, sir.
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
SCEXE II.]
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
728
Escal. Are yoa of lourscore ponnds a
year ?
Froth. Yes, aii't please you, sir.
Eicat. So. What trade are you of, sir ?
Pom. A tapster ; a jKior widow's tapster.
Escat. Your mistress' name ?
Pom. Mistress Overdoue.
Escat. Hath she had any more than one
husband ? 211
Pom. Nine, sir : Overdone by the last.
Escal. Nine ! Come hither to me, Master
Froth. Master Froth, I would not have you
acquainted with tapsters : they will draw yon.
Master Froth, and you will hang them. Get
you gone, and let me hear no more of you.
Froth. I thank your worship. For mine
own part, I never come into any room in a
tap-house, but I am drawn in. 220
Escal. Well, no more of it. Master Froth :
farewell. [Exit Froth.] Come you hither to
me. Master tester. What's your name.
Master tapster ?
Pom. Pompey.
Escal. What else ?
Pom. Bum, sir.
Escal. Troth, and your bum is the greatest
thing about you ; so that in the beastliest
sense yon are Pompey the Great. Pomiiey,
you are partly a bawd, Pompey, howsoever
you color it in being a tapster, are you not ?
come, tell me true : it .shall be the better for
you.
Pom. Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow that
would live.
Escal. How would you live, Pompey ? by
being a bawd ? What do you think of the
trade, Pompey ? is it a lawful trade ?
Pom. If the law would allow it, sir.
Escal. But the law will not allow it, Pom¬
pey ; nor it shall not be allowed in Vienna. 241
Pom. Does your worship mean to geld and
splay all the youth of the city ?
EsccU. No. Pompey.
Pom. Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they
will to't then. If your worship will take or¬
der for the drabs and the knaves, you need
not to fear the bawds. ,
Escal. There are pretty orders beginning, I
can tell you : it is but heading and hanging.
Pom. If you head and hang all that oiTeud
that way but for ten year together, you'll be
glad to give out a commission for more heads:
if this law hold in Vienna ten year, I'll rent
the fairest house in it after three-pence a bay:
if you live to see this come to pass, say Pom¬
pey told you so.
Escal. Thank you, good Pompey ; and, in
requital of your prophecy, hark you : I advise
you, let me not find you before me again upon
any complaint whatsoever ; no, not for dwell¬
ing where you do ; if I do_Pompey, I shall
brot you to your tent, ana prove a shrewd
Ciesarto you ; in plain dealing, Pompey, I
shall have you whipt: so, for this time, Pom¬
pey, fare you well.
P(w», I thauJc vour worsbin for .your good
counsel: [Aside] but I shall follow it as the
flesh and fortune shall better determine.
Whip me ? No, no ; let carman whip his jade;
The valiant heart is not whipt out of his trade.
[Exit. 270
Escal. Come hither to me. Master Elbow ;
come hither. Master constable. How long
have you been in this place of constable ?
Elb. Seven year and a half, sir.
Escal. I thought, by your readiuess in the
oflice, you had continued in it some time. You
say, seven years together ?
Elb. And a half, sir.
Escal. Alas, it hath been great jjains to you.
They do you wrong to put you so oft upon't :
are there not men in your ward sufficient to
serve it ?
Elb. Faith, sir, few of any wit in such
matters : as they are chosen, they are glad to
choose me for them ; I do it for some piece of
money, and go through with all.
Escal. Look you bring me in the names of
some six or seven, the most sufficient of your
parish.
Elb. To your worship's house, sir ?
Escal. To my house. Fare you well.
[Exit Elboio.
What's o'clock, think you ? 280
Just. Eleven, sir.
Escal. I pray you home to dinner with me.
Just. I humbly thank you.
Escal. It grieves me for the death of
Claudio ;
But there's no remedy.
Just. Lord Angelo is severe.
Escal. It is but needful:
Mercy is not itself, that oft looks so ;
Pardon is still the nurse of second woe :
But yet,—poor Claudio ! There is no remedy.
Come, sir. [Exeunt. 2110
Scene II. Another room in the same.
Enter Pkovost and a Servant.
Serv. He's hearing of a cause ; he will
come straight :
I'll tell him of yon.
Prov. Pray you, do. [Exit Servant.]
I'll know
His pleasure ; m^ be he will relent. Alas,
He hath but as omnded in a dream !
All sects, all ages smack of this vice ; and he '
To die for't!
EnUr Anoeix).
Ang. Now, what's the matter, provost ?
Prov. Is it your will Claudio shall die to¬
morrow ?
Ang. Did not I tell thee yea ? hadst thov.
not order ?
Why dost thou ask a^in ?
Prov. Lest I might be too rash :
Under your good correction, 1 have seen, 10
When, after execution, judgment hath
Repented o'er his doom.
Ang. Gp to; let that be mine :
724
MEASURE FOR MEASURE-
[Act ii
Do you your office, or give un your place,
And you shall well be spared.
Prov. I crave your honor's pardon.
What shall be done, sir, with the groaning
Juliet?
She's very near her hour.
Any. 'Dispo.se of her , ,
To some more fitter place, and that with speed.
Re-enter Servant.
Sen. Here is the sister of the man con-
demn'd
Desires access to you.
Any. Hath he a sister 7
Prov. Ay, my good lord ; a very virtuous
maid, 20
And to be shortly of a sisterhood, ,
M not already-
Ang. Well, let her be admitted.
[Exit Servant.
See you the fornicatress be removed :
Let her have needful, but not lavish, means ;
There shall be order for't.'
Enter Isabell.4. and Lucio.
Prov- God save your honor !
Any. Stay a little while. [To/saft.] You're
welcome : what's your will ?
Isab. I am a woeful suitor to your honor,
Please but your honor hear me.
Any. Well; what's your suit ?
Isoib. There is a vice that most I do abhor,
And most desire should meet tlie blow of jus¬
tice ;
For which I would not pltad, but that I must;
For which I must not plead, but thatl am
At war 'twixt will and will not.
Any. Will; the matter?
Isab. I have a broth^ is condemii'd to die:
I do beseech you, let it be his fault.
And not my brother.
Prov. \_Aside\ Heaven give thee moving
graces !
Any. Condemn the fault and not the actor
of it ?
Why, every fault's condemn'd ere it be done :
Mine were the vei-y cipher of a function,
To fine tlie faults whose fine stands in record.
And let go by the actor. 41
Isab. 0 just but severe law i
I had a brother, then. Heaven keep your
honor !
Lucio. [Aside to Isab."] Give't not o'er so :
to him again, entreat him ;
Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown:
You are too cold if you should need a pin,
■you could not with more tame a tongue desire
it:
To him, I say!
Isab. Must he needs die ?
Any. Maiden, no remedy.
Isab. Yes ; I do tliink that you might par¬
don him.
And neither heaven nor man grieve at the
mercy.
Anjj. I will not do't.
Isab. But can yon if you would ? 51
Any. Look, what 1 will not, that 1 cannot
do.
Isab. But might you do't, and do the world
no wrong,
H so your heart; yere touch'd with that re¬
morse
As mine is to him ?
Any. He's sentenced ; 'tis too late.
Lucio. [Aside to Isab.] You are too cold.
Isab. Too late ? why, no ; I, tliat do speak
a word,
May call it back again. Well, believe this.
No ceremony that to great ones 'longs.
Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword.
The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's
robe, 61
Become them with one half so good a grace
As mercy does.
If he had been as you and you as he.
You would have slipt like him ; but he, like
you.
Would not have been so stern.
Any. Pray you, be gone.
Isab. I would to heaven l had your po¬
tency.
And you were Isabel ! should it then be thus ?
No ; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge,
And what a prisoner.
Lucio. [Asi'le to Lsab.] Ay, touch him ;
there's the vein. 70
Any. Your brotlier is a forfeit of the law,
And you but waste your words.
Isab. Alas, alas !
Why, all the souls that were vfeve forfeit
once ;
And lie tliat might the vantage best have
took
Found out the remedy. How would you be,
If He, which is the top of judgment, should
But judge you as you are ? 0, tliink on
th:it;
.4nd mercy then will breathe within your lix>s.
Like man new made.
Any. Be you content, fair maid ;
It is the law, not I condemn your brotlier: 80
Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son.
It should be thus with him: he must die to¬
morrow.
Isab. To-morrow ! 0, that's sudden ! Sxiare
him, sp.are him !
He's not prepared for death. Even for our
kitchens
We kill the fowl of season : shall we serve
heaven
AVith less resxrect than we do minister
To our gross selves ? Good, good my lord,
bethink you ;
Who is it that hath died for this offence ?
There's many have committed it.
Luck). [Aside to Isab.] Ay, well saia.
Any. The law hath not been dead, though
it hath slexit : <)0
Those many had not dared to do that evil,
It the first that did the edict infringe
Had apswer'd for Jus deed : now 'tis awake.
SCBNB 11.]
MEASURE EOR MEASURE.
Takes note .of. what is done; and, Uke a
prophet, ,
Looks*in aglass, that shows whatIntureevils.
Either new, or by remissness new-conceived.
And so in tmgress to be hatch'd and bom,
Are now to have no successive degrees,
But, ere they'live, to end. -
Jsoh.. > Yet show some pity i
Ang. I show it most ot all when I show
justice; . < 100
For then I pltv those I do not know.
Which a dhsAiise'd offence would after gall;
And do him right that, answering one foul
wrong.
Lives not to act anotiier. Be satisfied ;
Your brother dies to-morrow ; be content.
Isab. So you must be the first tliat gives
this sentence.
And he, tliat suffers. O, it is exceilent
To hare a giant's. stren^h ; but it. is tyran.*.
nous .1" lu .( ,1 ( i ■ ■
To use it like a giant. i
I lAieio. [AsiM to /sab.] That's well said.
Itab. Could great men thunder 110
As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be
quiet,'
For every pelting, petty officer
Would use his heaven for thunder ; . i
Nothing but thunder 1 Merciful Heaven, i
Thou rather with thy sharp and i sulphurous
holt'
Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak
Than the soft myrtle ; but man, proud man, '
Drest in a little brief authority.
Most ignorant of what he's most assured.
His glassy essence, like an angry ape, 120
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven
As make the angels Weep ; who, with our
, spleens,.
Wontd all themselves laugh moital.
Lueio. [Aiide to Isab.} O, to him, to him,
wench ! he W'ill relent; '
He's coming ; I perceive't.
Prov. [AstdK] Pray heaven she win him f
Itab, We cannot weigh our brother with
dlirself ;
Great men may jest with saints ; 'tis wit in
them.
But in the less foul profaiiation.
Lvcio. Thou'rt i the right, girj; moreo'
'■ that. ' ' '■
Itab. That in the captain's but a dioleric
word, ' ' 130
Wliich in the soldier is flat blasphemy.' '
Lucio. [Aside to Itab.] Art avised o' that t
more on't.
Ang. Why do you put these sayings upon
me? ^ ,
Itab. Because authority, though i{i err like
others, ^
Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself, ,
That skins the vice o' the%op. Qo to your
bosom; ...
Knock there, and ask your heart , what ,it
doth know
That's like my brother's fault; i^ it confess ,
A natural guiltiness such as is his, ' .
Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue
Against my brotlier's life.
Ang, ,. [Aside.] Slie speaks, and 'tis
Such sense, that my sense breeds witli it Fare
you well.
Itab. Gentle my lord, turn back.
Ang. I will bethink me : come again tor
' ihorrow.
Itab. Hark how I'll bribe you : good my
lord, turn back. ^ r
Ang. How ! bribe me ?
Jsdb. Ay, with such gifts that heaven shali
share with you.
, L»cio. [Aside Isab.] You had marr'd a'l
else.
Isab. Not with fond shekels of the tested,
gold, I
Or stones whose rates are either rich or poor
As fancy values, them ; but with true prayers
That shall be up at heaven and enter there
Ere sun-rise, prayers from pieserved souls.
From fasting maids whose minds are dedicate
To nothing temporal.
Ang. Well; come to me to-morrow.
, iMcif). [Aside to Itab.] Go to ; 'tis well
I away I
Itab, Heaven keep your honor safe!
Ang. [Aside] Amen f,
For I am that way going to temptation,
Wliere prayers cross.
Isab. At what hour .to-morrow
Shall I attend your lordship 7
Ang. At any time 'fore noon. 160
Isab. 'Save your honor !
[Exetint Isabella,'Lucio. and Provost.'
Ang. From thee, even from thy virtue s
What's this, what'a this ? Is this her fault or
mine ?
The tempter or the tempted, who sins most ?
Ha!
Not she : nor doth she tempt: but it is I
That, lying by the violet in the sun.
Do as the carrion does, not as the flower.
Corrupt With virtuous season. Can it be
That modesty may more betray our sense
Than woman's lightness ? Having waste
ground enough, , 170
Shall 'we desire to raze the sanctuary
And pitch our evils there ? O, fie, fie, fie !
What dost thou, or what art thou, Angelo ?
Dost thou desire her foully for those things
That make her good ? O, let her' brother
live !
Thieves for their robbery have authority
When judges steal themselves. Wlrat, do
love her.
That I desire to hear her speak again.
And feast upon her eyes ? What is't; I dream
on ? J
O cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint, 180
With saints dostj bait thy hook !. Most dar.-
gerous
Is that temptation that doth goad us on
To sin in loving virtue : never could the
strumpet,
f28 MEASURE
With all her double'vigw, art and nature,
Once stir'my temper ; but this virtuous maid
Subdues me quite. Ever till now,
When men were fond, I smiled and wonder'd
how. \Exit.
Scene III. A toom in a friaon.
Enter, teverally, tiuKE disguised as a friar,
i, olffa Phoyost.
Duke.. Hail to you, provost! so Itliiuk you
, are.
Prov. I am the proved. What's your will,
good friar ?
Duke. Bound by my charity and my blest
order,
r come to visit the afflicted spirits
Here in the prison. Do me the common right
To let me see them and to make me know
The nature of tlieir crimes, that I may minister
To them accordingly.
Prov. I would do more than that, if inore
were needful.
Entxr Juliet^'
Look, here comes one i a gentlewoman of
mine, ^ 10
Who-, falling in the flaws of her own youth,'
Hath bllster'd her report: she is with cliild ;
And he tliat got it, sentenced ; a yoiing man
More fit to do another such offence
Than die for this.
Duke. When must he die 1
Prov. As I do think, to-morrow.
I have provided for you : stay awhile,
[2b Juliet.
And you shall be conducted.
Diike, Repent you, fair one, oi" the sin you
carry ?
Jul. I do ; and bear the' shame most' pa¬
tiently. 20
Duke. I'll teach you howyoii shall arraign
your conscience.
And try your penitence, if it be sound, '
Or hollowly put on.
Jul. I'll gladly learn.
Duke. Love you the man that wrorig'd
you ? ,
Jul. Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd
him. , ^
Duke, So then it seems your most offence-
fnlact
Was mutually committed ?
Jul. Mutually,
Duke. Tlieii was your sin of heavier kind
than his.
.Jul. [ tlo confess it, and repent it, father.
Duke. 'Tis meet so, daughter : butlest you
' do repent, 30'
As that the sin hath brought you to this
shame.
Which sorrow is always towards ourselves,
not heaven.
Showing we would not spare heaven as we
love it.
But as we stand in fear.—
MEASURE. : {Act it
Jut. I do reiieni me, as It is an evil.
And take the shame with joy.
Duke. : ' ' There rest
Your partner, nS I hear, must die to-morrow,'
And I am going with instruction to him.
Grace go with you, Benedicite 1 ' [Ezit.
Jul. Mustdiet»-morrow J O Injortons love.
That respites me a life, whose very comfort
Is still a dying horror !-■■.' i
Prov. 'Tis ^nty of him. [^Exeunt.
Scene TV. A room im X'stanifo's hotlsti ■
I
Enter Angelo.
Ang. 'VPhen I Would ptWy and think, I think
and pray ' '
To several subjects. Heaven hath my emirty
words ;
Whilst iny invention, hearing not my tongue!.
Anchors on Isabel i Heaven in my month.
As if I did but only chew his name ;
And in my heart the strong and swelling evil'
Of my conception. The state, whereon I
studied, • ' ' '
Is like a good thing, being often read, ■ '
Grown fear'd and tedious ; yea, my gravity.
Wherein—let no man hear me—I take pride,
Could I with boot change for an idleplnme, 11
Which the air beats for vain.' Oplace, Oform,
How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit,
Wrench awe from lools and tie the wiser souls
To thy false seeming ! Blood, thou art blood:
Let's write good angel on the devil's horn :
'Tis not the devil's crest. •'
Enter a Servant.
, , How now 1 who's there 2
Seiv. One Isabel, a sister, desires access to
you.
Ang. Teach her the way. {Exit 5er«,] O
heavens 1
Why does my blood thus muster to my heart.
Making both it unable for itself, 21
And dispossessing all my other parts
Of necessary fitness ?
So play the foolish throngs with ope that
swoons ;. .
Come all to help him, and so stop the air
By which he should revive : and even so
The general, subject to a welf-.wish'd king.
Quit their own part, and in obsequious fond¬
ness
Crowd to his presence, where their untaught
love
Must needs appear offence, .
Enter Isabella.
How now, fair maid 7 ^
Isah. 1 am come to know your pleasure. ,
Ang. That you might know it, would much
better please me
Than to demand what 'tis. Your brother can¬
not live. •''
' Isab. Even so. Heaven keep your honor !
Ang. Yet may he live awhile ; and, it may-
i be, , ,
As long as yon or I: yet he must die.
SCGMK IT.]
MEASURE FOR MRASURE.
72?
Under your sentence ?
Amj, , Yea.
Isah. When, I beseech you 1 tbativhis re¬
prieve,
Longer or shortei^, he may be so fitted ' 40
Tliat his soul sicken not.
iHa ! fie, these filthy vices ! It were
as good
To pardon him that bath from iiatnre stolen
A man already made, as to remit
Their saucy sweetness tliat do coin heaven'f
"image • ■
lu stami)s that are forlfid : 'tisali as easy
Falsely to take away a life true made
As to put metal in restrained means
To maae a false one.
Isab. 'Tis set dowu so in heaven, but not
inearth. . , 50
Any. Say you so? theu 1 shall pose you
miickly, ■
Wliich had you rather, that the most just law
Now took your brother's life ; or,, to redeem
him.
Give up your body to such sweet uucleanness
As she that he bath staiii'd ?
Isah • Sir,-believe this,
1 had rather give my body tliaii my soul,
Awj. 1 talk not of your soul: ourcompell'd
' sins
Stand more for number than for accompt. i
Isub. How say you 1
Any. Nay, I'll not warrant that; for I can
speak ,1
Against the thing I say. Answer to this ; 60
1, now the voice of the recoflfded law, ■
Ibrououiice a senteuee on your brother's life ;
Miglit there not be a charity in sin . i ,
To save this brother's life ?
Isab. . Please you to do't,
I'll take it as a peril to my soul
It is no sin at all, but-charity. ,
Any^. Pleased you to do't at peril pf your
soul.
Were equal poise of sin and charity. i
Isab. That 1 do beg Ids life, if it be sin,
Heaven let me bear it! you granting of my
suit.
If that be sin, I'lPmalce it ray morn prayer 71
To have, it added to the faults of name.
And nothing of your answer,,, ,
' Any.. Nayf but hear me.
Your sense pui-sues not mine s either, you are
ignorant, , .
Or seem so craftily ; and that's not good..
Isab. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing
good, ■ ' ,
But graciously to know 1 am no better. . ,
Any. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most
bright , • ,,
When it doth tsix itself; as fiiese black masks
Proclaim an enshield beauty ten times louder
Than beanty could, displayl, But mark me ;
To be received plain, I'll speak more gross :
Your brother is to die.
' Isab. So. ,
■Any. • And his offence is so, as it appears,
Accountant to the law vipon that pain,
Isah. True, . ,
Any. Admit no qther way. to aave Ids life,-r
As I subscribe not th.at, nor any other,
But in the loss.of question,—:that you, his sisr
• 1 ter, po
Finding yourself desired of such a person,
Whose credit witli the,judge, or pwn great
idace, , ,
Could fetch yoijr brother from, the manacles
Of theall-buiiding law ; and tlmt there were
No earthly mean to save, him, but that either
You must lay down the treasures of your body
To this supposed, or else to let him puffer ; j
What would you do ?
Isab. As mucli for my poor brother as my¬
self: . „, , . ,„ .j6o
That is, were I under the terins.pf deatli, i,,, •
Tim impression of keen whips I'ld-.w®®'' ns
• rubies,. , • ,
And strip myself to death, as to a bed ,
That longing have been sick for, ere I'i^ yield
My body up to shame.
Any. Then must your brother dip.
/soil. I And'twere tlie cheaper way ;
Better it were a brother died at once, " ', i
Thau tliat a sister, by redeeming him.
Should die for ever. ,
Any. Were not you then, a,s gruej.as the
sentence 'i
That you have slauder'd so ? lib
■ Isab. Ignoiny in ransom and free pardon.
Are of two houses : lawful mercy . )
Is nothing kin to foul redemption. ■ ,
Any. .You seem'd of late fo make the law
a tryant;'
And rather proved the sliding of your brother
A merriment than a vice, j i
Isab. O, pardon me, my lord ; it oft falls
J out,.
'To have what we would have, we speak not
what we mean j ,,
t something do excu.se the thing I hate,
For his advantage that I dearly love, 120
Any. We are all fraih
Isab. pise let my brother die.
If not afeodary, but only he
Owe and succeed thy weakness.
Any. Nay, women are frail too.
Isab. Ay, as the glasses where they view
thenrselves ; , ,
Which are as easy broke as they make fonns.
Women !. Help tfeaveq ! mep their creation
mar .
In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times
frail ; i . .
For we are soft as our complexion's are, ^ ■
And credulous to false prints.
Any. I think it well : 130
And from this testimony of your own sex,—
Since I suppose we are. made to be no stronger
Than faults may shake our frames,-:ylet me
be bold.; ] .
I do arrest your words Be that you are.
That is, a woman; if you he more, you're
none;
m
It you be one, as you are well express'^
By all external warrants, show it now.
By putting on the destined livery. [lord,
Isab. I nave no tongue but one ; gentle my
Let me entreat you speak the lormer lan¬
guage. 140
Am. Plainly conceive, I love you.
Isao. My brother did love Juliet,
And you tell me that he shall die for it.
Aug. He shall not, Isabel, if you give me'
love.
Isab. I know your virtue hath a license iu't.
Which seems a little fouler than it is.
To pluck on others.
Ang. Believe me, on mine honor.
My words express my purpose. [lieved,
Isab. Ha f little honor to be much be-
And most pernicious purpose ! Seeming,
seeming I - loO
I will proclaim thee, Angelo*; look for't:
Sign me a present pardon for my brother.
Or with an outstretch'd throat I'll tell the
world aloud
What man thou art.
Ang. Who will believe thee, Isabel ?
My unsoii'd name, the austereness of my life.
My vouch against you, and my place i' the
state.
Will so your accusation overweigh.
That you shall stifle in your own report
And smell of calumny. I have begun.
And now I give my sensual race the rein; 160
Fit thy consent to my shai^ appetite ;
Lay by all nicety and prolixious blushes.
That banish what they sue for ; redeem thy
brother
By yielding up tliy body to my Will ;
Or else he must not only die the death.
But thy unkindness shall his death draw out
To lingering sufferance. Answer me to-mor¬
row.
Or, by the affection that now guides me most,
I'll prove a tyrant to him. As for you.
Say what you can, my false o'erweighs your
true. [Exit. 170
Isab. To whom should I complain ? Did I
tell this, (
Who would believe me ? 0 perilous mouths.
That bear in them one and the self-same
tongue,
Either of coudemnation or approof :
Bidding the law make courlrsy to their will :
Hookhig both right and wrong to the appetite.
To follow as it draws ! I'll to my brother :
Though he hath fallen by prompture of the
blood.
Yet hatii he in him such a mind of honor.
That, hsid he twenty heads to tender down 180
On twenty bloody blocks, he'ld yield them up.
Before his sister should her body stoop
To such abhorr'd pollution.
Then, Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die :
More than our brother is our chastity.
I'll tell him yet of Angelo's request.
And fit his mind to death, for* his soul's rest.
[Exit.
[Act lU.
ACT III.
SCBNB I. A tvom in tfieprisoh.
Enter Duke disguised as be/ore, Claudio,
a/id Pbovost.
Duke. So then you hope of pardon from
Lord Angelo ?
Claud. The miserable have no other medK
cine
But only hoM s -
I've hope to live, and am prepared to die.
Duke. Be abMlute for death ; either death
or life
Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus
witli life :
If I do lose thee; I do lose a thing
That none but fools would keep : a breath thou
art.
Servile to all the skyey influences, ' 9
That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st.
Hourly afflict: merely, thou art death's fool;
For him thou labor'st by thy flight to shun
And yet runn'st toward him still. Thou art
not noble;
For all the accommodations that thou bear'st
Are nursed by baseness. Thou'rt by no means
valiant ;
For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork
Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep,
And that thou oft provokest; yet grossly
fear'st
Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not
thyself; 19
For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains
That issuq out of dust. Happy thou art not;
For what thou hast not, still thou strivest to
get.
And what thou hast, forget'st Thou art not
certain ;
For thy complexion shifts to strange effects.
After the moon. If thou art rich, thou'rt
poor ;
For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows.
Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a ioujAey,
And death unloads thee. Friend hds^hou
none ;
For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire,
The mere effusion of thy proper loins, 30
Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum;
For ending tfiee no sooner. Thou hast nor
youth nor age;
But, as it were, au after-dinner's sleep, '
Dreaming on both ; for all tliy blessed youth
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms
Of palsied eld ; and when thou art old and
rich.
Thou hast neither heat, affection,' limb nor
beauty.
To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in
this'
That bears the name of life ? Yet in this life
Lie hid moe tlionsand deaths : yet death we
fear, _
Tliat makes these odds all even. 4j
Claud. I humbly thank you.
ilEASURE FOR MEASURE.
scbnb 1.]
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
729
To 8u« to live, I find I seek to die ;
And, seeking death, find iife; iet it come on.
Isab. [l^'tAin] What, ho ! Peace here ;
grace and good company !
Rrov. Who's tliere? come in: the wish
deserves a weicome.
.Jhtke. Dear sir, ere ioiig I'll visit you
iuain.
Claud. Most holy sir, I thank you.
Enter Isabella.
leal). My business is a word or two with
Claudio.
Prw. And very welconae.. Look, siguior,
here's your sister.
Duke. Provost, a word with you. 50
Prmi. As many as you piease.
Dxike. Bring me to near them speak, where
I may be concealed.
I . [Exeunt Dtike and Provost.
Claud. Now, sister, what's the comfort ?
I /soft. Why,
As ail comforts are ; most good, most good in¬
deed.
Lord Augelo, having affairs to heaven,
Intends you for his swift ambassador.
Where yon shaii be an everlasting leiger :
Therefore your best appointment make with
speed; 60
To-morrow you set on.
Claud. Is there no remedy ?
/soft. None, but such remedy as, to save
a head.
To cleave a heart in twain.
Claud. But is there any ?
Isab. Yes, brother, you may iive :
There is a devilish mercy in tlie judge.
If you'il implore it. that wiii free your life.
But fetter you tiU death.
Claud. Perpetual durance? .
/soft. Ay, just; perpetual durance, a re¬
straint, I
Though aii the worid's vastidity you had.
To a determined scope.
Claud. But in what nature ? 70
Isab. In such a one as, you consenting to't,
Wonld bark your honor from that trunk you
bear.
And ieave you naked.
Claud. Let me know the point.
Isab. O, I do fear .thee, Claudio.; and I
quake.
Lest thou a feverous life shouldst entertain.
And. six or seven winters more respect
Than a perpetual honor. Barest thou die ?
Tiie sense of death is most in apprehension ;
And the poor beetie, that we tretid upon,
In eorporai sufferance finds a pang as great 80
As when a giant dies. .
Claud. Why give you me this shame ?
Think you I can a resoUitioi^etch
From flowery tendeniess ? If I must die
1 will encounter darkness as a bride,
And hug it in mine arms..
. /soft. . There sitake my l»other ; there my
lather's grave
Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die:
Thou art too noble to conserve a life
In base appliances. This outward-sainted
deputy, ,
Whose settled visage and deliberate word 90
Nips youth i' the head and follies doth em-
mew . ,
As falcon doth the fowl, is yet a devil;
His filth within being cast, he would appear
A ^nd as deep as hell, .,
Claud.' The prenzie Angelo!
Isab. O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell,
The damu^'st body to invest and cover
In prenzie guards! Do.st thou thmk, Claudio?
If I would yield him my virginity, ,
Thou migbtst be freed. ,
Claud. I (il heavens ! it eannot be.
, Isab. Yes, he would give't thee, frpm this
rank offence, 100
So to offend him still. This night's the time
That I should do what I abhof- to name.
Or else thou diest to-morrow.'
Claud. Thoit shalt not do't.
Isab. O, were it but my life,
rid throw it down for your deliverance
As frankly as a pin. '
Claud. Thanks, dear Isabel. '
Isab. Be ready, Claudio, for your death
to-morrow.
•' Claud. Yes. Has he affections in him.
That thus can make him bite the law by the
nose,
When he would force it? Sure; it is no sin, 110
Or of the deadly seven, it is the i^st.
Isab. Which is the least ? •
Claud. If it were. d.aninable, he being so
wise, '
Why would he for the momentary trick
Be perdu rably^ned ? O Isabel ! '
Isab. What says my brother ?
Claud. Death is a fearful thing.
Isab. And shamed lite a hateful.
Claud. Ay, but to die, and go we know not
where; '
To lie in cold obstruction and to rot;
This sensible warm motion to become 120
A kneaded clod ; and the delighted spirit '
To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside
In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice ;
To be imprison'd in the viewless winds.
And blown with restless violence round about
The pendent world ; or to be worse than
worst
Of those that lawle.ss and ineertaiu thought
Imagine howling : 'tis too horrible I i , ,
The weariest and most loathed worldly life
That age, ache, penury and imprisonment 130
Can lay on nature is a paradise
'To what we fear of death.
Isab. Alas, alas !
Claud. Sweet sister, let me live:
What sin you do to save a brother's life,
Nature dispenses with the deed so far
That it becomes a virtue.
Isab. 0 you beast!
O faitliless coward >1 0 dimonest wretch I.
730
^TEASURE FOR MEASURE.
[Act hi.
Wilt then be TOade U man out of my vice 7
Is't not a kind df incest, to take life ' • ' j
Front tliine own sister's shame 7 What should
, I think 7 140
Heaven shield my mother play'd my fathdr
"• ' 'fairi
For such a warped slip of wilderness
Ne'er issued from his blood. Take my dl*-
' fiance'! ' i
Die, perish ! Might but my bending down i
Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should pro¬
ceed : ' '
I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death,
No word to save thee. ' ,
Clatid. Nay, hear me, Isabel.
Isab. O, fie, fie, fie!
Tliy sin's not accidentad, but a trade.
•Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd : 150
•Tis best thou diest quickly. '
Claud. d hear me, Isabella !
Re-entei- Ddke. .
Duke. Vouehaafe a word, young sister, but
one word. , , ,
Isab. What is your will 7
Duke. Might you dispense wifo your leis¬
ure, I would by and by have some speech with
you : the satisfaction I would require is fike-
■wise your own benefit. , ^
Isab. .1 have no superfluous leisure; my siay
must be stolen out of other affairs ; but I will
attend j'ou awhile. [ IValks apart. ,
Duke. Sou, I liave overheard what hatli
assed between you and your si.ster. Aiigelo '
ad never the purpose to corrupt hey ; only he
hath, made an essay of her virtue to practise
his judgment with the disposition of natures;
she, liaving the truth of honor in her, hatli
made him that gracious denial whiel) he is
most gl.ad to receive. I am confessor to An-
gelo, and I know this to be true ; therefore
prepare yourself to death: do not satisfy
yqur resolution witli hopes tlnit are fallible :
to-morrow you must die ; go to your knees
and make ready.
Claud. Let me ask ray sister pardon. I am
so out of love with life that I will sue to be rid
of it.
Duke. Holdi you there : farewell. lExU
Claudio,] Provost, a word with you 1
Re-enter Provost.
• Prov. What's your will, father 7
Duke. That now you are come, you will be
gone. Ijeave me awhile with the maid : my
mind promises with my habit no loss sh.all
touch her by my company.
■ Prov. In good time.
[Eril Provost. Isabella domes fonvard.
Duke. The hand that hath made you fair '
hath made you good : the goodness that is
cheap in beasity makes beauty brief in good- '
ness ; but grace, being the soul of yonr com- •
plexion, shall keep the body of it ever fair.
The assault that Angelo hath made to yoa,
fortune hath conveyed to my understanding ;
and, but-that frailty hath examples foe his
falling, I should wdfide^ at Angelo. How will
you do to content this substitute, and to'save
yowr brother 7
Isab. I am now going to resolve him: I had
rather my brother die by the law th.an my eon
should be unlawfully born. B at, O, how much
is tlie good duke deceived hi Angelo ! If ever
he return and I can speak to him, I will open
my lips In vain, or discover his government.
■Duke. That shaU not be much amiss : yet,
as the matter now sbind.s, lie will avoid your
accusation ; he made trial of you Oiily. There¬
fore fasten your ear on my advisings ; to the
love I have m doing good a remedy jwesents
itself. I do make myself believe'that you
may most uprighteonsly do a poor wronged
lady a merited benefit; redeem your brother
from the angry law; do no stain to your own
gracious person ; and much please the absent
duke, if peradventure he shall ever return to
have hearing of this business. 211
Isab. Let me hear you speak farther. I
have spirit'to do anytiiin.g that appears- not
foul in the truth of my spirit.
Duke. Virtue is bold, aud goodness never
fearful. Have you not heard sfieak of Mari¬
ana, the sister of Frederick the great soldier
who miscarried at sea 7
Isab. I have heard of the lady, and good
words went with her name. 220
Duke. She should this Angelo have mar¬
ried ; was affianced to her by oath, and the
uu])tial apijointed : between which time of the
contract and limit of the solemnity, her brotlier
Frederick was wrecked at sea, having m that
Ijerished vessel the dowry of his sister. But
mark how heavily this befell to the poor gentle¬
woman ; there she lost a noble and renowned
brother, in his love toward her ever most kind
and natural; Avith htm, the portion aud sinew
of her fortune,' her marriage-dowry; with
both, her combiuate husband, this well^eeming
Angelo.
Isab. Can this be so 7 did Angelo so leave
her 7
Duke. Left her in her tears, and dried not one
■of them with his comfort; swallowed his vows
whole, pretending in her di.scoveries of dis-
Iionor: in feWj bestowed her on her own
lamentation,which she yet wears for his sake;
and he. a marble to bar tears, is washed with
them, but releuts not.
/sob. What a merit were it in death to take
this poor maid from the world 1 What cor¬
ruption in this- life, that it will let this m.an
live! But how out of tliis can she avail 7
Duke. It is a mpt-.ire that yon may easilv
henl: and the cure of it not only saves your
brother, but keeps you from dishonor in doing
Isab. Show me how, good father.
DrCke. This forenamed maid hath yet in
her the continuance of her first affection; his
unjusit unkinduess, tliat in all reason should
have quenched her love, liath, like nn impedi¬
ment in the current, made iti^are violent and
SCBME A.]
MEASURE' FOW MEASURE.
731
unritly. €0 yoa to Angeto; answer his re-
(}uiring with a plausible obedience; agree with
his demands to the point; only refer yourself
to this advantage, first, that your stay with
him inav not be long ; that the time may have
all shadow and silence in it; and the place
answer to convenience. This being granted in
course,—and now follows all,—we shall advise
this wronged maid to stead up your appoint¬
ment, ge in your place ; if the eneonnter ac¬
knowledge itself hereafter;' it may compel him
to her tecoini>ense : and here, by this, is your
brother saved, your honor untainted; the poor
Mariana advant^ed, and the corrupt deputy
scaled. The maid wiil I frame and make fit
for his attempt. If you think well to carry
this as yon may, the doubleness of the benefit
defends the deceit from reproof. What think
jo;; of it 7 ;
ItoJb. ^he image of it gives me content al¬
ready; and ^ >u.st it will grow to a most pros¬
perous perfection.
Duke. It lies much in your holding up.
Haste you speedily to Angelo: if for this niglit
he entmatyou to his bed, give him promise of
satisfaction. I will presently to Saint Lnke's r
there, at the moated- grange, resides this de¬
jected Mariana. At that place call upon mc<;'
and dbqtutch with Angelo, that it may be
quickly.
Itah. I thank you for this comfort. Fare
you well, good father. [jEretmf severally. 281
Scene H. The street'before the prison.
Enter, on one side, Duke disguised as before; en
the other, Ei<Bow, and Officers with Poiupny.
Elb. Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but
that you will needs buy and sell men and
women like beasts, we shall have all the wo^d
drink brown and white bastard.
Ihtke. O heavens ! what stuff is here ? '
Pom. "Twas never merry world since, of
two usuries; the merriest Was put down, and
the worser allowed by order of law a furred'
gown to keep him warm ; and furred with fox '
and lamb-slnns too, to signify, that craft, be-'
ing richer than ipnocency, stands for the
hieing. 11
Elb. Come youf way, sir. 'Bless yon, good
father friar.
Duke. And you;'good brother father. What
offence hath this man made you. Sir ?
Elb. Marry, sir, he hath offended the law!
and, sir, we take him to be a thief too, sir; for
we have found upon him, sir, a strange pick¬
lock, which we have sent to the deputy.
Duke. Fie, sirrah 1 a bawd, ayvieked bawd!
The evil that thou causest to be done, ^21
That is thy means to live. Do thou but think
Wliat 'tis to cram a maw or clotlie a back
From such a filthy vice : say%> thyself.
From their abominable and beastly touches
I drink, I eat, array myself, and live.
Canst thou believe thy liviiig is a life,
80 stinkingly depending ? Go mend, go mend.
Potn. Indeed, it ;does stink in some sort,
sir; but yet; sir;'I would prove-^ 30
Duke. Nay, if the devil have given thee
proofs for sin.
Thou wilt prove hisi Take him to prison,
ofiicer; (■'
Correction and instruction must both work
Ere this rude beast will profit.
Elb. He must before the deputy, sir; he has ■
given him warning : the deputy cannot abide
a whoremaster: if he be a whoi'emonger, and
comes before him, be were as good go a mile
on his errand. • ■ -
Duke. That we were all, as some' wouM'
• seem to be;- ■ 40
tFrora our faults, as faults from seeming, free!
Elh His neck will come to your waist,—a
cord, sir.' 1 ' •
' Pom. I spy comfort; I cry bail. Here's A
gentleman and a friend of mine.
Enter XxciQ.
Lucio. How now, noble PompBy! ■ What;
at the wheels of Caesar ? art -thou led in
triumpli ? What, is there none of Pygma¬
lion's images, newly made woman; to be bad
now, for putting the hand in the imcket and
extracting it clutched? What reply, ha ?
What' sayest thou to this tune, matter and'
method 1 Is't not drowned i' the last rain,
'ha? What sayest thou. Trot ? Is the World
as it was, man ? Which is the way ? Is it
sad, and few words ? or how? The trick of
lit ? ■ ' r • , , f
! ' Duke. Still thus, and thus ■•, still worse I
I I Lucio. How doth my dear morsel,' thy mis*'
; tress ? Procures she still, ha ? ' '
Pottt.' Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her'
beet, and she is herself in the tub.
' Lucio. Why, 'tis good ; it is the right of ft;
it must be so: ever your fresh whore and your
imwdered bawd : an unshumied consequence;
it must be so. Art going to prison, Pompey ? '
Poni. ' Yes, faith, sir.
Lucio. why, 'tis not amiss, Pompey; Fare¬
well : go, siiy I sent thee thither. For debt,
Pompey? or how?
Elb. For being a bawd, for being a bawd.
iMCio. Well, tlieii; imprison him ; if im¬
prisonment be the due of a bawd, why, 'tis his '
right: bawd is he doubtless, and of antiquity
too^ bawd-bom. Farewell, good Pompey.
Commend me to the prison, Pompey: you will
turn good husband now, Potnpey; you Will
keep the house.'
Pomi ■ I hope, sir, your good vyomhip will be
my ball; ' ' ''
Lucio. No, indeed, wiil I not, Pompey; it
is not the wear; I will pray, Pompey,. to in¬
crease your bondage : if you take -it not pa¬
tiently; wliy.'yonr Uifettle is the more. Adieu, '
trusty Pompey. 'Bless you, friar. ■ 81
Duke. And you; ' ■'
Lucio. Does Bridget paint still, Pompey; ''
ha? ■ . ■ • '
Elb. Coine yhur ways, sir; come. "
782^
Pom. You will not bail me, tiieu,'8ir 1 >
Lucio. Then, Ponipey, no* now. Wliat
news abiT>ad, friar ? what news ?
Elb. Come your ways, sir; come.
Lucio. Go to kennel, Pompey; go. [Exeunt
Elbow, Pompey and Officers.^ What news,
friar, of the duke 7 < 91
Duke. I know none. Can you tell me of
any 7
Lucio. Some say he is with tlie Emperor of
Russia ; other some, lie is in Rome; but'where
is he, think you 7
Duke. I know not where; but wheresoever,
I. wish him well. . .
Lucio. It was a mad fantastical trick of
him to steal from the state, and usurp the
beggary he was never born to. Lord Angelo
dukes it well in his absence ; he puts trans¬
gression to't. 101
Duke. He does well in't. •
Lucio. A little more lenity to lechery would
do no harm in him; Something too crabbed
that way, friar. [must cure it.
Duke. It is too general a vice, and severity
Lucio. Yes» in good sooth, the vice is of a
great kindred ; it is well allied : but it is im¬
possible to extirp it quite, friar, till eating and
drinking be put down. They say this Angelo
yras not made by. man and woman after this
downright way of creation : is it true, think
you 7
Duke.' How should he be made, then 7
Lucio. Some report a sea-maid spawned
him ; some, that he was begot between two ■
stock-fishes. But it is certain that when he
makes water his urine is congealed ice ; that
I know to be true : t and he is a motion gene¬
rative ; tiiat's infallible. - i [aiiace.
Duke. You are pleasant, sir, .and speak
Lucio. Why, what a ruthless thuig is this
in him, for the' rebellion of a codpiece to take
away the life of a man ! Would the duke tliat
is absent have done this 7 Ere he would have
hanged a man for the getting a hundred bas¬
tards, he would liave paid for the nursing a
thousand : hO' had some feeling of the sport:
he knew the service, and that instructed him
to mercy. !
Duke. I never heard the absent duke much
detected for women; he was not inclined that
way.
Lucio. O, sir, you are deceived. , 131
Duke. 'Tis not ])Ossible.
Lucio. Who, not the duke 7 yes^ your beg¬
gar of fifty I and his use was to put a ducat in
her clack-^h: the duke liad crotchets in liira.
He would be drunk too ; that let me inform
you. , ' . :
Duke. You do him wrong, surely.
Luck). Sir, I was an inward of ins. A shy
fellow was the duke: and I believe I know the
cause of his withdrawing. ' 140
Duke. What, I pritliee, might be the
cause 7
Lucio. T4o, pardon ; 'tis a secret must be •
locked within tJie teeth and the lips : but this
tAci III.
I can let you understand, the grater file of
the subject held the duke to be wise.
. Duke. Wise 1 why, no question but he was.
Lucio. A very supernciai, ignorant, un,
weighing fellow.
Duke. Either tills is envy in you, folly, oi
mistaking : the very stream of lits life and the
business be hath helmed must ufioii a war¬
ranted need give him a better proclamation.
Let him be tat testimonied in his own bring-
ings-fortb, and he shall appear to the envious
a scholar, a statesman and a soldier. There¬
fore you speak unskilfully ; or if your knowl¬
edge be more it is much, darkened in. yout'
malice.
Lucio. I Sir, I know him, and I love him,
Duke. Love talks .with better knowledge,
and knowledge with dearer love. 160
Lucio. Come, sir, I know what I know.
Duke. I can hardly believe that, since you
know not what you speak. But, if ever the
duke return, as our prayers are he may, let
me desire you to make your answer before
him. If it be honest you have spoke, you have
courage to maintain it; I am bound to call
upon you ; and, I pray you, your name 7
Lu^. Sir, my name is Lucio ; well known,
to the duke. 170
Duke. He shall know you better, siar, if 1
may live to rejiort you. '
Lucio. I fear you not. ' '
Duke. O, yon hoiie the duke will return no
more ; or you imagine me too unhurtful an
opposite. But indeed I can do you little harm;
you '11 forswear this again.
Lucio. I'll be hanged first; thou art de¬
ceived in me, friar. But no more of this.
Canst thou tell if. Claudio die to-morrow or
no 7 180
Duke. Why should he die, sir 7
Lucio. Why 7 For filling a bottle with a ,
tundish. I would the duke we talk of were
returned again : the ungenitured agent will
unpeople the province with continency : spar-;
rows must not build in his house-eaves, be¬
cause they are lecherous. The duke yet
would have dark deeds darkly answered ; he
would never bring them to light: would he
were returned ! Marry, this Claudio is con¬
demned for untrussing. Farewell, good friar:
I prithee, pray for me.' The duke, I say to >
thee again, would eat mutton on Fridays. He's
not past it yet, and I say to thee, he would
mouth with a beggar, though she smelt brown
bread and garlic : pay that I said so. Fare-,
well.
Duke. No might nor greatness in mortality
Can censure 'scape ; back-wounding calumny
The whitest virtue strikes. What king so.
strong
Can tie the gall np in the slanderous tongue 7
But who comes here 7 200
Enter Escalus, Provost, av-d Officets with
MiSTRRSS 0,VBRDOl«iv
EtooX. Go j away with her to ptisoa«
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
ScKNE i-l MEASURE
Mrs. Or. Good, iliy lord, be good to me ;
ybur honor is ncconuted a merciful man : good
my lord.
Escal. Double and treble admonition, niiA
still forfeit in the same kind ! Tiiis would
make mercy swear and play tlie tyrant.
Prot. A bawd of eleven years' continuance,
>itiay it please your hopor.
Mrs- Ov,. My loi-d, ijiis is one Lucio's in¬
formation against me. Mistress Kate Keep-
down was with child by him in tlie duke's
time ; he promised her marriage : his c)iil^ is
a year and a quarter old, come Philip and
Jacob ; i have kept it royselt; and see how
he goes about tp abuse me t
Lscal. That fellow is a fellow of much
license : let him be called bpfore us. Away
with her to prison ! Go to ; no more words.
[EtetaU Officers with Mistress Ov.] Provost,
my brother Angelo will not be altered; Claudio
must die to-morrow: let him be furnished with
divines, and have all charitable preparation.
If my brotlter wrought by my pity, it should
not be so with him.
Prov. So please you, this friar hath been
with Mm, and advised him for the entertain¬
ment of death.
Escal. Good even, good fatlier.
Jhike. Bliss and go^ness on you t
Eseal. Of whence are you ? '
Dvke. >Not of this eountry, though my
chance is now 230
To use it for my time : I am a brother
Of gracious order, late come from tlie See -
lu special bnsiness from his holiness.
&e(U. What news abroad i' the world ?
Duke. .None, but that there is so great a
fever on goodness, that the dissolution of it'
must cure it: novelty is only in request; and
it is as dangerous to be aged in any kind of
course, as it is virtuous to be constant in any
underiMring. There is scarce truth enougli
alive to make societies secure; but security
enough to make, fellowships accurst: much
upon this riddle runs the wisdom of tlie world.
This news is old enough, yet it is every day's
news. I pray you, sic, of what dispositimi
was the duke ?
Escal.' One thatr< above all other strifes,
contended especially to know himself.
Duke. What pleasure was he given
to?
Escal. Rather rejoicing to see another
merry, than inerry at any thing which pro¬
fessed to make him rejoice': a gentleman of
all temperance. But leave we him to his
events, with a prayer they may prove pros-
Mrous ', and let me desire to know how you
find Claudio prepared. I am made to under¬
stand tjiat you have lent him visitation.
Duke. He professes to' haae received no
sinister measure from his judge, but most
willingly humbles himself to the determination
of justice : yet had he framed to himself, by
tlie instruction of his frailty, many deceiving
promises of life ; which I by my good leisure
MEASURE. 788
h'ave discredited to him, and now is he re¬
solved to die.
Escal. Yon have paid the heavens your
function, and the prisoner the very debt of your
calling. I have laboi-ed for the poOr gentle¬
man to the extremest shore of my modesty :
but luy brother justice have I found so severe,
tliat he hath forced me to tell him he is indeed
Justice.
Duke. If his own life answer the straitness
of his proceeding, it.shall become diim well ;
wherein if ire cliauce to fail, he hath sentenced
himself.
Escal. I am going to visit the prisoner.
Fare you well. .
Duke. Peace be with vou !
[Exeunt Escalus and Provost.
He who the sword of heaven will bear
Should be as holy as severe ; . . >
Pattern in himself to know,
tGrace to stand, and virtue go ; '
More nor less to others paying
Than by self-ofteuces weighing. 280
Shame to him whose cruel striking
Kills for faults of his own liking I
Twice treble shame on Aqgelo,
To weed my vice and let his grow I
O, what may man within him hide.
Though angel on the outward side!' i
tHow may likeness made in crimes,!
Making practice on the times.
To draw with idle spiders' strings
Most ponderous and substantial things ! 290
Craft against vice I must apply : .
'With Angelo to-night shall lie
His old betrothed but despised ;
f So di.sguise shall, by the disguised,
Pay with falsehood false exacting, .
And perform an old coutiacting. . [Exit.
ACT IV.
Scene I. The moated {/range at St., Luke's.
■ Ente^ Mariana and a Boy. '
Boy sinfis. , ■
Take, O, take those lips away.
That so sweetly were forsworn ;
And those eyes, the break of day.
Lights that do mislead the mom :'
But my kisses bring again, bring agaih ;'
Seals Of love, but sealed in vain, sealed in
vain. '
Mart Break off thy song, and baste ^bee
quick away:
Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice
Hath often still'd my brawling discontent. '
[E nt Boy.
Enter Duke disguised as be/ore.
I cry you mercy, sir ; and well could wish J10
You bad hot found me here«bo musical:
Let me excuse me, and believe me so.
My mirth it much displeased, but pleased' liny
woe. ■ ■ '
734
MEASURE FOR !dEASURE.
[Act it.
^tDuke: 'Tis good irthougU music ott liuth
such a charm
IV bad good, and good.provoke to harm,
i pray you, tell me, hatli any body inquired
for. mo'here to-day 7 much upon this time
liave I promised Irere to meet.
. Mwi. You have not been inquired aftei;: I
.have, sat here all day. 20
Enter Isabella. ^
i)uA:e. I ■ I-do constantly; believe you. .The
time is come even now. 1 slmll crave your
forbearance a little: may be I will call upon
you anon, for some advantrige to youi-self.
Alari. I am alway.s bound to yoit. [Exit.
Duke. Very \vell met, and well.coine.
What is the news from tliis good deputy ?
Isah.. He hath a garden oircummured with
brick, ..
Whose western side is with a vineyard back'd;
And to that vineyard is a plauched gate, . 80
That makes his opening with this bigger key.;
This other doth command a little door
Which from the vineyard to the gardeai leads;
There have I made my ))romise
Upon the heavy middle of the night
To call upon him. .
Duke. But shall yon on your knowledge
find tills way 7 : .
Isah. 1 have ta'en a due and wary note
upon't :
With whispering and most guilty diligeuoe, '
In action all of preceiit, he did sliow me 40
The way twice o'^r.
Duke. Are there no other tokens
Between you 'greed concemiiig her observ¬
ance ? I ■
Isab. No, none, but only, a tepair i' the
dark ; . ' , .
And that I have possess'd him my most stay
Can be but brief; for I have made liim kuow
I have a servant comes with me along.
That stays upon me, whose persuasion is
I Come aWui ray brother. ' '
Duke. "yis well borne up.
I have not yet made known to Mariana
A word of this. Wlrat, ho ! within ! come
forth 1 ... 50
Re-enter Mabiana.
I pray you, be, acqiminted with this maid ;
She comes to do you good,
Imh., I do desire the like.
Duke. Do you persuade yourself that I re-
, spect you ?
Mart. ' Good friar, I knfow you do, and have
found it.
DuJfce. Take, then, this your companion by
the hand.
Who hath a story ready for your ear.
I shall attend your leisute : but make haste ;
The vaporous night ajjproaclies. ,
Mari. Will't please you walk aside ?
. [Exeunt Mariana and Isabella.
.Duke. O place and greatness I millions of
false eyes
Are stuck upon thee ; volume,s of re|5ort ■
Run with these false and piost contrarious
quests ,
Upontliy doings ; thousand escapes of wit
,Make thee the fatlier of tlieir idle dreams
And rack thee in their fancies.
Reenter Mariana and Isabella.
' Welcome, how agreed 7
Isab. She Ml take the enterprise upon lier,
fatlier.
If you advise it.
Duke. It is not my consent,
But my entreaty too.
Isab. Little have yon to say
When you depart from him, but, soft and
low,
' Remember now my brother.'
Mart. ' Fear me not. TO
Duke. Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not
at all.
He is your husband on a pre-contraet!
To bring you thus together, 'tis no sin,
Sitll that the justice of your title to him
Doth nourish tlie deceit. Come, let us go :
Onr corn's to reap, for yet our tithe's to sow.
[Exeunt.
Scene IL ' A room iu the prison, \
Enter Pjb^ovost, and PoMPEy.
Prov. Come hither, sirrah. • Can you cut
off a man's liead ? ' '
Pom. If the nmn be a bachelor, ■sit, I can.;
hut if lie be a married man, he's bis wife's
head, and I can never cut off a woman's head.
Pror. Come; sir, leave me your snatches,
.and yield me a direct answer. To-morrow
morning are to die ClauUio and Barnardine.
Here is in our prison a common eixecntioiier,
wlio iu Ills office lacks a helper : if yob will
take it on you to assist him, it sliall redeem
you from your gyves ; if not, you shall liave
your full time of imprisonment and your de¬
liverance witli an uu|>itied whipping,' for yon
have been a notorions bawd.
Pom. Sir, I liave been- an. unlawful bawd
time out of mind ; bat yet I will be content to
be a lawful liaiigmuii. 1 would be glad to re¬
ceive some instruction from my fellow part¬
ner.
Prov. What, ho ! Abligrson.! Where's Ah-
horsou, there 7 21
Enter AbhObsonj
Abhor, Do you call, sir ? .
Pror. Sirrah, here's a. fellow will help you
to-morrow in your e-vejcution. If yon think it
meet, compound with him by the year, and
let him abide liere with you ; if not, use him
for the present .md dismiss him. He cannot
plead ills estimation witli you ; lie hath been
a bawd, , ,
Abhor. A batvd,' sir 7 fie upon him ! he
will discredit our mystery. ^
Prov. Go to, sir ; yo'u weigh equally ; a
feathef Will turn the scalg. [JSxif.
ScwNi n.]
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
735
' Pom, Pmy, eir, by yoar gooi favOT,—for
•Aurtsly, sir, a good favor you have, but that
you have a haugiug look,—do you call, sir,
your occupatiou a mystery ?
I Ahhov. Ay, sir a mystery.
i. Pom, Paiutiug, sir, 1 have heard say, is a
mystery 5 and your whores, sir,, being mem- ,
bei-s of my occupatiou, using pauiting, do
prove my occupatiou a myst^y : but what
mystery there sliould be in hanging, if I
should he hanged, I cannot imagine.
Ahhor. Sir, it is a mystery.
, -Pom. Proof?
. . Abhor, Every true man's apparel fits your
dhief: if it be too little for your thief, your
true man thinks it big enough ; if it be' too
big for your thief, your tliief thinks it little
enough : so .every true man's apparel fits your
thief. I . 50
ffciente/' Pbovost. ^
"Prdv. Are yon .agreed ?
Pom. Sir, i will serve him : for I do find
your hangman is a more penitent trade than
your bawd ; he dotii oftener ask forgiveness.
Prov. You, sirrah, provide your block and
ybur axe to-morrow four o'clock.
Abhor. Come on, bawd ; 1 will ihstruct
thee in my trade ■, follow.
Pom. I do desire to learn, sir : and I hope,
if you have occ,a,sion to use me for your own
turn, you shall find me yare ; for truly, sir,
for your kindne.ss I owe you h good turn.
Rrov. Call hither Bamardine and Clandio :
[Exeunt Pompey and Abhor.ion. ,
The one has my pity ; not a jot the other,
Beinga murderer, though he were ray brother.
Enter Claudio.
Look, here's the. warrant, Claudio, for thy
death ;
"lis now dead midnight, and by eight to-mor¬
row I . .
Thou must be made immortal. Where's Bar-
nardine ?
Claud, As fast lock'dupin sleep as guilt¬
less labor
When it lies starkly in the traveller's bones :
He will not wake. 71
Proto. , . Who can do good on him ?
Wellj go, prepare yourself. [Knockiny within.]
I But, hark, what noise ?
Heaven give your spirits comfort! [Exit
Claudio.] By and by.
I hope it is some pardon or reprieve
for the most gentle Claudio.
Enter Duke disffuiied as before.
Welcome, father.
Puke. The best and whoiesomest spirits of
the night
Envelope you, good Prpvo^ 1 Who cali'dhere
of late 7 , ■
.Prov. None, since the curfew rung,
t Puke. Not Isabel ?
' Prov. I No. I
Jixtkt, They will, then, ere't be long,
Prov. What comfort is for Claudio 7 30
Duke. There's some in hope.
Prov. 'ii . It is a bitter deputy.
. Puke. Not so, .not so.; his life- is pMaliel d
Even, with the stroke and line of lus great
justice: ■ . •
He doth with holy abstinence subdue ,
That in himself which he spurs on his pow»
To qualify in others: were he meald.witli
that . I ' J
Which he corrects, then were he tyrannous-;
But this being so, he's just. [Knockin;/ within.
.',1 ■ • Now are tliey eome.
[Exit Provost.
This is a gentle-provost : seldom when
The steeled gaoler is the friend of men- ■
, [Knockiny within. flO
How now ! what noise ? That spirit's- pos.
sessed with haste 11. ,
That wounds the unsistiug jmsteru with these
strokes.
Re-enter PnovbsT.
Prov. There he must stay until the officer
Arise to let him iu: he is caii'd np.
. Duke. Have yon no countermand for Clau¬
dio yet.
But he must die to-morrow? '
Prov. None, sir, none.
Duke. As near the dawning, provost, as it
is,
You shall hear more ere morning.
Prov. H-appil-y
You something know ; yet I believe there
comes
No countermand ; no such example have we':
Besides, upon the-very siege of justice 101
Lord Angelo hath to the intbliic ear'
Profess'd the contrary. '
Enter a ylESSEKOER.
' This is his lordship's man.
Duke.. 'And here comes Claudio's paidon..-
Mes. [Giving a paper.] My lord hatli sent
you this note; and by me this further chaige,
that you swerve not from the smallest-artide
of it, neitlier in time, matter, or other circum¬
stance. Good morrow ; for, as I take it, it is
almost duy. - - >
Prov. I shall obey him. [Exit Messenger.
Duke. [Aside] ■ 'This is his pardon, pur¬
chased by such sin ...
For which the pardoner himself is in. 1
Hence hath offence his quick celerity,.
Wiien it is home in higli authority : '
When vice makes- mercy, mercy's so extend¬
ed,
That for the fault's love is the offender friend¬
ed.
Now, sir, what news ?
Prov. I toid you. Lord. Angelo, .belike
thinking me remiss iu mine office, awakens
me with this unwonted puttiug-on ; nfbtbiuks
strangely, for he hath not used it before.
Duke. Pi-ay you, let's hear.-
Prov. [Pea(f»] -
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
(Act it.
' Whatsoever yoii may heir to the contrary,
let Claudio be executed by four of the clock ;
and in the afternoon Baruardine : for ray bet¬
ter satisfaction, let me have Claudio's head
sent rae by five. Let this be duly performed ;
with a tlioiiglit that more deiieuds on it tliaii
we must yet deliver. Thus fail not to do yoilr
office, as yoti wiii answer it at yoiir peril;' 130
What say yon to this, siT? ■
Duke. What is that Baruardine wlio is to
be executed in the afternoon ?
Prov. A Bohemian bom, but here nursed
up and' bred ; "one tliat is a prisoner nine
years old.
Duke. How came it that the absent duke
had not eitlier delivered him to liis liberty Or
■ executed him ? I have heai-d it was ever his
mauner to do so. '
Prov. His friends still wrought reprieves
fir him; and, indeed, his fact, till now in the
government of Lord Angelo, came not to an
undoubtful proof. .
Duke. It is now apparent ?
Prov. Most manifest, and not denied by
himself.
Duke. Hath he borne himself penitently in
prison ? how seems he to be touched ?
Prov. A man that a])preheuds death no
more dreadfully but as a drunken sleep ; care-
lessi reckless, and fearless of what's past,
present, or to come ; insensible of mortality,
and desperately mortal.
Duke. He wants advice.
Prov. He will hear none: he hath ever¬
more had the liberty of the prison ; give him
leave to escape hence, he would not: drunk
many times a day, if not many days entirely
drunk. We have very oft awaked him, as if
to carry him to execution, and showed him a
seeming warrant for it: it hath not moved
him at all. 161
Duke. More of him anon. There is written
in your brow, provost, honesty and toustancy:
if I read it not truly, my ancient skill be¬
guiles me ; bat, in the boldness of my cun¬
ning, 1 will lay myself in hazard. Claudio,
-wiiom here you have warrant to execute, is
no ra-eater forfeit to the law than Angelo who
hath sentenced him. To make you under¬
stand this in a manifested effect, I crave but
four days' respite ; for the which you are to
do me both a present and a dangerous cour¬
tesy.
Prov. Pray, sir, in wliat ?
Duke. In tlse delaying death.
Prov. Alack, how may I do it, having the
hour limited, and an express command, un¬
der penalty, to deliver his head in the view of
Angelo ? I may make my case as Claudio's,
to cross this in the smallest.
Duke. By the vow of mine order I war¬
rant you, if my instructions may be your
guide. Let this Bamardine be this moniing
executed, and his head borne to Angelo.
Prov. Angelo hath seen them both, and
will discover the favor.
' Duke. O, deatlTs a great disgniser ; and
you may add to it. Shave the he:^, and tie
the beard ; and say it was tiie desire of tiie
Eenitent to be so bared before his death : yoo
now the course is common. ■ If any thing faU
to you upon this, more than thanks and good
fortune, by the saint whom I profesSk i "iU
plead against it with my life. _ ;
Prov. Pardon me, good father v it is against
'my oath. ' ■ [the deputy ?
Duke. Were you swoni to tlie duke, or to
Prov. To him, and to his substitutes.
Duke. Yon will think you have >uiade no
offence, if the duke avouch the justice of
your dealing ? ■ 201
Prov. But what likelihood is in that ?
Duke. Not a resemblance, but a certainty.
Yet since l see you fearful, that neither my
Coat, integrity, nor persuasion can with ease
attempt you, ,I will go further than 1 meant,
to pluck all fears out of you. Look you, .sir,
here is the hand and seal of the duke : you
know the character, I doubt not; and tlie sig¬
net is not strange to you.
Prov. I know them both. 210
Duke. The contents of this is the return of
the duke: you shall anon over-read it at your
pleasure ; where you shall find, withiu these
two days he will be here. This is a thing that
Angelo knows not; for he this very day re^
ceives letters of strange tenor ; i>erchancb of
the duke's death ; perchance entering Into
some monastery ; but, by chance, nothmg of
what is writ, l^k, the unfolding star calls
up the shepherd. Put not yourself into amaze¬
ment bow these thuigs should be ; all diffi¬
culties are but easy when they are known.
Call your executioner, and off with Bamar-
diue's head : I will give him a present shrift
and advise him for a better place. Yet you
are amazed ; but this shall absolutely resolve
you. Come away ; it is almost clear dawn.
[A'xeunf.
ScEM£ HI. Arwther room in the same.
Enter PoMPET.
Pom. I am as well acquainted here as I was
in our house of profession : one would think
it were Mistress Overdone's own house, for
here be many of her old customers. First,
here's young Master Rash ; he's in for a com¬
modity of brown paper and old ginger, nine-
score and seventeen pounds; of which he
made five marks, ready money : marry, tlien
ginger was not much in request, for the old
women-were all dead. Then is there here one
Master Caper, at the suit of Master Three-pile
the mercer, for some four suits of peach-col¬
ored satin, which now peaches him a beggar.
Then have we here young Dizy, and young
M.'ister Deep-vow, and Master Copperspiir,
and Master Starve-lackey the rapier and dag¬
ger man, and young Drop-heir that kiiled
lusty Pudding, and Master Forthlight the tilt-
•r, and brave Master Shooty the great trav-
111.]
MEASUPE FOR MEASURE.
787
etler, aiid wild Iiitlf-cau tl'a* stabbed PutA,
and, i thittk, tcrty moie a.', great doers ill
our trade, and are uow ' ior the Lord's siike,'
Enter AbHORSOit;'
Abhor. Sirrah, bring Barnardiue.Iilther.
Pom. Master Barnavdiiie! ^ou must rise
and be hanged, Master Baiiiardnie !
'What, ho, Bamardinel.
Dor. [WitAia] A pox o' your throats ! Who
iialtes that noise there 7 What are you ?
Po7n. Your friends, sir ; the hangman. You
.mist be so good, sir, to rise and be put to death.
Bar. [ Within] Away, you rogue, away ! I
am sleepy. 31 ,
Abhor. Tell him he must awake, and that
quickly too.
Pom. Pray, Master Baruardine, awake till
you are executed, and sleep afterwards.
Abhor. Go in to him, and fetch him out.
Pom. He is coming, sir, he is coming; I
hear his straw rustle.
Abhor- Is the axe tiixm the block; sirrah 7 '
Pom. Very ready, sir. 40
Enter Barnardinb.
Bar. How now, Abhotson ? • what's the
news with you ?
Abhor. Truly, sir, I would desire you to
clap into your prayers ; for, look you-, the
warrant's come.
Bar. Yon rogue, I have been drinking all
night; I am not fitted for't.
Pom. O, the better, sir; for he that drinks
all night, and is hanged betimes in the moni-
ing, may sleep the sounder all the next day.
Abhor. iKiok you, sir ; here comes your
ghostly father : do we jest uow, think you ?
Enter Dvkb disguised as be/ore.
Duke. Sir, .induced by my charity, and
hearing how hastily you are to depart, I am
come to advise you, comfort you and pray with
you. '
Bar. Friar, not I : I have been driifiring
hard all night, and 1 will liave more time to
prepare me, or they shall beat out. my brains
with billets : I will not consent to die tins day,
that's certain.'
Duke. O, sir) you must; aird therefore I
beseech you 60
Look forward oil the jonroey you shall go.
Bar. I swear I will not die to-day for any
man's persuasion. . i '
Dulik But hear you.
Bar. Not a word : if you have any thing to
say to me,'come to my ward ; for thence wili
not I to-day. [Exit.
Duke. Unfit to live or die i 0 gravel heart 1
After him, fellows ; bring him to the block.
[Exeunt Abhorson and Pompey.
Re-enter ProHist. '
Prov. Now, sir, how do you find the pris¬
oner? ' ' ' 70
Duke. A creature unprepared, unmeet fox
death ; -u....-
And to transport him in the mind be is
Were damnable.
Prov. Here in the prison, father.
There died this morning of a cruel fever
One Ragozine, a most notorious pirate;
A man of Claudio's years ; his beard and head
Just of his color. What if we do omit
This reprobate till he weie well inclined ;
And satisfy the deputy with the visage
Of Bagozine, nwre like to Clandio ?
Duke. O, 'tis an accident that heaven pro¬
vides 1
Disiiatch it presently ; the hour draws on
Preflx'd by Angelo: see this be done.
And sent according to command ; whiles I
Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die.
Piw. This shall be done, good father, pres¬
ently.. •
But Barnardine. must die this afternoon :
.\nd how shall we continue Claudio, '
To save me from the clanger that might come
If he were known alive ?
Duke. Let tliis be done. 9C
Put them in secret holds, both Barnardine and
Claudio ;
Ere twice the sun hath made his journal greet¬
ing
To the under generation, you shall find
Your safety manifested.
Prop. I am your free dependant.
Duke. Quick, dispatch, and send the head
to Angelo. [Exit Provost.
Now will I write letters to Angelo,—
The provost, he shall bear them,—whose con¬
tents
Shall witness to him I am near at home,
And that, by great injunctions, 1 am bound 106
To enter publicly : liim I'll desire
To meet me at the consecrated fount
A league below the city ; and from thence.
By cold gradation and well-balanced form.
We shall proceed with Angelo.
Re-enter Provost.
Prov. Here is the head ; Til carry it myself.
Duke. Convenient is it. Make a swift return;
For I would commune with you of such things
That want no ear but yonm.
Prov. I'll make all speed. [Exit.
Isab. [Within'\ Peace, ho, be here ' 110
Duke. The tongue of Isabel. She's come to
know
If yet her Iwother's pardon be come hither :
But I will keep her ignorant of her good.
To make her heavenly comforts of desimir,
When it is least expected.
Enter Isabella.
Isab. Ho, by your leave !
Duke. Good morning to you, fair and gra¬
cious daughter.
Isab. The better, given me by so holy a man.'
Hath vet the deputy sent my brother's iiardon?
Duke. He hath released him, Isabel, from
the world ;
His head is oft and sent to Angelo. 120
47
738
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
Isab. Ka^, but it in not co.
Duke. It is no other : show your wisdom,
daughter,
In your close patience.
Isat. O, I will to him and pludc out his
eyes 1
Duke. Yon shall not be admitted to his sight.
Isab. Unhappy Claudio ! wretched Isabel 1
Injurious world ! most damned Augelo !
Duke. This nor hurts him jwr profits you a
jot;
Forbear it therefore ; give your cause to
heaven.
mark what I say, which you shall find 130
I5y every syllable a faithful verity :
The duke comes home to-morrow ; nay, dry
your eyes;
One of our convent and his confessor.
Gives me this instance ; already he hath carried
Notice to Escalusaud Angelo,
Who do prepare to meet him at tlie gates,
There to give iip their power. If you can, pace
your wisdom
luthat good path that I would wish it go,' '
And you shali have your bosom on this wretch,
Grace of the duke, revenges to your heart, 140
And general honor.
Isab. ' I am directed by yoii.
Duke. This letter, then, to Friar Peter give;
'Tis that he sent me of tiie duke's return :
Say, by this token, I desire his company
At Mariana'.s house to-night. Her cause and
yours
I'll jierfect him withal, and he shall bring yon
Before the duke, and to the head of Angelo
Accuse him home and home. For my poorself,
I .am combined by a sacred vow
Aod sliail be absent. Wend vou with this
letter .
Command these fretting waters from your eyes.
AVitii a light heait; trust not my holy order,
If I pervert your course. Who's here t
Enter Liicto.
Lucie. Good even. Friar, where's the
i)rovost ?
Duke. Not within, sir.
Ludo. O pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine
ueart to sea thine eyes so red : tliou must be
patient. I am fain to dine and sup-f^th""*tatier
and bran ; I dare not for my head fiff my.
belly ; one fruitful meal would set me to't.
But they say tjie.duke will be here to-morrow.
By my troth, Isabel, I loved thy brother ; if
the old fantastical duke of dark comers had
been at home, he had lived. \_ExU Isabella.
Duke. Sir, the duke is marvellous little be¬
holding to your reix>rts; but the best is, he
Uves uot in theiu..
Lucio. Friar, thou kuowest not the duke so
well as I do : he's a better woodman than thou
takest him for. 171
Duke. Well, you'll answer this one day.
Pare ye well. i
Lucio. Nay, tarry ; I'll go along with tjiee:
I can tell thee pretty tales of the duke.
iact iv,
Duke.. Ton have told me too many of him
alre^y, sir, if they be true ; if not true, none
were enough.
Lucio. 1 was once before him getting a
wench with child. 180
Duke. Did you such a thing ?
Lucio. Y'es, marry, did I: but I was fain to
forswear it; tliey would else have married me
to the rotten medlar.
Duke. Sir, your company is fairer than
liouest. Rest you well
Lucio. By my troth", I'll go with thee to the
lane's end : if bawdy talk offend you, we'll
have very little of it. Nay, friar, I am a kind
of burr,; I shall stick. [j^xeunf. I'JO
Scene IV. A room in Angelo's hmise.
Enter Angelo and Escalus.
Escal. Every letter he hath writ hath die-
vouched other.
Ang. lu'most uneven and distracted manner.
His actions sliow much like to madness : pray
heaven his wisdom be not tainted I And why
meet him at the gates, and redeliver our author¬
ities there ?
' Escal. I guess not.
Ang. And why should we proclaim it in an
liour before his entering, that if any crave
redress of injustice, they should exhibit tlieir
petitions m the street ?
Escal. He shows his reason for that : to
have a dispatch of complaints, and to deliver
us from devices hereafter, which shall then
have no power to stand against us.'
Ang. Well, I beseech you, let it be pro¬
claimed betimes i' the morn ; I'll call yon at
your house : give notice to such men of sort
and suit as are to meet him. 20
Escal. I shall, sir. Fare yon well.
Ang. Good night. . [Exit Escalus.
This deed uushapes me quite, makes me ud'
pr^tnant
And dull to all proceedings. A deflower'd
tnaid !
And by an eminent body that enforced
The law against it! But that her tender
shame
Will not proclaim against her maiden loss.
How might she tongue me ! Yet reason dares
her no ;
For my authority bears of a eredent bulk,
That no particular scandal once can touch 30
But it confounds the breather. He should
have lived, > ■ [sense,
Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous
Might in the times to come have ta'en revenge,
B.y so receiving a dishouor'd life
With ransom of such shama Would yet he
had lived 1
Alack, when once our gtace we have forgot.
Nothing goes right : we would, and we would
not [Exit.
Scene y'. Fields without the tomn.
Enter Duke in hie own habit, and FbIab
pxisb.
SOBNBl 1.]
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
739
Duke. • These letters at'fit time deliver :
[Giving letters.
The provost knows our purpose aud our plot
The matter being atoot, keep your instruction,
Ahd hold you ever to our special drift;
Though sometimes you do blench from this to
that,
As cause doth minister. Qo call at Flaviut'
' house, '
And tell him 'yvhere I stay : give the like
notice
To Valentinus, Rowland, and to Crassns,
Aud bid them bring the trumpets to the gater;
But send me Flavins first.
' Fii. P. It shall be speeded well. [Exit. 10
, ., Enter Yarbi.os,
Dtike. I thank tiiee^ .Yarrius ; thou hast
made good haste;
Come, we will walk. There's other of our
' friends
Will greet us here auou, my gentle Yarrius.
■i . [Exeunt.
Scene YI. Street near the city gate.
Enter Isabei.'la and Mariana.
Isao.. To speak so indirectly I am loath ::
I would say the truth but to accuse him so.
That is your part: yet I am advised to do it;
He says« to veil full purpose.
Jfari. •" Be ruled by liim.
•Isab. Besides, he tells me that, if perad-
venture
lie speak against me on the adverse side,
. I should not think it .strange ; for 'tis a physic
That's bitter to sweet end.
Mori, i would Friar Peter—
Isab. 0,' peace t the friar is come.
Ente^- Friab Peter.
Erl. P. Come, I have found you out a
stand most ^, • .10
Wliere you may have such vantage on the
duke.
He shall not pass you. Twice have the
trumpets sounded ;
The generous and gravest citizens
Have hent the gates, and very near upon
The duke is entering : therefwe, hence, away!
'I " ' [Exeunt.
■ ACT Y.
t
"'•Scene I. The city gate.
Mariana veiled, Isabella, and Friar Peter, .
at . their stand. Enter Duke, Yarrius,
Lords, Angelo, E8Calu8,Lucjo, Provost,
Officers, and Citizens, at several doors,
Duke. My very worth^cousin, fairly met!
Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to
see you. ^
{ Happy return be to your royal grace!
' Duke. Many ahd hearty thankings to you
both . •
We have made inquiry of you ; and we hear
Such goodness of your justice, that our soul
Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks.
Forerunning more requital.
Ang. You make my bonds still greater.
Duke. O, your- desert speaks loud ; and I
should wrong it.
To lock it in the wards of covert bosom, 10
When it deserves, with characters of brass,
A forted residence 'gainst the tootli of time '
And razure of oblivion. Give me your hand.
And let the subject see, to make them know
That outward courtesies Would fain proclaim
Favors'that keep within. Come, Escalus,
You must walk hy us on our other hand
And good supporters are you.
Friar Peter and Isabella eome fonmrd.
Fri. P. Now is your time : speak loud and
kneel before him.'
Isab. Justice, O royal duke ! Yail yoUr re¬
gard 90
Upon a wrong'd, I would fain have said, a
maid I
O worthy prince, dishonor not your eye
By throwing it on any other object
Till you have heard me in my true complaint:
Aud given me justice, justice, justice, justice !
Duke. Relate your wron^ ; in what ? by
whom ? be 'bi'ief;
Here is Lord Angelo shall give you justice :
Reveal yourself to him.
Isab. O worthy duke.
You bid fiie seek redemption of the devil:
Hear me yourself; for that which I must
' ' Speak ■ 30
Must either punish me, not being believed, '
Or wi-ingreaiess from you. Hear me, O hear
me, here ! • '
' Ang. My lord; her wits, I fear me, are Rot
firm : . '
She hath been a' suitor to me fpf her brother
Cut off by course of justice,— , .
Isab. By course of justice I
' Ang. And she will -Speak most bitterly and
strange.
Isah. Most strange, but yet most truly,
-' will I speak :
That Angelo's forsworn ; is it not strange-?
That Angelo's a murderer ; is't not strange ?
That Angelo is an adulterous thief, , 40
An hypocrite, a virgin-violator ; '
Is it not strange and strange ?
• Dvke.' Nay, it is ten times strange.
Isab. It is not truer he is Angelo ■
Thau this is all as true as it is strange ;
Nay, it is ten times true ; for truth is tnith
To the end of reckoning.
Duke. Away with her I Poor coul.
She speaks this in the infirmity of s nse.
Xsah. O prince, I conjure thee, as thou be-
lievest
There is another comfort than this world.
1 That thou neglect me not, with that opinion'
740
That I am touch'd with .madoe^B ! Make not
impossible 51
That which but seems iuiUke; 'tig not Im-
possibie
But one, the wicked'st caitiff ou the ground,
May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as ab¬
solute ,
As Augelo ; even so may Augelo,
lu all liis dressings, characts, titles, forms.
Be an arcli-villaiii ; believe it, royal prince :
If he I>e less, Iie's.notliing ; but he's more,
Iliid 1 more name for badness.
Duke, . By mine honesty,
If she be mad,—as I believe no otlier,— CO
Her madness bath the oddest frame of sense,
Such a dependency- of thing on thing.
As e'er I beard in madness.
Isah- O gracious duke,
U.ir;> not on that, nor do not banish reason
For inequality ; but let your reason serve
.To.jnake the trutli appear where it seems hid,
And hide the false seems true.
Duke, , Many that are not mad
H.ave, sure, more lack of reason. Wliat would
you say ?
Imh. I am the sister of one Claudio,
Condemn'd upon the act of fornication 70
To lose his head ; condemn'd by Augelo
I, in probation of a .sisterhood.
Was sent to by my brother ; one Bucio
As then the messenger,—
Lucio. That's I, an't like your grace:
I came to her from Claudio, and desired her.
To try her gracious fortune with Lord Augelo
For her jK)oi- 'ovother's pardon.
Isab. That's he indeed.
Duke. You were not bid to speak.
Lucio. No, my good lord ;
Nor wish'd to hold my peace.
Difke. I wish you now, then ;
Pray you, take note of it: and when you have
A business for yourself, pray heaven you then
Be perfect.
Lucio. I warrant your honor.
Duke. The warrant's for yourself ; take
heed to't
Jsfth.. This gentleman told somewhat of my
tale,—
Lucio. Right
Duke. It may be right; but you are i' the
wrong
To speak before your time. Proceed.
Isah. , I went
To this pernicious caitiff deputy,—
Duke. That's somewhat madly spoken.
Isah. . Pardon it;
llie phrase is to the matter. 90
Duke. Mended again-, The matter ; pro-
, ceed. ., [by,
Isab. In brief, to set .tlie needless process
How I persuaded, how I pray'd, and kneel'd,
How he refell'd me, and liow I reidied,—
For this was of much length,—tUp vile con¬
clusion
I now begin -with grief and sU.ame to utter i
He would not, but by gift of va.j chaste body
I [Act t.
To his eoucupiscibie intemperate Inst,
Release my brother ; and, after much debate-
ment.
My sisterly remorse ccmfutes mine honor, 100
And I did yield to him : but the next mom be¬
times.
His puiqmse surfeiting, he sends a warrant
For my poor brother's head. .,, _
Duke. This is most likely !
Isab. O, that it w»e as like as it is true !
Duke. By heaven, fond wretch, thou
know'st not what thou speak'st, ,
Or else thou art subom'd against his honor
In hateful practice. First, his integrity
Stands without blemisln Next, [t imimrts no
reason
That with such vehemeucy he should pursue
Faults proper to. himself : if. he had so
offended, ' [self
He would have weigh'd thy brother by him-
And not have cut him off. Some one hath set
you on: '
Confess the truth, and say by whose advice
Thou camest here to complain.
Isab. And is this all ?
Then, O yop blessed ministers abovei
Keep me in patience, and with ripen d time
Unfold the eVil which is here wrapt up
In countenance 1 Heaven shield yoUr grace
from woe, ■'
As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go f
Duke. I know you'ld fain be gone. > An
officer! 120
To prison with her ! Shall we thus permit
A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall '
On liim so near us ? This needs must be a
practice.
Who knew of your intent and coming hither ?
Isab. One that 1 would were here. Friar
Lodowick.
Duke. A ghostly father, belike. Who knows
that Lodowick ? [friar ;
Lucio. My lord,-I know him ; 'tisa meddling
I do not'like the man : had he been lay, my
lord, [grace
For certain words he spake against your
In your retirement, 1 bad swinged him
soundly. 130
Duke, Words against me I this is a good
fiiar, belike 1 ,
And to set on this wretched woman here
Against our substitute ! Let tills friar be
found.
Lucio. But yesternight, my lord, she and
th.at friar,
I saw them at the prison : a sancy.'triar,
A very scurvv fellow.
Fri. P. Blessed be your royal grace !
I have stood by, my lord, and'I have heard
Your royal ear abused. First, hath this woman
Most wrongfully accused your Hubstitute, 140
Who is as free from touch or soil with her
As she from one uugot.
Duke. We did believe' no less.
Know you that Friar Lodowick that she speaks
of?
MEASURE ROR MEASURE.
SOEHB I.]
Fri. P. I know him lor a roan divine and
holy.J .
Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler,
As he's reported by this gentleman;
And, on my trust, a man that never yet
Did, as he vouches, misreport your grace.
Liicio. My lord, most villanously ; believe
it. , ,
Fri. P. Well, he in time may como to clear
himsell; . ,150
But at this instant he is sick, my lord,
U( a strange (ever. Upon lus mere r^nest.
Being come to knowledge that there was coin-
piaint
Intended 'gainst Lord Angelo, came J hither^
To 8|)eak, aa Irom his month, what he doth
know • . ,1
Is true and false ; and what he with his oath
And all probation will make up full clear,
Whensoever he's convented. First, for this
woman.
To justify this worthy nobleman.
So vulgarly and personally accused, 160
Her shall yon hear disproved to her eyes.
Till rite herself confess it , , .
Duket Good friar, let's hear it.
[Isahefht is carried eff ffuarded; and
Mariana comes forward.
Do yon not smile at this. Lord Angelo ?
0 heaven, the vanity of wretched fools !
Give us some seats. Come, cousin Angelo ; i
In this I'll be impartial; be you judge
Of your own cause. Is this the witness,, friar ?
First, let her show her face, and after speak.
Matri. Pardcm, my lord ; I will not show my
face
Until my husband bid me. .170
Duke. What, are you married 7
Mart No, my lord. I
' Dukti Ate you a maid ?
Mart No, my lord. i i
Duke.. A widow, then 7
Mori, Neither, my lord. '
Duke. Why, you are nothing then ; neither
maid, widow, nor wife 7
Lucio. My lord, she may be a punk ; for
many of them are neither maid, widow, nor
wife. 180
Duke.. Silence that fellow : 1 would he had
some cause '
To prattle for himself, i
' Lucio.- Well, my lord,
' Mari. My lord, 1 do confess I ne'er was
1 married;
And Iconfess besides I am no maid :
I have known my husband; yet my husband
Knows not that ever he knew me..
Lucio. He was drunk theii,my lord: it can
beno better. '
Duke. For the benefit of silence, would
thonwertsotoo! .191
Lucio. .Well, my lord.
Duke. This is no witness for Lord Angelo.
Afiwi. Now I come to't, my lord :
She that accuses him of fornication,
b self-eame manner doth aoonse my husband.
74!
And charges liim, my lord, with such a time
When I'll depose I had him in mine arms
With all file effect of love.
Ang. Charges she more tliau me 7
Mart Not that I know. 200
Duke. No 7 you say your husband.
Mart Why, just, my lord, and tliat is An-
g«io, [body,
Who thinks he knows that he ne'er knew ipy
But knows he thinks tliat he knows Isabel's.
Ang.' This is a strange abuse. Letls see
thy face.
Mari. My husband bids me ; now I will
unmask. [Unveiling-
This is that face, thou cruel Angelo,
Which once thou sworest was worth the look¬
ing on ;
This is the hand which, with a vow'd contract,
Was fast belock'd in thine ; this is the body
Thiit took away the match from Isabel, 211
And did supply thee at thy garden-house
In her imaj^uM person. ,
Duke. Know you this woman 7
Ludo. Carnally, she says.
Duke. . Sirrah, no more !
, Lucio. Enough, my lord.
Ang. My lord, I must confess I know this
woman : [marriage
And five years since there was some speecli of
Betwixt myself and her j which was broke off.
Partly for that her promised proportions
Came short of composition, but in chief 220
For that her reputation was-disvalued
In levity : since which time of five years
I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard
from her.
Upon my faith and honor.
• Mari. Noble prince.
As there comes light from heaven and words
from breath.
As there is sense in truth and truth in virtue,
I am affianced this man's wife as strongly
As words could, make up vows : and, my good
lord,
But Tuesday night last gone in's garden-house
He knew me as a wife. As this is true, 2^
Let me in safety raise me from my knees ;
Or else for ever be confixed here,
A marble monument!
Ang. I did but smile till now:
Now, good my lord, give me the scope of jus¬
tice ;
My patience here is touch'd. I do perceive
These poor informal women are uo more
But instruments of some more mightier mem¬
ber
That sets them on let me have way, my lord,
IV> find this practice out.
Duke. Ay, with my heart;
And punish them to your height of pleasure.
Thou foolish friar, and thou pernicious woman,
Compact with her that's gone, thiuk'st thou
thy oaths.
Though they would swear , down each partic¬
ular saint,
.Were testimonies against his worth and credit
MEASURE EOft MEASURE.
742
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
(Act v.
That's seal'd iu apptobatiou 7 Tou, Lord^s-
calus, •
Sit with my cousin ; lend him yoiir kind pains
To find out this abuse, whence 'tis derive.
There is another War that set them on ;
Let him be sent for.
Fri. P. Would he were here, iny lord ! for
he indeed 2^0
Hatli set the women on to this coiilplaint;
Tout provost knows the place where he abides
And he may fetch him.
Duke. Go do it instantly. [Exit Provost.
And you, my noble and well-warranted cousin.
Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth.
Do with your injuries as seems you best.
In any chastisement: I for a while will leave
you ;
But stir not yon till you have well determined
Upon these slanderers.
Escat. My lord, we'll do it'throughly.,' 200
' [jtrif Duke.
Siguier Lucio, did not you say you knew that'
Friar Lodowick to be a disliouest person ?
Luqio. 'CucuMus ndn faeit raonachnm:'
honest in nothing but in his clotlies ; and-one
that hath spoke most villanoas speeches of tlie
duke.
Escal; We sliall entreat you to abide here
till he come and enforce them a^inst him :
we shall find tliis friar a notable fellow.
Lucio. As any in Vienna, on my word.'
Escal. Call that same Isabel' here once
again: I Would speak with her.
[Exit an Attendant.]
Pray you, my lord, give me leave to question;
you sliall see how I'll liandle her.
Lucio. Not better than he, by her own re¬
port. '
Escal. Say you ? '
Lucio. Marry, sir, I tiiink, if yon handled
her privately, she would sooner confess : per-,
cliauce, publiciy, siie'll be ashamed. '
Escal. I will go darkly to work with her.
Lucio. That's the way; for women are light
at midnight. 281
Re-enter Officers . vtUh Isabella ; and
Provost loith the dqke in his friar! s habit. '
Escal. Come on, mistress ; here's a gentle¬
woman denies all that you have said.
Lucio: My lord, here comes the rascal I
spoke of ; here with the provost.
Escal. In very good time: speak not you,
to him till we eall nxion' yon. > . .
Lucio. Mum. >
Escal. Come, sir : did you set these women
on to slander Lord Ang^o ? they have con¬
fessed yon did • 291
Duke. 'Tis false. '
Escal. How ! know you where you are ?
Duke. Respect to your great plaice 1 and let
the devil • ■
Be sometime honor'd for his bhming throne !
Where is the duke'7 'tis he should hear me
speak. [you speak :
Bscmi The duke's ia us ; 'andwe will hear
' Look you speak justly. ^
DuLe. Boldly, at least. But, 0, poor souls.
Come you to seek the lamb liere of the fox ?
Good night to your redress I Is the duke gone?
Then is yoUr cause gone too. The duke's un¬
just.
Thus to retort your manifest appeal.
And put your trial in the villain's month
' Which here you come to accuse.
Lucio. This is the rascal; this is he I spoke
of. • [low'd friar,
Escat: Why, thou unreverend and nnlml-
Is't not enough thou hast suborn'd these
women
To accuse this worthy man, but, In foul mouth
And in the witness of his pi-oper ear, 310
To call him villain ? and then to glance from
him • ' ■ .
To the duke himself, to tax him with injustice?
Take him hence ; to therackwithhim I We'll
touse you
Joint by joint, but we Will know his purposA
What, ' unjust'! ■ ' ' •
Duke.' ' Be not sohot; the duke <
Dare no more stretch this finger of mine than he
Dare rack his own: his subject am I not.
Nor here provincial. My business in this state
Made me a looker on here in Vienna, 319
Where I have seen-corruirtion boil and bnbUe
Till it e'er-run the stew ; laws for all faults;
But faults so countenanced, that the strong
statutes ' ' '
Stand like the forfeite in a barber's shop.
As much in mock as mark.
Escal. Slander to' the 'State 1 Away With
him to prison ! J
Ang. What can you vouch against biifi,
Siguier Lucio ? •
Is this the man that you did tell usof ? '
Lucio. 'Tis he, ray lord. Come hither, gOod-
man baldpate : do you know me 7
Duke. I remember you, sir, by the sound
of your voice : 1 met you at the prison, in the
absence of the duke. i
Lucio. O, did you so? And do you remem¬
ber what you said of the duke ?
Duke. Most notedly, sir..
Lucio. Do you so^ sir ? And was the dnke
a fleshmonger, a fool; and a coward, as you
then i-eported him to be ?
Duke. You must, sir, clurage persons with
me, ere you make that my report: you, in¬
deed, spoke so of him ; and much more, much
worse. . .
Lucio. O thou damnable fellow f Did ubt
I pluck thee by the nose for thy' speeches 2
Duke. I protest 1 love the duke as i lose
myself. .
Ang. H<ark, how the villain 'would aelode
now, after his treasonable abuses I
■Escal. Such a fellow is not to be talked
withal. Away with him to prison I Wheie is
the provost ? Away with him to prison ! lay
bolts enough, upon him ; let him speak no
more. Away with tliose gigtotstooi, ""d with
the other confederate-eompaiiKW a ui
Scene i.]
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
749
Iktke. f 2b Prowft.] Stay, sir; stay awhile.
Atifr. ' What, resists he ? Help him, Lucio.'
Lucio. Come, sir ; come, sir ; come, sir ;
foil, sir! Why, yon bald-pated', lying rascal^
you must be Itooded, must you ? Show your
knave's Visage, with a pox to you T show your
sheep-biting face, and be banged, an hour!
Wlirtnotofl? .360
[Pulls oF the friar's hood, and discovers
' ' ' ' the Duke.
Duke. Thou art the first hhave that e'er
made.st a duke.
First provost let me bail these'gentle three. i'
[2bX«c&>] Sneak not away, sir ; for tlte friar
and you
Must have a word anon. Lay bold on him. ' '
Lucio. This may prove worse than hanging.
J Ditke. [To Esccdiis] .What you lm.ve epokei
I pardon : sit you down :
We'll borrow place of Uiu.' [To Atigelo] Sir,
by your leave. .
Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence,
That yet can do thee office ? If thou hast, ^
Rely upon it till my tale be lieard, 870
And hold no longer out
Ang. O my dread lord,
I slionld be guiltier than my guiltiness.
To think I can be undisceruible,
Wlieu 1 perceive your grace, like power divine,
Hiith look'd upon .my passes. Then, good
prince.
No longer session hold upon my shame, • i
But let my tiiai be.inhie own coufessiou : ,
Immediate sentem-e tlieii aitd sequent death
Is ail tlie gracel beg. ...
Duke. Come hither, Hariaira.-
Say, Wast thou e'er contracted to this woman ?
Ang. 1 was, my lord. 381
Dulse.- Go t^o bee hence, and marry her
instantly.
Do yon the office, fmr ; which consummate.
Return him here again. Go witli him, provost.
[Exevmi Angela, Mariana, Friar Peter
■ I . ' • I and Piwost.
Escal. My lord, 1 am more amazed at his
dishonor
Tban.at the strangeness of it.
Duke. . , 'Come hither, Isabel;
Tour friar is now your prince : as 1 was then
Advertising and holy to your business.
Not changing heart with habit, 1 am still
Attomey'd at your service.
Isab. 0, give me pardon, 390
That 1, your vassal, have einploy'd and paiu'd
Tour unknown sovereignty.! ;
Duke. Tou are pardou'd, Isabel:
And now, dear maid, be you as free to us.
Tour brother's deiith, I know,sits at your heart;
And you may marvel why 1 obscured myself,,
latborlng to.Ha.ve his life, and .would not rather
Make rash remonstrance of my hidden power
Than let him so be lost, O molt kind maid.
It was the swift celerity of his death.
Which I did think with slower foot came on, ^
That btaiu'd my purpose. But, peace be with
J JUm I 401
That life is better, life, past fearing death,
Tlian that which, lives to fear : make it youi,
comfort,
So happy is your brother.
Isab. 1 do, my lord.
Re-enter ANCEtb, Mariana, fuiait Peter,
and Provost.
Duke. For this new-married man approach¬
ing here.
Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong'd
Tour well defended honor, you must pardon
For Mariana's sake : but as be adjudged your
brother,— , ,, .v
Beuig criminal, in double violation
Of sacred chastity and of promise-breach 410.
Thereon deiiendent, for your brother's life,—
Tlie very mercy of the law cries out
Most audible, even from his proper tongue,
'An Augelo for Claudio, death for death 1' |
Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers
leisure; ...
Like doth quit like, and measure still for
measure.
Then, Angelo, thy fault's thus manifested :
TV hich, though thou wouldstdeny, denies tnee
vantage.
TVe do condemn thee to the very block
Where Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like
haste. , . 420
Away with him.!
Mari. O my most gracious lord,
I hope yon will uot mock me with a husband.
Duke, It is.your husband inoek'd you with
a husbaud. . i .
Consenting to tbe safegnard of your honor,.
I thought your marriage fit; else imputation,
Fortliat he knew you, might reproach your
life [sessions.
And choke your good to, come : for bis pos-
.\lthough by confiscation tliey are ours.
We do instate and widow you with^,
< To buy you a better husband.
Mali. . O my dear lord, 434
I crave no other, nor no better man.
Duke,- Never crave him ; we are definitive.
Mari. Gentle my liege,— [Kneeling.
Duke. Tou do but lose your labor.
Away with him to death ! [To Lucio] Now,,
sir, to you. ■ , . , , [my part',
Mari. O my good lord ! Sweet Isabel, take
Lend me your knees, and ail ray life tp come
I'll lend yon all my life to do you service.
Duke, .\gainst all sensq ypq dp importune
her :.
Should she kneel down in mercy of this fact.
Her brother's ghost his paved bed would
break.
And take her beuce iu horror..
Mari. Isabel,. . , 441
Sweet Lsabel, do yet but kneel by me ;
Hold up your bauds, say nothing ; I'll speak
all* , ,
They say. best.men are moulded outof faults;
And. for the most, become much more the beh
ter
744
MEASURE FOR MEASURE
[Actv.
For being k little bad ; so may my husband.
0 Isabel, will yoU not lend a knee 7
Z>uX:e. He dies tor Claudlo's death.
Zsab. Most bounteous sir, [Knedinff.
Look, If It please you, on this man condemn'd.
As If my brother lived : I ^rtly think 45Q
A due sincerity govern'd bis deeds.
Till he did look on me : since It Is so.
Let him not die. My brother had but justice.
In that he did the thing for which he died :
For Aiigelo,
His act did lidt o'ertake his bad Intent,
And must be buried but as an Intent
That perish'd by the way : thoughts are no
subjects;
Intents but merely thoughts.
Mari. ' • ' Merely, my lord.
Duke. YOitr suit's Unprofitable ; stand up,
I say, ' 460
1 have bethought me of another fault.
Provost, how came it Claudlo was beheaded
At an unusual hour ?
Prw. It was commanded so.
Duke. Had you a special warrant for the
deed 7 [message.
' Prao. No, my good lord ; it was by private
Duke. For which I do discharge you of
your office: ■
Give Up your keys. • '
Prov. Pardon me, noble lord ;
I thought It was a fault, but knew it not;
Yet did repent me, after more advice ;
For testimony whereof, one In tlie prison, 470
That should by private order else have died,
I have reserved alive.
Duke'. ' What's he 7
Prov. His name is Barnardlne.
Duke. I would thou hadst done so by
Claudlo.
Go fetch him hither ; let me look upon him.
[Exit Provost.
Escal. I am sorry, one so learned and so
wise
As you, Lord Angelb, have still appear'd.
Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood,
And lack of temper'd judgment afterward.
Aug. I am sorry that such sorrow I procure:
And so deep sticks It In my penitent heart 480
Tliat I crave death more willingly than mercy ;
"Tis my deserving, and I do entreat It.
Re-enter Provost, voith Barnardime,
Clacdio miiffled, and Juliet. ,
Duke. Which Is that Bamardiue 7
Prov. This, ray lord.
Duke. There was a friar told me of this
man.
Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul,
That apprehends no further than this world.
And sq^rest thy life according. Thou' rt con¬
demn'd :
But, for those eatthly faults, ! quit them all; ■
And pray thee take this mercy to provide 4M
For better times to come. Friar, advise him ;
I leave him to your hand. 'What muffled fel¬
low's that 7
Prov, This Is another prisoner that I saved,
Whoi^ould have died when Claudlo lost his
head;
As like almost to Claudlo as himselL
Wnmuffles Claudia.
Duke. [To IsabeUa\ If he be like your
bromer, for his sake
Is he pardou'd ; and, for your lovely sake, ,
Give me your hand and say you will be mine.
He Is my brother too: but fitter time for that.
By this Lord Angela perceives he's safe ;
Methlnks I see a quickening In his eye. 500
Well, Angelo, your evil quits you well t.
Look that you love your wlfe f her worth
worth yours.
I find an apt remission In myself ;
And yet here's one In place 1 cannot pardon.
[To' Zucto] You, slrran, that knew me for a
fool, a coward,
One all of luxury, an ass, a madman ;
Wherein have I so deserved of you.
That you extol me thus 7 I
Luxio. 'Faith, my lord, I spoke It but ac¬
cording to the trick. If you will hang me for It,.
yoii may ; but I had rather It would please you
I might be whlpt
Duke. Whlpt first, sir, and hanged after.
Proclaim it, provost, round about the city, '
Is any woman wrong'd by this lewd fellow,
As I have heard him swear himself there's
one
Whom he begot with child, let her appear.
And he shall marry her; the nuptial flnlsli'd.
Let him be wliipt and hang'd.
Ludo. I beseech your highness, do not
marry me to .a whore. Your highness said
even now, I made you a duke: good my lord,
do not recompense me In making me a cuckold.
Dxtke. Upon mine honor, thou shalt marry
her.
Thy slandem I forgive ; and therewithal ' <
Remit thy other fcmelts. Take him to prison 1
And see our pleasure herein executed.
Lucio. Manylng a punk, my lord, Ispress-
in^ to death, whipping, and hanging.
Duke. Slandering a prince deserves It. 530
[Exeunt Offleers with Ludo.
Siie, Claudlo, that you wrong'd, look you re¬
store.
.Joy to you, Mariana ! Love her, Angelo :
I have confess'd her and I know her virtue.
Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much
goodness:
lliere's more behuid that Is more gratulate.
Thanks, provost, for thy care and secrecy :
We shall employ thee In a worthier place.
Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home
The head of Ragozine for Claumo's :
The offence pardons Itself. Dear Isabel, 540
I have a motion much Imports your good ; '
Whereto It you'll a willing ear incline,
What's mine is yours and what is yonm Is
mine.
So, bring us to our palace ; where we'll shoW
What's yet bhhind, that's meet yon all should
know. [BxetmL
TROILUS AND OKESSIDA.
' . (WRITTBK ABOUT 1603 ?)
I
INTRODUCTION.
This play wpeared in two quarto editions in the year 1609; on the title-page of the earlier of the
two it is stated to have been acted at the Globe; the later contains a singular preface in which the
play is spoken of as never stal'd with the stiue, never clapper-clawed With the palmes of the vul¬
gar.'' and as having been published against the will of " the grand possessors." Perhaps the play
was printed at first for the use of the theatre, with the intention of being published after having
been represented, and the piinters, against the known wishes of the proprietors of Shakespeare's
manuscnpt, anticipated the first representation and Issued the quarto with the attractive announce¬
ment that it was an absolute novelty. The editors of the folio, after having decided that TroUus
and Cressida should follow Romeo and Juliet among the tragedies, changed their minds, apparently,
uncertain how the play should be classed, and placed it between the H&toiles and I'ragedies; this
led to the canoelling of a leaf, and the filling up of a blank space left by the alteration, with the
Prologue to TmdUa and Crestida—n prolocuo which is believed by several critics not to have come
from Shakespeare's hand. There is extreme uncertain^ with respect to the date of the play. Uek-
ker and Chettle were engaged in 1599 upon a play on this subject, and, from an entry in the Sta¬
tioners' register, February 7,1602—1603, it appears that a TroUus and Cressida had b^n acted l>y
Shakespeare's company, the Lord Chamberlam's Servants. Was this Shakespeare's play;We are
thrown back upon intemal evidence to decide this question, and the internal evidence ,ia itself of a
conflicting kind, and has led to opposite conclusions. The massive worldly wisdont of Ulysses
argues, it is supposed, in favor of a late date, and the general tone of the play has been compared
with that of Tttnon of Athens. The fact that it does not contain a single weak ending, and only six
light endings, is, however, almost decisive evidence against our placing it after either Timeu or
Macbeth; and the other metrical characteristics are considered, by the most careful student of this
class of evidence in the case of the present play (Hertzberg), to point to a date about 1603. Ckher
authorities place it as late as 1608 or 1609 ; while a third theory (that of Verplanck and Grant White)
attempts to solve the difficulties by supposing that it was first written in 1603, and revised and en¬
larged sliortly before the publication of the quarto. Parts of the play—^notably the last' battle of
Hector—appear not to be by Shakespeare. The interpretation of the play itself is as difliciilt as the
ascertainment of the extenial facts of its history. With what intention^ and in what spirit did
Shakeqteare write this strange comedy 7 AH the Greek heroes who fought against Troy are piti¬
lessly exposed to ridlcute; Helen and Cressida are light, sensual, and heartless, for whose sake it
teems infatuated folly to strike a blow ; Troiliu is an enthusiastic young fool; and even Hector,
though valiant and geherous, spends his life in a cause which he knows to be unprofitable, if not
evil. All this is seen and said by Thersites, whose mind is made up of the scum of the foulness of
human hfe. But can Shakespeare's view of things have been the same as that of Thersites ? The
central theme, the young love and faith of Troilus given to one who was false and fickle, and his
discovery of his error, lends.its color to the whole play. It is the comedy of disillusion. And as
Tufllus passed through the illusion of his first love for woman, so by middle life the world itself
often appears like one that has not kept her promises, and who is a poor deceiver. We come to see
the seamy side of life; and from this mood of disillusion it is a deliverance to pass on even to a dark
and tragic view of life, to which beauty and virtue reappear, even though human weakness or hu¬
man 'Vice may do tliem bitter wrong. Now such a mood of contemptuous depreciation of life may
have come over Shakespeare, and spoilt him, at that time, for a writer of comedy. But for Isabella
we should find the comi^ on of this mood in Measure for Measure; there is perhaps a touch of it in
Hamlet. At this time 'milus and Cressida may have been written, and soon afterwards Shake¬
speare, rousing himself to a deeper inquest into things, may have passed on to Ikts great series of
tragedies. materials for TroUus and Cressida were found by Shakespeare in Chaucer's TroUus
end Cresetde, Cucton's trsmslation from the French, Remyles, or Destruction of Troy, and perhapfi
also Lydgate'a Troye Bokst ■
PERSON.®.
Maroarislon, a bastard eon of Priam.
I Trojan commanders.
CaIiCBAs, a Trojan priest, 'taking part with
the Greeks. i
Pamdarus, uncle to Cressida,
(I«)
DRAJ^ATIS
PRIAH, king Of Troy. ^
Rector,
' Troilus,
P.
PARIS,
DKPHOhUB,
BBLBNUS, J
his sons.
74G
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
[Act t.
Agamsumon, the Greciau generaL
Mbnelacs, his brother.
Achiixes, 1
■' ' f
Diomede's,
Patkoclus,
Thersites, a deformed and scnrrilons Grecian.
Alexander, servant to Cressida.
Servant to Troilos.
' I >
Servant to Paris.
Servant to Diomedes.
»
.Helen, wife toJlenelaua . . • r-r i
Andbomacqb; wife to HectdT., i- I
Cassandra, d.ingfiter to Priam,-a prophetess.
Cressida, daughter to Calchas.
Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants.
Scene : Troy, and the Grecian camp
hefoK it.
PROLOGUE.
In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of
Greece
The princes orgnlous, their high blood chafed.
Have to the port of Athens sent their ships,.
Fraught with the ministers and instruments
Of cruel war : sixty and nine, that wore
Tlieir crowuets legal, from the Athenian bay
Put forth toward Phrygiaand tlieir vow is
made
To ransack Troy, within whose strong im¬
mures ,
The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen.
With, wantou Paris sleeps ;. and that's the
quarrel. 10
To Tenedos they come ;
And the deep-drawing barics do tliere di^orge
Their, warlike frau^tage : now on Dardmi
plains
The fresh and yet uubruised Greeks do pitch
Tiieir brave pavilious: Priam's six-gated city,
Hardau, nud Tymbria, Helias, Chetas, Troien,
And Antenorides, with mass.v staples
And corresponsive and lulfiUiug bolts,
Sperr up the sons of Troy,
hiow expectation, tickling skittish spirits, 20
On one and other side, Trojan and Greek,
Sets all on hazard : and hither am 1 come
A prologue arm'd, but not in coufideuce
Of autlior's pen or actor's voice, but suited
In like conditions as our argument.
To tell you, fair beholders, that our play
Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those
broils,
Begimiiug in the middle, starting thence away
To wiiat may be digested in a play. 29
Like or fiud'fault; do as your pleasures are ;
Now good or bad, 'tis but the chance of war.
ACT L
Scene I. Troy. Before Priam's palace.
Enter Troilus armed, and Pandarvs.
Tro. Call here niy variet ■, I'll unarm
again ;
Why should I war without tlfe walls of Troy,
That findsudi ctnel battle here witliin '
Each Trojan that is master of his heart, .
Let him to field; Tioilns^ alas i hath uone. <
Pan. Will this gear ne'er be mended ?
Tro. The Greeks are strong and skilful to
their strength.
Fierce to their skill and to their fierceness
valiant;
But I am weaker than a woman's tear.
Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance,. 10
Less valiant than the virgin in the night
And skilless as unpractised infancy.
Pan. Well, I have told you enongh of this^
for my part, I U not meddle nor make tao fur¬
ther. He tliat will have acake outof the wheat
must needs tarry the grinding.
Tro. Have I not tarried ?
Pan. Ay, the grinding ; but yon must tarry
the bolting.
77-0. Have I not tarried ?
Pan. Ay, the bolting, but you mnst tarry
the leavening, 20
Tro. Still have! tarried.
Pan. Ay, to the leavening ; but here's yet
in the word 'hereafter' the kneading, the
making of tiie cake, the heating of the oven
and the baking; nay, you must stay the cool¬
ing too, or you may chance to bum your lips..
Tro. Patience herself, what goddess e'er
she be,
Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do.
At Priam's royal table do I sit;
And when fair Cressid comes into my
thoughts.— 30
So, traitor ! ' When she comes 1' When is slm
thence ?
Pan. Well, she looked yesternight'fairer
than ever I saw her look, or any woman else.
Tro. I was about to tell thee :—when my
heart.
As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain.
Lest Hector or any fath^ should perceive me,
I have, as when the sou doth light a stcwm, •<
Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile :
But sorrow, that ie-couch'd in seeming glad¬
ness.
Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sad¬
ness. 40
Pan. An her hair were not. somewhat
darker than Helen's—well, go to—there were
no more comparison between the women;
but, for my part, she is my kinswoman; 1
would not, as they term it, praise hi* 4 but 1
would somebody had heara her talk yester*
SCENk II.]
TROILUS ANt). CRESSWA.
747
day, as I didi I will liot diaiftaise youi? sister
Caskindra'S'wit,'butn- ,,
Tro. O Paudat-us'l 1 tell thee, Paiidaius,—
When I do tell thee, there my hopes He
drown'd, <
Reply not In how many fathoms deep ' 60
They lie Indreneh'tL 1 tell thee 1 am mad
In. CressldV love : thou answePst ' she Is
fair;'
Pour'St in the open ulcer of my heart
Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her
voice, . 1 ,
Handiest in thy discourse, O, that her hand.
In whose comparison all whites are ink, i
Writing tliek own reproach, to whose soft i
seizure
The cygnet's down is harsh and spirit of sense
Hard as the palm of ploughman : this thou ,
tell'st me, ,
As true thou tell'st me, when I say 1 love
her ; 60
But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm, <
Thou lay'st in every gash that love liath given
me
The' knife that made it. ; ' , '
Pan. I speak no more than truth. i
Tro.' Thou dost not speak so much. |
Pan. Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be '
as she is: if slie be fair, 'tis the better fur
her ; an she be not, she has the mends in lier .
own hands.
Tro. Good Pandarus, how now, Pandai'us !
I Pan. I have had my labor for my travail ;
ill-tliought on (A. her and ilbthought on- of
you ; gone between and between, but small
thanks for my labor.
Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandaius? ;
wliat, with me ?
Pan. Becausa she's kin to me, therefore
she's not so fair as Helen; an she were not
kin to me, she would be as fair on Fnday.as
Helen is on Sunday. But what care I ? I care
not an she were a black-a-moor ; 'tis all one
to me. 80
' Tro'. Say I she is not fair ? ,
Pan. I do not care whether you do or no.
She's a fool to stay behind her father ; let her
to tlie Greeks ; and so I'll tell her the next
time I see her : for my pint, I'll meddle nor
make no more i' the matter..
7'ro. Pandarns,—
I'an. Not I.
Tro, Sweet Pandarus,—
Pan. Pray you, speak no more to me j J '
will leaveali as I found it, and there an end.
1. I [Exit PaTidanis. An alarum. 91
Tro. Peace, you ungracious clamors Ipe^e,
rude sonnds 1
Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be
fair,'
When with your blood y#a dally paint her
' thus. ' ;
I cannot fight upon this argument;
It is too starved a suuiect for my sword.
But Paudsrim,'~.0 gods, how do you nlague
mel I
I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar;
And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo, . .
As she is stubborn-chaste against al| suit. 100
Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love.
What Cressid is, yvhut Pandar, and what we 7
Her bed is India ; there she lies, a pearl:
Betweenour llium and where she resides,.
Let it be cali'd the wild and wandering flood,
Ourself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar
Qur doubtful hope, our convoy and,pur bark.
Alarum. Enter jExEAa
jEne. How now. Prince Troilus ! where¬
fore not afield 7 ' '
Tro.' Because not there : this woman's an¬
swer sorts.
For womanish it Ls to be from thence. ■ 110
What news, iSneas, from the field to-day 7
yEne. That. Paris is' returned home and
J hurt.
2Vo. By whom, jEneas?
.iEne, ' Troilus, by Menelaus.
Tro. Let Paris bleed ; 'tis but a scar to
scorn' ■ '
Paris is gored'with Menelaus' horn. [Alarum.
/Ene. Hark, what good sport is out of
town to-day 1 ' '
Tro Better at home, if ' would, I nrtight''
were ' may.' ' ' . ■
But'to the SDOTt abroad: are you bound
thither 7'
.4?nc. in all swift haste.
TVo. ■ ■ ■ ' • Come, go we then together.
[Exeunt.
ScEKE 11. The tame. A atreei.
Enter Cressida and Alexarder.
Cres. Who were tliose went by 7
Alex.:, , , ; ^ Queen Hecuba and Helen.
■ -Crea. lAnd whither gp they 7
• Alex. , Up to the eastern tower.
Whose, height commands as subject all the
vale.
To see the battle. He<'tor, whose patience
Is, as a. virtue, fix'd, to-day was moved ;
He cliid Andromache and struck his armorer.
And, like as there were husbandry in war.
Before the sun rose he was haruess'd light.
And to the field goes he ; where every flower
Did, as a prophet, weep what it foresaw 10
In Hector's wrath.
Crea. ■ , What was his cause of anger 7
, Alex. The noise goes, this : there is among
the Greeks
A lord of Trojau blood, nephew,to Hector ;
They call him Ajax.
Crea. Good ; and what of him 7
Alex. They say he is a very man per se,
And stands alone.
Orea. So do all men, unless they are drunk,
sick, or have no legs.
Alex, This man, lady, hath robbed many
beasts of their particular additions ; he is as
valiant as the lion, churlish as the bear, slow
as the elephant: a man into whom nature
hath so crowded humors tba(, bis valor is
748
TROItm Am CRESSWA.
I... [Act t.
crushed intol folly,' lils folly saiiCed with dis¬
cretion : there is no man hath a virtue tliat
he imth not a glimpse of, ner any man an at¬
taint but he carries some -stain of it: he is
melancholv without cause, and merry against
the hair : he hath the joints of every thing,
but everytliing so out of joint thathe is a gouty
Briareiui, many hands and no- use, or pur¬
blind Argus, all eyes and no sight. 31
Cres. But how should this man, that makes
me smiie, nuike Hector angry ?.
Alex. They sjiy he yesterday coped Hector
in the battle and struck him down, tlie dis¬
dain ajtd shame whereof hath ever since kept
Hector fasting and waking.
. Ores. Wlio comes here ?
AUx. Madaii)^, your uncle pfindarus. ,
Eniey Pandarus.
40
Cres. Hector's a gallant man.
Alex. As may be in the world, lady.
Pan. What's that ? what's tliat 1
Ores. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus.
Pan' Good morrow, cousin Cressid: what
lo you talk of ? Good morrow, Alexander.
How do you, cousin ? When .were you at
Ilium 7 1 ; .
Ores. This morning, uncle.,
Pan. Wliat were .you talking of when 1
came ? Was Hector armed and gone ere ye
came to Ilium 1 Helen was not up, was she ?
Cres. Hector was gone,, but Helen was not
up.
Pan. Even so: Hector was stirring early.
Cres. That were we talking of, and of his
auger.
Pan. Was he angry t
Cres. So he says here.
Pan. True, he was so : I know , the cause
too ; he'll lay about him to-day, I can tell
them that: and tliere's Troiliis will not come
far behind him ; let them take heed of Troi-
lus, I can tell them that too. 61
Cres. What, is he angry too ?
Pan. Who, Troilus ? Troilus b the better
man of the two.
Cres. O Jupiter ! there's no comparison.
Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hec¬
tor ? Do you know a man if you see him 1
' Cres. Ay, if I ever saw him before and
knew him. '
Pan. Well, I say Troilus is Troilus. 70
Cres. Then you say as I say ; for, I' am
sure, he is not Hector.
Pan. -No, nor Hector is not Troilus in some
degrees. .
■ Cres.' 'Tis jttst to each of them ; he is him¬
self.
Pan. Himself! Alas, poor Troilus 1 I would
be were.
Cres. So he is. - '
■ Pan.'' Condition, I had gone barefoot to
'India. , 80
Cref. He is not Hector.
Pan. Himself! no, he's not himself ; would
t! were bimself I Well, the gods are above ;
time must friend or end : well, Troilas, well:
I would my heart were in her body. No, HeC'
tor is not a better-man than Troilus. I I
Cres. Excuse me. , i .,
Pan. He is elder.
Cres. Pardon me, pardon me. 89
Pan. Th' other's net come to't; yon shall
tell me another tale, when th' others come
to't Hector shall not have his wit this year.
Cres. He shall-not need it, if he have his
own. ' '
Pan. Nor his qualities.
Cres. No matter. '
Pan. Nor his beauty. <<
Cres. 'Twould not become him ; his own's
better.
- Pan. Yon have no judgment, niece : Helen
herself swore th' other day, that Troilus,. lor
a brown favor—for so 'tis, I must confess,—
not brown neither;— - <
Cres. No, but brown.
Pan. 'Faith, to say truth, brown and not
brown. . -
Cres. To say the truth, true and not true
Pan. She praised his complexion above
Paris.
Cres. Wliy, Paris hath color enough.
■' Pan. So he has. 109
Cres. Then Troilas should have too much :
if she praised him above, -his complexion is
higher tltau his ; he having color enough, and
the other biglter, is too flaming a praise for a
good complexion. I had as lief Helen's golden
tongue had commended Troilus for- a copper
nose.
Pan. I swear to you, I think Helen loves
him better than Paris.
Cres. Then she's a merry Greek indeed.
Pan. N.ay, I am sure she does. She came
to him th' other day into tiie compassed win¬
dow,—and, you know, he lias n<rt past three
or four hairs on his chin,— t
Cres. Indeed, a tapster's arithmetic may
soon bring his particulars therein to a tbtal.
Pan. Why, He is very young t and yet will
he, within tliree pound, lift as mUch as his
brother Hector. -
Ores. Is he so young a man and so old a
lifter ? 129
Pan. But to prove to you that Helen loves
him : she came and puts me her white hand
to his cloven cliin— ■ i
Cres. Juno have mercy 1 how came it
cloven ? -
Pan. Why, you -know, 'tis dimpled ; J
think his smiling becomes him better than
any man in all Phrygia. <
Cres. 0, he smiles valiantly.
Panv' Does he not?
Cres. O yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn.
Pan. Why, go to, then i but to prove to
you that Helen loves Troilus,— 141
Cres. Troilus will stand to the proof, If
you'll prove it so. ' ; - •
Pan. > Troilus! why, he -esteems her m
more than I esteem an addle egg. '
SCBN^ II.]
TRQILUS AND CRESSWA.
748
Cre«. II yon lorn an addle egg as well as
you love an idle head, you would eat chickem. i
i* the shell;
Pan. 1 cannot choose but laugh, to think
how she tickled his chin : indeed she has a
inatvellous white hand, 1 must needs con¬
fess,—! I . • . 1 1 J51
Without the rack.
Pan. And she takes upon her to a
white bait on his chin.
Ores. Alas, poor chin! tnahy a wart is
richer. ^ '
Pan. But there'was such laughing! Queen
Hecuba laughed that her eyes.ian e'er.,
Ore*. iWith mill-stonesj.. - ,i
Pan. And Cassandra laughed.
Ores. But there was more temperate fire
under the pot ol, her eyes i did her eyes run
o'er too ? ■ 161
Pan. And Hector laughed.
Cre*. At what was all this laughing ?
Pan.' Marry, at the white hair tliat Helen
spied on Troilus' chin.
Cre*. An't had been a green hair, 1 should
iMce laughed too. ' .
Pan-, ^ey laughedi not so much at the
hair as at his pretty answer. .
Ores. What was his answer ? 170
Pan. Quotli die, .* Here's but two add fifty
hairs on your chin, and one of them is white.'
Ores. ■ This is her question.
Pan. That's true; make no question of
that; ■' Two and fifty hairs,' quoth he, ' and
one white : that white hair is my father, and
all the rest are his sons.' ' Jupiter!' quoth she,:
which of these hairs is Paris, my husband ?'
'The forked one,* quoth he,' pluck't out, and
give it him.' But there was such laughing!
and Helen So blushed, and Paris so chafed,'
and all the rest so laughed, tliat it passed. .
Cresj So let it now ; for it has been a great
while going by;
Pan. Well, cousin, 1 told you a thing yes¬
terday J think On't.
Ores. So 1 do.
Pan. I'll be sworn'tis true ; he will weep
yon, an 'twere a man bom in April. 189
Cres. And I'll spring up in his tears; an
'twere a nettle agamst May.
' t-d retreat sounded.
Pah. Hhrk! -they are coming from the
field : shall we stand up here, and see them as
they pass toward Ilium 7 good niece,' do,'
sweet niece Cressida.. '
Ores. At your pleasure.
Pan. Here, here, here's an excellent place;
here we may see most 'bravely: I'll tell you
them all by their names as they pass by ; but
mark Troilus above tlie rest. 200
Ores. Speak not so loud.
, , ASNE^spossesi
Pan. That's .£neas: is not that a brave
man 7 he's one of the flowers of Troy, 1 can
Ml you : but mark Troilus; you shall see
anon.
Antbnob passes.
Ores. Who's that 7
Pan. That's Anteuor: he has a shrewd
wit, 1 can tell you ; and he's a man good
enough : he's one o' the soundest judgments
ill Troy, whosoever, and a proper man of per¬
son. When comes Troilus 7 I'll show yon
Troilus anon : if he see me, you shall see him'
nod at me. -
Ores. Will he give you the nod 7
Pan. You shall see.
Ores. If he do, the rich shall have more.
Hkctor passes.
Pan. That's Hector, that, that, look you,
that; there's a fellow ! Go thy way. Hector !
There's a brave man, niece, O brave Hector !
Look how he looks ! there's a countenance !
is't not a brave man 7
Ores. O, a brave man ! 220 '
Pan; Is a' not 7 it does a man's heart good. ■
Look you what hacks are on bis heiinetl'
look you yonder, do you see 7 look you there:
there's no jesting; there's laying on, take'toff
who will, as they sav: there be hacks !
Ores. Be those with swords 7 ^
Pan. Swords ! any thing, he cares not
an the devil come to him, it's all one ; by God's
lid, it does one's heart good. Yonder comes
Paris, yonder comes Paris. 230
Paris passes. ■ i
Look ye yonder niece } is't not a gallant man-
too, is't not 7 Why, this is brave now. Who
said he came hurt home to-day 7 he's not_
hurt: why, this will do Helen's heart good '
now, ha ! Would I could see Troilus now ! You
shall see Troilus anon.
Hepenus passes.
Ores. Who's that 7 '
Pan. That's Helenus. 1 marvel where
Troilus is. , That's Helenus. 1 think he went
not forth to-day. That's Helenus. . 240
Ores. Can Helenus fight, uncle 7 ,
Pan. Helenus 7 no- Yes, he'll fight in¬
different well. 1 marvel where Troilus is.
Hark ! do you not hear the people cry ' Troi¬
lus'? Helenus is a priest.
Ores. What sneaking fellow comes yonder 7
Troilus passes.
Pan. Where 7 yonder 7 that's Deiphobiis.
"pis Troilus 1 there's a man,, niece! Hem !
Brave Troilus ! the prince of chivalry !
Ores. Peace, for shame, peace ! 260
Pan. Mark him ; note him.' O -brave
Ti'oilus ! Look well upon him, niece ; look
you how his sword is bloodied, and his helm
more hacked than Hector's, and how he looks,
and how he goes ! O admirable yonth ! he
ne'er saw three and twenty. Go thy way,
Troilus, go thy way ! Had I a sister were q
grace, or a daughter a goddess, he should
take his choice. O admirable man! Paris 7
750
I
Paris is dirt to hbii ; and, I waitant, Helen, to
change, would give an eye t9 boot, , 3(iO
,(^es. Hei« come more. ,
. Forces pass.
Pan. Asses, fools, dolts! chaff and braft, '
chaff and bran ! porridge alter meat!' I'
could live and die i' the eyes of Troilus-
Ne'er look; ne'er look ; the eagles are gone :
crows and daws, crows and daws ! ■ I had -
rather be such a man as Troilus than Aga¬
memnon and all Greece.
Ores. There is among the Greeks Achilles,
a better man than Troilus. , 269
Pan. Achilles ! a drayman, a porter, a very
camel. ■ ''
Cres. • Well, well.
Pan. Well, well!' Why, liare you any
discretion ? Jiave; you- any • eyes ? Do. you
know what a man is ? Is not birth, beauty,
good shape, discourse, mauhood.. learning,
gentleness, virtue, youth, liberality, and such
like, tlie spice and salt that season a man ?
Cres. Ay, a minced man: and then to be
baked with no date in the pie, for then the
man's date's out.. 281
Pan. You arD such a woman ! one knows
not at what ward you lie.
'Cre& Uiwii my back, to defend my belly j
upon my wit, to defend my wiles ; upon my
secrecy, to defend mine honesty ; my mask,, to i
defend my beauty ; and you, to defend all
these : and at all these wards I lie, at a thou¬
sand watches. .J
Pan. S.ay one of youir watches. 290
Cres. Nay, I'll watch you for that ; and
that's one of the chiefest of them too : if I
cannot ward wliat I would not have hit, 1 can
watch you for telling how I took the blow j
unless it swell past hiding, and then it's past
watching.
Pan. You are such another 1 '
.BrafcrTKOiLtts'S Boy.;
Boy. Sit; my lord would instantly speak
with you.
Pan. Where ? ' ,
Boy. At your own house ; jthere he unarms
him. 300
Pah. Good boy; tell him I come. [Exit boy.]
I doubt he be hurt. Fare ye well, good niece.
Cres. Adieu, uncle.
Pan. I'll be with you, niece, by and by.
Cres. To bring, uncle ?
Pan. Ay, a token from Troilus.
Cres, By the same token, yon are a bawd.
[Exit Pandarus. ■
Words, vows, gifts, tears, and love's.- full
sacrifice, ' :
He offers in another's enterprise : v;
But more iu Tioilus thousand fold I see 310
Than in the glass of Pandar's praise may bo 4,
"Yet Iwld I off. Women are angels, wooing ;
Things won are done ; joy's soul lies in the
doing,. , [not this;
That she beloved knows uoughf that knows
Heu prize the fhing uugaiu'd more .than it is;
. {Act i> .
That she was never jrefc fiiat ever kiiew
Love got so sweet as when desire didene.
Therefore this maxim out of love 1 teach ■. 1
Adiievement is command ; ungain'd, beseech;
Then though my heart's content linn love.
doth bear,. 320
Notl.nng of that shall from mine eyes appear.
, , [Exeunt
Scene 1H. The Grecian camp. B^re
Agamefhinon's tent. ',
Sennet. Enter Agamemnon, Nestor,Ulysses;
> Menelaus, anaoikvs, ,
Af/am. Princes,
What grief liatli set the jaundi<* oj* • jour
cheeks ? '
The ample proposition that hope makes
In all designs begun on earth Mlow
Fails in the promised largeness : checks mid
disasters
Grow in the veins of actions highest rear'd.
As knots, by theconfiux of meeting sap.
Infect the sound pine and divert his grain
Tortive and errant from his course of growth.
Nor, princes, is it matter new to us 10
That we come short of our suppose so far
That after seven years' siege yet Troy walls
stand ;
Sith every action that hath gone before,
Whereof we have record, trial did draw
Bias and thwart, not answering the aim, '
And that unbodied figure of the thonght.
Tliatgave't surmised shape. Why then, you
princes.
Do you with cheeks abashed - behold our
works.
And call them shames ? which are indeed
nought else . '
But the protractive trials of great Jove SO
To find persistive constancy in men:
The fineness of which metal is not found
In fortune's love ; for then the bold and •
coward.
The wise and fool, tlie artist and Unread,
The liard and soft seem all alfined and kin :
But, in the wind and tempest of her frown.
Distinction, witli a broad and powerful fan.
Puffing at alL. ivinnows tlie light away ;
And wiiat liath mass <ur matter, by itseU
Lies ricli in virtue and unmingled. 30
Nest. With due observance of tliy godlike
seat,'
Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply
Thy latest words. In the reproof of chance
Lies the true proof of men; the sea being
. smooth, . .
How many shallow banble boats dare sail
U)mn her jiatient breast, making their way . .
With those of nobler bulk ! I , 1 1
But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage
The gentle Tlietis, and anon behold
The strong-ribb'd bark through Uquid moun¬
tains cut, . ^
Bounding between the two moist elements^
Like Perseus' horse tiwbere's then the saucy
'ooat
mCILUS AND CRESBIDA,
6ceks iii.]
Whose weak; untimber'd sides but 5%'eiii now
Co-rlvall'd greatness ? Eithei'to harbor tied,
Or made a toast tor Neptune. Even so ■
Doth valor's showand valor's worth divide.
}n storms of iortane; for in lier ray and
brightness
The herd nath more annoyance by the breeze
Than by the -tiger-j.but when the splitting
wind ' . . ■ •
Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks,i 60
And. flies fled under shade, why, then the
thing of courage ... ill
As roused with rage with rage dotii sympa¬
thize, I ,
And with an accent tuned hi selfsame key i
Retortstodiiding fortune. 1 . .
Ulyss. Agameranony
Thou great commander, nerve and bone of
Greebe, ■ ■ ■
Heart of our numbers, soul And only s[»rit, i
In wliom the tempers and the minds of all
Should be shut up, hear what Ulysses speak.s.
Besides the aralatise aud approbation < ;
To which, [To Ajiamvmnon\ mos% mighty for!
thy place .and sway, ■ 60:
[To Nestor\ And tliou most reverend for thy
; 1 stretch'd-ottt life
I give to both your siieeches, whicli were such 1
As Agamemnon and tlie hand of Greece • '
Should hold up high in brass, and such again
As venerable Nestor, liatch'd in silver, i
Should with a bond of air, strong, as the axle-
tree
On which heaven rides, knit all the Greekiidi
I ears ■
To his experienced tongue, yet let it please
both,
Thou great, and wise, to hear Ulysses speak.-.
Agam. Speak, prince of Ithaca ; be't
of less expecjt 70
Tliat matter needless, of im|iortless burden.
Divide thy lips, than we are coufldent,
When rank 'Thersites oiies his mastic jaws,.
We shall hear music, wit and oracle. f'
Ubjis. Troy, yet upon his basis, liad been
down,.. ! .
And the great Hector's sword had lack'd a
master,
But for these instances.
The specialty of. rule hath been neglected .
Aud, look, how many Grecian tents do stand
Hollow upon this- plain, so many hollow fac-.
tions. 80.
When that the general is not like the hive ,
To'Whohi the foragers sball.all repair,
What honey is expected ? Degree b^ng viz- j
arded, ■ .. i - i ■ -
iThe unworthiest shows as fairly In the mask.
The heavens themselves, the planets and this
centre ' . . ' ,
Observe degree, priority aud nlace,
Insistnre, course, proportion,'hea8on,.fovm, '
Office and custom, in all line of order ; '
And therefore is the glorious planet Sol
-In noble eminence enthroned and sphered 90 .
Amidst the other ; whose medicinable eye j
761
Con ect.1 the ill aspects of planets evil, ,
Aud posts, like the commandment of a king,
-Siuis check to good and bad; but when the
planets
In evil mixture to disorder wander,
What plagues and what portents I wlud mu¬
tiny 1 • . .
What raging of the sea! shaking of earth !
Commotion in tire winds ! frights, changes,
horrors,
Diveit and crack, rend and deraciuat
The luiity and married calm of states ' 100
Quite from their fixure I - O, when degree, is
shaked.
Which is the ladder to all high designs,
Then enterprise is sick ! How could commu¬
nities, . ' . -
Degrees iu schools and brotherhoods in cities,
peaceful commerce from dividable siiores,,
The primogenitive aud due of birth,
Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, lanrels,
But by degree, stand in authentic place ?
Take but degree away, untune that string,. '
And, hark, wliat discord follows i each thing
' meets i 110
In mere oppugiiancy : tiie bounded waters
Sliould lift, their' bosoms higher than tl»e
shores
And make a sop of all this solid ^obe r.
Sti-ength should be lord of imbecility.
And the rude son should strike his father
dead;
Force should be right; or rather,'right and
■ wrong, I ;i
Between whose endless jar justice resides,
Should lose their names, and so should justice
too., •., .
Then every thing includes itself in power,..
Power into will, will into appetite ; 120
And appetite, an universal w^f,
So doubly seconded witli will and power,
Must make perforce an universal prey,.
And last eat up himself. Great Agamemnon,
This chaos, when degree is suffocate, .
Follows the clioking.
And this neglectiou of degree it is-
That by a paee goes backward, with a pur¬
pose
It bath to climb. Tlie general's disdain'd
By him one step below, lie by tlie next, 130
That next by luin beneath ; so every step,
Exampled by tlie first pace that is sick
Of his superior, , grows to an envious fever
Of pale aud bloodless emulation ; '
And 'tis this fever tbat keeps Troy ©n foot,
Not her own sinews. To end a tale of length,
Troy in our weakness, stands, not in her
• strength. .. ■ . [cover'd
Nest. Most wisely hath Ulysses here dis-
The fever whereof ail our power is sick.
> Agam. - The nature of the sickness found,
Ul.ysses; .. 14C
What is the rmnedy ? >
Ulyss. The great Achilles, whom .opinion
crowns
The sfiiew and the forehand of our -host,
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
762
Having his ear full of his airy fame.
Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent
Lies mocking our designs : with him Patro-
elus
Upon a lazy bed the livelong day
Breaks scurrii jests^
And with ridiculous and awkward action,
Which, slanderer, he imitation calls, 150
He i^ageauts us. Sometime, great Agamem¬
non,
Thy topless deputation he puts on.
And, like a strutting player, whose conceit
Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich
To hear the wooden dialogue and sound
'Twixtbis stretch'd footing and the scaffold-
age,—
Such to-be-pitied and o'er-wrested seeming
He acts thy greatness in : and when he spc^S;,
'Tis like a chime a-mending ; with terms un-
squared,
Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon
dropp'd, 160
Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff
The large Achilles, on his press'd bed lolling.
From his deep chest laughs out a loud ap¬
plause ;
Cries ^Excellent! 'tie Agamemnon just.
Now play me Nestor ; hem, and stroke thy
beard.
As he being drest to some oration.'
That's done, as near as the extremest ends
Of parallels, as like as Vulcan and his wife :
Yet god Achilles still cries ' Excellent!
'Tis Nestor right Now play him me, Patro-
clus, 170
Arming to answer in a night alarm.'
Ajid then, forsooth, the faint defects of age
Must be the scene of mirth ; to cough and
spit.
And, with a palsy-fumbling on his gorget,'
Shake m-and out the rivet; and at this s^rt
Sir Valor dies ; cries ' O, enough, Patroclus ;
Or give me ribs of steel! 1 shall split all
In pleasure of my spleen..' And in this fash¬
ion,
All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes,
Severals and generals of grace exact, 180
Achievements, plot^ orders, preventions,
Excitements to the neld, or speech for truce.
Success or loss, what is or is not, serves
As stuff for these two to make paradoxes.
Nest. And in the imitation of thesetwain—
Who, .as Ulysses says, opinion crowns •
With an imperial voice—^many are infect.
Ajax is grown self-wiU'd, and bears his head
In such a rein, in full as proud a place
As broad Achilles ; keeps his tent like him ; i
Makes factious feasts ; rails on our state of
war, 191
Bold as an oracle, and sets Thersites,
A slave whose gall cmns slanders like a mint.
To match us in comparisons with dirt.
To weaken and discredit our exposure, i
How rank soever rounded in with danger.
Ulyss. They tax our policy, and call it
' cowardice,
[Act u
Count wisdom as no member of the war.
Forestall prescience, and esteem no act 19S
But that of hand ; the still and mental parts.
That do contrive how many hands shall strike.
When fitness calls' them on, and know by
measure
Of their observant toil the enemies' weight,—
Why, this hath not a finger'a dignity :
They call this bed-work, mappery,: closet-war;
So that the ram tliat batters down the wall, <'
For the great swing and rudeness of his poise.
They place before his hand that made the en¬
gine.
Or those that with the fineness of their souls
By reason guide his execution. 210
Nest. Let this be granted, and Achilles'
horse
Makes many Thetis' sons. [A twikei.
Agam. What trumpet ? look, Menelaus.
Men. From Troy.-
Enter MurRAS..
Agam. What woiild you 'fore our tent ?
Is this' great Agamemnon's tent, I
pray you ?
Agam. Even thia
./Ene. May one, that is a hm»ld and a
prince, '
Do a fair message to his kingly ears 7
Agam. With surety stronger than Achilles'
arm 220
'Fore all the Greekish heads, which with one
voice
Call Agamemnon head and general
./Ene. Fair leave and large security. How
may
A stranger to those most imperial looks
Know them from eyes of other mortate 7
Agam. ' How!
.r£?ne. Ay ;
I ask, that 1 might waken reverence, i
And hid the cheek be ready with a blush <'
Modest as morning when she coldly eyes
The youthful Phoebus : 23(
Which is that god in office, guiding men 7
Which is the hi^ and mighty Agamemnon 7
Agam. This Trojan scorns us ; or Ibe men
of Troy
Are ceremonious courtiers..
.Eine. Courtiers as free, as debonair, .un-
arm'd, [peace:
As bending angels ; that's their fame in
But when they would seem soldiers, they have
galls, ' .
Good arms, strong joints, true swords ; and,
Jove's accora.
Nothing so full of heart. But peace, .£neas,
Peace, Trojan ; lay thy finger on thy lips! 240
The worthmeSs of iwaise distains his worth, •
If that the praisM himself bring the praise
forth: .
But what the repining enemy commends.
That breath fame blows ; that xwaise, sole
pure, transcends.
Agam.: Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself
.£neas7
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
SCBRB III.]
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
m
'JSne. ' Ay, Greek, that is my name.
Agam. What's your affair^ i pray you ?
./Km. Sir, pardon ; 'tis for Agamemnon's
ears.
Agam. He hears naught privately that
comes from Troy.
/Em. Nor I from Troy come not to whisper
him; WO
I bring a trumpet to awake his ear.
To set his sense on the attentive bent, <
' And then to speak.
Agam. Speak frankly as the wind ;
It is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour :
That thou Shalt know. > Trojan, he is awake.
He tells thee so himself.
/Ene. Trumpet, blow loud.
Send thy brass voice through all tliese lazy
tents:
And every Greek of mettle, let him know.
What Troy means fairly shall be spoke aloud.
[Trumpet founds.
We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy 260
A prince call'd Hectorj—Priam is his father,—
Who in tiiis dull and long-continued truce
Is rusty grown : he bade me take a trumpeti
And to this purpose ^teak. Kings, princes,
lords! • .'
If there be one among the fair'st of Greece
That holds his honor nigher than his ease.
That seeks his praise more than he fears bis
peril,
That knows his valor, and knows not his fear.
That loves his mistress more than in confes¬
sion, <
With truant vows to her own lips he loves.
And dare avow her beauty and her worth > ill
In other arms than hers,—to him this chal¬
lenge.
Hector, in view of Trojans-and of Greeks,
Shall make it good, or do his best to do it.
He hath a lady, wiser, fairer, truer,'
Than ever Greek did compass in his arms.
And will to-morrow with his trumpet call >
Midway between your tents and walls of Troy,
To rouse a Grecian that is true in love':
If any come, Hector shall honor him ; 280
If none, he'll say in Troy when he retires,
The Grecian dames are sunburnt and not
worth
The splinter of a lance. Even so ranch.
Agam. This shall be told our lovers, Ix>rd
,£neas ; ' " "
If none of them have soul in such a kind.
We left them all at home: but we are soldiers;
And may that soldier a mere recreant prove.
That means not, hath not, or is not in love!
If then one is, or hath, or means to be.
That one meets Hector ; if none else, I am he.
Nest. Tell him of Nestor, one that Was a
man 291
When Hector's gmndsire suck'd : he is old
now; ■ *
But if there be not in our Grecian host ,
One noble man that hath one spark of fire,
To answer for his love, tell him 'from me
ru hide my silver beard in a gold beaver
And in my vantbrace put this wither'd brawn.
And meeting him will tell him that my lady
Was fairer than his grandain and as cliaste
As may be in the world : his youth in flood,
I'll prove this truth with my three drops «f
blood. '301
J?ne. Now heavens forbid such scarcity of
youth 1 I • '
Ulyas. Amen. ' i
Agam. Fair Lord jEneas, letme touch your
hand ; i -
To our pavilion sfaalll lead you, sirw
Achilles shall have word of this intent;
So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to
tent : 11 . > ''
Yourself shall feast with us before, you go
And find the welcome of a noble foe.
[Exeunt all but Ulysses and Nettor.
Ulys. Nestor 1 . 310
NesL What says Ulysses ?
Ulyss. I have a young conception in my
. brain ; '
Be you my time to bring it to some shape.
' Nest. What is't ? I ,'
Ulyss. This 'tis :
Blunt wedges rive hard knots': the seeded
pride ,
That hath to this maturity blown up . i
In rank Achilles mu^ or now be cropp'd.
Or, 'Shedding, breed ai nursery of like evil, i
To overbulk us all. ''
Nest.. . Well, and how ?
Ulyss. This challenge that tlie gallant Hec¬
tor sends.
However it is spread in. general name,
Relates in purpose only to Achilles.
Nest. The purpose is perspicuous even as
substance.
Whose grossness little characters sum up :
And, in tlie publication, make no strain.
But that Achilles, were his brain as harseii
As banks of Libya,—though, Apollo knows,
'Tis dry enough,—will, with great speed of
judgment, .
Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose 330
Pointing on him/ ' '
Ulyss. And wake him to the answer, think
you?
Nest. Yes, 'tis most meet: whom may you
else oppose, •
That can from Hector bring his honor Off,
If not Achilles ? _ Though't be a sportful com¬
bat.
Yet in the trial much opinion dwells ;
For here the Trojans taste our dear'st repute
With their finest palate : and trust to me,
Ulysses, ,
Our imputation shall be oddly poised
In this wild action ; for the success, - 310
Although particular, shall give a scantling
Of good or bad unto the general
And in such indexes, although smajll pricks
To their subseq^uent volumes, there is seen'
The baby figure of the giant mass
Of things to come at large. It is supposed
He that meets Hector issues frooji our choice
48
mOILUS AND CRESSIDA.
I (Act It.
And choice, being matoal act all onr souls,
Makes merit her election, and doth boil, <
As 'twere from ns all, a man distiU'd 350
Out of our virtues ; who miscarrying,
What heart receives Irom hence the conquer¬
ing part,
' To steel a strong opinion to theii^^lves ?
Which entertain'd, limbs are lils'inHirnmeiits,
In no less working than are sworcte and bows
Directive by the limbs,
Ufyss. Give pardon to my speech
Therefore 'tis meet Achillea meet not Hector.
Let us, like merchants, show onr foulest wares.
And think, percliance, they'll sell; if not, 360
The lustre of the better yet to sliow.
Shall show the better.' Do not consent
That ever Hector and Achilles meet;
Fmr both our honor and our shame in this
Are dogg'd with two strange followers. '•
Nest. I see them not wHh my old eyes :
what are they ? ■ .
I/fyss. What glory our Achilles shares from
Hector,
Were he not proud, we all should share with
him :
But he already is too insolent; i
And we were better parch in Afrie sun 370
Thau in the pride and s%lt scorn of his eyes.
Should he ■'scape Hector fair ^ if he were foil'd.
Why tlien, we did our main opinion crush '
In taint of our best man. No, make i lottery;
And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw
The sort to fight with Hector: among ourselves
Give him allowance for the better man;
For that will physic the great Myrmidon • ■'
Who broils in loud applause, and make him
fall
His crest that prouder than blue Iris bends.
If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off, 381
We'll dress him up in vmces ; if he fail.
Yet go we mider our opmion still >
That we have better men. But, hit or miss.
Our project's life this shape of sense assumes:'
Ajax employ'd plucks down Achilles' plumes.
Nest. Ulysses,
Now I begin to relish thy advice ;
And I will give a taste of it fortiiwith
To Agamemnon : go we to him straight. 390
Two curs shall tame each other: pride alone
Must tarre the mastiffs on, as 'twere their
bone. [Dxeuni.
' i
I
ACT II,
SCENB L A part of the Qrecian eamp. '
Enter Ajax and Theiisiies.
' Thersites!
Tner.' ' Agamemnon, how if he had boils ?
full, all over, generally t ■ • ■
^'oa;. Thersites!
Iner. And those boils did run ? say so i did '
not the general rim . then 7 were not that a
botchy core ? ■
Dog}'
Ther. Then, would come seme matter from
him ; I see none now. ' . .1-. 10
, Ajax. Then biteh-wolf's son, canst thou
not hear ? [Beating hirh\ Feel, then.
Ther. Theplagueof Greece upon tliee, thou
mongrel beel-witted lord ! '
Ajax. Speak then, thou vinewedst leaven,
speak: I will beat thee into handsomeness.
Ther. I sliall sooner rail thee into wit and
holiness i but, I think,' thy horse will sooner
con an oration than thou learua prayer, with¬
out book. Thou canst strike, canst thqu ? a
red murrain o' thy jade's tricks \ ' . ■ 21
.' Ajeae. Toadstool, learn me the proclama¬
tion. ' I i
Ther. . Dostthon think I have no sense, tliou
strikestmetlius 7' .
Ajax. The proclamation ! i
Ther. Thou art proclaimed a fool, I-tliink.
Ajax. Do not, porpentine, do. not; my
fingers itch.
. Ther. 1 would thou didst itch from head to
foot and I had the scratching of thee ; I would
make thee tiie loathsomest scab in Greece.
When thou, art forth in the incursions, thou
strikest as slow as another. . .
Max.. I say,^tbe proclamation I '
Ther. Thou grumblest and. railest every
hour on Achilles, and tlmu artas full of envy
at his greatness as Cerberus is at Proserpina's
beauty, ay, that thou barkest at him.
Ajax. Mistress Thersites I - . |
' Ther. Thou shouldest strike him. . 00
Cobloaf !
Ther. He. would pun thee into shivers with
.his fist, as a sailor meaks a biscuit.,
- Ajax. [Beating Aim] You whoreson cur,!
Thei\ Do, do.
Ajax. Thou stool for a witch I !>
Ther. Ay, do, do ; tliou soddmi-witted lord I
thou hast no mora , brain, than I liave in .mine
elbows ; an assinego may tutor then:, tliou
scurvy-valiant ass! thou art here buttottu'tish
Trojans ; and thou art bought and sold among
those of aiiy wit, like a b^barian slave. , ii f
' thou use to beat me, I will be^n at thy heel,
and teU what thou art by inches, thon tbingiof
no bowels, thou ! ' • . ■ I'
You dog ! , . ,
Ther. You scurvy lord !
.Ajax. [Beaiing Aim] You cur !
Ther. Mars his idiot I do, rudeness ; do,
camei; do, do. , 99
^ Enter AcHii:,i;.]^'aiuZ PAyRocnus.
AchiU' Why, how now, Ajax 1 wherefore
do you thus Y How now, Thersites !. what's
tiie matter, man 7 . . |
'. Ther. Y'ou see him there, do you 7
Achil. Ay, what's the matter 7
Then- Nay, look upon him.
Achil. So I do:. what's the matter 7
Ther. Nay, but regard him well. i
Achil. ' Well!' why, I do so.
Ther. < But yet you look not well upon him;
for whosoevw you take him to be, he is Ajax.
SckKB II.]
mOILUS AND CRESSWA.
766
.ilcAit. I kaoAr that, fool. . I ' 71
Thtr.' Ay, bat that fool knows not himself.-
47<*». Tnerefope 1 beat thee.
' Ther. Ixi, to,'lo,' lo, what loodicums of wit
he utters ! liis evasions have ears thus long. I
have bobbed'his brain more-than he has beat'
my bones'. I- will buy nine s|>arrows for a
penny, and his pia -mater is not worth the
ninth iiart of a sparrow. Tliis lord. Achilles,
Ajait, who wears his wit in his belly and his
guts in his head, I'll tell you what I say of
him.' ■ 81 -
AchU. What ?
TAer, I say, this Aiax— • '
[4/«K offers to beat him-
Aehil. 'Nay, good Ajax.
Ther. .Has-not so-much wit-«
Achil. Nay, I must hold you. *
Ther. As will stop the eye of Helen's needle,
for whom he comes to light. ■ - ■. '
Achil. Peace, fool!
7%er. I would hav^ peace and quietness,
but the fool will not 4 he there c. that he : locdc
you there.
.iHox. - 'Otliou damned cor! I shall^ - -
Achil. Will you set your wit -to a fool's 1
Ther. No, 1 warrant yon ; for a fool's will
shame it
Patr. Good words, Thersites. ■ -
AMI. ' What's tlie quarrel ? . • '
Ajax. <1- bade the vile -owl go learn me the
tenor of the -proclamation, and he rails upon
me. 1 100
Ther. -1 servel thee not.
' '■^ax. Weil, {SO to, go to;'
Ther. I serve heie voluntarily. ■
Ackil. Your last service was sufferance,
'twas not voluntary: no man is beaten volun¬
tary: Ajax was here tlie voluntary, and you
as under an impre.ss.
Ther. E'en so ; a great deal of your wit,
too, lies in your sinews, or else there be liars.'
Hector shall have a great catch, if hd . knock
out either- of your 'brains 5 a' were -as .good
CRick a fusty nut with no kernel. -
Aehilf I What, -with me too, Thersites ?
Ther. ' There's Ulysses and old Nestor,
whose wit was monldyere your grandsires
had nails on- their -toes, yoke you--like
draughtoxeu-and make you plough- up the
wars.
Achil. What, what?
7%ei'.'> Yes, good- sooth:-to, i^chilies ! to,
Ajax 1 to I M - ■ . 120
■Afoxi • 1 shall cut out - your tongue.
Ther. 'Tis no matter; 1 shall speak as much
as thou afterwards.
'Pair. I- No more words; Tfiereites peace 1
_ ■ ner. I will hold my peace When Achilles'
biach bids me, shall I ?
AchUi. • There's for yon, Patroclna
Ther. ■ I will see- yon haiigedf like clotimles, -
ere I come any more to your tents: I will keep'
where there is wit stirring and leave the faction
of fools; ■' tiSxit.
FiUn I A good riddance.
I Aohil. Marry, tills, SiXfis prodaim'd-thronght
.all our host:
That Hector, by Uie flftli hour of the sun, '
Will with a trumpet 'twixt our tents and Troy
Tormorrow mommgcall some knight to arms
That hath a stomach; and such a one that
dare - - .
Maintain—know not wliat: 'tis trasli. FarO"
well.
Ajax. Farewell.-''Who-shall answer him 7
Achil. I know not: 'tb put to lottery; other¬
wise 140
-He knew his man. , - i.
Ajax. O, meaning you. I will go learn
more of it. [Exeunt.
Scene 11. Troy. A room in Priam's palace.
- Enief Priam, Hector, Troilus, Paris, ancl
. Helenus.
Pri. After so many hours, lives, speeches
' ■ spent,
Thus once again says Nestor from tlie-Greeks:
,' Deliver Helen, and all dara^e else-^
As honor, loss of time, travail, expense.
Wounds,' friends, and Rbe dead' tliat is
consumed
III liot digestion of this cormorant war— I
Shall be struck off.' Hector, what say you
to't? -
Hect, Though no man lesser fears the
Greeks than I
As far as toucheth my particular, i
Yet, dread Priam, 10-
There b no lady of more softer bowels.
More spongy to suck in the sense of fear.
More ready to cry out 'Who knows what f<d-
• - - lows f' •
Than Hector is; the 'wound of peace -is surety.
Surety secure ; but modest doubt is -call'd
The beacon of the wise, the tent that searchea
To the bottom of the worst. Let Helen go :
Siuce the first sword was drawn about tliis
question, -
Every tithe soul, 'mougsf many thousand
dbmes.
Hath been as dear as Helen 1-mean, of -ours:
If we have lost so many tenths of ours, 21
To guard a thing not ours nor worth to ns.
Had it our name, the value of one ten-,
What merit's in that reason which denies
The yielding of her up ? •
2Vo, " - FiCj fle, my brother!
Weigh you tlie worth and honor of a Idng
So great as our dread father in a scale :
Of common ounces ? will you with counters
sum
Thejiastjwoportionof his-infinite? '
And buckle in a waist most fatliomless - 30
WM spans and inches so diminutive '
As fears and reasons ? fie. for godly sl-arae! <
Uel. No marvel, though you bite so-sharp
at reasons,
You are so empty of them. Should not oar
father
Bear the great sway of hb affairs with reasotas,
766
TROILUS ANiy CRESSIDA.^
(Act It.
Becanse your speech hath noae tiiat tells him
so?
7Vo,' You are for dreams and slumbers,
brother priest; '
Yon far your gloves with reosoni Here are
your reasons;
Yoa know an enemy intends you harm ,
You know a sword employ'd is perilous, 40
And reason flies the object of all harm :
Who marvels tlien, when Helenas beholds '
A Grecian and his sword, if he do set >
The very winra of reason to his heels
And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove,
Or like a star disorb'd ? Nay, if we talk of
reason, '
Let's shut our gates and sleep: manhood and
honor * • , h i-
Shpuld have hare-hearts, would they but fat
their thoughts
With this cram m'd reason : reason and respect
Make liyers pale and Instihood deject 50
Hect. Brother, she is not worth what she
doth cost ' 'I '
The holding. . i - ■ • i ■
Tro. What is aught, but as 'tis valued ?
HecU But value dwells not in particular
will; ■ 1 M
It holds his estimate and dignity '
As well wherein 'tis precious of itself
As in the prizer . 'tis mad idolatry
To make the service greater than the god , '
And the will dotes that is attributive
To what infectiously itself affects, '
Without some image of the affectM merit, GO
Tro. I take to-day a wife, and my electkm
Is led on in the conduct of my will ; ■ ■
My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears,
Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores
Of will and judgment: how may I avoid,
Although my will dUstaste what it elected.
The wife I chose ? there ean be no evasion '
To blench from this and to stand firm by:
honor: ' '
We turn not back the silks upon the merchant.
When we have soil'd them, nor the remainder
viands . 70
We do not throw in uhrespective sieve, '
Because we now: are full. It was thought'
meet '
Paris should do some vengeance on the
Greeks: ' .
Yonr breath of full consent bellied his sails ;
The seas and winds, old wranglers, took a
truce II .[^red,'
And did him service : he touch'd the ports de-'
And for an old aunt whom the Greeks held
captive,
He brought a Grecian queen, whoseyouti> and'
freshness ' ■ (ing.
Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes stale the mom-
Why keep we her ? the Grecians keep our
aunt: 80
Is she worth keeping ? why, she is a pearl,
Whose price hath launch'd above a. thousand
ships,
And turn'd orown'd kings to merchants.
If you'll avouch Hwas wisdom- Paris went—•
As yen must needs, for you all cried 'Go, gp,'r-
If you' 11 coufess he brought home noble prize-
As you must nee^, for you allclapp'd yonr
I hands '
And cried ' Inestimable I '-^why do you now
The issue of your proper wisdoms rate,
And do-a deed that fortune never did, . . 90
Beggar the estimation which you prized
Ri^er than sea and land ?■ O, theft most base.
That we have stol'ii what we do fear to keep I
But, thieves, unworthy of a thing so stol'n,
That in their comitry did them that disgrace,
We fear to warrant in our native place 1
Cow. £ IFilhm] Cry, Trojans, cry !
Pri. What noise? what sliriek is Uiis?
Tro. 'Tis our - mad sister, .1 do know her
voice.' Ml. i
- Cos. v-fW»fhf«] Cry, Trojans 1 i
Hect. It is Cassandra. - -100
EtUer Cassandra, ravingl '
Cow. Cry, Trojans, cry J lend me ten thou¬
sand eyes.
And I -will fill Ihem with prophetic tears:, i
Hect. Peace, sister, peace! " .
Cas. Yirgins' and > boys, mid-age .and wrin¬
kled eld, <
Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry, - '
Add to my clamors 1 let us pay betimes
A moiety of that mass of moan to come.
Cry, Trojans, cry ! practice your eyes with
' ' tears!
Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand ;
Our firebrand brother, Paris, bums us aU. 110
Cry, Trojans, cry ! a Helen and a woe:
Cry, cry ! Troy burns, or else let Helen go.
{Exit.
Hect. Now, youthful Troilus, do not these
high strains
Of divination in onr sister work
Some tonches of remorse ? or is your blood
So madly hot that no discourse of reason.
Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause.
Can qualify the same ? ' ' '
Tro. Why, brother Hectoi,
We may not think the justness of each act. -
Sudi and no other than event doth form it,
Nor once deject the courage of our minds, 121
Because Ca^udra's mad: her brain-rick rap¬
tures
Cannot distaste the goodness of a qnarrel I
Which hath our several honors all engaged
To make it gracious. For my private part,
I am no more touch'd than all Lara's sens i
And Jove forbid there should be done amongst
us • u ■
Silch things as might offend the weakest spleen
To fight for and -maintain !• - . 129
Par. Else might the world convmce of levity
As well my nndertakings as yop.r counsels
But I attest the gods, your f^l consent
Gave wings to -my propensiou- and out off '
All fears attending on so dire a project'
For what, alas, can these my single arms 7i
What propugnation is in .one man's valor.
Soi£>'B iii.]
Td stand the push and eninitjr of those
This «}uai'i'el would exdtei?. Yeh I protest,
Were 1 alone to pass the difficulties
And had as ample power as I have will, 140
Paris ^lould ne'er retriict what he liath done.
Nor faint In the pursuit.
Pi'i- Piijj-is, j-ou speak
Like one besotted on your sweet deh'shts:
Y'On have tlie honey still, hut these the gall;
So to he valiant is no i»raise at all.
Par. Sir, 1 propo.se not merely to tnyself
The pleasures such a beaaity hriiigs witli it;'
But I would have the soil of her fair rape
Wiped off, in honorable keeping her.
What treason were it to the iiinsack'd queen.
Disgrace to your great wortiis and shame to
me, ■ 151
Now to deliver her possession up ■
On terras of base compulsion ! Can it be
That so degenerate a strain as this
Should once set footing in your generous
bosoms ?
There's not the meanest spirit on our party
Without a heart to dare orswoKl to draw
When Helen is defended, nor none so noble
Whose lite were ill bestow'd or death untamed
Where Helen is the subject; then, I say, 160
Well may we fight for her whom, we know
well, '
The world's large spaces cannot parallel.
Uect. Paris and Troilns, you nave both said
well.
And on the cause and question now in hand
Have glozed, but superficially : not much
Unlike young men, whom Aristotle thought
Unfit to hear moral philosophy :
The reasons you allege do more conduce
To t'.ie hot passion of distempei''d blood
Than to make up a free determination 170
'Twixt right and wrong, for pleasure and re¬
venge
Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice
Of any true decision. Nature craves
All dues be render'd to their owners; now.
What nearer debt in all humanity
Thau wife is to the husband ? If this law
Of nature be corrupted through affection.
And that great minds, of partial indulgence
To their benumbed wills, resist the same.
There is a law in e.ach well-order'd nation 180
To curb those raging appetites that are
Most disol)edient and refractor,y.
If Helen then bo wife to Sparta's king.
As it is known she is, these moral laws
Of nature and of nations speak aloud
To have her back retum'd : thus to persist
In doing wrong extenuates not wrong.
But makes it much more heavy. Hector's
' opinion
Is this in way of truth ; yet ne'ertheless.
My spritely brethren, I proijend to you 190
In resolution to keep Helen still.
For 'tis a cause that hath no mean dependance
Upon our joint and several'dignities.
JVo. Why, there you touch'd the life of
our design ;
U7
Were it not glory that we more affected
Than the iierformance of our heaving spleens,,
I would not wish a drop of Trojan blood
Bpent more in her defence. But, worthy Hec¬
tor, , .
She is a theme of honor and renown,
A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds.
Whose present courage may beat down our
foes, 201
And fame in time to come canonize Us ;
For, I presume, brave Hector would not lose ■ "
So rich advantage of a promised glory .
As smiles upon the forehead of this action'
For the wide world's revenue.
Ilect. I am yours,
Y'ou valiant offspring of great PriaUius.
I have a roisting challenge sent amongst '
The dull and factious nobles of the Greeks
Will strike amazement to their drowsy spirits:''
I was .advertised their great general slept, 211
Whilst emulation in the army crept:
This, I presume, will wake him. [Exettnt.
Scene III. TTie Grecian, camp. ' Before'
Achillea tent.
Enter Thersites, tohis.
Ther. How'now, Thersites! what, lost in
the lab.yrinth of thy fury I Shall the elephant
Ajar carry it thus ? he beats me, and I rail at
him: O, worthy satisfaction I would it were,
otherwise ; that I could beat him, whilst he
railed at me. 'Sfoot, I'll learn to conjure and
raise devils, but I'll see some issue of my spite¬
ful execrations. Then there's Achilles, a rare '
enginer! If Troy be not taken till these two
undermine it, the walls will stand till they fall
of themselves. O thou great thunder-darter '
of Olympus, forget thatthou art Jove, the king
of gods, and. Mercury, losC all the serpentine
craft of thy caduceus, if ye take not that little
little less than little wit from them that they
have! which short-armed ignorance itself
knows is so abundant scarce, it will not 'n cir¬
cumvention deliver a fly from a spider, with¬
out drawing their ma$s.y irons and cutting the
web. After this, the vengeance on the whole
camp ! or rather, the bone-ache'? for that, me-
thinks, is the curse dependant on those that
war for a placket. I have said my prayers and
devil Envy say Amen.' What ho 1 my Lord
Achilles ! ■ • •
Enter Patroclus.
Patr. 'Wlio's there ? Thersites ! Good Ther¬
sites, come in and rail.
Tker. If I could have remembered a gilt
counterfeit, thou wouldst not have slipped out I ^
of my contemplation : butitisno matter; thy¬
self upon thyself I The common ' curse of ,
mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in great
revenue I heaven bless thee from a tutor, and
discipline come'not near theei! Let thy blood
be tiiy direction till ttiy death I then if she
that lays thee out says thou art a fair corse,
I'll be sworn and sworn upon't she nevet^'
miOLUS AND GRESSIDA.
738
TROTLUS ANI^ CRESSIDA.^
[Act ii
shrouded any but lazars. Amen. Where's
Achilles?
Pair. What, art thou defoiit ? wast thou
inhrayer?
Ther. Ay : the heavens hear me ! 40
EiUer Achilles.
Achil. Who's there ? >
Patr. Tliersites, iny lord.
Achil. Where, ^ where ? Art tliou come ?
why, my cheese, my digestion, wliy hast thou
not served thyself in to my table so many
meals ? Come, what's Agamemnon ?
Thnr. Thy commander, Achilles. Then tell
me, Patroclus, what's Achilles ?
Patr. Thy lord, Thersites ; then tell me, I
prM thee, wliat's thyself'? 50
Titer. , Thy knower, Patroclus : then tell
me, Patroclus, what art.thou ?
Patr. Thou may.st tell that knowest.
Achit.' 0, tell, tell.
Titer. ■ I'll decline tlie whole question. Aga¬
memnon commands Achilles ; Achilles is my
lord ; 1 aqi Patroclus' knower, and Patroclus
is a nml.
Patr. Yon rascal !
Titer. Peace, fool ! I have not done. 60
Acltil. He is a privileged man. Proceed,
Thersites.
Titer. Agamemnon is a fool ; Achilles is a
fool; Thersites is a fool, and, as aforesaid,
Patroclus is a fool.
Achil. Derive this ; come.
Titer. Agamemnon is a fool to offer to com¬
mand Achilles ; Achilles is a fool to be com¬
manded of Agamemnon ; Thersites is a fool to
serve such a fool, and' Patroclus is a fool
positive. 70
Pair. Why am I a fool ?
Titer. Make that demand of tlve prover. It
suffices me thou art. Look you, who comes,
here ?
Aehil. Patroclus, I'll speak with nobody.
Come in with IOC, Thersites. [Exit.
Titer. Here is such iiatcherj-, such juggling
and such knavery ! all the argument is a cuck¬
old n>id a whore ; a good quarrel to draw
emulous factions and bleed to death upon.
Now, the dry serpigo on the subject! and war
ai^ lechery confound all! [Exit.
Ettler aoamealnok, Ulysses, Nestor,
Diomedes, and Ajax.
Agntn. Where is Achilles ?
Patr. Within his tent; but ill disposed, my
lo®d. ■'
Ayam. Let it be known to him that we are
here.
He shent ./ur me^ngers ; and we lay by
Qnr appertainments, visiting of him :
net him be told so ; lest perchance he think
We dare not move the question of our place.
Or know not what we are. 90
Patr, l-shallsaysotohim. [jBxif.
UlyK*. We saw him at the opening of his
>- tent:
9* is not sick.
Ajar.. Yes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart s
yon may call it melancholy, if you will favor
tiie mail ; but, by my head, 'tis pride: but
why, why ? let him show us the cause. . A
word, my'lord. [Takes Agamemnon aside.
Nest. What moves Ajax thus to bay at
him ? I 0
Uly'ss. Achilles hath inveigled his fool from
him. 10®
Nest. Who, Thersites ?
Vlyss. He.
Nest. Then will Ajax lack matter, if h«
have lost his argument.
Ulyss. No, you see, he is his argument that
has his argument, Achilles.
Nest. All the better ; their fraction is more
our wUh than their faction ; but it was a
strong corniiosure a fool could disunite., 109
Ulyss. The amity that wisdom knits not,
folly may easily untie. Here comes Patroclus.
Re-enter Patroclus
Nest. No Achilles with him.
: Ulyss. The elephant hath johits, but none
for courtesy ; his legs are legs .for necessity,
not for flexure.
Patr. Achilles bids me say, he it much
sorry, [ ure
If any thing more than your sport and pleas-
Did move your greatness and tliis noble state
To call upon him ; he hoiies it is no <Aher
Cut for your health and your digestion sake.
And after-dinner's bre.ath. ' 121
Ayam. Hear you, Patroclus :
We are too well acquaint^ with these
answers
But his evasion, wing'd thus swift with seorn,
(Cannot outfly our apprehensions.
Much attribute he hath, and much the reason
Why we ascribe it to him ; yet all liis virtues.
Not virtuously on his own part beheld.
Do in our eyes begin to lose their gloss,'
Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish,
Are like to rot untusted. Go and tell him, 130
We come to speak with him -, and you shall
not sin,
If you do say we think him over-proud
And under-honest, in self-assumption greater
Than in tlie note of judgment : and worthier
than himself
Here tend the savage strangeness he puts on.
Disguise the holy strength of their command
.\nd underwrite in an observing kind
His humorous predominance ; yea, watch
His pettish lunes, his ebbs, his flows, as if 130
The passage and whole carriage of this action
Rode on his tide. Go tell him this, and add.
That if he overbold his price so much.
We'll none of him ; but let him, like an
engine
Not portable, lie under this report :
' Bring action hither, this cannot go to war :
A stirring dwarf we do allowance give
Before a"sleeping giant.' Tell him so
Patr. I shall; and bring his answei
presently. [Exit.
TROILUS AND ORESkJDA. ^ 769
scbre iii.]
Agam. In second roioe we'll not be satis¬
fied ;
We come to speabwith him. Ulysses, enter
you. [Exit Ulysses. 150
Ajax. What is he more than another T
Agam. No more than what he thinks he is.
Ajax. Is he so much ? Do you not think
be thinks himself a better man tlian I am ?
Agrnn. No question.
Ajax. Will you subscribe his thought, and
say be is ?
Agam. No, noble Ajax ; you ard as strong,
as valiant, as wise, no less noble, much more
gentle, and altogetlier more tractable. 100
Ajax. Why sliould a man be proud ? How
doth pride grow ? I know not wiiat pride is.
Agam. Your mind is the clearer, Aja.v, and
your virtues the fairer. He that is proud eats
up himself : pride is his own glass, his own
trumpet, his own chronicle ; and whatever
praises itself but in the deed, devours the deed
in the praise.
Ajax. I do hate a proud man, as I hate the
engendering of toads. 170
Nest. Yet he loves himself: is't not
strange ? [Aside.
Re-enter Ulysses.
Ulyss. Achilles will not to the field to¬
morrow.
Agam. What's his excuse ?
Ulyss. He doth rely on none.
But carries on the stream of his dispose
Witliout observance or respect of any.
In will (leculiar and in self-admieeion.
Agam. Why will he not upon our fair re¬
quest
Untent his person and share the air with us ?
Ulyss. Things small as nothing, for re¬
quest's sake only,' '
He makes important; possess'd he is With
greatness, 180
And speaks not to himself but With a pride
That quarrels at seif-breath : imagined worth
Holds in his blood such swoln and hot dis¬
course
That 'twixt his mental and his active parts
Hfngdom'd Achilles In commotion rages
And batters down himself : what should I
say ? s"
He is so plaguy proud that the death-tokens
of it
Cry ' No recovery.'
Agam. Let Ajax go to him.
Dear lord, go yon and greet him in his tent
'Tis said he liolds you well, and will be led 190
At your request a little from himself.
Ulyss. 0 Agamemnon, let it not be so ! ■
We'll consecrate thesteiw that Ajax makes
When they go from Achilles : shall the proud
lord
That bastes his arrogance with his own seam
And never suffers matter of the world '
Enter liis tlioughts, save such as do revolve
And ruminate himself, shall he be worshipp'd
Of that we hold an idol more than he ? 199
No, this thrice worthy and right valiant lord
Must not so stale his palm, nobiy acquired ;
Nor, by my will, assubjugate his merit.
As amply titled as Achilles is.
By going,to Achilles :
That were to enlard his fat already pride
And add more coals to Cancer when he burns
With entertaining great Hyperion.
This lord go to him ! Jupiter forbid.
And say in thunder ' Achilles go to him."
JVesf. [Aside to Dio.] O, this is well; he
rubis the vein of himj 910
Dio. [Aside to West.] And bow his silence
drinks up tins applause ! '
Ajax. If I go to him, with my armed fist'
I'll pash him o'er the face.
Ajfam. O, no, yon shall not go. ■
Ajax. An a' be proud with me, I'll pheeze
his pride :
Let me go to him.
Ulyss. Not for the worth that hangs Upon
our quarrel. '
A^x. ■ A paltry, insolent fellor I '
Nest. How he describes himself 1
Ajax. Can he not be sociable ? 230
Ulyss. Tlie raven chides blackness. '
Ajax. I'll let his humor blood.
Agam. He will be the physician that should
be the imtieut.
Ajax. An all men were o' my mind,—
Ulyss. Wit would be out of fashion:
Ajax. A' should not bear it so; a' should
eat swords first; shall pride carry it ?
Nest. An 'twould, you'ld carry half.
Ulyss. A' would haVe ten shares. 230
Ajax. I will knead him ; I'll make him
supple. )' '
I Nest. He's not yet through warm : force
him with praises I pour in, poUrib ; his am¬
bition is dry. '
, Ulyss. [To A</am.] My lord, you feed too
much on this dislike. '
Nest. Our nobld general, do not do so.
Vio. You must prepare to fight witliout
Achilles.
Ulyss. Why, 'tis this naming of him does
' him harm.
Here is a man—but 'tis before his face ; 240
I will be silent. '
Nest. Wherefore should you so 7
He is not emulous, as Achilles is.
Ulyss. Know the whole world, he is as
Valiant.
Ajax.- A whoreson dog, tliat shall palter
thus with us !
Would he were a Trojan!
Nest. What a vice were it in Ajax now,—
Ulyss. If he were proud,—
Dio. Or covetous of praise,—
IRyss. Ay, or surly borne,—
Dio. Or .strange, or self-affected ! ' 250
Ulyss. Thank the heavens, lord, thou art
of sweet composnre ;
Praise him tiiat got theej she that gave thee
suck: •
Famed be thy tutor, and thy irarts of nature
700
Thrice iamed, beyond all erudition ;
But he that disciplined thy arms to iigiit, '
Let Mars divide eternity m twain,
And give iiim liait : and, for thy vigor,
Bull-bearing Milo his addition yieid^
To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom,
\Vhich, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines
Tliy spacious and dilated parts : here's Xes-
t.>r; 261
Insti'ueted by the antiquary times.
He must, he,i.s, he cannot but ^ wise :
. But pardon, father Nestor, were your days
As green as Ajax' and your brain so teinper'd.
You should not have tlie eminence of him.
But be as Ajax.
Akix. Shalll call yon father?. ,
Nest. Ay, my good son.,-
Dt(K Be ruled by him, Lord Ajax.
Ulyss. There is no tarrying here ; the hart
Achilles
Keet)s thicket. Please it our great general
To call together all his state of war ; , 271
Fresh kings-are come to Troy ; to-morrow
We must with all our main of ix>wer stand
fast :. '
And here's a lord,—come knights from east to
west.
And cull their flower, Ajax, sliall cope the
best
Again. Go we to council. Let Achilles
sleep.:
Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks
draw deep. . [JShsetmt.
ACT HI.
Scene I. Troy. Priam's palace.
Enter a Servant and Pandabus.
Pan. Friend, you I pray you, a word; do
not you follow the young Lord Paris ?
Sero. Ay, sir, when he goes before me.
Pan. You depend upon him, I mean ?
Serv. Sir, I do depend uixni the lord.
Pan. You depend upon a noble gentleman;
I must needs praise him.
Serv. The lord be praised I
Pan. You know me, do you not ?
Serv. Faith, sir, superficially. 10
Pan, Friend, kiyct-.' me better; I am the
Lord Pandarus. »
^rv, . I hope I shall know your honor
better.
Pan. I do desire it
Serv. Yon are in tlve state of grace.
Pan. Grace I not so, friend : honor and
lordship are my titles. INusic m't/iin.] . What
music is this ?
Serv. 1 do but partly know, sir ; it is music
inmrts. , 20
Pan. Know you tbe musicians ?
Serv. Wholly, sir.
Pan. Who play they to 7
Sem, To the hearers, sir.
[Act tit.
Pan. At whose pleasure, friend ?
Sei-v. At miue,sir, and theirs that love music.
Pan. Command, 1 mean, friend.
Serv. Who shall I command, sir ?
Pan. Friend, we understiind not one an¬
other : I am too courtly and thou art too cun-
ning. At whose request do- these men play ?
Serv. - That's-to't mdeed, sir; marry, sir,
at the request of Paris my lord, who's there in
person; with him, the moital Venus, the
heart-blood of beauty, love's invisible soul,—
Pan. Who, my cousin Cressida ?
Serv. No, sir, Helen : could you, not find
out that byV her attributes ?
Pan. It should seem, fellow, that tliou hast
not seen the Lady Cressida. I come to sjreak
with Paris from the Prince Troilus : 1 will
makea eomplimental assault u|)ou him, for my
business seethes.
Serv. Sodden business I there's a stewed
phrase indeed I
Enter Paris and Helen, attended.
Pan. Fair be to you,my lord, and to all this
fair company I fair desires, in all fair measure,
fairly guide them ! especially to you, fair
queen I fair thoughts be your fair pillow I 49
Helen. Dear low, you are full of fair words.
Pan. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet
queen. Fair prince, here is good broken
music.
P.ar. You have broke it, cousin : and, by
my life, yon shall make it whole again ; ypu
shall piece it out with a piece of your pex-
formance. Nell, he is full of harmony.
Pan. . Truly, lady, no.
Helen. O, sir,—
Pan, Rude, iu sooth ; in good sooth, very
rude. tiO
Par. WeU said, my lord I well, you say so
in fits.
Pan. I have business to my lord, dear q ueen.
My lord, will you vouchsafe me a word ?
Helen. Nay, this shall nothedge us out: we'll
hear you sing, certainly.
Pan. Well, sweet queen, you are pleasant
witli me. But, marry, thus, my lord; my
dear lord and most esteemed friend, your bro¬
ther Troilus,— . 70
Helen. My Lord Pandarus ; houey-sweet
lord,— , - . ,
Pan. Go to, sweet queen, go to ;—commends
himself most affectionately hi you,—
Helen. You shall not bob us out of our mel.
ody : if you do, our melauclioly upon youi
bead 1
Pan. Sweet queen, sweet queen I that's a
sweet queeu, i' faith.
Helen. Andto malve a sweet lady sad is a
Sour offence. go
Pan. Nay, that shall not serve your turn ;
that shall not, iu truth, la. Nay, I care uot
for such words i no, no. And, my loW, he
desires you, that if the king cali for liim at
supper, you will make his excuse.
< Helen. My Lord Pandarus,—
TBOILUS AND CRESSIDA.
boeke 11.]
I TROJLUS 4,yp CRESSIpA.
•Pan. What.says my styeet qu^n, my yery
very sweet queen 7 ■ ■ i ■ ■ .
Par, What exploit's in hand 7 where siy>e
he to-night 7 . , . | , 9(1
Helen. Nay, l>"t, my lord,-r- . , , ■ » ,
Pan. What.says my sweet qneen?' My
cousin will fall out wiUi you. Ton must npt
ktto^ where he sups. , ■ ,
Par, I'll lay iny life, with my disposer Cres-
sida. I t J
Pan, No, no, no«nch matter; you are ^ide:
come, your disposer is sick. ^ ,
^ Par. . Well, I'll make excu.se. ' ,
Pan. Ay> good my lord, ' Why should you
say Cressida ? no, youipoO|r dispqser's sick,
^ Par. 1 spy. , .i. ■ . . •.
Pan. ,You spy!'what do you spy.?, Come,
give me an iustruuipnt Now, sweet queen-i
Helen,.' , Why, this is kiudly done.
, Pan, My niece is horribly in .love with, a
thing you nave, sweet queen. . i
Helen, She shall have it,.my lord, if i'the
not my lord Paris.
Pan. Hel no, she'H none of him ; they two
are twain. . , , Ill
Helen. Falling in, after Tailing ppt, may
make tliem three, „ ' ,, .
Pan. dome, come, I'll hear up more ol th's;
I'll sing ypu aong now, ' •
. Helen. Ay, ay, prithee now. By my .troth,
sweet lord, thpu hast a &ie forehead.
, Pan. Ay, you may, you may. , '
Helen, Let thy song be love: this love will
mido us alL , 0 (jupid, Cupid, Cupid I , 120
Pan. Love 1 ay, tliat it shall, i, faith, ,
Par. Ay, good now;, love, love, npthnig but
love. ,, ,
■ ■ Pan. In good troth, it begins sa ' I^'inas.
Love, love, nothing but love^ .still more T
For, O, love's bow
, Shoots buck and doq , |
' The shaft confomids, , ,,
Not that it wounds,
But tickles still the sore.' 130
, . These lovers cry Oh,I oh I they'die !
Tetthat which seems the wound to kill,
, ,Dotli tuni|ph I oh I tP.hal ha I hel , |
So dying love Ijves still : . ' | '
Oh ! oh f a wlfile, but ha I ha 1 ha 1. .
Oh I oh ! groans out for ha! ha 1 ha 1
Heigh-hp! ., .
Helen. ' In love, i' faith, to the yery tip of
. the nose. ■ . i j •
Par. He eats nothing but' doves, love, and
that breeds bot blood, and .hot bl(^ begets
hotthoiights,and iiottbought,s beget hot dee<is,
and hot deeds isilpye.,,, , i i ,. m
Pan. Is this, tlie generation of love ? hot
blood, hot thoughts, and hot deeds 7 Why,
they are vipers ; isloveageuerationqf.viiiers?
Sweet lord, who's a-field to-day 7
Par. Hector, Deiphobps, Helen u.s, A'itenor,
and all the gallantry of Troy | I would faiii;
have armed to-day, but my Nell would not
have it so. How phancp my brother Troilus
went not 7 151
. .Helen,, He hangstheIipat8pme)hipg|^:.you
know all. Lord Paudarus. . i <i, .it
Pan. Not I, honey-sweet oueen. I long to
hear how they sped to-day. ' 'You'll remember
• ypur brotlier's excuse 7
•'Pur'. Toahair.c ''i
■ -Pan,' Farewell, sweetqueenj ■
•' Hele^. ' Comlneiid me to your niece. ■'
' ''Pan, I will, sweet queen. "[Nxft. <60
■ ' . ,j ,■ I I •• . {A retreat fonniieil.
Par, They're come from field i let' Us to
Priam s liall,
To greet the wan-iors. Bwleet'Heleir,'I' nliist
woo you I ' I .11 , . ( I
To help ' nnarm our Hector r 'his stubbdni
buckles, ■ • . ii; i ■ ' i .
With.' these your .white euchantiug fingers
touoh'd, ,. ,, T
Sliall more bh^ ttian to Uie Odge of steel
Or force of (Sreekish siuewjs; yon shall do
more. ' \. . ' , ' I
Than all the island kings, — diparnf^ grpat
; Hector.
Helen. ' 'Twill mahq. us jprond. To he.J^is*
servant, Paris ;■ , ,, i. ,, , ,
. Yea, what he shall receive of us iii duty' .
.'Gives us more palm in.beauty thpn we .have.
Yea, overshines ourself. , , , , , ' ,
ffir, ^weet, above tnpqglrt l, love tliee.'.,
,, ' I ., lExeufft-
■ ScKNl: IL, ■■ Z7ke kame. p&niaru^ orchard:
Enter Pakdarvs uiuiTBoiUTs'-Boy,mSet^/.
Pan.. How nowl where's thy piaster^? at
my cousin Cressida's 7 ' „
Boy, No, sir : he stays for yon tp conduct
him thither. , .
, Pan. O, hare, ^ comes. ; , . , "i.)
Enter Troilus. '
, . , ii
How now, how nowi , ,. ,')o
Tro. Sirrah, walk off. jT^xi't Boy.
,Pan. Have you seen my cnusin 7 . ,i
Ti-o'. No, Pandarns : I stalk aboutherdoor,
Like a strange soul upon the,Stygian banks 10
Staying for waftage. O, be thpu roy Cliaron,
, And gtve me swift traiisportaiice to those fields
Where I may wallow in the lily-beds . .,|
Proposed forthedeserver I 0 gentle Pandarns,
From Cupid's shoulder pluck his painted, wings
And fly.with me toCressid! .
Pan. Walk here i' the ordiard, I'll bring
her straight. ■ ,,.j lExi'.
Prp. 1 am giddy ; expectation wWrls gie
, round. ■ , j ... •
Tlie imaginary relish is so sweet ;!0
That it encliants my sense : what will it he,
Wlieii that the watery palate tastes indeed , :
Love's tlirice repured nectar 7 death, I feainie,
Swooning destruction, or some ioy too. fine.
Too subtle-potent, tqned too sharp in sweet¬
ness, , . r ,
For the capacity of my ruder powers: »
I fear it much ; and I do fear besides, . ,
That I diall lose, distuiction in p^y joys;
762
TkOltVS AND GRESSIDA.
[Act 111.
As doth a battle, when they chaise oli heaps ,
The enemy flying. ' ' ' 30
, Re-e)iter Fandabus. ' ,
Pan. She's making her ready, she'll come
straight: you must be witty uowi She does
so blush, and .fetches her wind so short, as it
she were frayed with a spriteI'll fetch .her.>
It is the prettiest villain: she fetches her
breath as sltort:as a new-ta'en sparrow. [Exit.
Tr(K Even such, a iiassion doth embrace
my bosom :
My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse ;
And all my powers do their bestowing lose, .
Like vassalage at unawares encountering 40
The eye of majesty. ^
Re-inter Pandabos with Cbessida.
Pan. Come, come, what need you blush ?
shame's a baby. Here she is now ; swear the
oaths now to her that yon have sworn to me.
IVhat, are vou gone again 1 you. must be
watched ere Vou be made tame, must yoii ?
Come your ways, come your ways i an, you
draw iMckward, we'll put you i' the Alls. Why
do you nut speak to her ? Come, draw this
curtoin, and let's see yoiir picture. Alas tlie
day, how loath yon are to offend daylight! an
'twere dark, vou'ld dbse sooner. So, so ; rub
on, and kiss tlie mistress. How now! a kiss in
fee-farm I build there, carpenter; the air is
sweet. Kay, you shall flght your hearts.out
fere I part you. The falcon as the tercel, for
all tlie ducks F the river ; go to, go to.
Tfo. Tou have bereft me of all,words, lady.
Pan. Words iiay no debtsl give her deeds:
but she'll bereave you o' tlie deeds too, if she
■' call your activity m question. What, billing
again ? Here's ' In witness whereof the par¬
ties interchangeably'—Come in, come in r I'll
go get a fire. [Exit.
Ores. Will you walk in, my lord ?
Tro. p Cressida, how often have I Wished
me thus 1
Ores. Wished, my lord ! The gods grant, —
O my lord!
Tro. What should tlifey grant ? what teakes
this pretty abruption ? What too curious dreg
' espies my sweet lady in' tlte fountain of our
love?
Ore*. More dregs' than water, if my fears
have-eyes. '
Tro. Fears make devils of cheriibins ; they
never see truly.
' Ores. Blind fear, that seeing reason leads,
finds safer footing than blind reason stumbiing
without fear : to fear tlie worst oft cures tlie
worse, 79
TrO. O, let my lady aiipreheud nO fear :
in all Cupid's pageant there is presented no
monster.
Ores. Not nothiiig monstrous neither ?
Jiv). Nothing, but our- undertakings ; wlven
we vow to weep sea.s, live in fire, eat rocks,
tame tigers •, thinking it harder for onr mis<
tress to devise imnosition enough than for us
to undergo any difficulty imposed-. This is ifhe
mbnstruosity in love, lady, that the will is
infinite and the execution confined, that the
desire is boundless and the acta slave to limit.
Ores. They say all lovers swear more per¬
formance than they are able and yet reserve
an ability that they never'iierform, vowing
more than the perfection of ten and discharg¬
ing less than the tenth part of one. Tliey that
have the voice of lions and the act of hares, are
they not monsters ?
Tro. Are there such ? Such are not we.
praise us as we are tasted, allow us as we
prove ; our head shall go bare till merit crown
it: no perfection in reversion shall have a
praise m present: we will not name desert
before his birth, and, being bom, his addition
shall be humble. Few words to fair faith :
Troilus shall be such to Cressid as what envy
can say worst shall be a mock fOr his truth,
and what truth can speak truest not truer than
Troilus.
Oea Will you walk in, my lord ? ^
Re-^nter Fandabus.
Pan. What, blushing still ? have you not
done talking yet ? 109
Cres. Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I
dedicate to yon.
Pan. I thank yon for that: if my lord get
A boy of you, you'll give him me. Be true to
my lord : if he flinch, chide me for it '
Tro. You know now your hostages ; your
uncle's, word and my firm faith. '
Pan. Nay, I'll give my word for her too:
our kindred, thou^ they be long ere they are
wooed, they'are-constant bemgwOn : they are
burs, I can tell you tliey'll stick where they
arc thrown.
Cres. Boldness comes to me now, and brings
me heart. 121
Prince Troilus, I have loved yon night and day
For many weary months.
Tro. Why was my Cressid then so hard to
win ?
Cres. Hard to seem won; but I was won,
my lord,
With the first glance that evet—pardon me—
If 1 confess much, you will play the tyrant.
1 love you now ; but not, tin nb>v, so much
But I might master it: iu faitli, I lie ; . 129
My thoughts, were like unbridiod children,
grown
Too headstrong for their mother. See, we
fools! '
Wliy have 1 blabb'd ? who shall bo true io us.
When we are so unsecret to ourselves ?
But, though I loved you well, 1 woo'd you not;
And yet, good faith, I wUh'd myself a man.
Or that we women had men's privilege
Of speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my
tongue.
For in this rapture I shall surely speak
The thing I shall repent. See, see, yoUr
silence.
Cunning in dumbness, from my weakness
draws
ScBNE nr.]
My very Soul of oonttsel 1 stop my mouth. 141
Ti'o. And shall, albeit sweet music issues
thence, ■ "
Pan* Pretty, 1* faith. -
Ores. My lord, I do beseech you, pardon'
me; ■ i I >
Twas not my purpose, thus to beg a kiss :
1 am ashamed. O heavens ! what have 1 done?
For this time will I take my leave, my lord.
Tro. Tour leave, sweet Oressid !
Pan. Leave I an j'ott take leave tin to-'
morrow morning,— 150
Ores. Pray you, content you.
Trth ' ■ What offends you, lady ?
Ores. Sir, mine own company.
Tro. You cannot shnu
Yourself.
Oreo. I/et me go and try :'
I have a kiud of .self resides with you ; ' '
But an unkind self, that itself will leave,
To be another's fool. I would be gone :
Where is my wit ? I know not what 1 speak:
IVo. Well know they what they speak that'
speak so wisely.
Ores. Perchance, my lord, I show more'
craft than love ; ' ItiO
And fell :o roundly to a large confession,
rOangle for your thoughts : butyonare'wise.
Or else you love not, forte be wise and love
Ezceed's man's might; that dwells with gods
above.
IVo. O that I thought H could be in a
woman—
As, if it can, I will presume in you—
To feed for aye her lamp and flames of love :
To keep her constaltcy in plight and youth.
Outliving beauty's outward, with a mind'
That doth renew swifter than blood decays !
Or that [jersuasion could butthus convince me,
"That my integrity and truth to you ■
Might be affronted with the match and weight
Of such a winnow'd purity in love ; ■ '
How were f then uplifted 1 but, alas 1
1 am as true as truth's simplicity
And simpler than the infancy of truth.
Cre». ■ In that I'll war with you.
IVo. ' ' O virtuous fight.
When r%ht with right wars who shall be most
right'!' 179'
True swains in love shall in the worid to come
Approve their truths by Troilus : when their "
rhymes, • ' ■ , '
Full of protest, of oath and big compare.
Want'similes, truth tired with iteration, '
As true as st^l, as plantage to the moon,
As sun to day, as turtle lo her mate.
As iron to adamant, as earth to the centre, ' '
Yet, after all comparisons of truth, '
As truth's autlientie author to be cited,
' As true as Troilus' shall crown up the verse;'
And sanctify the numbers. ^
Cres. ' Prophet inay yon be 1 190
If I be mise, oT'Bwerve a hakr from trutli,'
When time is old and hath forgot itself.
When wateidrops have wOm tlie stones of
Troy.
TBS
And blind oblivion dwallow'd titles up, ' ' ' f
And mighty states characterless are grated' i
To dusty nothing, yet let memory, ' '"
From false to false, among false maids in love;
Upbraid ray falsehood ! When they've said
'as false .
A-s air, as water, wind, or sandy earth, '
As fox to lamb, as wolf to heifer's calf,' 200
Pard to the hind, or stepdaroe to her son,'
' Yea,' let them say, to stick the heart of false-
, ' hood',
' As false as Cressid.' • ' ' ' * '
Pan. Go to, a bargain made : seal it; seal it;
I'll be the witness. Here ( bold your hand,'
Iiere my cousin's. If ever yoti prove false one _
to another, since I have taken such pains to''
bring yon together, let 'all pitiful goers-bo-
tween be called to the 'World s end after n»y
name ; call them all Pandars; let all constant
men be Troiln.«es, all false women Cressids,
and all brokers-betweeii Pandars ! say, amen.
Tro. Amen.
Ores. Amen.
Pan. Amen. Whereupon I will show you
a ciiamher with a bed ; which bed, because it
shall not speak of your pretty encounters,
press it to death : away! ■ " '
And Cupid grant all tonguo-tied maidens here,
Bed, chamber, Pandar'to proWde tliis gear ! '
[Exeunt. '221
Scene III. The Orecian eomp. Before
Achilles? tent. ' i i"
Enter .Ac.amemnon, Ulysses, Diomedes,
Nestoji, Ajax, MenelauS, and Oalchas. .
,C'af. ■ Now, princes; tor the service I have
I done you,
TIte advantage of the time prompts me aloud
To call for recompense. Appear it to your
mind ' . • ■ , i ■ ... -
'f Tliat, tliron^ the sight I hear' in things ■tol
love,
I have abandon'd Troy, left ray possession;
'Inciirr'd a traitor's name ; exposed myself, >
From cei-taiu and {xissess'd conveniences;
To donbtfnl fortunes ; sequestering from me !
ail i
That ti'me, acquaintance, eustomand condition
Made tame and most familiar to my nature.
And here, to do yOn' service, am become 11
As new intotiie world, strange, unacquaqited:
I do beseech you, as in way of taste, '
To give me now a little beneiit, .
Out of those many register'd in promise,
Which/'you say, live to come in my behalf.
Affam. What wouldst thou of us; Trojad?
make demand.
' Cat, You. have a Trojan' prisoner, 'eftll'd
Antenor, : i . .
Yesterday took : Troy holds him very dear..
Oft have yon—often have you thanks thmis-
fore— ' 80
Desired my Oressid in right great exchange.
Whom' Troy hath stiU denied ; but this An>
I tenor, ' 'i ■>'
TROILUS ANiy CRESSIDA.^
764:
TmiLU^.\ANp. €RESSIDA.<:
;[AcT iiL
I know, is such « viiest in titeir affaiiB ., i '
That their negotiatioBs aii inust slack, i ,
Wanting his Htauage ', and they will almost i
Give tts a prince of blood, a sou of Priam, m i f
lpi«hange of him: let hjm be sent, greet pciu-1
ces,
And he shall buy my daughter.; and her pres-v
I' I- ence-., . . i
Shall quite strike off all eervXce 1 have done,. i
lu most accepted pain.
Agam. Let Diomedes bear him, 30
And bring us Cressid hither: Calchas shall
f Ihave . • •
What he requests of us. < Good Diomed^ . .
Furnish you fairly lor this intercliange:
Withal bring word,if Hector will to-morrow i
Be auswer'd in his challenge ; Ajas is ready. '
A>io. This shall I .undertake; and 'tis a
)'• > burden < -1 i r
Which 1 am proud to bear.
, [fixeuM Di/otjiedfis end Calchas.
Enter Achilles and Patkoolus,' be/tn-e their
tent. ■ '
. . ' *
JMyee, Achilles stands i' tlie entrance,of
his tent: - . . .
Please it our general to pass strangely by him,
Ulte were forgot; a)>d, princes all, 40'
Lay negligent and loose regard npon him :
I will come last. 'Tis like he'll question me
Why such unplausive eyes are bent on him :
If SO; I have derision medicinable,
To use between your strangeness and his pride,
AVliich his own will shall have desire to drinlr:,
It ihay be good : pride hath no .other glass
To show itself biit pride, for supple knees
Feed arrogance and are the proud man's feds. '
Agam. We'll execute your purpose; and
1, " puton .. .. . '50
Aiform of strangeness as wepass along: , i
So do each lord, and either greet him not.
Or, else disdainfully, which shaQ shake him
more
Than if not look'd on. I win lead the way.. '
Achil. What, comes, the general to speak
with me ?
You know my mind, I'll fight no more 'gainst
Troy.
lAif/am. What says Achilles.? would he
■ >au^t with us ? : -
i2resf. Would you, my lord, aught with tllie
■b I general.? '
AclM. No. ' • ...
Eest. Nothing, my lord. . 60
Agamt Thebettec. . . ■ • . . i
. [Exeunt Agamemnon and NestoK.
Ac/til; Good day, good day. .' ,1
Men. How do you ? how do you ? [Exit.
lAchil. What, does the cuckold scorn me?
Ajax. How now, Patroclus I ■
Achil. Good, morrow, Ajax.
-j^'oz. Ha ? ' < ' ...
rAchtl. Good morrow.
AJaot... Ay, and good next day too. r£zi(. .
jlchd. What mean these feuowe ? know
they not Achilles ? ; i 70
iPtetr. They pass -by, Strang^ t they were'
..used to bend, ,,, i- '
To send their smiles before them to Acliilles ;
To come as humbly as theyi used to creep
To holy altars. 'f .i I ' .1'
Achil. What, am I poor of late ?,
'Tis certain, greatness, once lall'u. out with'
fortune, . o
Must fall out with men too :iwhat the declined i
is • . ... 1' , ( ,
He shall as soon read in, the eyes of others
As feel in his own fall; for men, like butter*.,
flies, ' ! .11' M
Show not their mealy wings but to the sum¬
mer, -
And not a man, for being simply man, 60
Hath any honor, but honor fur those honors. {
That are without liiin.tas idace, riches, favor,
Prizes of accident as oft as merit: , .
Which when they Loll, as teing slippery stands
ers, ,' i 1
The love that lean'd on them as slippery too, f
Do one pluck down auotiier and together \
Die in the fall. But 'tis not so with me :
Fortune and I are friends : I do enjoy
At ample point all that 1 did possess,
Save these men's looks ; who do, methinks,,'
find out . r; iX'
Somethmg not worth in me such rich behold;
ing , '
As they have often given. Here is Ulysses ;
I'll interrupt his reading..' <
How now Ulysses !
Vlyss. Now, great Thetis' son !
AchU. What are you reading? ■ T
Vlyss. A strange fellow here
Writes me: ' That' man, how dearly ever i
parted,
How much in having, or without or in, • <
Cannot make boast to have that which he hath,'
Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection;
As when his virtues shining upon others 100
Heat them and they retort that heat again I
To the first giver.' , • i I
Achil. I This is not strange, Ulyssea
The beauty that is home here in the face
The bearer knows not, but commends itself '
To othms' eyes; nor doth tlie eye itself,
That most pure spirit of sense, behold itself,
Not going from itself ; but eye to eye oppo^,
Salutes eadi other with each other's form ; ■.
For speculatiou turns not to itself, ■ '
Till it hath travell'd and is minor'd there 110
Where it may see itself. This is not strange'
at aU. , ' . - '
Vlyss. I do not strain at the position,rr
It is familiar,-rbut at the author's drift )<
Who, in his circumsiauce, expressly proves
That no man is the lord of any thing,. ,
Though in and of him there be muw coasisk
ing, ; .. . I I •
Till he communicate his parts to others ; i
Nor doth he of himself.know them for aught |
Till he behold them forra'd in the appianse r
Where they're extended ;'who, like an arch,'
reverberates n-j lai
SCBHK 111.]
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
t65
The yoke niialli, or, like a ^teel steel
Fruntiug the gun,' received and renders b.ick ■
Mis %ure and his lieat. I was much wrajit in
• ' this; r T "'I I 1 r
I And appreliended l«ere immediately ''' '
The Uukuowii.'Ajax., ■ Miiij-,*
>Hea\-en9, what a mah is there ! a very horse,'
Tiiathashe knows not wliat. Nature,'what
'' 1 tilings there hre' .. . i • -
' Most abject in regard and dear in use f
What things again most dear in tiie esteem '
And poor in vroMi I Now shall we see to¬
morrow— ' '130
All' act tliaf'Tery chance doth throw upon
him—
Ajas renown'd.' '• Odiea^ens; what some ihen
do, - »( I-. ' .HfVl.l
While some men leave to do 1
>How -8onie men'creep iu skittish fortune's
hall, ' ■ - '
Whiles others play thi idiots in her eyes'!'
How one man eats int.> another's pride, 1
While pride is fasting in liis wantonness I
To see tliese Grecian'lords!—why, even al¬
ready ' •
rhey clap the luhher Ajax on the shoulder,
■As if Ills foot were on brave Hector's breast
And great Troy shrieking. ' ' ■ ■ 141
AeM.' 1 do believe it; for they'pass'd by
me ' '
As misers do by beggars, 'neither gave to die
Good word 'MoT '1<^ !• what, are my deeds
forgot? '
UlysK Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his
back, ' ■
Wlierein he puts alms for oblivion,
A great-sized monster'of ingratitudes'! i
Those scraps are good deeds past; which ' a're
I devoiir'd " "
As fast as they are made, forgot as sobn
As done : perseverance^ dear my lord, 150
'Keeps honor bright: to' have done is to hang'
Quiteoutof fashion, like a rusty mail ■ -
In monumental mockery. Take the instant
way ;
For honor travels in d stnait so narrow,
Where One but goes abreast: keep then the
'' - path"'' : ' ' ',
For emulation hath a Hionsand sons
That one by one pursue: if you give wayl ■"
Or liedge aside from the direct forthright.
Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush by
And leave you bindipoet;; 160
Or, like a gall.aiU horse fali'n in first rank.
Lie there forpavenumt to the abject rear,
P'er-run and trampled onthen whiU tliey do
' '' ' in present, '' , ■ , '
■Though less tiiah yoa^ In past, miist^ o'ertop
yours;' * • ' . - '
For time is like a fashionable host '
That slightly shakes his parting gnCst by'the
iiand, • I . • [fly.
And with his arms'Outstretch'd, as he would
Grasps in the comer': welcome ever smiles,'' I
And farewell goes"out sighing. ' O,'let not
virtue seek ■- •-
Remuneration for the'thin^'it Was 5 'J"'
For beauty, wit, I ■
High 'birtli, vigor of bone, desert in serVi'de,'''"
Love, friendship, ciiarity, are subjects' all
To en\'4oiw and calmnniatiiig time.-
One touch of nature makes the. wjioli world
kin^i ' ' 0 ' I 011/
Tli.it all with one consent praise neW-dxirii
• ' gawds, ' ' ' !'
Tiiough they are made and moulded oI things
pnst,
And give to dust that is a Utile gilt '
More laud than gilt'O'er-dusted.- ' ' '' ■
Tlie present eye praises tlie present objects
Then marvel not, tbou great and .eompiets
man, ' 181
That all the Greeks begin to Worship'Ajak '
Slnce thin^ in motion sooner catch the eye
Thau what not stirs. The cry Went once on
thee, 1.:' , 1 ■ . ' r
And Still it might, mrd' yet it may again,'
If thou wouidst not entomb thyself alive
And case thy reputation iii thy tent; ' ' ';
Whose glorious deeds,'but iii'these fields df
late, '..11'
Made emulous missions 'moiigst the god:-
themselves' ■ ' ' ' \ 1 < <
And drave great Mars to faction.' ''
Achit. ■ J " ' Of this my privacy' Ibb
1 have strong reasons. ' ■ ' • " ' I
Vlygs. , . , But 'gainst yonr privacy
The reasons are more potent and heroical :
'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love.,
With one of Priam's daughters. , " .
Achil, HA! khowb I
I Ulyggk^ tsthat a Wonder ? '
The providence that's in a watchful State' ''''
Knows almost every grain of Plutits' gold,.-
Finds bottom iii the nncom|irelieiisive dee^,
Keeps place with thought and almost,. like the
I gods, ' ' ' ' '
Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles.'
There is a mystery-^Witli whom relation '201
Durst never meddle—in the soui of state J '
Which hath an operation more divine
Than breath or i«n cail give expressure to :
All the commerce that ' you have had with
I Troy ■ ' • I I I
As perfectly is ours as yOurS, my lord ;'
And better would it fit Achilles inudi '■ '
To throw down Hector than Polyxena :'
But it must grieve young Pyrrhus bow at
home, 216
■When fame shall in dur islands sound her
trump, ' J ' ''
And all tlie Greekish girls shall tripping sinfc
'' Great Hector's sister did Achilles win,
Bnt our great Ajax bravely beat down hint.''
Farewell, my loi-d i I as your lover speak ; '
The fool slices der the ice that you Should
break. . , [£xit.
' Pair. To this effect,' Achilles^ hSve Thioved
yon: T
A 'wdmaft impudient and' mannish ^own '"
Is not more loathed th.an an effdminate liiaii
In time of aetiom 1 stand cdndemtt'd for tills-j
766
TROtLVS AND CRBSSWA,
[Act IV.
think my little stomach to tlie war 220
And your great love to me restrains you thus:
Sweet, rouse yourselt; and the weak wanton
Cupid
Shall from your neck unloose his amorous
„ , fold,
And. like a dew-drop from the lion's mane,
^e snook to air,
AMI. Shall Ajax fight with Hector ?
Pair, t Ay, and perli^ receive much honor
by him.
Achll. } see my reputation is at stake ;
My fame is shrewdly gored.
Patr. , J, O, tlien, beware ;
JThose wounds h^al ill that men do give them-
seives :
Omission to do what is necessary 230
Seals a commission to a biank of danger ,
And danger, like an ague, subtly taints. .
Even then when we sit idly in the sun.
AckU., Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patro-
clns !
I'll send the fool to Ajiuc and desire him '
Tp invite the Trojan lords after the combat
To see lus here unarm'd : I have a woman's
longing, .
An api>etite tliat I am sick withal.
To see great Hector in liis weeds of i^eace,
To talk with him and to behold his visage,
Even to my full of view. i . 1241
'* Eiiter Thersites.
A labor saved I
Ther. A wonder I i
Achti. What ?
Ther. Ajax goes ujt and down the field,
asking for himself.
A<(hil. How.so ?
77icr, He must light singly to-morrow with
Hector, and is so, prophetically proud of an
heroical cudgelling that he raves in saying
nothing. . ,
AchU. How can that be ? 250
T/ter. Why, be stalks np and down like a
t^cock,—a stride and a stand : ruminates
like an hostess that hatli no arithmetic but her
brain to set down her reolconing; bites his lip
with a politic regard, as who sliould say
'There were wit in this head, an 'twould
out;' and so there is, but it lies as coldly in
him as fire in a flint, which will not show
without knocking. Tlie man's undone for¬
ever ; for if Hector break not his neck i' the
combat, he'll break't himself in vain-glory.
He knows not me: I said ' Good ipoti'®"',
.^ax;' and he replies' Thanks, Agamemnon.'
Wliat think you of this man that takes me for
the general? He's grown a very land-fish,
languageless, a monster, i A plague of opinion!
a man may wear it on both sides, like a leatlier
jerkin.
I AchiU Thou must be my ambassador to
him, Theiaites.
Ther. ■ Who, I ? why, he'll answer nobody;
he professes not answering : speaking is for
bengan ; be wea» his tongue iu's arms, 11
will put on his presence : let Patroclus make
demands to me, you shall see the pageant of
Ajax.
Achil. To him, Patroclus ; tell him I hum¬
bly desire the valiant Ajax to invite tlie most
valorous Hector to come unarmed to my tent,
and to procure safe-conduct for his person of
the magnanimous and most illustrious six-or
scven-times-honored captain-general of the
Grecian army, Agamemnon, et cetera. Do
tills. gjo
Pait. Jove bless great Ajax !
Ther. Hum!
Patr. I come from, the worthy Aclullesi-H.
Ther. Ha!
Patr.. Who most humbly desires.yott to
invite Hector to his tent,—
Ther. Hum !
' Pair. ■ And to procure safe-conduct from
Agamemnon.
Ther. Againerauon 1 290
Patr. Ay, my lord.
Ther. Hal
Patr. Wlmt say you to't ?
Ther. God b' wi' you, with all my heart
Pair. Your answer,, sir.
Ther. If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven .
o'clock it will go one way or other : how¬
soever, he shall pay for me. ere he has me.
Patr. Your answer, sir.
Ther. Fare you well, with all my heart.
, Achil. Why, but lie is .pot in this tune, is
he? 301
Ther. No, but he's out b'tune thus. What
music will be in him when Hector has knocked
out his brains, I know not; but, I am sure,
none, unless the fiddler Apolio get his sinews
to make catlings on. ,
Achil. Come, thou shalt bear a letter to
him .straigiit.
. Ther. Let me hear another to his horse ;
for that's the more callable creature. 310
' Achil. My mind is .troubled, like a fountain
stirr'd ;
And X myself see not the bottom of it.
[Exeunt Achillee and Patroclut.
Ther. Would the. fountain of your mind
were clear again, that I might water an a.ss .it
it! I had rather be a tick in a sheep than
such a valiant ignorance. Exit.
ACT IV.
Scene L Troy. ■ A ttreet.
Enter, from one side, JEheas,.'and Servant
tcith a torch; from the other, Paris, Dei-
PHOBUs, Antenor, Diomedes, and others,
tcith torches.
Par. See, ho ! who is that there ?
.' iDei. It is the Lord .£neas.
xEne. ..Is the prince there in person ?
Had I so good occa-sion to lie long
As you. Prince Paris, nothing but heavenly
business i
ScBKBIt.]
TRQJLUS AND CRESSIDA-
767
Should rob my bed-mitte of my company.
Dio,, That's my mind top. Good morrow,
Lord.£nea8:
Par. A raiiant Greek, .Xneas,—take bis
hand,— , '
Witness the process of your speech, Wherein '
You told how Diomed, a whole week by days.
Did liaunt you in the field.
jEne. Health to you, valiant sif, 10
During hll question of the gentle truce ;
But when I meet yon arm'd, as black defiance
As heart can think or courage execute.
Dio. The one and otiier Diomed embraces.
Oiir bloods are now in calm ; and, so long,
health!
But when contention and occasion tneet,
By Jove, I'll play the hunter for thy life
VVith all my force, pursuit and policy.
yEne. And thou shalt hunt a lion, that will
fly
With his face backward. In humane ^ntle-
ness, 20
Welcome to Troy !' now, by Ancliises' life,,,
Welcome, indeed ! By Venus' hand I swear,
No man athre can love in such a sort
Ibe thing he mpans to kill more- excellently.
Dio. We sympathize; Jove, let .£ueas
live, . ,
If to my sword his fate be Hot the glory,
A thousand complete courses of the sun I
But, in mine emulous honor, let him diei'
With every joint a wound, and that to-mor¬
row I I.
t ASne. We know each other well. 30
Dio. We do ; and long to know each other
> worse.
Par. This is the most despiteful gentle
greeting, '
The n^est hateful loVe, that e'er I heard of.
What business, lord, so early ?
jEne. 1 was sent for to the king ; but why,
I know not.
Par. His purpose meets you : 'twas to
bring this Greek
To Calchas' house, and there to render him^
For the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid ;
Let's liave your company, or, if you please.
Haste there before ns: I constantly do
think— ' 40
Or rather, call my thouglit a certain knowl¬
edge—
My brother Troilus lodges there to-night :
Rouse him and give him note of our ap¬
proach, I
With the whole quality wherefore : I fear
We shall be much unwelcome.
AEne, < That I assure you t
Troilus had rather Troy were borne'to Greece
Than Cressid borne from Troy.
Par. There is no help ;
The bitter disposition of the time
Will have it so. On, lord ; wwil follow you. .
lyEne. Good morrow, all. . '.60
. . ; [Exit witit Servant,
Par. And tell me, noble Diomed, faith, tell
me tme,
Even in the soul of sound good-fleHowsniu,
Wlio, in your thoughts, merits fair Helen
best, • 1 .
Myself or Menelaus ? i r. ■ '
Di». • Both alike :. '
He merits well to have her^'that doth seek
> - lier, I
Not making any scruple of her soMure,
With such a hell of [)ain and, world of charge,
.\nd you as weli to.keeii her, that defend her.
Not palating the taste'of her dishonor,
With such a costly losS of wealth and friends:
He, like a puling cuckold, would diink up 61
The lees and dregs of a flat tam^ piece ;
You, like a lecher, out of wliorish loins .
Are pleased to breed, out your inheritors : .
Both merits poised, each weighs ^uor less nor
more ; >
But he as he, the heavier for a whore.
I Par. You are top bitter, to your country'^
woman. ,
Dio. She's bitter to her country : .hear me,
. 'Paris: . , ■
For every false drop in her bawdy veins ,
A Grecian's life hath sunk ; lor every scruple
'Of her contaminated carrion weigliti- '7V
A Trojan liath been slain : since slm could
speak,,
She hath not given fo many good words
breath
As for her Greeks and Trojans sufTer'd death.
Par. Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do.
Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy : >
But we in silence hold this virtue well,
We'll but commend lyhat rye intend to «elL
Here lies our way. , . [Exeunt.
ScENB, I^. Th4 mme. C(furt of Pandajr^.
house.
■ Enter Troilits and CaBssroA;
Tra. Dear, trouble not yourself : the mom
is colA
Ores. , Then,sweet my lord; I'll .pali mine
imciedowu;., |
He shall unbolt the gates.
Tro. Troubie him not;
To bed, to bed : sleep kill those pretty eyes,
' And give as soft attachment to thy senses '
As infants' empty of ail thought!
Ores. Good morrow, then.
, Tro. ■ I prithee now, to bed. i
Ores. Are yon a-weary of me 7
Tro. O Cressida ! but that the busy day.
Waked by the lark, hath, roused, the ribald
CrOWSy I ■ ■ _ . •!
And dreaming night will hide one joys no
. longer, ■ - i '
Lwould not from thee. )
. Ores- Night hath been too brief.!
Tro. Beshiew the witch | with v^omomi.
wights she stays '
As tediously BS LcUi but flies the grasps , of
love , . .. ■ ■ ' I . -
With wings more > momentary-swift . than,
, thought.
768
TROILUS AND tRESSIDA.
(Act iv.
You will catch cold, and curse me. i
I'Clrei. 1 • II ' ■ III',' Prithee^ tarryV
fou men will never tarry.
0 foolish Cressid ! I micht have still held off,'
And then you ' wonld have tarried« Hark !
J • there's one up. - ■' I l i
Pan. [ WUhin] What, 's all the doors open
here i
"Tro. It is your nnde. ; SO
.■•Cres. A pestilence oir him'!' how will he be
mocking r ' 'i i ■ ■ ' ■ . -
shall have such a-life 1' ■ ■ ' '
' knier I*Al<DAKb3.'
Pan. How now* how now ! how gO hiaidy
en-heads ? Here, yon'maid ! where's my
cousin Crestid ? - '' ■
Cres. Go hang yourself, ypu naughty mock¬
ing uncle I
YdU bring me to dd, and then you flout me
too.
Pan. ■ To do What ? to do what ? l^t her
say what : what have I brought you to do ?
Cres. Come, eome, beshrew your heart!
' "'you'll ne'er be good, ' ' SO
Kbr suffer others. ' " ' " ' '
' Pan. Ha, ha ! Alas; poOr w'retch ! ah, pooi/
capocchia ! hast not .slept to-night ? would he
not, a naughty man, let it sleep ? a bugbear
take him I
■ CVes; Did not I tell yon ? would, he were
' ■' knock'd i' the head ! [Knockinf/ within.
Who's that at door ? good uncle, go and see."
My lord, come yon again into my chamber !
You smile and mock me, as if I' ihean^
' naughtily. ' ■'
Tro. , Ha, ha! , , 39
Cres'.' Come, you are' deceived, i think Of
no such thing. [Knocking wUhin.
How earnestly jtliey knock 1 Pmy you, come
in:
1 Would not for half Troy have you seen here.
[Exeunt Troilus and Cressidg.
Pan. Who's there? what's the, matter ?
will you beat down the dooir ? How now J
what s the matter ?, ' ■ '
, , , . ,1 Kilter Syass- ( j .
AEne. Good morrow,'lord; good-morrow. '
Pan. Who's there ?"my lk)rd a; neas ! By
' I' my troth, •' '
1 knew you not; what'news> with'you so
'■ - 'early?' . ' '
jEni> Is not Prince TroilUs here' ? '
Pan. 'HeMPi iwIiat should he-do here ? 56
xEne. Come, he is here, my lord ; do not
" I deny hinrV ' i' j - ■
It doth import him much to ^ak with me.
Pan. Is he here, say yon ? 'tis more than
I know, I'n be sWorfl : for my own part, I
came in late.i - What should he do here ?
, ASne. Who !—nay, thett ; come,' come,
TOU'll do him Wrong dro' you're ware: you'll'
be so true to him, to be false to him : do not
yoU' know Of him, -but yet go letch him hithi!'
er; go. ' » _
' ' Re-eraer TroilCs. i .I' i; .
■ Tro. 'How now i wliat's the matter ? 60
.^ine. My lord, I-scarce,.ha^isure to
salute you, ,"
My matter is so rash; there is at hand
Paris yout brother, and Deiphobus, ■
Tlie Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor ,,, ,
Deliver'd to us ; and jfor him forthwith, ,
Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour.
We mui«t give uptp Diomedes'hand , ,
The Lady Cressida. .
,Tro. , I, teit so concluded ? , ,
.Ene. By Priam an<} ^e .general state of,
Troy : ' ' , - i
They are at hand and ready to effect it. 70,
Tro. How my achievements mock me ,1 ^
I will go meet them ; and, my Lord Alneas, ,
We, met by chance ; you did not find me here.
Aine. Good, good, my lord ; the secrets of
. ,1 nature ,, i
Have not more gift in taciturnity.
[Kxeunt Troilus^anA Aineas.^
Pan. Is't possible ? no sooner got but lost?.
The devil take Antenor ! the ypung princA
will go mad : a plague upon Antenor 1 X
would)they had broke.'s ne^ck !,
Re-enter Cbbssioa. ,
Cres. How now I what's the -mattmr ? who
was here? .81
Pan.' Ah, ah! ' ' ' ' ^
Cres. Why sigh you so profoundly ? Where's
my lord? gone! Tell me, sweet uncle,,
what's the matter ? ' • A ■ ■
Pan. Would I were as deep -under the
eaith as 1 am above i ■ ■ •• ' '
Cres. O the gods ! what's the matter ?
Pdn. Pi-ithee, get thee in : would thou
hadst ne'er been bom I I knew thou wouldst
be his death. ' O, poor gentleman l< 'A plague
upon Antenor.! .
Ci'es. Good uncle, I beseech yoUj on my
knees I beseech you, what's the matter ?
Pan. Thou mnst be gone, wench, thou
must be gone ; thou art changed for Ante¬
nor: thou must to' thy father, and be gone
from Troilus : 'twill be his death ^"'twUl be-
his bane ; he cannot bear it.
CreS, O you immortal gods ! I will not go'.
' Pan. Thou must. 101
Cres. I will not, uncle i I have forgot ray
father ; : .i ' i -
I know no touch of consanguinityi.
No kin, ho love, no blood', no soul so near fne'
As the sweet Troilus. O you gods divine !
Make Cressid's name the very crown of false-
' hood, . .r r t I
If ever she leave Troilus-! -Time, torch, and
- ' death, '
Do to this body what extremes yon can I
But the strong base and bnilding of my love
Is as the very centre of the earth, ■ • • 110
Drawing all things to it I'll go in and
- weep,— '' • 'i 11 i' ■ I-'.
Pan, Do, do. "c sm
Scunb IT.]
0*eJ. Tear my bright hair and scratch my
" praised cheeks, ■
Crack my clear voice trith sobs and break my
' heart ' •
With sounding Troilus. I Vvill not go from
. Troy. {Exeunt.
Scene III. 37ie samei Street before Pan-
dm-u^ house.
Enter Paris, Troilus, .£nbas, Dbiphobus,
Amtenor, and Diomeoes.
Par. It is great morning, and the hour
preflx'd'
Of her delivery to this valiant Greek
Comes fast upon. Good my brother Troilus,
Tell you the lady vrhat she is to do.
And haste her to the purpose.
Tro. ' Walk into her house ;
ni bring her to the Grecian presently :
And to his hand when I deliver her,
Think it an altar, and thy brother Troilus '
A priest there offering to it his own heart.
'{Exit.
Par. I know what 'tis to love ; '
And would, as I shall pity, I could help !
Please you walk in, my lords. {Exeunt.
Scene IY. The same. Pandarus' house.
Enter Pandarus and Cressida.
Pan. Be moderate, be moderate. '
■ Ores. Why tell you me of moderation ?
The grief is fine, fiill, perfect, that I taste.
And vtolenteth in a sense as strong
As that which causeth it: how can I moder¬
ate it ?
If I could temporize with my affection.
Or brew it to a weak and colder palate.
The like allaymeut could I give my grief:
My love admits no qualifying dross ; .
No more my grief, in such a precious loss, 10
Pan. Here, here, here he comes. I
Entei- Troilus. ■ '
Ah, sweet ducks!
Cres. O Troilus! Troilus ! {Embracing him.
Pan. What a pair of spectacles is here! Let
me embrace, too, ' 0 heart,' as the goodly
saying is, ' ,, / ' ,
' p hearc, heavy heart,'
Wily sigli'st thou without breaking ?'
wlierc he answers again,
,' Because thou canst nqt ease thy smart 20
By friendship nor by speaking.'
There was never a truer rhyme. Let us cast
away nothing, for we may live to have need
of such a verse : we see it, we see it. How
now, lambs ?
Tro. Cressid, I love thee in so strain'd a
purity.
That the bless'd gods, m angry with my
fancy, ■ . w
More bright in zeal than the devotion which
Cold lips blow to their deities, take thee from
■ me. ' „ ,
Crts. Have the gods envy f ■ ' '30
769
Pom Ay, ay, ay, ay: 'tis too plain a easei
Cres. And is it true that I must go from
Troy? .1. 1
Tro. A hateful truth.
Cres. What, and from Troilus too ?
Tro. From Troy and Troilus. •
Cres. Is it possible ?
Tro. And suddenly ; where injury of
chance
Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by
All time of jianse, rudely beguiles our lips
Of all reioiiidure, forcibly prevents '
Our lock'd embrasures, strangles ouTi dear
vows 36
Even in the birth of our own laboring breath
We two, that with so many thousand sighs '
Did buy each other, must poorly sell ouf-
selves ' '
With the rude brevity and disciiarge of one.
Injurious time now with a robber's haste
Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how ;
As many farewells as be stars in hekven, ' '
With distinct breath and cousign'd kisses to
them, , ■'
He fumbles up into a lose adieu',' '
And scants us with a single famish'd kiss,.
Distasted with the salt of broken tears. 50
yEwe. [ Within] My lord, is the lady ready ?
Tro. Hark ! you are call'd : some say the
Genius so ■ • * '' •
Cries ■ come' to him that instantly must die.
Bid them have patience; she shall come anon,
Pan. Whereare my tears? rain, to lay this
wind, or my heart will be blown up by the
root ' {Exit.
Cres. I must then to the Grecians ?
Tro. No remedy.
Cres. A woful'Cressid 'mongst the merry
Greeks! ' '
When shall we see .again? , , i
Tro. Hear me, my love : be thou but true
of heart,— 60
Cres. I true ! how now I whatwicked deem
is this ?
Tro. Nay, we must u.se expostulation kindly,
For it is parting from us r i
I speak not' be thou true,' as fearing thee.
For I will throw my glove to Deatli himself.
That there's no maculation in thy heart:
But' be thou true,' say I, to fashion hi
My sequent protestation ; be thou true.
And I will see thee.
Cres. O, you shall Jie exposed, my lord, to
dangers - 70
As iufiuite as imminent! but I'll be true.
2ro. And I'll grow friend wHb ' danger.
Wear this sleeve. (see you ?
Cres. And you this glove. When shall I
Tro. I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels; '
To give thee nightly visitation; • j
But yet be true. '
Cres. O heavens ! ' be true f again!
Tro. Hear while I speak it, love': ;
The Grecian youths are full of quality ; ' ,
They're loving, well composed wjth'nfts' of
^ nature, r ; ;
49
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
770
TP^JlLUS AND CRESSIDA.
[Act it
Flowing and ewelltug o'er witii arcs and ex¬
ercise : ^ M
How novelty may move, and parts with per¬
son,
4ia^ a kind of godly jealousy—
Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin<—
Hakes me ateard.
Cres. O heavens ! you lave me not.
Tro. Die I a villain, then !
Ill this I do not call your faith in question
So mainly as my merit; I cannot sing,
Nor heel the high lavolt. nor sweeten talk, <
Nor phty at subtle games ; fair virtues nil.
To which the Grecians are most prompt and
pregnant; *J0
But I can tell that in each grace of these
There lurks a still and dumb-discoursive devil
That tempts most cunningly : but be not
tenmted.
Crea. Do you think I will 7
■ Ti'o. No.
But sometliingmay be done that we will not:
And sometimes we are devils to ourselves,
When we will tempt the frailty of our powers,
Presuming on their changeful potency.
AEiie. (IFit/tm] Nay, good my lord,—
I Tro. Come, kiss ; and let us part. 100
Po)-, [ Within] Brother Troilus!
Tro. , Good brother, come you hither ;
And bring jEneas and the Grecuin with you.
Cre$. My lord, will you be true 7
Tro. . Who, 17 alas, it is my vice, my fault:
Whiles others fish with craft for great opiuipu,
I witli great truth catch mere simplicity ;
Whilst some with cunning gild their copper
crowns, , , .
With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare.
Fear not ray truth : the moral of my wit lOi)
Is ' plain and true there's all the reach of it.
Enter ./Eneas, Paris, Antenor, Deiphobvs,
ami Diomedes.
Welcome, Sir Diomed ! here is the lady
Which for Auteiior we deliver you :
At the port, lord, I'll give her to thy hand.
And by the way possess thee what she is.
Entreat her fair ; and, by my soul, fair Greek,
If e'er thou stand at mercy of my sword, .
Name Cre.ssid, and thy life shall be as safe
As Priam is iu Ilion.
Dio. Fair Lady Cressid,,
So x>lease you, sivve the thanks this prince
expects;
The lustre in your eye, heaven in your cheek,
PleadsyouE fair usage ; and to Diomed 121
you shall be mistress, aud; command him
, wholly. .. [teously,
, Tro, Grecian, thou dost not use me cour-
'To shame the zeal of my petition to thee
In praising her : I tell thee, lord of Greece,
She is as far high-soaring o'er thy praises
As thou unworwv to be call'd her servant
I charge thee use her well, even for my charge;
For, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not,
lOMNira the great bulk Achilles be thy guard,
in cut thy throat. 131
Dio. 0, bo not moved. Prince Troilus :
Let me be privileged by my place and message.
To be a speaker free ; wlieu I am hence,
I'll answer to my lust: and know you, lord,
I'll nothing do on charge : to her own woith
She shall be prized ; but that yon say ' be'tso,'
I'll speak it in my spirit and honor, ' no.'
Tro. Come, to the port. I'll teU thee, Dio¬
med,
This brave shall oft make thee to hide thy
head. 139
Lady, give me your hand, and, as we walk.
To our own selves bend we our imedful talk.
[Exeunt Troilus, C'ressida. and Diomedes.
[Trumpet within.
Par, Hark ! Hector's trumpet.
yEnc. How have we spent this morning I
The prince must think me tardy and remiss.
That swore to ride before him to the field.
Par. 'Tis Troilus' fault: come, come, to
field with him.
Dei. Let us make ready straight,
y^nc. Tea, with a bridegroom's fresh
Macrity,
Let ns address to tend on Hector's heels :
The glory of our Troy doth this day lie
On his fair worth and single chivalry. 150
[Exeunt.
Scene V. The Grecian camp. Lists set out.
Enter Ajax, armed; Agamemnon, Achil¬
les, Patroclcs, HenelauS, Ulysses,
Nestor, andwthers.
Agam. Here art thou in appointment fresh
and fair.
Anticipating time with starting courage.
Give with thy trumpet a loud note to Thoy,
Thou dreadful Ajax ; that the appalled air
May pierce the head of the great combatant
And hate him hither.
Ajax. Thou, trumpet, there's my purse.
Now crack thy lungs, and split tby brazen
pipe:
Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek
Outswell the colic of puff'd yVquilon :
Come, stretcli thy chest, and let thy eyes spout
blood ; 10
Thou blow'St for Hector. [Trumpet sounds-
Ulyss. No trumpet answers.
A<Ail. 'Tis but early days.
Agam. Is not yond Diomed, with Calchas'
daughter 7
Ulyss. Tis he, I ken the manner of his
gait;
He rises on the toe : Ahat spirit of his
In .■mpiratiou lifts him from the earth.
Enter Diomedes, with Cressida.
Agam. Is this the Lady Cressid 7
Dio. Even sh<t
Agam. Most dearly welcome to the Greeks,
sweet lady.
Nest. Our general doth salute you with a
kiss.
Ulyss. Tet is the kindness but particular ;
•PEKB v.]
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
771
'T\»ere better she were kissed in. general. 21
Nrnt. And very courtly eouueel; I'll begin.
So much for Nestor.
Achil. I'll take that winter from your lips,
fair lady :
Achilles bids you welcome.
Men. I had good argument - for kissing
once. I
Patr. But that's no argument for kissing
now ;
For this t>opp'd Paris in his hardimelit,
And parted thus you and your argument.
Ulyss. 0 deadly gall, and theme of all onr
scorns ! 30
For which we lose our heads to gild his horns.
Patr. The first was Menelaus'kiss : this,
mine :
Patroclus kisses you.. ,•
Men. 0, this is trim >
Patr. Paris and I kiss e\'ermore for him.
Men. I'll have my kiss, sir. Lady, by your
leave.
Cres. In kissing, do you render or receive ?
Patr. Both take and give.
Cres. I'll make my match to live.
The kiss you take is better tliau yon give ;
Therefore no kiss..
Men. I'll give you boot, I'll give you tliree
for one. 40
Cres. You're an odd man ; give even or give
none.
Men. An odd man, lady t every man is odd.
Cres. No, Paris is not ; for you know 'tis
true.
That j'ou are odd, and he is even with you.
Men. You fillip meo' the head.
Cres. No, I'll be sworn.
Ulyss. It were no matcli, your nail against
his horn.
May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you ?
Cres. You may.
l/iyss. L do desire it. .
Cres. Why, beg, then.
Ulyss. Why then for Venus' sake, give me
a kiss.
When Helen is a maid again, and his. 60
Cres. I am your debtor, claim it when 'tis
due. • , >
Ulyss. Never's my day, and then a kiss of
you. '
i)io. Lady, a word : I'll bring you to your
father. [£xit with Cressida.
2fest. A woman of quick sense..
Ulyss. Fie, fie upon her !
There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip.
Nay, her foot speaks ; her wanton spirits look
out
At every joint and motive of her body.
O, these enconnterers, so glib of tongue, ^
That give accosting welcome ere it comes, ^
And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts
To every ticklish reader ! sefttiera down 61
For sluttish spoils of opportuniw
And daughters of the game. [Ii-umpet within.
All. 'The Trojans' trumpet.
Ayam. Yonder comes the troop.
Enter Hectob, ormcdj.iENEAs, Tboilcs, and
other Trojansi with Attendants.
/Enei Hail, all you state of Greece ! whjit
shall be done
To him that victorjr coinmands ? or do you
purpose , , '
A victor shali be known 7 will yofl'the'knights
Shall to the edge of all extremity
Pursue each other, or shall be divided
By any voice or order of the field ? 70
Hector bade ask.
Ayani. Which Vay would Hector have it?
. ^ne. He cares not; he'll obey conditions.
Achil. "lis done like Hector *, but securely
done,
A little proudly, and great deal misprizing
The knight opposed.
.dBne. If Hot Achilles, sir, ^
What is your name ?
Achil. If not Achilles, nothing.
.rEne. TheFefore Achilles : but,' whate er,
know this : .
In the exti-eniity of great and little.
Valor and pride excel themselves in Hector ;
The one almost as infinite as all, ' w
Tlie other blank as nothing. Weigh hinri weil.
And that which looks like pride is cohrtesy.
This Ajax is half made of Hector's blood :
In love whereof, half Hector staVs at home ;
Half heart, half hand, half Hector comes to
seek
ThU blended knight, hall Trojan and hal,f
Greek.
AcAfh A maideii battle, then ? O, I pef-
ceive you.
Re-enter UioMEVEs.
Ayam. Here is Sir Diomed. Go, gentle
knight.
Stand by our Ajax ; as you and Lord .£neas
Consent upon the order of their fight, 90
So be it; either to the uttermost, . f
Or else a breath : the combatants being kin.
Half stints their strife before their strokes be¬
gin. . [Ajax and Hector enter the lists.
Ulyss. They are opposed already.
Agam. What Trojan is that sanre that loolm
so heavy ?
Ulyss. TTie youngest son of Priam, a true
knight.
Not yet mature, yet matchless, firm of word,
Speaking in deeds anid deedless in his tongue ;
Not soon provoked nor being provoked soon
calm'd:
His he.nrt and hand both ojren and both free ;
For what he has he gives, what thinks he
shows ; . 101
Yet gives he not till judgment guide his
bounty.
Nor digitifies an impure thought with breath ;
Mairly as Hector, but more dangerous ;
For liector in his blaze of wrath subscribes
To tender objects, but he in heat of action
Is mere vindicative than jealous love •
They call him Troilus, and on him erect
■772
ritOlLVS AND OHESSWA.
' t-A^Cf IT.
A second h^e, as fairly buitt as HectOr.
Thus says iKneas ; one that knows the yonth
Even to his liiuhes, and with privalje soul 111
Did in great Ilioii thus translate him to me.
[Alanm.. Hector and AjaxfiyM.
Aqam. Tliey are in action.
. N^t. .l^pw, Ajax, hold thine own)
Tro. ., Hector, thou sleep'st;
Awake tliee!'
Ajiim. His blows are well disposed; there,
Ajax !
Dio. You must no more. [Trumpets cease.
ASne. Princes, enough, so please you.
Ajn:(. I. an^ not warm yet; let us fight
again.
Dio. As Hector ple.ases.
fleet. Why, then will I no more :
Thou art, great lord, my father's sister's son,
A cousin-germau to great Priam's seed , 121
The obligatiun of our blood forbids
A gory emulation 'twixt us tw^iin :
Were thy coinmixtion Greek and Trojan so
That thou gouldst say ' This hand is Grecian
all.
And this is Trojan ; the sinews of this leg
All,Greek, and this all Troy ; my. mother's
blood , f .
Runs on the dexter cheek, and tliis sinister
Bounds in my father's i' by Jove mnltipotent.
Thou slioLildstno't bear from me ^ Greekish
member 130
Wherein my. sword had not impressnre made
Of our rank feud : but the just gods gainsay
That any drop thou borrow'dst from thy
mother, , ,
My sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword
Be drain'd ! Let me embrace thee, Ajax :
By liim that tliuiiders, thou hast lusty arms ;
Hector would have them fall upon him thus :
Clousiu, all honor to thee !
Ajax, I thank thee, Hectof:
'Thou art too gentle and too free a man !
I came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence 140
A greiit addition earned in thy death.
fleet. Not Neoi>toleimis So mirable.
On whose bright crest Fame with her loud'st
Oyes
Cries 'This is he,' Uould promise to himsesif
A thought of added honor torn from Hector.
AEne. There is expectance here from both
the sides,
What further you will do.
fleet. ' We'll answer it;
The issue is embracement: Ajax; farewell.
Ajtix. If I migiit in entreaties find success—
As seld I have tlie chance—I would desire 150
My famous cousin to our Grecian'tents.
•Dio. 'Tis Agamemnon's wish, and great
'Achilles
Doth long to see unarm'd the valiant Hector.
' fleet. JEaeas, call my brother Troilus to
me.. .
And signify this loving interview
"To the expecters of our Trojan part!
Desire them home. Give me thy nand, my
eousin; ' - ' ,
I will go eat with thee aitd 'see your knights.
Ajax. Great Agamemnon comes to meet us
here.
fleet.' The worthiest of them tell me hame
by name ; lOQ
But for Achilles, mine own searching eyes'
Shall find him by is large and (lortly size.
Ayam. Worthy of arms ! as welcome as to
one ■ ' '
That would be rid of such an enemy ;
Butthat'sno welcome : understand more dear.
What's past and what's to come Is strew'd
with husks
■ And formless ruin of oblivion ;
But in this extant moment, faith and troth,
Strain'd purely from all hollow bias-drawing.
Bids thee, with most divine integrity, 170
From heart of very heart, great Hector, wel¬
come.
fled. I thank thee', most imperious 'Aga¬
memnon. ... 1
Ayam. [To Troihis] My well-famed lord
of Troy, no less to you. -
Men. Let me confirm my princely brother's
greeting :
Yott brace of warlike brothers, welcome fiither.
Hect. Who must we answer ? '
AEne. . The noble Menelaus.
Hect. O, you, my lord ? by Mars his gaunt¬
let, thanks 1
Mock not, that I affect the untraded odth ;
Your quondam wife swears still by Venus'
glove :
She's well, but bade me not commend her to
you. ' 180
Men. Name her not now, sir ; she's a deadly
theme. '
Hect. O, pardon ; I offend.
Nest. I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee
oft \ '
Laboring for destiny make cruel way ' ■
Through ranks of Greekish youth, and I have
seen thee.
As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed.
Despising many forfeits and subdneraeuts,
When thou hast hung thy advanced sword'i'
the air.
Not letting it decline on the declined,
Tlrat I have said to some my standers by 190
' Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life ! *
And I have seen tliee pause and- Like thv
breath.
When that a ring of Greeks have hemm'dthee
in.
Like an Olympian wrestling: this have I seen;
But this thy countenance, still lock'd'in steel,
I never saw till now. I knew thy grandsire,
And once fought with him : he was a soldier
good
But, by great Mars, the captain of ns all,
Never like thee. Let an old man embrace
thee ;
An^ worthy warrior, welcome to onr tents.
ASrut. 'Tis the old Nestor. 201
Hect. Let .me embrace thee, good old chron¬
icle^
ScE.N*E V.|
Ifhat liast ' so long walk'd haiid in hand with
time : •
Most reverend Nestor, T am glad to clasj) thefe.
Nest. I would my arms could match thee hi
contention, ' ,
As they contend with thee in dourtesy.
Heel. I wonld they could. • '
Nest. Ha!
By this wliite beard,' I'ld fight with thee to¬
morrow.
Well, welcome, welcome !—I have seen the
time. 210
XJli/ss. I woniiei^ now how yonder city
stands
Wlien we ha ve here her base and pillar by hs.
Hect.. ■ I know your favor. Lord Ulysses,
' ' " well. ' ^
Ah, sir, there's' many w Greek and'Trojan
, dead;
Since first t ^aw yourself and Diomed
In ilion, on your Greekisli embassy.
Ulyss. Sir, I foretold you then what would
' ensue : ■ ' ' i I
My prophecy fa bu"; half his journey yet; '
For j-onder '.vfilc, that "porfi.:; front your town,
Yond towers, '..'ivtec 'wautou,.topA do .buss the
I -clouds,. 220
Must kiss their own feet. , |
Hect, I must not believe you ;
There they stead yet, and modestly I tliiiik, '
The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost >
A drop of Grecian blood : tlie end crowns all.
And that old commou arbitrator, Time, i
• Will one day end it. • '
Ulyss. So to him we leave it.
Most gentle and most valiant Hector, 'wel-i
come: ,
After tile general, t beseech you next
To feast with me and iee me at my tent.
Achil. 1 shall forestall tliee. Lord Ulysses,
thou! .230
, Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee ; ;
r have with exact view perused thee, Hector,
And quoted joint by joint.
Hect. ' ■ ' Is this Achillea ?
AchU. I am Achilles. '' ' ' '
Hect. Stand fair, I pray thee: let me'lobk'
on thee. ' '
Achil. Behold thy fill.'
Hect. ' Nay, I have done already.
Achil. Thou art too brief : I will the second
time, , ■ ^ 1 I
As 1 Would buy thee, view thee limb by limb.
Hect. 0, like a book of sjiort thou'lt read
me o'er; ' . » i
But there's more in me than thoU under-
stand'st. ' ' ' ' " • ' 240
■Why dost thou so oppress me with thine eye ?
JLchil. Tell me, yon heavens, in which part
of his body i' . ' '
Shall I destroy him 7" whether there, or tftere,
or there ? '■ ■ ■ » I
That I may give the local wobnd kname ,
And make distinct the ve^ breach whereout |
Hector's great spirit flew ; answer ' me,'
■ heavens f <
Hect. It would'discredit the blest gods,
,proud man, _ ■ v i i -
To antwer such a question : staiid again: '
Think'st thou to catcii my life so pleasantly
As to preuominate in nice conjecture' 250
Where thou wilt hit me dead r l
Achil. J tell thee, yea.
Hect. Wert thou an oracle to tell me so,. ■
rid not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee
well ; , ,• i ■
For I'll not kill thee there, nor there, not
there ;
But, by the forge that stithied Mars his helm,
I'll kill thee every where, yea', o'er and o'er.
You wisest Grecians, pardon me, this brag;
His insolence draws folly from my 'lips ;
But I'll endeavor deeds to match these words.
Or may I never— ' '■
Ajax. ' Do'not Chdfe thee, cousin :' 2()0
Abd you, Achilles, let these threats alone.
Till accident or purpose bring you to't:
You may have every day enough of Hector,
If you have stomach ; the general.stjite, I fear.
Can Scarce entreat you to be odd with him.
Hect. I pray you, let us see you in the
■ field: ^
We have had pelting wars, since you refused
The Grecians' cause.
AchU! Dost'tliou entreat me. Hector 7
To-morrow do I meet thee, fell as jdeath ;
To-night all friends. ' ^
Hect: Tliy hand upon tiiat match. 270
A'jam. First, all yon peers of (^teece, go to
my tent;' '' ,
There in the' full convive,'we : afterwardsj
As Hector's.leisure and your bounties shall''
Concur togetiier. severally entreat him. ' '
' Beat loud the tabourines, let the trumpets
blow,
That this great soldier may his welcome know.
[Exeunt all except Troitus and Ulysses.
Tro. My Lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech
you.
In what place of the field doth Calchas keep 7
Ulyss. At Menelaus' tent, most princely
Trorlus: ' ' ' ' 279
Tliere Diomed doth feast with hirh to-night j
Who neither looks upon thelieaveri nor earth,
But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view
On the fair Cressid. '
Tro. Shall I, sweet lord, be bopnd to you
so much, .
After we part from Agamemnon s tent.
To bring me thither 7
Ulyss. ' ■ You shall command me, sir.
As gentie tell me, of what honor w.rs ''
This Cressida in Troy 7 Had she no lover
' there , ,
That wails her absence 7
Tro. O, sir, to such as boasting show their
scars 290
A mock is due. Will you walk on, niy lord 7
She was beloved, she loved : ■ she, is, and
doth : • , I ■ ■
But still sweet love is food for fortune's tooth.
' [Ex^nt.
fROtW^AM
774
ACT V.
ScEHE L 2%e Grecian camp. Before Achilles'
tent.
Enter Achilles and Patboclcs.
Achil. I'll heat his Mood with Greekish
wine to-night,
Which with my scimitar I'll cool to-morrow.
Patroclus. let us feast him to the height.
Patr. Here comes Thersites.
Enter Thebsites.
AchU. How now, thou core of envy !
Thou crusty batch of nature, what's the news ?
Jher. Why, thou picture of what thou
seemest, and idol of idiot worshippers, here's
a letter for thee.
Achil. From whence, fragment ?
Ther. Wliy, thou full dish of fool, from
TrOT. • 10
Pair, Who keeps the tent now 7
Ther. The surgeon's box, or the patient's
wound.
Patr. Well said, adversity! and what need
these tricks ?
Ther. Prithee, be silent, boy ; I profit not
by thy talk i thou art thought to be Achilles'
male varlet.
Patr. Male varlet, you rogue! what's
that ?
Ther. Why, his masculine whore. Now,
the rotten diseases at tlie south, the guts-grip¬
ing, ruptures, catarrhs, loads o' gravel i'
the back, letliargies, cold palsies, raw eyes,
dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lung^ bladders
full of imposthume, sciaticas, limekilns i' the
palm, incurable boiie-ache, and the livelled
fee-simple of the tetter, take and take again
sucli preposterous discoveries !
Pair. Why thou damnable box of envy,
thou, what meanest thou to curse thus ? SO
Ther. Do I curse thee ?
Patr. Why, no, you ruinous butt, you
wlioreson iudi.stiuguishable cur, no.
Ther. No! why art thou thmi exasperate,
thou idle immaterial skein of sleave-silk, thou
green sarcenet flap for a sore eye, thou tassel
of a prodigal's purse, thou? Ah, how the
poor world is pestered with such waterflies,
diminutives of nature !
Patr. put, gall! 40
Thet\ Finch-egg !
Achil. My sweet Patroclus, t am thwgited
quite
From my great purpose in to-morrow's battle.
Here is a letter from Queen Hecuba,
A token from her daugliter, my fair love,
Both taxing me and gaging me to keep •
An oath that I have sworn. I will not break it;
Fall Greeks ; fail fame ; honor or go or stay ;
My major vow lies here, this I'll ofey.
Come, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent:
This night in banqueting must all be spent. 51
Away, Patroclus!
[Exeunt Achilles and Patroclus.
Ther. With too much blood and too little
[Act v.
brain, these two may run mad ; but, if witk
too much brain and too little blood they do,
I'll be a curer of madmen. Here's Agumem-
non, an honest fellow enough and one that
loves quails ; but he has not so mucli brain
as earwax : and the goodly transformation
of Ju|>iter there, his brother, the bull,—the
l>rimitive statue, and oblique memorial of
cuckolds ; a thrifty shoMug-liorn in a chain,
hanging at his brother's leg,—to what form
but that he is, should wit larded with malice
and malice forced with wit turn him to ? To
an ass, were nothing ; he is both ass and ox :
to an ox, were nothing ; he is both ox and ass.
To be a dug, a mule, a eat, a fitchew, a t(^,
a lizard, an owl, a puttock, or a herring with¬
out a roe, I would not care ; but to be Mene-
laus, I would conspire against destiny. Ask
me not what I would be, if I were not Ther¬
sites ; for I care not to be the louse of a lazar,
so 1 were not Meuelaus! Hey-day ! spirits
and fires!
Enter Hector, Tkoilus, Ajax, Aoambmhoh,
Ulvsses, Nestob, Mbmelaos, and Dio-
mkues, with lights.
Agam, We go wrong, we go wrong. '
' Ajax. No, yonder 'tis ;
There, where we see the lights.
Hect. I trouble you.
Ajax. No, not a whit.
Ulyss. Here comes himself to guide yon.
Re-enter Achilles.
Achil. Welcome, brave Hector ; welcome,
princes all.
.Agam. So now^ fair prince of Troy, I bid
good night.
Ajax commands the guard to tend on yon.
Hect. Tlianks and good night to the
Greeks' general. 80
Man. Good night, my lord.
Hect. Good night, sweet lord Menelaus.
•Ther. Sweet draught:' sweet' quoth'a !
sweet sink, sweet sewer.
Achil. Good night and welcome, both at
once, to those
That go or tarry.
Agam. Good night
[Exeunt Agamemnon and Menelaus.
Achil. Old Nestor tarries ; and you too,
Diomed,
Keep Hector company an hour or twa
Dio. I cannot, lord ; I have important bus¬
iness.
The tide whereof is now. Good night, great
Hector. 90
Hect. Give me 3'our hand.
Ulyss. [Aside to Troilas'] Follow his torch;
he goes to Calchas' tent:
ril keep you company.
ZVo. Sweet sir, j'on honor me.
Hect. And so, good night.
[Exit Diomedes; Ulysses and Troilus
following.
Achil.. Come, come, enter my tent.
[Exeunt Achilles, Hector, Ajax,, and Nestor,
, TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
SCBKB il.]
77ter- That aaine Diome(r8 a false-hearted
rogue, most unjust knave ; I will no more
tr^ him when he leers than 1 will a serpent
when he hisses ; he will spend his mouth, and
rmise, like Brabbler the hound ; but when
performs, astronomers foretell it; it is pro¬
digious, there will come some change ; the sun
borrows of the moon, when Diomra keeps his
word. I will rather leave to see Hector, than
not to dog him ; they say he keeps a Trojan
drab, ana uses the traitor Calchas'tent: Til
after. Notliing but lechery ! all incontinent
varlets 1 [Exit.
Scene II. The same. Before Calcha*' lent.
Enter Diomedes.
Dio. What, are you up here, ho ? speak.
Cal. nriihtn] Wlio calls ?
Dio. Diomed. Calchas, I think. Where's
your daughter ? .
Cal. [WtiAinj She comes to you.
Enter Troilus and Ulysses, at a distance;
ctf'ter them, Thersit^.
Vtyss. Stand lirhere the torch may not dis¬
cover us. '
Enter Cressu>a.
Tro. Cressid comes forth to him.
Dio. ' How now, my charge 1
Cresi Now, my sweet guardian ! Hark, a
word with you. [ Whispers.
TrO. Yea, so ramiliar !
Ulyss. She will sing any man at first sight.
Ther. And any man may sing her, if he
cai) take her cliff ; she's noted. 11
Dio. Will you remember ?
Ores. Remember ! yes.
' Dio. Nay, but do, then ;
And letyourmiud be coupl^ with your words.
Tro. What should she remember? ■'
IByss. List
Cres. Sweet honey Greek, tempt me no
more to folly.
Ther. Roguery !
Dio. Nay, then,— 20
Cres. ,ni tell you what,—
Dh. Foh, foil! come, tell a pin ; you are
forsworn.
Cres. In faith, I caunot: what would you
have me do ?
Ther. A juggling trick, — to be secretly
open.
Dio. What did you swear you would be¬
stow on me ?
Cres. I prithee, do not hold me to mhie
oath ;
Bid me do any ^hing but that, sweet Greek.
Dio. Good night
Tro. ' Hold, patience ! ^
tJlyss. How now, Trojan .' 30
Cres. Diomed,—
Dio. No, no, good night: I'll be yoUt fool
no more.
ZVo. Thy better Bust
lib
Cres. Hark, one word in your ear.
Tro. O plague and madness !
Vlyss. You are movedj prince ; let us de¬
part, 1 pray you.
Lest your displeasure should enlarge itself
To wrathful terms : this place is dangerous ;
The time right deadly ; 1 beseech yon, go.
Tro. Behold, I pray you t 39
Uiyss. Nay. good my lord, go off :
You flow tagreat distraction ; come, my lord.
Tro. I pray thee, stay.
Ulyss. You have not patience ; come.
Tro. I pray you, stay ; by hell and all
hell's torments,
I will not speak a word !
Dio. And so, good night.
Cres. Nay, but you part in anger.
Tro. Doth that grieve thee ?
0 witheFd truth !
Ulyss. Why, how now, lord !
T-o. By Jove,
1 will be patient
Cres. Guardian !—why, Greek;! .
Dio. Foh, foh I adieu ; you palter.
Cres. lu faith, I do not: come hither once
again. '
Ulyss. You shake, my lord, at something:
will you go? 50,.
You will break out.
Tro. She strokes his cheek !
Ulyss. Come, come..
Tro. Nay, stay j by Jove, I wiU not speak
a word :
There is between my will and all offences
A guard of, patience : stay a little while.
Tier. How the devil Luxury, with his fat
rump and potato-finger; tickles these together!
Fry, lechery, fry 1-
Dio. But will you, then ?
Cres. In faith, I wili, la ; never trust me
, else.
Dio. Give me some token for the surety of
it. I 60
Cres. I'll fetch you one. [Exit.
Ulyss. You have sworn patience.
Tro. Fear me not, sweet lord ;
' I will not be my.self, nor have cognition
Of what I feel : 1 am all patience. *
Re-enter Cressida.
Ther. Now the pledge ; now, now, now I
Cres. Here, Diomed, keep this sleeve.
Tro,' O beauty I where is thy faith ?
Ulyss. My lord,—
Tro. I will l)e patient: outwardly I will.
Cres. You look upon tliat sleeve ; behold
it well.
He loved me—O false wench !—Give't me
again. 70
Dio. Whose was't ?
Cres. It is no matter, now I have't again.
I will not meet with you to-morrow night:
I prithee, Diomed, visit me no more.
Ther. Now she sharpens : well said, wbeti
stone 1 ..." I .
Dio. 1 shall have it . .. .. „
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
776
Cres. ' 'What, tiiis ? '
Dio. ■ Ay, that'.
CVe«. O, all you godal O pretty, pretty
pledge! '
Thy master now lies thinking in his bed '
Of thee and me, and sighs, and takes my glove.
And gives memorial dainty kisses to it, 8ft
As 1 kiss thee. N.ay, do not snatch it from me;
He that takes that doth take my heart 'withal.
Din. I had your heart before, tliis follows it.
Ti'o. I did swear patience.
Greg. You shall not have it/ Diomed ; faith,
you shall not ;
FU give you something else.
Dio. I will have this s whose was it?
Greg. It is no matter.
^ Dio. Come, tell me whose it was.
' Greg. 'Twas one's thjit loved me better
than you will.
But, now you have it, take it.
£Wo. Whose was it ? 'ftO
Greg. By all Diana's waiting-women yond,
And by herself, f will hot tell you whose.
Dio. To-morrow will I'wear it on my helm,
And grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it.
Tro. Wert thou the devil, and :worest it
■ - ' on thy horn, I i '
It should be challenged.
Greg. Well, well, 'tis done, 'tis past: and.
yet it is not; '
I will not keep my word.
Dio. Why, then, fhrewell;
Thou never shalt mock Diomed again.
Greg. You sliall not'go: one cannot speak a'
word, 100
But it straight starts yon.
Dio. I do not like this fooling.
Ther. Jfor I, by Pluto: but tliat that likes
not you pleases me best.
Dioi What, shall I come ? the 'hour ?
Gres. Ay, come :—0 Jove !—do come :—
shall be plagued. •
Dio. Farewell till then.
Greg, Good night: I prithee, come.
[Etit Diomedeg.
Troilus, farewell! one eye yet looks on thee;
But with my heait the other eye doth see.
Ah, poor our sex ! this fault in us I find,
The error of our eye directs our mind : 110
What error leads must err; O, then conclude
Minds sway'd by eyes are full of turpitude.
: J [Exit.
Ther. A proof of strength she could not
publish more.
Unless shesaid ' My mind isnowtum'd whore.'
Ulygg. All's done, my lord.
Tro. It is.
Ulygg.' .• . Why stay we, tlten ?
Tro. To make a recordation tO'my soul
Of every syllable that here was spoke,
But if I tell how these two did co-acti
Shall 1 not lie in publishing a truth ? ;
Sith yet'there is a credmice in my heart.. , 1301.
Amespeianee so obstinately strong,.: .
That doth invert the attest of eyes and ears.
As if those organs bad deoeptious fungtions,.
I [ACT T.
Created only to calumniate.
Was Cressid here ?
Ulygg-. I' . ( . I cannot conjure, Trojan.. i
Tro. She was not, sure.
Ulygg. ■ ■ Most sure she was.,
Tm. Why, my negation bath no taste of
- madness.
Ulygg. Nor mine, my lord;, Cressid was
here but now.
Tro. Let it not be believed for womaiiUoodl
Think, we had mothers ; do not gi\'e advan¬
tage I I .-,1 J, , 130
To .stubborn critics, apt, without .a theme.
For depravation, to square the general sex
By Cressid's rule : rather tliiuk this not Cres-.
sid. ,
Ulygg. ^Vhat hath she done, prince, that
* can soil our mothers ?
Tro. Nothing at all, nuless that this were
she. ' '
Ther. Will he sw,agger himself Out on 's
own eyes ?' n • >
. Tro. This she ? no, this is Diomed's Cres ,
" sida :
If beauty have a soul, this is not she ;
If sonls guide vows, if vows be sauoti monies.
If sanctimony be tlie gods' delight. , 140
If there be rule in unity itself.
This is not she. O madness of discourse,
That cause sets up with and against itself 1
Bi-fold authority 1 .where reason can revolt,
Without perdition, and loss assume all reason
Without revolt: tliis is, and is not, Cressid.
Within ray soul there doth conduce a fight
Of this straugo nature that a thing iuseiiarate
Divides more wider than the sky and earth,
And yet ttie spacious breadth of tliis division
Admits no orifex for a ixiint as .subtle 131
As Ariacliiio's broken woof to enter.
Instance, O instance I strong as Pluto's gates;
Cressid is mine, tied with tlie bonds of heaven;
Instance, O instance I strong as hear'cn itself ;
The bonds of lieaven are slipp'd, dissolved,
r and Imised ;
And with anotlier knot, five-linger-tied.
The fractions of her faith, orts of her love,
The fragments, scraps, the bits and greasy
relics. 159
Of her o'er-eaten faith, are bonud to Diomed.
Ulygg. May worthy Troilus be lialf attach'd
With that which here his passion doth ex¬
press ?
3Vo. Ay, Greek; and that shall be divulged
well
In characters as red aa Mars bis heart
Inflamed with 'V'euus : never 4id young man
fancy i • , ., »
With so eternal and so flx'd a soul.
Hark, Greek : as much as I do Cressid love,f
.So much by weight hate 1 hm: Diomed :
That sleeve is mine that he'll bear on his helm;
Were it a casque composed by 'Vulcan's skill.
My sword should bite it LJioti.&e dreadful
spout.,; U I ; . 171
Wliich sbipmen do the 'humcano call, ,
ConstriugM in mass by 1])$ fdioighty fitn.
TROIim ASD GRESaiDJL
SCBNE /ll.]
Sh^ dizzy -wifli inore elamor Neptune's '
In his descent than sliall my prompted sword
Falliiift on Diorrhed. • . ; • ■,
Ther. He'li tivkie it tor his concopyi -
•Tro. O Crtssid ! 0 'false 'Cressidl faite, '
false, false! ' - " ■ ,'j ■ i • n j
Let all untruths stand by thy stained name,
And they'll seem glorious. ;
Ulyss. Oj contain yonrself;
Tour passion draws eais hither. 181
Eater JEsvjiS. ' ' '
v£7>e. ■' I have l^en seeking Vou this hout,
my lord: _ . ' "
Hectt^r, by this, is arming liim in Troy;
Ajax, your guard, stays to conduct you home.
.Have witii yog, prince. My courteous
. , hu'd, adieu. • '
Farewell, revolted fair ! and, Diomed,
Stand fa^, and wear a Ciistle dn thy heUd ! ,
ril bring you to the ^tes.' '
2V9., Accept distracted tlianfe.
1 . Troilxis, ACneas, and Vlysset.
tTher. VTould I could meet that ro^ue Dib^
med ! t would croak like a raven ; i would
bode, I wopld bode. Patrociiis will give md
anything' tor the intelligence of this whore ;.
the parrot will nut do more for an almond than
he for a oo^modious drab. lechery, lechery j
stUi, warn and lechery; nothing else holds
fashion.: a burning deyii fake them ! \ExU:
Scene III. Troy. Before PHafn'd paktco.
Enter Heot6r and AndkoJiache;" '
, AmL When was my lord do much yngently
temper'd, J
To stop his ears against admonishment'?'" ' ' I
Unarm, unarm, and do not fight to-day. '
Hect., you train me to offend jrou ; gelfyou '
in : ' ■ ' '
By all the everlasting gods, I'll go ! .' ■ i
And. My dreams will, sure, proydtomluOns
to the day. '
jHcjC^ No piore, I say. m • ,
.Enter CASSANDRa^
. Cos.. Where is my brother Hector ?
'Aim.' Here, Sister ; arm d, and bloody far
intent s ' ,
Consort with me. in loud and dekf petition',. V
Pursue we him on knees ; for I have dream'd
Of bloody turbulence, and this whole night
Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of
slaughter. ' , ■ '
Cos. 0,'tis true.' "
Beet ■ ' HoI bidmytrumpStsoUnd'!
pas.. 'No notes of sally, foS the' heavens,
sweet brother. ' ^ ' •' ' ' '"
Beet. Be gone, I say; the gods' hfave heard''
me swear. . .
Cos. The gods arte' deafdfa hot and pfeeteish
vowsv " , • , , .ia -
They are polluted offerings, more abhorr'd
T%au Spotted Uvms in the'saoriflce. <>; 1 . ,1
And. O, be persuaded 1 do not eount it
• .ui ■ >1 h r'4j 1 " 1 n*.
i V
To hurt by being just: it is as lawful, 20
For we would give much, to use violent thpfts^ 1
And rob in. the behalf of charity.
Cas. It is the purpose that mgkes strong
the vow; •- , ,
But vows to every purpose must not hold ;
Unarm, sweet Hector. i i 1
' Beet. Hold you still, I say;
Mine honor ke^rs the weather of my fate: 1
Life every man holds dear; but.the brave man
Holds honor far more preciousrdear than life.'
^ " Enter TRdii/Us.
How now, young man! mean's! thop to fight
to-day ? . j'l J < 1 .1
And. Cassandra, call n^ father to persuade.
. lExit Cassandra.. (10
, Beet. No, faith, young Troilus ; ,doff thy
. harness, youth ;
i am to-day i' the vein of chivalry:
Let grow thy sinews till tlieir knots be sti'ong
And tempt not yet the brushes of the war.
Unarm tnee, go, and doubt thou not, brave
boy, f . , ,
I'll-stand to-day for thee and me and Troy,
j '21v>.' Brother, you have a vice of mercy in 1
..' you, ■ il I , , ]
Whichibetter fits a lion titan a man. > |
Beet. What vice is that, good Troilus?
chide me fCr it.- ■ ■ ,
Tro. Wlten many times the captive Grecian
' i'fails,' " I' It ' ,40
Fven in the fan and wind of your fair sword.
Ton bid them rise, and live.
Beet.i Oyftis fair play..
I Tro. Fool's play, by heaven, Hector.
I Beet. How, noiw I .how now I, ,, . ,
TVo. I For tlie love of all the gods.
Let's leave the hermit pity with our mothers,
And when we have our armors buckled on,
The venom'di vengeance ride upon our swords,,,
'Spur them to ruthfui work, rein them, from
ruth. I ■' il, . .
I Beet. Fie, savage, fie !
Tro. 'I. i -. Hector, then'tis wars.
, Beet. Troilus, I would not have yon figlit
' to-day. 50 '
SYo. • 'Who should withhold me.? ,, 1
Not fate, obedience, nor tlie baud of Mars
Beckoning with fiery trun<^eon my retire; |
Not Priamus and Hecuba on knees,
Their eyes o'ergalled with recour.se of tears ;
Nor yon, my brotiier, with, your true sword
drawn, ■ • . , . \
Opposed ito hrader me, should stop my wayn
But by my ruin.
Re-enter Cassandra,' tcffa priaii.
Cas. Lay hold upon him, Priam,,held him,
f. ■' fast: .1 ' 1
He is tliy crutch ; now if thon lose thy stay, . (
ThoU'On hira leaning, and ail Troy on ^ee, 61,
Fall all together. , , ■ r >
' Pri, .Come, Hector, come, go back'
Tilly wife hath dream'd ; thy mothft SaUt
( U-0-' '
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
778
TRQILUS AND CRESSIDA.
r 'Act t.
Cassandra doth foresee ; and I myself
Am like a |>rophet suddenly enrapt
To tell thee that this day is ominous:
Therefore, come back.
Hect. iEneas is a-fleld ;
And 1 do stand engaged to many Greeks,
Even in the faith of valor, to appear
This moniing to them.
Pri. Ay, but thou shalt not go..
Hect I must not break my faith. 71
Ton kimw me dutiful: therefore, dear sir,
Let me not shame respect; but give me leave
To take that course by your consent and voice.
Which you do here forbid me, royal Priam-
Cos. 0 Priam, yield not to him !
And. Do not, dear father.
Hect. Andromache, I em offended with you:
Upon the love yon bear me, get you in.
\^Ezit Andromache.
7ro. This foolish, dreaming, superstitions
girl
Makes all these bodements.
Cos. O, farewell, dear Hector I
Look, how thou diest! look, how thy eye turns
mle !• 81
L6ok, now thy wounds do bleed at many vents!
Hark, how Troy roars ! how Hecuba cries out!
How poor Andromache shrills her dolors
forth I
Behold, distraction, frenzy and amazement.
Like witless antics, one another meet,
And all cry. Hector ! Hector's dead 1 O Hec¬
tor !
Tro. Away ! away !
Cos. Farewell: yet, soft! Heetoi^ I take
my leave:
Thou dost thyself and all oiir Troy deceive.
[Exa.
Hect. You are amazed, my liege, at her ex- '
claim: 91
Go in and cheer the town : we'll forth and
fight.
Do deeds worth praise and tell you them at
niglit.
Pri. Farewell: the gods with safety stand
about thee !
[Exeunt severally Priam and Hector. Alarums.
Tro. They are at it, hark! Proud Diomed,
believe, ,
I come to lose my arm, or win my sleeve.
Enter Pandakus.
Pan. D^ you hear, my lord 7 do yon heas?
Tro. What now 1
Pan. Here's a letter come from yond poor
gtfl.
Tro. Let me read. 100
Pan. A whoreson tisick, a whoreson rascally
tisick so troubles me, and the foolish fortune of
this girl; and what one thing, wliat another, that
I shall leave you one o' these days: and 1 have a
rheum in mine eyes too, and such an ache in my
bones.that. unless a man were cursed, I cannot
tell what to think on't. What says she there?
Tro. Words, words, mere words, no matter
from the heart;
The effect doth operate another way. , 10$
[Tearing the letter.
Go, wind, to wind, there turn and change to¬
gether.
My love wltlt words and errors still she feeds;
But edifies another with her deeds.
[Exeunt severally
ScBNE IV. Pitting between Troy and the Gre¬
cian camp. '
Alarums: excursions. Enter Thersites.
Ther. Now they are" clapper-clawing one
another; I'll go look on. That dissembling
abominable varlet, Diomed, has got that same
scurvy doting foolish young knave's sleeve of
Troy there In his helm : I would fain see them
meet; that that same young Trojan ass, that
loves the whore tliere, might send that Greek-
ish whore-masterly villain, with the sleeve,
back to the dissembling luxurious drab, of a
sleeveless errand. O' the t'other side, the
policy of those crafty swearing rascals, that
stale old mouse-eaten dry cheese, Nestor, and
tliat same dog-fox, Ulysses, is not proved
worthy a blackberry : they set me up, in
policy, that mongrel cur, Ajax, against that
dog of as bad a kind, Achilles : and now is
the cur Ajax prouder than the cur Achilles, .
and will not arm to-day ; whereupon the Gre¬
cians begin to proclaim barbarism, and policy
grows into an ill opinion. Soft I here comes
sleeve, and t'other.
Enler Diombde!^ TroiiiUS following.
Tro. Fly not; lex shouldst thou take the
river Styx, ". S!0
I would swim after.
Dio. Thou dost miscall retire :
I do not fly, but advantageous care
Withdrew me from the odds of multitude :
Have at thee ! • >
Ther. ■■ Hold thy whore, Grecian !—now for
thy whore, Trojan !—now the sleev'e, npw the
'sleeve! ' ..
[Exeunt Troilus and Diomedes, fighting.
Enter Hector.
' Hect. What art thou, Greek ? art thou for
Hector's match ?
Art thou of blood and honor ?
Ther. No, no, I am a rascal; a scurvy rail¬
ing knave : a very filthy rogue. 31
Hect. I do beheve thee : live. [Exit.'
Ther. God-a-mercy, that thou ■wilt believe
roe ; but a plagne break thy neck for frighting
me ! What's become of the wenching rogues 7
I think they have swallowed one another : I
would laugh at that miracle : yet, in a sort,
lechery mtts Itself. Pll seek them. [Exit
Scene V. Another part of the plains,
. Enter Diosiedes and a Servant.
Dio. Go, go, my servant, take tho^ T/ojlim'
horse I ' ,' '
Present the fair steed to my lady Ci^said:
6O£SE VII.]
rnoitus AND CRESSWA.
Teilowj comnieDd my service to her beauty ;
Tell her 1 have chastised the amwoas Trojan,
And am her knight by proof,
8erv. I go, my lord. \Exit.
Enter Agambmnon.
Agam. Renew, renew ! The fierce Poly-
damas ' ' '
Hath beat down Menou : bastard Haigarelon
Hath Dbretis prisoner.
And stands colossus-wise, waving his beam.
Upon the i)ashed corses of the kings 10
Epistrophtts and Ceding ; Poly:tenes is slain,
Amphimachus .and Thoas deadly hurt,
Patroclus ta'en or slain, and Palamedes '
Sore hurt and bruised: the dreadful. Sagittary
Appals our numbers : ItastS we, Dioined,
To reinforcement, or yre jierish all.
M ; Enter Nkstob.
JlTesL Go, bear Patrodus' body to Achilles;
And bid the snaii>i>aced Ajax arm for shame.
There is a thousand Hectors ill the field :
Now here he fights on Galathe his horse, 20
And there lacks work ; anon he's there afoot,
And there they fly or die, like scaled sculls
Before the belchuig whale ; then is be yonder,
And there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge,
Fall down before him, like the mower's swath:
Hei;e, there, and every where, he leaves and
takes, '
Dexterity so obeying appetite ,
That What he will he does, and does so much
That proof is call'd impossibility
Enter UnyssEs.
Uly»$, O, courage, courage, princes 1 great
Achilles 30
b arming, weeping; cursing, vowing ven¬
geance:
Patroclus' wounds have roused liis drowsy
blood.
Together With his mangled Myrmidons,
That noseless, haudless, hack'd and chipp'd,
come to him,
Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend
And ^mHatmouth,andhei8armMaud at it.
Roaring for Troilus, who hath done to-day
Mad Mid fantastic execution,
Kngaguig and redeeming of himself ' t
With sura a careless force and forceless care
As if that luck, in very spite of cunning, ' 41
Bade him win aB.
J , Enter Xj ML.
Ajax. Troilus! thOttdbwardTroilns I [AWf.
JH«. 'I Ay, there, there.
ATaE.' So, so, we draw together.
Enter AcHiLiiES.
AcJul. Wheteb this Hector?
Come; come, thou boy-queller. show thy face;
Know what it is to meet Achilles angfy :
Hector! Where's Hector ? I will none but
Hector. ^ lExeunt,
Scene VI. Another part of the plains.
Enter Ajax.
Ajax. Troilus, tliou coward Troilns, show
thy head !
Enter DioMedeS.
Did. Troilus, I say i' wficre's Troilus'/
Ajax. What wouldst thou?
Dio. I would correct him.
Ajax. Were I the general, thou < shouidst
have my ofllce
Ere that correction. Troilus, I say ! what,
Troilus 1 ,
Enter Thoilds.
Trd. O traitor Diomed ! tfim thy false fac«L
thou traitor.
And pay thy life thou owest me for my horse
Dio. Ha, art thou there ?
Ajax. I'll fight, with him aloiie : stand,
Diomed. 9
Dio. He is my jirize ; I will not look upon.
Tro. Come, both you cogging Greeks;
have at you both ! [Exennt, fyhting.
Enter Hbctob.
Hect. Yea, Troiius ? 0, well fought, my
youngest brother I
Enter Aohilibs.
A<Ml. Now do I see thee, ha I have at thee.
Hector !
Hect. Pause, if thou wilt.
Achil. 1 do disdain' thy courtesy, proud
Trojan ;
Be happy that my arms are out of use :
My rest and negligence befriends thee now.
But thou anon shalt hear of me again ;
Till when, go seek thy fortune. [Exit,
Hect. Fare thee well: 19
I would have been much more a fresher man.
Had I expected thee. How now, my brother 1
Re-enter Tkoilus.
Tro. Ajax hath ta'en .lEneas : shall it be ?
No, by the flame of yonder glorious heaven,
He shall not carry him ; I'll be ta'en too, ,
Or bring him off : fate, hear me what I say ?
I reck not though 1 end my life to-day. [Exit.
Enter one in sumptuons armor.
Hect. Stand, stand, thou Greek ; thou art
a goodly mark ; ,
Nc) 7 wilt thou not 1 1 like thy armor well ;
I'll frush it and unlock the rivets all, ..
But I'll be master of it: wilt thou not, beast,
abide ? . ,30
Why, then fly on, I'll, hunt thee for thy hid»
[S'reuis..
Scene VII. Another part of the plains.
Enter Acbilles, with Myrmidons.
Achil Come here about me, you my Myr¬
midons ;
m
TROtLVS ^ANr>' CRESSIDA.
[Act ♦.
Mai-k what I say. Attend me where I wheel:
Strike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in
breath :
And when I have the bloody Hectoo^ found,
Empale him with your weapons round about ;
In fellest manner execute your aims.
Follow me, sirs, and miy proceedings eye :,
Jt Is decreed Hector the great must die. ^^
" ^ \Ex.eunt.
£nter msnklatrs and Pakis, fighting r then
Thersitesj
The7\ The cuckold and the cuckold-tbaker '
are at it. Now, bull! now, dog ! 'Loo, Paris,
'loo 1 now my double-henned sparrow ! 'loo,
Paris,'loo ! .The bull has, the game ware
bonis, ho ! X^xeuiit Piv'ia and ile^nelaus.
■' ' jpntcrmakg.arelon.' '•
Mar. 'Turn, slave", and Qght
Ther. What art thou ?
, .Mar. A bastard sou of Priam's. . < ,
JTier., 1 api a bastard too ( I love bastards :
I am a bastard begot, bastard instructed, bas-
tai'd in mind, b.astard in v.alor, in every thing ,
illegitimate. One bear will hot bite another,
and wherefore should one basjtard? ,Take '
heed, the quarrel's most ominous to usif the '
son of a whore fight for a whore, he "tempts
judgment : farewell, bastard. (Exit. '■
Mai'. The devil take thee, coward I \^xit.
Scene Vltl. Another part of the p^ains^
Enter Hector i
Hect. Most putrefied core, so fair without,
Thy goodly, armor thus hath cost thy life.
Now is my day's work done ; I'll take good
breath :
Best, sword ; thou hast thy fill of blood and
death. *
[Puts off his helmet diid hangs his ihield ,
behind him.
Enter Achilles and Myrmidons. ■
' Achil. 'Look, Hector, how the Sun begins to '
set; , - ,
How ugly night comes breathing at his heels :
Even with the vail and darking of the sun,'
To close the day up. Hector's lite is done.
Hect. I am. uuarm'd j forego tliis vantage,
Greek.
Achil. Strike, fellows,' strike ; this is the
man I seek. , [Hectoiffalls. 10
So, Ilion, fall thou jnext! now, Troy, sink
down! ' , ■
Here lies thy h^att, thy sihews, and tliy bone.
On Myrmidons, and cry you ail amaiu, , ;
' Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain.'
[A retreat sounded.
Hark ! a retire upon our Grecian part.
Mgr. The Trojan trumpets sound the like,
my lord.'
AfhU.. The dragon wing, o^ night, o'er-
spreads the earth.
And, stickler-like, the armies separaves.
My half-snpp'd sword, ■ that frankly -wdaliJ
. ' have fed, '
Pleased with this dainty bait, tlins gbes to bed.
' i i ■ (I^Sheathes his sxoord.
Come, tie his hjody to my horse's tail :
Along the field I will the Trojan trail. [Exeunt.
■ , i ' . • -I
Scene IX. Another part of the plains.
Enfer-aoamemndn, Ajax,'Menelaus, SeS-
tok, Diomeues, and others^ marchhig.
^ ^ Hhouts within. •'
Agam. Hark ! hark I what shcnt is that ij
hest. Peace, drums !"
[ Within\, Achifles ! Achill^ ! Hector's slain 1
Achilles--I ' . , ■ -
Hio. The bruit is. Hector's slain, and by
Achille.s. , ■ I
Ajax. If it be so, yet bragless let it be ;
Great Hector was a man as good as he.
Agam,. Murdi-patiently along^,: jet ou^ be
seiit " , , ,
To pray Achilles see us at our tent.
If in his death the gods have hs befriended, 9
Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are
^ ended. [Exeunt, marching.
Scene X; Another part of the plains '
Enter .£neas and Trojans -
./Ene.' Stand, ho! vet are we masters of the
field :
Never go home ; her^ starve yve out th^ night.
, .Enter Ij'Bou.us*, . i q ik i
Tro. Hector is slain. . .
All. Hector! the gods forbid !
I Tra. ■ He's dead ; and at- the murderer's
horse's tail, ' t
In beastly sort, dragg'd through tlie shameftd
field. ,'<
Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with
speed I I
Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at
' Troyl I-. .
I say, at once let your briefqilagues be mercy.
And linger not our sure destriK-tious on I
ASne, My lord, you do diseomfort all the
■ host. ' ■ - , I . . 10
Tro. You imderstand me not thattell me so-:
I do not siieak, of'flight, of fear, of deatli.
But dare all immiueiioe that g-c^ and men
Address tlieir dangers iiu Hector is gone : >
Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba ? ■ I
Let him that will a screech-owl aye be call'd,
Go in to Troy, and say there. Hector's dead :
Tliere is a word will Priam turn to stone ;
Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives,
Cold statues of the youtli, and, -in a word, 20
Scare Troy ont of itself. But, march away :
Hector is dead-; there is no more to say.
Stay yet. Xqu vile abominable tents,' -
Thus proudly pight upou pur Phrygian plains^
Let Titan rise as early as he dare, , |
rU,ttu-ough and thropgh ypu! and,thoq greif^
,,, sised coward, . ,
Ho space of earth shall sunder our two hates :
SCEHE X.]
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
781
I'll haunt thee like a wicked conscience still,
That mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy's
thoughts.
Strike a free march to Troy! with comfort go:
Hope of revenge sliall hide our inward woe. 31
[Exeunt jEma^ djjid ^roja^. ^
As Tkoilus is going out, enter, from the other
side, Pandakus.
( !■ I .1
Pan. But hear yoii, hear you!
Tro. Hence, broker-lackey ! ignomy jind ,
shame
Pursue tliy life, and live aye with thy name!
^ [Exit:
Pan. A goodly medicine for my aching
bbnesi'O world! world I world 1 tlm.s isithe
poor agent despisedf O traitors and baw(|s,'
how Earnestly are ydu seta-wprk, anti how ill '
requited! why should our endeavor bO so'
loved and the performance i so loathsd ? wlutt.
verse for it ? what instance for it ? Let me
see: 41
Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing.
Till he hath lost his honey and his sting ;
IApd bein^oi)ee,subdued in armed tail,
S:|re|t ho^ieytanfl sweet notes together fail.
Good traders in the flesh, set this in your
painted cloths.
' Addnany as be here of pander's hall,
Your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar's fall;
.Or if you cannot weep, yet give some groans;
"Though not for me, yet for your aching bones.
Brethren and sisters of the hold-door trade,
Sorhe two months hence my will shall here be
made :
It should be now, but thatimy fear is this, •
Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss :'
Till then I'll sweat and seek about for eases.
And at that time bequeathe you my diseases.
IJRctl.
OTHELLO.
, ;iT
(written about 1604.)
INTEODUCTION.
• Othello 1.6 ta« bnly play which appeared in quarto (in 1622) in the interral between Shakespeare'!
death and the publication of tiie tirst folio. We.have no meaus, except by internal evidence,of
ascertaining the date at which the play was writtep., ^pou the strength of a supposed allusion to i
the armorial bearings of the new order of Baronets, instituted in 1611 (Act 111., Sc. iv. L. 46-47), the
play has been referred td a year not earlier than 1611; but the metrical tests contiim the impression
ptodueed by the general character and spirit of the tragedy, that it caunot belong to the same period
as Tke Tempe.et, Vymbelnie, and The Winter's Tale^ It is evidently one of the group of tnmedies of
passion which includes Macbeth, and Lear, The year 1604 has been accepted by several critics as a
not improbable date for Othello. The original of the story is found in Cuitbio's Hecalmntthi, but it
has been in a marvellous manner elevated and recreated by Shakespeare. Coleridge has justly
said that the agonized doubt which lays hold of the Moor is not the jealousy of a man of naturally
jealous temper, and he contrasts Othello with Leoutes in The Wmter's Tale, and Leonatus in Cymbe-
line. A mean watchfulness or prying suspicion is the last thing that Othello could be guilty of. He
is of a free and noble nature, naturafly trustful, with a kind of grand innocence, retaiidng some of
his barbaric simpleness of soul in midst of the subtle and astute politicians of Venice. He is great
in simple heroic action, but unversed in the complex atfairs of life, and a stranger to the malignant
deceits of the debased Italian character. Nothing is more chivalrous, more romantic, than the love
of Othello and Oesdemona. The beautiful Italian girl is fascinated by the real strength and gran¬
deur, and the teiuler protectiveness of the Moor. He is charmed by the sweetness, the sympathy,
the gentle disposition, the gracious womanliness of Desdemona. But neither quite rightly knows
the other ; there is none of that perfect equality and perfect knowledge between them which unite
so nawlessly Brutus and Portia, ^ere is no character in Shakespeare's plays so full of serpentine
power and serpentine poison as Tago. He is envious of Cassio, and suspects that the Moor may have
wronged his honor; but his malignancy is out of all proportion to even -its alleged motives. Cassio,
notwithstanding his moral weaknesses, is a chivalrous nature, possessed by enthusiastic admiration
of his great general and the beautiful lady who is his wife. But lago can see neither human virtue
nor greatness. All things to him are common and unclean, and he is content that they should be
bo. He is not the sly, sneaking, and too manifest villain of some of the actors of his part. He is
"honest lago," and passes for a rough yet shrewd critic of life, who is himself frank and candid. To
ensnare the nobly guileless Othello was, therefore, no impossible task. Shakespeare does not
allow lago to triumph; his end Is wretched as his life has been. And Othello, restored to love
through such tragic calamity, dies once more reunited to his wife, and loyal, in spite of all hfs
wrongs, to the city of his adoptlpn. It is he who has sinned, and not she who was dearer to him Hum
himself, and of his own wrongs and griefs he can make a sudden end.
DRAMATIS
Bukis of Venice.
Br.vbantio, a senator.
Otlier Senators.
(3b ati a no, brother to Brabantio,
Lodovioo, kinsman to Brabantio.
OTHELLO, a noble Moor in uie service cf the
Venetian state.
Cassio, his lieutenant.
Iaoo, his ancient.
Roderioo. a Venetian gentleman.^
Montano! Otiiei;?'' nred80©680r W the gov¬
ernment of Cyprua.
'7S3i
PERSON-E.
Clown, servant to Othella
Desdemona, daughter to Brabantio and wits
to Othello.
Emilia, wife to lago.
Bianca, mistress to Cassio.
Sailor, Messenger, Herald, Officers, OenH*
men, Musicians, and AtteudantA
Scene : Tentce; a Sea^ri in CgjKvi
scsks i.]
OTHELLO.
783
ACT I.
■■ I . ' ,
ScxHK L Venice, A etreet.
Enter SoDptioo and Iaoo.
Eod. Tosh t never tell me ; I take It mnch
unkindly
That tliou, lago, who hast had my purse
As if ttie strings were tliine, shouldst know ol
this.
lago. 'Sblood, but you will not hear me ;
U ever I did dream of such a matter, '
Abhor me.
Rod'. Thou told'st me thott didst hold him
in thy hate.
Jayo. Despise me, if I do not. Three great
onds of tlie city.
In personal suit to make me his lieutenant,
Oif-capp'd to bhn : and, by the faith of man,
I know my price, I am worth no worse a
place: 11
But he, as loving his own isride and purposes,
Evades them, witli a bomlmt circumstance
Horribly stuff'd with epitliets of war;
And, in conclusion.
Nonsuits my mediators ; for, ' Certes,' says
he,
' I have already chose my officer.'
And what was he ?
Forsooth, a great arithmetician.
One Hicham Caseno, a Florenti^, 20
M feHow almokt damn'd in a fair wife ;
'that never set a squadron in the field.
Nor the divisiou of a battle knows
More than a spinster; unless the bookish
theoric.
Wherein the toged Consuls can propose
As masterly as he: mere prattle, without
practice,,
Is all his soldiership. But he, Hr, hiid the
election:
And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof
At Rhodes, at Cyprus and on other grounds '
Christian and heathen, must be be-lee'd and
calm'd 30
^ debitor and creditor : this counter-Caster,
He, in good time, must his lieutenant be,
And I—God bless the mark !—his Moorship's
ancient.
Rod. By heavfen, I rather would have been
his hangman.
Jayo. Why, there's no remedy J 'tis the
curse of service,
Preferment goes by letter and affection,
Ind not by old gradation, where each second
Itood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge
yourself, f
KThether I in any just term am affined
Co love the Moor.
Rod. I would not follow him then. '40
' lam. O, sir, content you ;
I follow him to serve my twil upon him :
We caunot all be masters, nor all masters
Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark
Many a dnteous and knee-crooking knave,
Tha^ doting ou bis own obsequious bondage.
Wears out his time, much like his master's
ass.
For nought but provender, and when he's
old, cashier d :■
Whip me such honest knaves. Others there
• are
Who, trimm'd in forme and visages of duty.
Keep yet their hearts atteudiiw on them¬
selves, 51
And, throwing but shows of service on their
lords.
Do well thrive by them and When they have
lined their coats >
Do themselves homage : these fellows have
some soul;
And such a one do 1 profess myself. For, sir.
It is as snre as you are Roderigo,
Were 1 the Moor, I would not be lago :
In following him, I follow but myself;
Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,
But seeramg so, for my peculiar end : 60
For when my outward action doth demon¬
strate
The native act and figure of my heart
In compliment exteni, 'tis not long after
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve
For daws to peck at: I am not what 1 am.
Rod. What a full fortune does the thick-
lips owe.
If he can earry't thus!
lago. Call up her father.
Rouse him : make after him, poison bis de^
light.
Proclaim him in the streets ; incense her kins¬
men.
And, though he in a fertile climate dwell, 70
Plague him with flies : though that his joy
be joy.
Yet threw such changes of vexation on't.
As it may lose some color.
Rod. Here is her father's house ; I'll call
aloud.
lago. Do, with like timorous accent and
dire yell
As when, by night and negligence, the fire
Is spied in populous cities.
Rod. What, ho, Biabautio ! Signior Bra-
bautio, ho.'
Jayo Awake! what, ho, Brabantio 1
thieves I thieves ! thieves !
Look to your house, your daughter and yolir
bags! 80
Tliieves! thieves !
Bkabantio appears above, at a window.
Bra. What is the reason of this terrible
summons 7
What is the matter there 7
Rod. Signior, is all your family within 7
Jago. Are your doors lock'd 7
Bra. Why, wlierefore ask you this 7
lago. 'Zounds, sir, you're robb'd ; for
sliame, put on your gown ;
Your heart is burst, you have lost half your
soul;
Even now, now, very now, an old black ram
784
OTHELie.
[Act
Is tupping your vhiteewe^I. ArUe,'anise ; > i
Awake tlie snorting citizens with the bell, M I
Or else the devil wili made a grsndsire of !
you: I- ,, 1 . ' I
Arise, 1 say. ii i.- ■ i ' i
Bra. What, have you lost youf wits ?
Rod. Most reverend signior, do yon know '
. my voice ? I . i , |
I ■. Bra. Not 1 : what are you ? ,, i-
Rod. My name is. Eoderigo. , , i i .
Bra. The worser (welcome :
4 have charged thee; not to haunt about my
doors : , .!
In honest'plaimiess tltou hast beard me say, i
My daughter is not lor theO'^ and now, in
madness, i
Being lull ol supper and distemirering
draughts, . ,
Upon malicious bravery, dost tliou come lOQ
To start rriy quiet. i ■ , '
,. Rod. Sir,, ar, sir,—
Bra. . But thou must needs be sure
My spirit and my place have in thepr power
To make tiris bitter to thee.
Rod., , Patience, good sin
Bra. What tell'st thou me ol robbing?
. this is Y.euice ;
My house is not a grange..
Rod. Most grave Brabantio,
In simple and pure soul 1 coiueto you,... i ; i
Jar/o, .'Zourids, sir, you are one of those
that will not serve God, H the devil bid yput
Because we come to do you service and you
think we are ruffians, you'll have your daugh¬
ter covered with a Barbary horse ; you'll
' have your uephews neigh to you ; you'll have
courv,ers lor cousins and geniiets lor germarrs,
Bra. What prolane wretch art thou ?
lago. I am one, sir, that comes to tell you
your daughter and the Moor are how maldng
tire beast with two backs. ' i
Bra.' Thou art a villain.
I lago. ^ , You are—a senator.
Bra. Thrs thou shalt answer ; I know thee,
Roderigo. i. , . 120
Rod. Sir, I will arrswer gny tlrirrg. But, I
beseech you.
If't be your pleasure and most wise consent.
As partly 1 hud it is, that your lafr daughter.
At this odd-even and dull watch o' the night,
Transported, with no worse nor better guard i
But with a knave of common hire, g gon¬
dolier,
To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor,—
If this be known to you and your allowance.
We ,then iiaye done yoq bold and saucy
wrongs;
But if you know irit this, my manners tell
me ISO
We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe '
That, from the sense of all civility,
I thus would play and trifle vyith your rever¬
ence : , .
Your daughter, if you have not given her
leave,
I any again, hath made a groes revolt-
Tying lier duty, b^uty, svit and fortunes
In an extravagant and wheeling stranger
Of here and. evei;y .where. 1 Stzai^t satisfy
yoursell; ,
If she be in her cliamber.or'yohT bouse,
I>et loose oui nie the justice-of the state- ,
Tor thus deluding you.
Bra. I Strike«n tlie tindeari bo,f
■Give me a tai>er j call up all ipy people i .,
This accident is not unlike my dream s
Belief pf it oppresses me already.
Light, 1 .say { light: .u [Rxitahom
lago. Farewell ; for I must leave you:
It seems not meet, jior vbolesome to .piy
place.
To be produced—as, it I stay, I shall— ■ l
Against the Moor : for, I do know, the state.
However this may gall.him witli some check,
Cannot with safety cast him, for, he's em,
bark'd 4SQ
With such loud reason to the Cyprus wars.
Which even pow stand in act, that, for their
souls,
Another of Ills fathom tliey have none, .
To lead their business : in which regard,,!
Though I do, hate him as I do hell-pains,. , -
Yet, for necessity of present life,
I must show out a. flag and sign of love, ' '
Which is indeed but sign. That you sbaR
surely And him, . . ■
Lead to the Sagittory the raised search ^ .,,
And there will 1 be with him. . 3o, farewell-
I 160
Enter, below, Brabantio', and Servants with
• torches.'' '
Bra. It is too true an evil: gone Abe is ;
And wb.at'sto come of my despised time
Is nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo,
Where didst tbon see her ? O nuhappy girl 1
With the Moor, s.ay'st tliou ? Whq would be
, a father !. • ^
Hqyr (..idst thou know,'twas she ? 0, sbc Ae-
. ceives me , .
Past thought 1 What said she to yon 7 Get
more tapers : .
Raise all my kindred. Are they married,
I think yon ?
Rod. Truly, I think they are. •
I O heaven ! ■ How got she jOut ? . O
treason of the blood ! , 170
Fathers, from hence, trust not yonr daugh¬
ters' minds
By what you sec. *^hem act. .Isi.there not
charms
By whicli tlie proiierty of youth and maidhood
May be abused ? Have you not read, Rod-
edgo. • . . II
Of some such tiling ? ' - i
Rod. Yes, sir, 1 have indeed,
Bra. Call up my brother. 0, would you
bad had her! , . |
Some one way, some another,. Do you know
Where we may apprehend her and flie Moor 8
Rod. I think I can discover him, if y<Mi
please , .
ScEdi II.]
OTHELLO.
.785
To good guard aud go alcuig wHh tne. 180 '
^ Bra. Pray you, lead on. At every bouse I
■ I'll call' ' I I, .. I
I may eoniinand at most. Get weapons, ho t ]
And raise some special Officers of night. ' !
'On, good Roderigo : I'll deserve your itaiiis.. I
< ^Exeunt. 1
I , iScf^ElI. ' Another street, , ' '■ j
, Ewiev Otheelo, Iaco, and Attendants with
torches.
lago. Tbougli in the trade of war I have
slain men, ,
Yet do I hold it very stuff o* the conscience
To do no contrived murder : I lack iniquity i
Sometimes to .do me service } nine or ten
, times , , , ,
I had thought to have yerk'd him here under
the ribs. , .
.0th. 'Tis better as it is.
lar/o. Nay, bot he prated,
And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms
Against your honor
That, with the little godliness I have,
I did full hard forbear hira. But,, I pray you.
Are you fast married ? Be assured of this;
That the raagnifico is much belpyed.
And hath in his effect a voicb potential.
As double as the duke's : he will divorce you;
Or put upon yop what | restraint and griev¬
ance . ! ■
The law, with all his might to'enforce it on,
Willjgive him cable. ' , '
Oth. Let him do his spite :
My services which I have done the signiory
Shgll out-tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to
know,— 19
Which, when I know that boasting is an honor,
I shall promulgate—I fetch my life and being
From men of royal siege, and my. demerits
May speak nnbouneted to as proud a fortune
As this that I have reach'd : for know,.lago.
But that.I love the gentle. Desdemona, i
I would not my unhoused free condition
Put into circumscription aud confine
For the sea's worth. But, look I what lights
come yond ? .
lago. Tho.se are the raised father and his
friends : , ■
You were best go in.
Oth. Not I; I must be found : 3®
My parts, my title and my perlect.soul
Shall, manife.st me rightly. Is it they 7
lago. By Janus, I think no,
Enter Cassio, and certain Officms with toi-ches.
,0th. The servants pf the duke, and my
lieutenant. ' '
The goodtfess of the night upon' you, friends 1
What is the news ?
'Cas.' The duke does geeet you, general.
And hd requires your haste-iiPst-haste appear¬
ance, ^ ■
i#ven on the instant.
Olh. What is the miatter, think you ?
' Cos. Something from Cyprus, as I may-
divine : ' . I
It is ghuslaiess of some heat: the galleys 49
Have sent a dozen sequent messengers
,This very night at one another's heels.
And many of the consuls, raised and met.
Are at the duke'si already : you have bemi
hotly call'd for ;
When, being not at your lodging to be found.
The senate hath sent about three several
quests .1 I
To search you out. i
o 'Tis Well I am found by you.
I will but'Spend a word here in the house.
And go with you. i [Exit.
Cas. . Ancient, what makes he here 7
lago. 'Faith, he to-night hath boarded a
land carack:' r .50
If B prove lawful prize, he's made for ever.
Cos. I do not understand...
logo. ' ' He's married.
Cos. ■ ' To who 7
Be-eriter Otheli,o,
logo, Mary, to—Come, captain, will you
go 7
Oth., Have with you.
, Cos. Here comes another troop to seek for
you.
lago. It is Brabautio. General, be advised;
He comes .to bad intent.,
■ . ■ • t I
Enter Brabantio, Roderigo, and Officers
with torches and weapons.
Oth., ,, , Holla.! stand there !
Rod. Signior, it is the Moor.
Bra. Down with him, thief !
[Theg draw on both sides,
lago. Yon, Roderigo 1 come, sir, I am for
you. ; ■
'.Oth. Keep up your bright swoids, for tlie
dew will rust tliem,...
Good siguior, you shall more .command with
years ' ■ . W
Thau with your weapons.
Bra, O thou foul thief, where .Jiast thoo
stow'd my daugliter 7 j .
Damn'd as thou art, tlioii hast enchanted her;
For I'll refer me to all ^ings of sense.
If slie ill chauis of magio were not bound,
Wlietlier a maid so tender, fair and happy,
So opposite to marriage that slie thuun'd -
Tlie wealtliy curled darlings of our nation.
Would over have, to incur a general mock,
Rim from lier guardage to the sooty bosom 70
Of such a thing as thou, to fear, not to deliglit.
Judge me the world, if 'tis not gross in sense
That thou hast practised on her with foul
charms.
Abused her delicate youth with drugs 'Or
^miuerals . .
That weaken motion ; Tilliave't disputed on;
•Tis probable and jialpable to tliinkiiig.
I tiierefore apprehend and do attach theO '.
For an abuser of -the world, a practiser
Of ai-ts inhibited and-out of warrant
60
m
Lay hold upon him : if he do resist, ' 80
Subdue him at his peril.
0th. Hold your hands,
Both you of my inclining, and the rest:
Were it my cue to fight, 1 should have known
it
Without a prompter. Where will you that I
go
To answer this your charge 7
Bra. To prison, till fit time
Of law and course of direct session
Call thee to answer.
0th. What if I do obey 7
How may the duke l>e therewith satisfied.
Whose messengers are here about my side,
Upon some present business of the state 90
To bring me to him 7
First Of. 'Tis true, most worthy signior ;
The duke's in council, and your noble self,
I am sure, is sent for.
Bra. I How ! the duke in council!
In this time of the night 1 Bring him away;
Mine's not an idle cause ; the duke himself.
Or any of my brothers of the state.
Cannot but 'feel this wrong as 'twere their
own;
Tor if such actions may have passage free,
Bond-slaves and pagans shall our statesmen
be. [Fxeunt.
Scene III. A council-chamber
The Duke ani Senators sitting at a table ;
Officers attending.
Duke. There is no composition in these
news
That gives them credit.
First Sen. Indeed, they are disproportion'd;
My letters say a huimred and seven galleys.
Duke. And mine, a hundred and forty.
Sec. Sen. And mine, two hnudred :
But though they jump not on a just account,—
As in these cases, where the aim reports,
'Tis oft with difference—yet do they all con-
firm
A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus.
Jitike. N.ay, it is possible enough to judg¬
ment :
I do not so secure me in the error, 10
But the main article I do approve
In fearful sense.
Sailor. fWitAire] What, ho! what, hoi
what, ho t
First Off. A messenger from tlie galleys.
Enter a Sailor.
Duke. Now, what's the business 7
Sail. The Turkish preparation makes for
Rhodes;
So was I bid report here to the state
By Sisbior Angelo.
Duke. How say yon by this change 7
First Sen. This cannot be.
By no assay of reason: 'tisaj^eant,
To keep us in false gaze. When we consider
The importancy of Cyprus to the Turk, 2C
[Act I
And let oursMves again but understand.
That as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes,
So may he with more facile question bear it.
For that it stands not in such warlike brace, i
But altogether lacks the abilities
That Rhodes is dress'd in: if we make thought
of this.
We must not think the Turk is so nnskilftil
To leave that latest which concerns him first.
Neglecting an attempt of ease and gain,
To wake and wage a danger profitless. 80
Duke. Nay, in all confidence, he's not for
Rhodes.
First Off. Here is more news.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. The Ottomites. reverend and gracious,
Steeri^ with due course towards the isle of
Ixodes,
Have there iujolnted them with an after fleet.
First Sen. Ay, sol thought. How many,
as you guess 7
Mess. Of thirty sail: and now they do re-
stem
Their backward course, bearing with fraufcai>-
pearance'
Their purposes toward Cyprus. Signior Mon-
tano,
Your trusty and most valiant servitor, 40
With his free duty recommends you thus.
And prays you to believe him. ^
Duke. 'Tis certain, then, for Cyprus.
Marcus Luccicos, is not he iu town 7
First Sen. He's now iu Florence. ,
Duke. Write from us to him ; post-i)ost-
haste dismtch.
First Sen. Here comes Brabantio and the
valiant Moor.
Enter Brabantio, Othei-Lo, Iaoo.
Rodbrioo, and Officers.
Duke. Valiant Othello, we must straight
employ you
AgiUnst the general enemy Ottoman.
[To Brabantio] I did not see you ; welcome.
gentle signior; SfJ
We lack'd your counsel and your help to¬
night.
Bra. So did I. yours. Good your grace,
pardon me; ^
Neither my place nor aught I heard of busi¬
ness
Hath raised me from my bed, nor doth the
general c.are
Take hold on me, for my particular grief
Is of ^ flood-gate and o'erbearing nature
That it engluts and swallows.other sorrows
And it is still itself.
Duke. Why, what's the matter 7
Bra. My daughter I O, my daughter I
Duke and Sen. Dead 7
Bra. . Ay, to me;
bhe IS abused, stol'n from me, and corrupted
By spells and medicines bought of mounte¬
banks ; 61
For nature so preposterously to em
OTHELLO.
Scene hi.]
Being not deficient, blind, or lame of eeUse,'
8aus witvhcralt could not
Duk«. Whoe'er he be that in tiiis fonl pro*
ceeding
Hath thus b^ailed your daughter of herself
And you of her, the bloody l^k of law
You shall yourself read in the bitter letter
After your own sense, yea, though our proper
son
Stood in your action.
Bra. Humbly I thank yonr grace. 70
Here is the man, this Moor, whom now, it
seems,
Yonr special mandate for the state.«ffair8
Hath hither brought.
Duke mid ilen. We are-very sorry for't
Duke. [To Othello\ What, in your own
part, can you say to this 7
Bra. Nothing, but this is so.
Olh. Most potent, grave, and reverend sig>
niors.
My very noble and approved good masters,
Tltat I have ta'eu away this old man's daugh¬
ter.
It is most true ; true, I have married her :
The very head and front of my offending 80
Hath this extent, no more. Eude am 1 in my
speech.
And little biess'd with the soft phrase of peace:
For since these arms of mine had seven years'
pith, [used
Till now some nine moons wasted, they have
Their dearest action hi the tented field.
And little of this great world can 1 speak.
More than pertains to feats of broil and battle.
And therefore little shall ! grace my cause
In speaking for myself. Ye^ by your gra^
ciotts patience,
I will a round unvamish'd tale deliver 90
Of my whole course of love ; what drugs,
what charms.
What conjuration and what mighty magic.
For such proceeding i am charged withal,
I won his daughter.
Bra. A maiden never bold ;
Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion .
Blusn'd at herself; and she, in spite of nature,
Of years, of country, credit, every tiling.
To fail in lore with what she fear'd to look on!
It is a judgment maira'd and most imperfect
That will confess iierfection so could err 100
Against all rules'of nature, and must be driven
To find out practices of cunning hell.
Why this should be. I therefore vouch again
That with some mixtures powerful o'er the
Mood,
Or with some dram conjured to this effect.
He wrought upon her.
Duke. ■ To vouch this, is no proof.
Without more wider and more overt test
Than these tliin habits and poor likeliboHs '
Of modem seeming do prefemagoinst iutn.
First Sen. But, Othello, speak : 110
INd you by Indirect and forcM courses '
tubdue and poison this young Wftid'a affeo-
♦
78?
Or came it by reimest and such fair question
As soul to soul affordetfa ?
0th. I do beseech yon.
Send for the lady to the Sagittary,
And let her speak of me before her father:
If you do find me foul in her report.
The trust, the office I do liold of yon;
Not only take away, but let your sentence
Even fall upon my life.
Duke. Fetch De.sdemona hither. 120
0th. Ancient, ccmdiict them : you best
know the place. [_Exeunt layo and At¬
tendants.
And, till she come, as truly as to heaven
I do confess the vices of my blood,
So justly to yonr grave care I'll present
How I did thrive in this fair lady s love.
And she in mine.
Duke. Say it. Othello.
Oth. Her father loved me ; oft invited me:
Still question'd me the story of my life.
From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes,
That 1 have pass'd. 13]
I ran it through, even from my boyish days.
To the very moment that he bade me tell it;
Wherein I sfmke of most disastrous chances.
Of moving accidents by flood and field.
Of hair-breadth scapi^s t' the imminent deadly
breach,
Of being taken by the insolent foe
And sold to slavery, of my'redemption thence
And portance in my travels' histw-y:
Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle, 140
Bough quarries, rocks and hills whose lieads
touch heaven.
It was my hint to speak,'—such was the pro¬
cess ;
And of the Cannibals that each othey eat.
The Antliropophagi and men whose heads
Do grow beneath their shouldei-s. Tliisto hear
Would Desdemona seriously incline :
But still the house-affaiis would draw her
thence;
Which ever as she could with haste dispatch,
She'ld come again, and with a greedy ear
Devour up ray discourse : whitm 1 observing.
Took once a pliant hour, and found good
means Ibl
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart
That I wouid all my pilgrimage dilate.
Whereof by parcels sue had something heard.
But not intentively: I did conseut.
And often did beguile her of her tears.
When I did speak of some distressful sti-oke
That my youth sufferid. My story being done,
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs ;
She swore, in faith, twas stran'^e, 'twas pas¬
sing strange,
'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful:
She wish'd she had not heard It, yet she wish'^
That heaven bad made her such a man : she
thank'd me,
And bade me, if I had a triend that loved her,
I should but teach him how to tell my story.
And that would woo her. Upon this bint t
•paint
OTHELLO.
788
OTUELLO.y
' . [Act
She loved me for the dangers I had pdss'd, >
And I loved her that she did pity them.
Tills only is the witchcraft I have used : '
Here comes the lady ; let hm; witness it 170
Eitter DssDfeMOMA, Iago, and Attendants., j
Duke I think this tale would win my
daughter too. ' '
Good Brabautio, . . .' . '
Talce up this mangled mattmr at the best t
Men do their broken weapons rather use
Tbau their bare hands. '.
Bra, I pray you, hear her speak :
If she confess that she was half the Wooer, '
Destruction on my head, if my bad blame i
Light ott' the man 1 Come hither, gentle mis*
tress : . • i .
Do you perceive iu all this noble company
Wiiere most you owe obedience ?
Des> ' My noble lather, 180
t do perceive here a divided dirty
To you 1 am bound for life and education ;
My life and education both do leam roe
How to respect you ; you are the lord of duty;
I am hitherto your daughter: but here's my
husband.
And so much duty as ffiy mother show'a " '
To you, preferring vou before her father ' '
So much I challenge cliat I may profess
Due to tiie Moor my lord.
Biu. God be wi' you I I have done.
Please it your grace, on to the state-affairs :
1 had rather to adopt a child than get it. . 191
Come hither. Moor : '
1 here do give tliee that with all ray heart
Which, but thou hast already, with all my
heart
I would keep from thee. For your sake, jewel,
I am glad at soul 1 have llo other child.:
For tliy escape would teach me tyranny,
To hang clogs on them. 1 have done, lord.
Duke. Let me speak like yourself, and lav
a sentence, 199
Which, as a grise or step, may help these lovers
Into your favor. . .
When reraedies are iiast, tlie griefs are ended'
By seeing the worst, which late on hopes de-l
I pended.
To mourn a mischief that is past and gone '■
Is the next way to draw new mischief on.
What cannot be preserved when fortune takes
Patience her injury a mockery makes.
Tlie robb'd that smiles steals something from
the thief; ■ • ' >
He robs himself tliat spends a bootless grief.
Bra. So let the Turk of Cyiirus us beguile;
We lose it not, so long as we can smile. 211
He bears the sentence well tliat nothing bears
But the free'comfort which from, thence he
hears, . '
But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow
That, to pay grief, must of poor patience bor¬
row. I . . '
These sentences, to sugar, or to gall.
Being strong on both sides, ars equivocal; i v
But words are words: 1 never yet did Uear
That thei bruised heart was pierced tnrough
the ear. , ' « •
I kumbiy.beseech you, proceed
I of state. ^
\ Duke, . The Turk with a most mighty
aration makes for Cyprus. Othello, the lorti-
tude of. the place is best known to you ; and
though we have tliere a substitute of most
'allowed sufiSciency, yet opinion, a sovereign
mistress of effects, throws a more safer voice
oil you: yon niust therefore be content t<)
slubber the gloss of your new fortunes with
this more stubborn and boisterous expedition.
0th. The tyrant custom, most grave sena¬
tors, 230
Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war
My thrice-driveii bed of down : 1 do agnize
A natural and prompt alacrity ■
I find iu hardness, and do undertake
These present wars against the Ottomites;'
Most humbly therefore bending to your state,
1 crave fit disposition for my wife, . r ■ '
Due reference of place and exiilbition,
With such accommodation and besort
As levels with her breeding, t
Duke.' 1 If you please, 210
Be't at her father's. • • > i
Bra, I'll not have it so,
OtA Nor I.
Des. 1 Nor I; I would not there reside
To put my father in impatient thoughts
By being in his eye. Most gracious duke,
To my unfolding lend yonr prosperous ear ;
And let me find a charter in your voice.
To assist my simpleness.
Duke. What would you, Desdemona ?
Des. Th:it I did love the Moor to-live with'
him, • 249
My downright violence and storm, of fortunes
May trumpet to the world;, my heart's subdued
■Even to the very quality of my lord;
I saw Othello's visage in his mind, i ,
And to his honor and his valiant parts ''
Did 1 my soul and fortunes consecrate.
So that, dear lords; if I be left behind,
A moth of peace, and lie go to the war,
The rites for which f love, him are bereft liie.
And I a heavT- interim shall supporlr
By his dear absence. Let me go with him. 2911
Olh. . Let her have your voices.
Vouch with me, heaven, I therefore beg it not,
To please the palate of my appetite,
Nor to comply with heat—the young affects
In me defunct—and proper satisfaction.
But to be free and bounteous to her mind ;
And heaven defend your good souls, that you
think . .. ' , I
I will your serious and great business scant
For she is-with me t no, when light-wing'd toys
Of feather'd Cupid sesl with wanton dullue^
My speculative and offlced instruments, 271
That my disports corrupt and taint my busi-
. ' . ness,
Let housewives make a skillet of my helau
And alliudigu and base adversities
Make head against my estimaXiou (
SOBKB III.]
OTHELLO
789
I. IhUce. Bo; it as you shall privately deter^
mine,
Either lor her stay or going ■ the affair cries
haste,
And speed must answer it.
■ First Sen, Yon must away to-night
0th. With all my heart
Duke. At nine i' the morning nere we'll
meet again. 2^
Othello, leave some officer behind.
And he shall our commission bring to yon ;
With such tilings else of quality and respect .
As doth import you.
0th. So please your grace, my ancient;
A man he is of Honesty and trust:
To his conveyance I assign my wife.
With what else needful your good grace shall
think
To be,sent after me.
Duke. Let it be so.
Good night to every one. \To Brab.'\ And,
noble signior.
If virtue no delighted beauty lack, 290
Your son-iu-law is far more fair than black.
First Sen. Adieu, brave Moor; use Desde-
mona well.
Bra. Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes
to see :
She has deceived her father, and may thee.
[Excwit Duke, Senators, Officers, ke.
0th. My life uixui her faith ! Honest lago,
My Desderaona must I leave to thee :
I prithee, let thy wife attend on her :
And bring them after in the best advantage.
Come, Desdeaioiia : I have but an hour
Of love, of worldly matters and direction, 300
To spend with thee : we must obey the time.
[Exeunt Othello and Desdemona.
Rod. lago,—
lago. What say'st thou, noble heart ?
Rod. What will I do, thiukest thou ?
lago. Why, go to bed, and sleep.
Rod. I wifl incontinently drown myself.
lago. If thou dost, I shall never love thee
after. Why, thou silly gentlem.an !
Rod. It is silliness to live when to live is
torment; and then have we a prescription to
die when death is our xdiysician. 311
lago. 0 villanous ! I have looked upon the
world for four times seven years ; and since I
pould distinguish betwi.xt a benefit and an
injury, I never found man that knew how to
love himself. Ere I would say, I would drown
myself for the love of a guinea-hen, I would
change my humanity with a baboon.
Rod. What should I do ? I confess it is my
.shame to be so fond ; but it is not in my vir¬
tue to amend it 321
lago. Virtue ! a fig! 'tis in ourselves that
we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gar-
denSj to the which our wills are gardeners : so
that if we will plant nettles, or sow lettuce, set
hyssop and weed up thyme, supply it with
one gender of herbs, or distract it with many,
cither to have it sterile with idleness, or ma¬
nured v-ith industry, why, the power and cor¬
rigible authority of this lies in our wills. If
the balance of our lives had not one scale of
reason to poise another of sensuality, the blood
and baseness of our natures would conduct us
to most preposterous conclusions; but we
have reason to cool our raging motions, our
carnal stings, our unbitted lusts, whereof I
take this that you call love to be a sect or scion.
Rod. It cannot be.
lago. It is merely a lust of the blood and a
permission of the will. Come, be a man.
Drown thyself ! drown cats and blind pup¬
pies. I have professed me thy friend and I
confess me knit to thy deserving with rabies
of perdurable toughness ; I could never better
stead fhee than now. Put money in thy purse;
follow thou the wars; defeat thy favor with an
usurped beard ; I sa}', put money in thy
purse. It cannot be that Desdemona should
long continue her love to th.e Moor,—put
money in thy purse,—nor he his to her : it
was a violent commencement, and thou shalt
see an answerable sequestration imt but
money in thy purse. These Moors are change¬
able in their wills:—fill thy purse with money:
■—the food that to him now is as luscious as
locusts, shall be to him shortly as bitter as
coloquintida. She must change for youth :
when she is sated with his body, she will find
the error of her choice: she must have change,
she must: therefore put money in thy purse.
If thou wilt needs damn thyself, do it a
more delicate way than drowning. Make all
the money thou panst : if sanctimony and
a frail vow betwixt an ereing barbarian and a
supersubtle Venetian be not too hard for my
wits and .all the tribe of hell, thou shalt enjoy
her ; therefore make money. A pox of drown¬
ing thyself ! it is clean out of the way ; seek
thou rather to be hanged in compassing thy joy
than to hb drowned and go without her.
Rod. Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I
depend on the issue ? 370
lago. Thou art sure of me :—go, make
money :—I have told thee often, and I re-tell
thee again and again, I hate the Moor ; my
cause is hearted ; thine hath no less reason.
Let us be conjunctive in our revenge against
him : if thou canst cuckold him, thoudostthy-
self a pleasure, me a siwrt. There are many
events in the womb of time which will be de¬
livered. Traverse ! go, provide thy money.'
We will have more of tliis to-morrow. Adieu.
Rod. Where shall we meet i' the morn¬
ing ? 381
lago. At my lodging.
Rod. I'll be with thee betimes.
lago, Go to ; farewell. Do you hear, Rodo
rigo?
Rod. What say you ?
Jago. No more of drowning, do you hear ?
Rod. I am changed ; I'll go sell all my
land. ^ [Exit,
lag^ Thus do I ever make my fool my
purse : | fane.
For I mine own gaiu'd knowledge should pro-
Tao ,
If I would time expend with such a snip&
But for my sport aud profit I hate the lloor':
And it is tiiought abroad, that 'twixt my
sheets
He has doue my office: I know not ift be
true ;
But I, for mere suspicion in that kind,
Will do as if for surety. He holds me well;
The better shall my purpose work on him.
Cassia's a proper man : let me see now :
To get his place and to plume up my will 399
In double knavery—How, how ? Let's see:—
After some time, to abuse Othello's ear
That he is too familiar with his wife.
He hath a person aud a smooth dispose
T9 be suspected, framed to make women
false.
The Moor is of a free and open nature,
That thinks men honest that but seem to be
so,
And will as tenderly be led by the nose
As asses are.
I have't. It is engender'd. Hell and night
Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's
light. [Exit. 410
ACT II.
Scene I. A Sea-port in Cyprus. An open
place near the quay.
Enter Montano and two Gentlemen.
Afon. Wliat from the cape can you discern
at sea ?
First Gent. Nothing at all: it is a high-
wrought flood :
I cannot, 'twixt the heaven and the main.
Descry a sail.
Mon. Methinks the wind hath spake aloud
at land ;
A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements :
It it hath ruffian'd so upon the sea,
What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on
them,
Can hold the mortise ? What shall we hear of
this ?
Sec. Gent. A segregation of the Turkish
fleet : 10
For do but stand upon the foaming shore.
The chidden billow seems to pelt tee clouds ;
The win^^'iaked surge, with high and mon-
stftTls mane.
Seems to cast water on the burning bear,
And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole:
I never did like molestation view
On the enchafed flood.
Afon. If that the Turkish fleet
Be not enshelter'd and embay'd, they are
drown'd :
It is impossible they bear it out.
Enter a third Gentleman.
Third Gent. News, lads ! our wars are
done. 20
The desperate tempest hath so baug'd tho
Turks,
[Act n.
Hiat their deeignment halts : a noble ship of
Venice
Hath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance
On most imt of their fleet.
Mon. llow ! is this true ?
Third Gent. The ship is hero put in,
A Veronese ; Michael Cassio,
Lieutenant to the warlike Moor Oteello,
Is come on shore : the Moor himself at sea.
And is m full commission here for Cyprus.
Mon. I am glad on't; 'tis a worthy gov¬
ernor. 30
Third Gent. But this same Cassio, though
he speak of comfort
Touching the Turkish loss, yet he looks sadly.
And prays the Moor be safe ; for they were
parted
With foul and violent tempest.
Mon. ftay heavens h j be ;
For I have served him, and the man com¬
mands
Like a full soldier. Let's to the seaside, ho !
As well to see the vessel that's come in
As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello;
Even till we make the main and the aerial
blue
An indistinct regard
Third Gent. Come, let's do so : 40
For every minute is expectancy
Of more arrivance.
Enter Cassio.
Cas. Thanks, you the valiant of this war¬
like isle.
That so approve the Moor ! O, let the heavens
Give him defence agauist the elements.
For I have lost him on a dangerous sea.
Mon. Is he well shipp'd ?
Cas. His bark is stoutly timber'd, and his
pilot
Of very expert and approved allowance ;
Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death,
Stand in bold cure. 51
[A cry within ' A sail, a sail, a sail 1'
Enter a fourth Gentleman.
Cas. What noise ?
Fourth Gent. The towr is empty ; on the
brow 0' the sea
Stand ranks of jjeople, and they cry ' A sail!'
Cas. My hopes do shape him for the gover¬
nor. [Girns heard.
Sec. Gent. They do discharge their shot of
courtesy:
Our friends at least. ,
Cas. I pray you, sir, go forth,
And give us truth who 'tis that is arrived.
Sec. Gent. I shall. [Exit.
Mon. But, good lieutenant, is your general
wived ? _ 60
Cos. Most fortunately : He hath achieved a
maid
That paragons description and wild fsme ;
One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens.
And in the essential vesture of creation
Does tire the ingener.
OTHELLO.
kSilB I.]
Re-enter second Gentiemau..
How now I who has put in ?
See, Gent. 'Tis one lago, ancient to the gen¬
eral.
Cos. Has had most favorable and happy
speed:
>mpests themselves, high seas, and howling
winds,
?he gutter'd rocks and congregated sands,—
traitors ensteep'd to clog tlie guiltless keel,—
U liaviug sense of beauty, do omit 71
['heir mortal natures, letting go safely by
%e divine Desdemona.
Man. What is she 7
' Cos. She that I spake of, our great captain's
captain,
^eft in the conduct of the bold lago,
Vhose footing here anticipates our thoughts
L se'nnight's speed. Great ' Jove, Othello
guard.
Ind swell nis sail with thine own powerful
breath,
niat he may bless this bay with his taU ship,
lake love's quick pan'» in Desdemonas
arms, 80
live renew'd fire too r cxtincted spirits
ind bring all Cyprus eomfort 1
inter Desdemona, 3milia, Iago, Rodfbigo,
and Attendants.
0, behold,
[he riches of the ship is come on shore 1
re men of Cypruj, let her hav your knees,
lail to thee, lady ! and the grac,. of hutven,
tefore, behmd thee and on every hand,
Suwheel thee round !
Des. I thank you, valiant Cassio.
Vhat tidings can you tell me at my lord ?
Cas. He is not yet arrived : nor know I
aught
lut that he's well and will be shortly here. 90
Des. O, but I fear—How lost you com¬
pany ?
Cas. The great contention of tlie sea and
skies
hrted our fellowship—But, hark ! a sail.
{ Within ' A sail, a sah 1' Gtms heard.
Sec. '^ent. They give their greeting to tlie
citadel :
Itis likewise's a friend.
Cas. See .~T the news. [iScff G-miiemaM.
iood ancient, you are welcome, [To EmUia\
■Welcome, mistress. .
et it not gall your pati nee, good lago,
'hat I extend m manne s ; ^ my breeding
liat gives me this bold show of conrtes*' 100
[iTissi gher
lago. Sir, would she give you so much of
her lips
IS of her tongue she oft bestows on me,
'ou'ld have enough.
Des. Alas, she has no speech.
'Togo. In faith, too much f
find it still, when I have list to sleep :
larry, liefore your ladyship, I grant,
he ^ts her tongue a little in her heart.
791
And chides with thinking.
Emii. You have little cause to say so.
Iago. Come on, come on ; yon are pictures
out of doors, 110
Bells in your parlors, wild-cats in your kitch¬
ens.
Saints in your injuries, devils being offended.
Players in your housewifery, and housewives
in your beds.
Des. O, fie upon thee, slanderer i
Iago. Nay, it is ti'ue, or else I am a Turk ;
You rise to play aud go to bed to work.
Emd. You shall not write my praise.
Iago. No, let me not.
' Des. What wouldst thou write of me, if
thou slionldst praise me ?
Iago O gentle lady, do not put me to't;
For I am nothing, if nut critical. 124
. Des. Come on, assay. There's one gone to
the haybor 7
logo. Ay, madam.
Des. I am not merry ; but I do beguile
The thing I am, by seeming otherwise.
Come, how wouldst thou praise me 7
Iago. I am about it; but indeed my inven¬
tion
Comes from my pate as birdlime does from
frize ;
It plucks out brains and all: but my Muse
labors.
And thus she is deliver'd..
If she be fair and wise, faimess'and wit, 130
The one's for use, the other useth it.
Des. Wall praised ! How if she be black
aud witty ?
Iago. If she be black, and tliereto have a
wit.
She'll find a white that shall her blackness fit.
Des. Worse and worse.
Emit. How if fair and foolish 7
Iago. She never yet was foolish that was
fair;
For even her folly help'd her to an heir.
Des. These are old fond paradoxes to make
fools laugh i' the alehouse. What mi.serable
praise hast thou for her that's foul and fool¬
ish 7 141
Iago. There's none so foul and foolish there¬
unto, .
But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones
do.
Des. O heavy ignorance 1 thou praisest the
' worst best. But what praise couldst thou l>e-
, stow on a deserving woman indeed, one that,
in the authority of ber merit, did justly put on
the vouch of very malice itself 7
Iago. She that was ever fair and never
proud,
Had tongue at will and yet was never loud, 150
Never lack'd gold and yet went never gay.
Fled from her wish and yet said * Now I may,'
She that being auger'd, her revenge being
nigh, ,
Bade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly.
She that in wisdom never was so frail
To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail,
OTHELLO,
m
OTHELLO.
[Act n»
She that coald think and ne'er discfose her
mind,
See suitors following and not look behind,
She was a wight, if ever such wight were,—
Des. To do what ? 160
lago. To suckle fools and chronicle small
beer.
Des. O most lame and impotent conclusion f
Do not learn of him, Emilia, though he be ttiy
husband. How say you, Cassio ? is he not a
most profane and liberal counsellor t
Cat. He speaks home, madam : you may
relish him more in the soldier than in the
scholar.
layo. [Aside] He takes her by the palm :
ay , well said, whisper : with as little a web as
this Willi ensnare as great a ily as Cassio. Ay,
smile upon her, do ; 1 will gyve thee in thine
own courtship. You say true ; 'tis so, indeed:
if such tricks as these strip you out of your
lieuteuantry, it had been better you had not
kissed your three fingers so oft, which now
again you are most apt to play tlie sir in. Very
good ; weli kissed 1 an excellent courtesy I
'tis so, indeed. Yet again your fingers to your
lips ? would they were clyster-pipes for your
sake ! [Trumpet within.'] The Moor 1 I blow
his trumpet. 180
Cat. Tis truly so.
Des. Let's meet him and receive him.
Cos. Lo, where he comes!
Enter Othi!i.i.o and Attendants.
0th. O my fair warrior!
Des. My dear Othello!
0th. It gives me wonder great as my con¬
tent
To see you here before me. O my soul's joy !
If after every tempest come such calms.
May the winds blow till they have waken'd
death !
And let the laboring bark climb hills of seas
Olyrapus-high and duck again as low 190
As hell's from heaven! If it were now to die,
'Twere now to be most happy ; for, I fear.
My soul hath her content so absolute
That not another comfort like to this
Succeeds in unknown fate.
Des. The heavens forbid
But that our loves and comforts should in¬
crease.
Even as our days do grow !
0th. Amen to that, sweet powers t
I cannot speak enough of this content;
It stops me here ; it is too much of joy :
And this, and this, the greatest discords be
[Kissing her. 200
That e'er our hearts shall make !
lago. [Aside] 0, you are well tuned now !
But I'll set down the pegs that make this
music,
As honest as I am.
0th. C!ome, let us to the castle.
Hews, friends ; our wars are done, the Turks
are drown'd.
How does my old acquaintance of this isle ?
Honey, you shall be ivell desired in Cyprus ;
I have found great love amongst them. O my
sweet,
I prattle out of fashion, and I dote
In mine own comforts. I prithee, good lago.
Go to the bay and disembark my coffers: 210
Bring thou the master to the citadel;
He is a good one, and his worthiness
Does chalienge much respect. Come, Desde-
' mona.
Once more, well met at Cyprus.
[Ezeunt Othello, Desdemona, and Atteirdants.
lago. Do thou meet me presently at the
harbor. Come hither. If thou be'st valiant,—
as, they say, base men being in love have then
a nobility in their natures more than is native
to them,—list me. The lieutenant to-night
watches on the court of guard :—first, I must
tell thee this—Desdemona is directly in lore
with him. 221
■Rod. With him ! why, 'tis not possible.
lago. Lay thy finger thus, and let tliy soul
be instructed. Mark me with what violence
she first loved the Moor, but for bragging and
telling her fantastical lies : and will she love
him still for prating ? let not thy discreet
heart think it. Her eye must be fed ; and
what delight shall she have to look on tlie
devil ? When the blood is made dull with
the act of sport, there should be, again to in¬
flame it and to' give satiety a fresli appetite,
loveliness in favor, sympathy in years,
manners and beauties ; all which the Moor is
defective in: now, for want of these required
conveniences, her delicate tenderness will find
itself abused, begin to heave tiie gorge, dis¬
relish and abhor the Moor ; very nature will
in.struct her in it and compel her to som e second
choice. Now, sir, this granted,—as it is a
most pregnant and unforced position—who
stands so eminent in the degree of this fortune
as Cassio does ? a knave very voluble ; no
further conscionable than in putting on the
mere form of civil and humane seeming, for
the better comp<assing of his salt and most
hidden loose affection? why, none ; why,
none ; a slipper and subtle knave, a finder of
occasions, that has an eye can stamp and
counterfeit advantages, though true advan¬
tage never present itself ; a devili.sh knave.
Besides, the knave is handsome, young, and
hath all those requisites in him that folly and
green minds look after: a pestilent complete
knave; and the woman hath found him ai-
ready.
Rod. I cannot believe that in her.;, she's
full of most blessed condition.
lago. Blessed fig's-end ! the wine she drinks
is made of grapes : if she had been blessed,
she would never have loved the Moor. Blessed
pudding ! Didst thou not see her paddle with
the palm of his hand ? didst not mark that ?
Rod. Yes, that I did ; but that was but
courtesy. >
lago. Lechery, by this hand ; an indexand
obscure prologue to the history of lust and
Scene HI.]
foul thoughts. They met so near with their
Um that tlieir breaths embraced together.
Villauous thoughts, Roderigo ! wheu these
mutualities so marshai the way, hard at hand
comes the master and maiu exercise, the in¬
corporate conclusion, Pish ! But, sir, be yon
ruled by me : I have brought you from Venice.
Watch you to-night; for the command, I'll'
lay't upon you, Cassio knows you not I'll
not be far from you : do you find some occa-,
sion to anger Cassio, either by speaking too
loud, or tainting his discipline ; or from what
other course you please, which the time shall
more favorably minister.
Bod. Well.
lago. Sir, he is rash and very sudden in
choler. and haply may strike at you : provoke
him, that he may ; for even out of that will 1
cause these of Cyprus to mutiny ; whose
qualification shall come into no true taste
i^ain but by the displantiug of Cassio. So
shall you have a shorter journey to your de¬
sires by the means I shall then have to prefer
them ; and the impediment most profitably
removed, without the which there were no ex¬
pectation of our prosperity.
Bod. I will do this, if I can bring it tq any
opportunity. 290
logo. I warrant thee. Meet me by and by
at the citadel; I must fetch his necessaries
ashore. FarewelL
Bod. Adieu. [Exit,
lago. That Cassio loves her, I do well be¬
lieve it;
That she loves him, 'tis apt and of great
credit:
The Moor, howbeit that I endure him not.
Is of a constant, loving, noble nature.
And I dare think he'll prove to Desdemona
A most dear husband. , Now, I do love her
too; 300
Net out of absolute lust, though peradventure
I stand accountant for as great a sin.
But i>artly led to diet my revenge.
For that I do suspect the lusty Moor
Hath leap'd into my seat; the thought whereof
Doth, like a [xiisonbus mineral, gnaw my in¬
wards ;
And nothing can or shall content my soul
Till I am ovon'd with him, wife for wife.
Or falling so, yet that I put the Moor
At least into a jealousy so strong 310
Tnat judgment cannot cure. Which thing to
do.
If this poor trash of Venice, whom 1 trash
For his quick hunting, stand the putting on,
I'll have our Michael Cassio on tlie hip.
Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb—
For 1 fear Cassio with my night-cap too—
Make the Moor thank me, love me and reward
me.
For making him egregiousljtan ass
And practising upon his peace and quiet 319
Even to madness. 'Tis here, but yet confused ;
Knavery's plain face is never seen till used.
[Exit.
798
Scene IL A ttrea.
Abater a Herald laith a jp'oeUxmaUm; People
following.
Her. It is Othello's pleasure, our noble and
valiant general, that, upon certain tidings now
arrived, importing tlie mere perdition of the
Turkish fleet, every man put himself into tri¬
umph ; some to dance, some to make bonfires,
each man to what sport and revels his addic¬
tion leads him : for, besides these beneficial
news, it is the celebration of his nuptial. So
much was his pleasure should be proclaimed.
All offices are open, and there is full liberty of
feasting from this present hour of five till the
bell liave told eleven. Heaven bless the isle of
Cyprus and our noble general Othello !
[Exeunt.
Scene III. A hall in the castle.
Enter Otheu;.o, Desdemona, Cassio, o»mi ,
Attendants.
0th. Good Michael, look you to the guard,
to-night •
Let's teach ourseives that honorable stop,
Not to outspoH discretion.
Cos. lago hath direction what to do ;
But, notwitlistanding, with my personal eye
Will I look to't.
Oth. lago is most honest.
Michael, good night : to-morrow with your,
earliest
Let me have speech with you. [To Desdemona']
Come, my dear love.
The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue ;
Thatijrofit's yet to come 'tween me and you.
Good night. 11
[Exeunt Othello, Desdemona, and Attendants.
Enter Iago.
Gas. Welcome, lago ; we must to the watch.
Iago. Not this hour, lieutenant; 'tis not
yet ten o' the clock. Our general cast us thus
early for the love of his Desdemona ; who let
us not therefore blame : he hath not yet made
wanton the night with her ; and she is sport
for Jove.
Gas. She's a most exquisite lady.
Iago. And, I'll warrant her, full of game.
Gas, Indeed, she's a most fresh and deli¬
cate creature. 21
Iago. What an eye she 'ha.s ! methinks it
sounds a parley of provoc.ation.
Gas. An inviting eye ; and yet methinks
right modest.
lago. And when she speaks, is it not an
alarum to love ?
Gas. She is indeed perfection.
Iago. Well, happiness to their sheets ! Come,
lieutenant, I have a stoup of wine ; and hero
without are a brace of Cyprus gallants that
would fain have a measure to the health of
black Othello.
Gas. Not to-night, good Iago : I have very
poor and unhappy bmus for drinking : I oould
OTHELLO.
794
well wish courtesy would invent some other
custom of eiitertaiumeut.
logo. O, they are our friends; but onecup:
I'll drink for you. 39
Cos. I liave drunk but one cup to-night,
and that was craftily qualified too, and, heboid,
what innovation it makes here : I am unfor-
tuitate iu tlie infirmity, and dare not task my
weakness witli any more.
lago. What, man ! 'tis a night of revels :
the gallants desire it.
Cos. Where are they ?
lago. Here at the door ; I pray you, call
them in.
Cos. I'll do't; but it dislikes me. [Exit,
lago. If I can fasten but one cup upon him.
With that wliich he hath drimk to-night al¬
ready, 51
He'll be as full of quarrel and offence
As my young mistress' dog. Now, my sick
fool Roderigo,
Whom love liath tum'd almost the wrong side
out.
To Desdemona hath to-night caroused
• Potations pottle-deep ; and he's to watch:
Three lads of Cyprus, noble svielling spirits.
That hold their honors in a wary distance.
The very elements of this warlike isle)
Have I to-niglit fiuster'd with flowing cups, 60
And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock
of drunkards.
Am I to put our Cassio in some action
That may offend the isle.—But here they come:
If consequence do but approve my dream.
My boat sails freely, both with wind and
stream.
Re-enter Cassio ; with him Montano and
Gentlemen ; servants following loith wine.
Cos. 'Fore God, they have given me a rouse
already.
Mon. Good faith, a little one ; not past a
pint, as I am a soldier.
logo. Some wine, ho ! 70
[Sinps] And let me tlie canakiu clink, clink ;
And let me the canakin clink :
A soldier's a man ;
A life's but a span ;
Wliy, then, let a soldier drink.
Some wine, boys !
Cas.. 'Fore God, an excellent song.
lago. I learned it iu England, where, in¬
deed, they are most potent in potting : your
Dane, your German, and your swag-beilied
Hollander—Drink, lio !—are nothing to your
English. 81
Cos. Is your Englishman so expert in his
drinking ?
lago. Why, he drinks you, with facility,
your Dane d^ drunk ; he sweats not to over¬
throw your Almain ; he gives your Hollander
a vomit, ere the next potue can be filled.
Cas. To the health of our general!
Mon. I am for it, lieutenant; and I'll do
you justice. 90
logo. 0 sweet England I
[Act ii.
King Stephen was a worthy peer,
His breeches cost him but a crown ;
He held them sixpence all too dear,
With that he call'd the tailor lown.
He was a wight of high renown.
And thou art but of low degree :
'Tis pride that pulls the country down ;
Then take thine auld cloak about thee,
^me wine, ho ! 100
Cas. Why, this is a more exquisite song
than the other.
lago. Wili you hear't again '
Cas. No ; for I hold him to oe unworthy of
his place that does those things. Well, God's
above all; and there be souls must be saved,
and there be souls must not be saved.
logo. It's true, good lieutenant.
Cas. For mine own part,—no offence to the
general, nor any man of quality,—I hope to be
saved. ■ 111
lago. And so do I too, lieutenant
Cas. Ay, but, by your leave, not before me;
the lieutenant is to be saved before the ancient
Let's have no more of this; let's to our affairs.—
Forgive us our sins !—Gentlemen, let's look to
our business. Do not think, gentlemen, I am
drunk : this is my ancient; this is my right
handr and this is my left: I am not drunk
now ; I can stand well enough, and speak well
enough. 120
Ail. Excellent well.
Cas. Why, very well then ; you must not
think then that I am drunk. [Exit.
Mon. To the platform, masters ; come, let's
set the watch.
lago. You see this fellow that is gone be¬
fore ;
He is a soldier fit to stand by Csesar
And give direction: and do but see his vice ;
'Tis to his virtue a just equinox.
The one as long as the otiier : 'tis pity of him.
I fear the trust Othello puts him in, 131
On some odd time of his infirmity,
Will sliake this island.
Mon. But is he often thus 7
lago. 'Tis evermore the prologue to his
sleep:
He'll watch the horologe a double set,
If drink rock not his c^le.
Mon. It were well
The general were put in mind of it.
Perhaps he sees it not; or his good nature
Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio, 139
And looks not on his evils : is not this true ?
Enter Roderigo.
lago. [Aside to hi~n\ How now, Roderigo!
I pray you, after the lieutenant; go.
[.Brit Roderigo.
Mon. And 'tis great pity that the noble
Moor
Should hazard such a place as his own second
Witli one of an ingraft infirmity :
It were an honest action to say
So to the Moor.
Zago. Not I, for this fair island:
OTHELLO.
SCEKB Ill. j
I do love Cassio well; and would do mndi
To cure him ol this evil—But, hark! what
noise ?
[Cry vrithin: ' Help! help 1'
Re enter Cassio, driving in Rodbrigo.
Cae. Yon rogne! you rascal I
Mon. What's the matter, lieutenant 7
Cos. A knave teach me my duty ! 151
ni beat tlie knave into a twiggeu liotHe.
Rod. Beat me!
Cat. Dost thou prate, ro^e 7
[Striking Roderigo.
Mon. Nay, good lieutenaW,
[Staying him.
I pray you, sir, hold your hand. \
Cat. Let me go, sir.
Or I'il knock you o'er the mazzard.
Mon. Come, come, you're drunk.
Cae. Drunk 1 [They fight,
lago. [Aside to Roderigo} Away, I say ; go
out, and cry a mutiny. [Exit Roderigo,
Nay, good lieutenant,—alas, gentlemen
Help, ho !—Lieutenant,—sir,—Montano,—sir;
Help, masters!—Here's a goodly watch indeed!
\Bell rings.
Who's that which rings the hell 7—Diablo, no!
The town will risei: Goa « will, lieutenant,
hold!
You will be shamed tor ever.
Re-enter Othello and Attendants.
0th. What is the matter here 7
Mon. 'Zounds, I bleed still; I am hurt to
the deatlL [Faints.
0th. Hold, tor your lives I
lago. Hold, lio ! Lieutenant,—sir,—Mon¬
tano,—gentlemen,—
Have you forgot all sense of place and duty 7
Hold ! the general speaks to you; hold, hold,
for shame I
' 0th. Why, how now, ho ! from whence
ariseth this 7
Are we turn'd Turks, and to ourselves do that
Which heaven hath forbid theOttomites 7 171
For Christian shame, put by this barbarous
brawl:
He that stirs next to carve for his own rage
Holds his soul light; he dies upon his motion.
Silence that dreadfnl bell: it frights the isle
From her propriety. What is the matter, mas¬
ters?
Honest lago, that look'st dead with grieving.
Speak, who began this 7 on thy love, I charge
thee.
lago. 1 do not know : friends all but now,
even now, 179
In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom
Devesting them for bed ; and then, but now—
As if some planet had nnwitted men—
Swords out, and tilting one at other's breast.
In opposition bloody. 1 cannot speak
Any beginning to this peevish odds ;
And would in action glorious 1 had lost
'Those legs that brought me to a part of it!
0th. How comes it, Michael, you are thus
forgot?
795
Cm. I pray you, pardon me ; I cannot speak.
OOt. Worthy Montano, you were wont be
civil; 1<X»
The gravity and stillness of your youth
The world hath noted, and your name is great
In mouths of wisest censure : what's the mat¬
ter.
That you unlace your reputation thus
And spend your rich opinion for Hie name
Of a night-brawler 7 give me answer to it.
Mon. Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger:
YouroflBcer, lago, can inform you,—
While I spare speech, which something now
offends me,—
Of all that 1 do know : nor know I anght- 200
By me that's said or done amiss this night;
Unless self-charity be sometimes a vice.
And to defend ourselves it be a sin
When violence assails us.
0th. Now, by heaven.
My blood begins my safer guides to rule ;
And passion, having my best judgmentcoliied.
Assays to lead the way : if I once stir.
Or do but lift this arm, the best of you
Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know
How this foul rout began, who set it on ; 210
And he that is approved in this offence.
Though he Imd twiim'd with me, both at a
birth.
Shall lose me. What! in a town of war,
Vet wild, the people's heaits brimful of fear.
To manage private and domestic quanel,
In night, and on the court and guard of safety I
'Tis monstrous. lago, who began't 7
Mon. If i^artially affined, or leagued in office.
Thou lost deliver more or less tlian truth.
Thou art no soldier.
lago. Touch me not so near : 220
I bad rather have this tongue cut from my
mouth
Thai.. H should do offence to Michael Cassio ;
Yet, icrsuade myself, to sp^k the truth
Shall thing wrong him. Thus it is, general.
Montano and myself being in speech.
There Oiimes a fellow crying out for help :
And Cassio following him with determined
woi-d.
To ex'cute upon*him. Sir, this gentleman
Steps in to Cassio, and entreats his pause:
Myself the crying fellow did pursue, 230
Lest by his clamor—as it so fell out—
The town might fall in fright: he, swift of
foot.
Outran my purpose; and I return'd the rather
For that I heard the clink and fall of swords.
And Cassio high in oath ; which till to-night
I ne'er might say before. When I came back—
For this was brief—I found them close together.
At blow and thrust: even <is again they were
When you yourself did part them.
More of this matter cannot I report : 240
But men are men ; the best sometimes forget:
Though Cassio did some iittle wrong to him.
As men in rage strike those that wish them
best,
Yet surely Cassio, I believe, received
OTHELLO.
TOO
OTHELLO.
[Act it
From him that fled some strange iudlguity,
Which patience could nut pass.
Oth. I know, lago,
Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter,
Making it light to Casslo. Cassio, I love thee ;
But never more be officer of mine.
Re-enler Desoemona, attended.
Look, if my gentle-lore be not raised up 1 250
I'll make thee an example.
Dee. • . What's the matter ?
Olh. All's well now, sweeting ; come away
to bed. [geon ;
jir, for your hurts, myself will be your sur-
Lead him off. \To Montana, who is led off.
lago, look with care about the town.
And silence those whom this vile brawl dis¬
tracted.
Come, Oesdemona ; 'tis the soldiers' life
To have their balmy slumbers waked with
strife. [Exeunt all hut lago and Cassio.
• lago: What, are you hurt, lieutenant ? •
Cas. Ay, past all surgery. 260
lago. Marry, heaven forbid 1
Cas. Reputation, reputation, reputation ! O,
I have lost my reputation ! I have lost the im¬
mortal }rart of myself, and what remains is
bestial. My reputation, lago, my reputation !
lago. As I am an lionest man, I thought
you had rerieived some bodily wound ; there
is more sense in that than in reputation.
Reputation is an idle and most false imposi¬
tion : oft got without merit, and lost without
deserving : you have lost no reputation at all,
unless you repute yourself such a loser.
What, man ! there are ways to recover the
general again : you are but now cast in his
mood, a punishment mure in jrolicy than in
malice even so as one would beat his of-
fenceless dog to affright an imperious lion :
sue to him again, and lie's yours.
Cas. I will rather sue to be despised than
to deceive so good a commander with so
slight, so drunken, and so indiscreet an offi¬
cer. Drunk ? and speak parrot ? and squab¬
ble ? swagger ? swear ? and discourse fus¬
tian with one's own shadow ? O thou invisi¬
ble spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be
known by, let us call thee devil!
lago. What was he that you followed with
your sword 1 What had he done to you ?
Cas. I know not.
lago. Is't possible 1
Cas. I remember a mass of things, but
nothing distinctly ; a quari'el, but nothing
wherefore. O God, that men should put an
enemy in their mouths to steal away their
brains ! that we should, with joy, pleasance,
revel and applause, transform ourselves into
bepsts!
lago. Why, but you are now well enough :
how came you thus recovered ?
Cas. It hath pleased the devil drunkenness
to give place to the devil wrath ; one nnper-
fectness shows me another, to make me
frankly despise myseU. 300
logo. Come, you are too severe a moraler,.
as the time, tlte place, and the condition of
this country stands, I could heartily wish this
had not befallen ; but, since it is as it is,
mend it for your own good.
Cas. I will ask him for my place again ;
he shall tell me I am a drunkard 1 Had I as
many mouths' as Hydra, such an answer
would stop them all. To be now a sensible
man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast!
O strange ! Every inordinate cup is-unblessed
and the ingredient is a devil.
lago. Come, come, good wine is a good
familiar creature, if it be well used ; exclaim
no more against it. And, good lieutenant, I
think you think I love you. '
Cas. I have well approved it, sir. I drunk I
lago. You or any man living may be drunk
at a time, man. I'll tell you what you shall
do. Our general's wife is now the general : I
may say so in this respect, for that he hath
devoted and given up himself to the contem¬
plation, mark, and denotement of her parts
and graces: confess yourself freely to her)
importimo her help to put you in your place
again : she is of so free, so kind, so apt, so
blessed a dispositi—i, she holds it a vice in
her goodness not to Jo more than she is re¬
quested: this broken joint between you and
her husband entreat her to splinter ; and, my
fortunes against any lay worth naming, this
crack of your love shall grow stronger than it
was before. 331
Cas. You advise me well.
lago. , I protest, in the sincerity of love and
honest kindness.
Cas. I think it freely ; and betimes in the
morning I will beseech the viituous Desde-
mona to undertake for me : I am de.sperate of
my fortunes if they check me here,
lago. Yon are in the right. Good night,
lieutenant ; I must to the watch, 340
Cas. Good night, honest lago. [Exit,
lago. And what's he then that says I play
the villain ?
When this advice is free I give and honest,
Probal to thinking and indeed the course
To win the Moor again ? For 'tis most easy
The inclining Desdemona to subdue
In any honest suit: she's frame>l as fruitful
As the free elements. And then for her
To win the Moor—were't to renounce his
baptism.
All seals and symbols of redeemed sin, 350
His soul is so eufetter'd to her love,
'ITiat she may make, unmake, do what she
list,
Even as her appetite shall play the god
With his weak function. How am I then a
villain
To counsel Cassio to this parallel course.
Directly to his good ? Divinity of hell!
When devils will the blackest sins put on.
They do suggest at first with heavenly shows.
As I do now : for whiles this honest fool
Flies Desdemona to repair his fortunes 361
OTHELLO. Wt
i>CKNB 1.}
.And sha for him pleads strongly to the Moor,
I'll pour this pestilence into his ear,
That she repeals him for her body's lust;
And by how much she strives to do him good.
She shall undo her credit with the Moor.'
So will i turn hen virtue into pitch.
And out of her own goodness make the net
That shall enmesh them all.
Re-enUr Roderigo.
How now, Roderigo!
Rod. I do follow here in the chase, not like
a hound that hunts, but one that fills up the
cry. My money is almost spent; I have been
to-night exceedingly well cudgelled ; and I
think the issue will be, I shall have so much
experience for my pains, and so, with no
money at all and a little more wit, return
again to Venice.
lago. How poor are they that have not pa-J
tience !
Wliat wound did ever heal but by degrees ? ■
Thou know'st we vvork by wit, and not by
witchcraft;
And wit depends on dilatory time.
Does't not go well ? Cassio hath beaten thee.
And thou, by that small hurt, hast cashier'd
Cassio; ' ^ 381
Though other things grow fair against the
sun,
Yet fruits that blossom first will" first be ripe :
Content thyself awhile. By the mass, 'tis
morning;
Pleasure and action make the hours seem
" short.
Retire tliee ; go where thoii art billeted :
Away, I say ; thou shalt know more here¬
after :
Nay, get thee gone. [Exit Roderigo.'] Two
things are to be done :
My wife must move for Cassio to her mis-
I'll set her on; 390
Myself the while to draw the Moor apart.
And jump when he may Cassio
Soliciting his wife : ay, th.at's the way :
Dull not device by coldness and delay. [Exit.
ACT in.
Scene L Before the castle.
, Entei' Cassio and some Musicians.
'Cas.' Masters, play here ; I \vi 1 content
your pains ;
Something that's brief ; and bid ' Good mor¬
row, general.' [Hvsic.
Enter Clow|^
Clo. Why, masters, have your instruments
been in Naples, that they speak i' the nose
thus ?
First Hus. How, sir, how I
Clo. Are these, I pray you, wind-instru¬
ments 1
First Mas. Ay, marry, are they, sir.
Clo. O, thereby hangs a tail.
First Mas. Wliereby hangs a tale, sir ? 9
Clo. Marry, sir, by many a wind-instru¬
ment that I know. But, masters, here's
money for you : and the general so likes
your music, that he desires you, for love's
sake, to make no more noise with it.
First Mas. Well, sir, we will not.
Clo. If you have any music that may hot
be heard, to't again : but, as they say, to
hear music the general does not greatly care.
First Mas. We have none such, sir".
Clo. Then put up your pipes in your bag,
for I'll away : go ; vanish into air ; away ! 21
[Exeunt Musicians.
Cas. Dost thou hear, my honest friend ?
Clo. No, I hear not your honest friend ; I
hear you.
Cas. Prithee, keep up thy quillets. There's
a poor piece of gold for thee : if the gentle¬
woman that attends the general's wife be
stirring, tell her there's one Cassio entreats
her a little favor of speech: wilt thou do this ?
Clo. She is stirring, sir : if she will stir
hither, I shall seem to notify unto her. 31
Cas. Do, good my friend. [Exit Clown.
Enter Iago.
In happy time, Iago<
Iago. You have not been a-bed, then ?
Cas. Why, no ; tlie day had broke
Before we parted. I have made bold, Iago,
To send in to your wife : my suit to her
Is, that she will to virtuous Desderaona
Procure me some access.
Iago. I'll send her to yon presently ;
And I'll devise a mean to draw the Moor
Out of the way, that your converse and busi¬
ness
May be more free. 41
Cas. I hnmlily thank you for't. [Exit Iago.]
I never knew
A Florentine more kind and honest.
Ente-r Emilia.
Emil. Good morrow, good lieutenant: I
am sorry '
For your displeasure ; but all will sure be
well.
The general and his wife are talking of it;
And, she speaks for you stoutly: the Moor
replies.
That he you hurt is of great fame in Cyprus,
And great affinity, and that in wholesome
wisdom
He might not but refuse you; but he protests
he loves you 50
And needs no otiier suitor but his likings
To take the safest occasion by the front
To bring you in again.
Cas. Yet, I beseech you,
If you think fit, or that it may be done.
Give me advantage ci some brief discourse
798
With Desdemona alone.
Emit. Pray yon, come in ;
I will bestow you where yon shall have time
To speak your bosom freely.
Cos. I am much bound to you. [Exeunt.
SCEMB n. A room in the castle.
Enter Othello, Iago, and Gentlemen.
0th. These letters give, Iago, to the pilot;
And by him do my duties to the senate :
That done, I will be walking on the works ;
Eepair there to me.
laf/o. Well, my good lord, I'U do't.
0th. This fortification, gentlemen, shall we
see't ?
Gent. We'll wait upon your lordship.
[Exeunt.
Scene III. The garden of the castle.
Enter Desdemona, Cassio, and Emilia.
Des. Be thou assured, good Cassio, I will
do
All my abilities in thy behalf.
Emil. Good madam, do; I warrant it
grieves my husband,
As if the case were his.
Pes. O, that's an honest fellow. Do not
doubt, Cassio,
But I will have my lord and you again
As friendly "as you were.
Ccts. Bounteous madam.
Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio,
He's never any thing but your true servant.
Des. I know't; I thank you. You do love
my lord : 10
You have known him long ; and be you well
assured
He shall in strangeness stand no further off
Thau in a politic distance.
Cos. Ay, but, lady.
That policy may either last so long.
Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet.
Or breed itself so out of circumstance,
'Tliat, I being absent and my place supplied.
My general will forget my love and service.
Pes. Do not doubt ^t ; before Emilia
here
I give thee warrant of thy place : assure tiiee.
If I do vow a friendship, I'll perform it 21
To tiie last article : my lord shall never rest;
I'll watch him tame and talk him out of pa¬
tience ;
His bed shall seem a school, his board a
shrift ;
I'll intermingle everything he does
With Cassio's suit: therefore be merry, Cas¬
sio ;
For thy solicitor shall rather die
Tiian give thy cause away.
Emil. Madam, here comes my lord.
Cos. Madam, I'ii take my leave. 30
Pes. Why, stay, and hear me speak.
Cas. Madam, not now : I am yery ill at
ease,
[Act 111.
Unfit for mine own purposes.
Pes. Weil, do your discretion. [Exit Cassio,
Enter Othello and Iago.
Iago. Ha ! I like not tiiat.
0th. W liat dost thou say ?
logo. Nothing, my lord : or if—I know not
what.
0th. Was not that Cassio parted from my
wife ?
Iago. Cassio, my lord ! No, sure, I cannot
think it.
That he would steal away so guilty-like,
Seeing you coming.
0th., I do believe 'twas he. 40
Pes. How now, mjr lord !
I have been talking with a suitor here,
A man tiiat lauguishes in your displeasure.
0th. Who i»"t you mean ?
Pes. Why, your lieutenant, Cassio. Good
my lord.
If I have any graee or power to move you.
His present reconciliation take ;
For if he be not one that truly loves you.
That errs in ignorance and not in cunning,
I have no judgment in an honest face: 50
I prithee, call him back.
0th. Went he hence now ?
Pes. Ay, sooth ; so humbled
Tiiat he halb ieft part of his grief with me.
To suffer with him. Good love, call him back.
0th. Not now, sweet Desdemona ; some
other time.
Pes. But shall't be shortly ?
0th. The sooner, sweet, for you.
Pes. Shall't be to-night at supper ?
0th. No, not to-night.
Pes. To-morrow dinner, then ?
0th. 1 shall not dine at home ;
I meet the captains at the citadel.
Pes. Why, then, to-morrow night; or Tues¬
day morn ; 60
On Tue^ay noon, or night; on Wednesday
morn:
I prithee, name the time, but let it not
Exceed three days : in faith, he's penitent;
And yet his trespass, in our common reason—
Save that, they say, the wars must make ex¬
amples
Out of their best—is not almost a fault
To incur a private ciieck. When shall he
come ?
Tell me, Othello : I wonder in my soul.
What you would ask me, that I should deny.
Or stand so mainmering on. What! Michael
cassio, 70
That came a-wooing with you, and so many a
time.
When I have spoke of you dispraisingly.
Hath ta'en your part; to have so much to do
To bring himiu ! Trnstme, I could domuch,—
OfA. Prithee, no more : let him come when
he will;
I will deny thee nothing.
Pes. Why, this is not a boon;
'Tis as I slioiild entreat you wear your glovea^
OTHELLO.
SCEKE III.]
Or feed on nourisliiug dishes, or keep yon
warm,
Or sue to yon to do a peculiar profit
To your own person : nay, when I hare a suit
Wherein 1 mean to touch your love indeed, 81
It sliail be fuil of poise and difflcult weight
And fearful to be granted.
Olh. I will deny thee nothing ;
Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this,
To leave me but a little to myself.
Det. Shall I deny you ? no ; fkrewell, my
lord.
0th. Farewell, my Desdemona: I'll come
to thee straight
Det. Emilia, come. Be as your fancies
teach yon ;
Whate'er you be, I am obedient.
[Exeunt Detdemona and Emilia.
0th. Excellent wretch ! Perdition catch
my soul, 90
But 1 do love thee t and when I love thee not.
Chaos is come again.
lago. My noble loid,—
0th. What dost thou say, lago ?
lago. Did Michael Oassio, when you woo'd
my lady.
Know of your love ?
Olh. He did, from first to last: why dost
thou ask ?
lago. But for a satisfaction of my thought;
No further harm.
0th. Why of thy thought, lago ?
lago. I did not think he had been acquaint¬
ed with her. ■
0th. O, yes ; and went between us very oft.
lago. Indeed I 101
0th. Indeed ! ay, indeed : discern'st tliou
aught in that ?
Is he not nonest ?
logo. Honest, my lord !
0th. Honest! ay, honest.
lugo. My lord, for aught I know.
Oth. What dost thou think ?
lago. Think, my lord !
Oih. Think my lord !
By heaven, he echoes me.
As if there were some monster in his thouglit
Too hideous to be shown. Tliou dost mean
something:
I heard thee say even now, thou likedst not
that.
When Oassio left my wife : what didst not
like ? 110
And when J told thee he was of my counsel
In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst
' Indeed ! * [gether.
And didst contract and purse hy qrow to-
As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain
Some horrible conceit; if thou dost love me,
Bbow me thy thought
logo. My lord, you kn*w I love you.
Om. I think thou dost;
And, for I know thou 'rt full of love and hon¬
esty.
And weigh'st thy words before thou givest
Uiem breath.
799
Therefore these stops of thine fright me the
more: 120
For such things in a false disloyal knave
Are tricks of custom, but in a man that's just
They are close delations, working from the
heart
That passion cannot rule.
lago. For Michael Oassio,
I dare be sworn I think that he is honest.
Oth. I think so too.
lago. Men should be what they seem ;
Or those that be not, would they might seem
none !
OUu Certain, men should be what tliey
seem.
lago. Why, then, I think Cassio's an honest
man.
Oth. Nay, yet there's more in this : 130
I prithee, speak to me as to thy thinkings.
As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of
thongiits
The worst of words.
logo. Good my lord, pardon me:
Tliough I am bound to every act of duty,
I am not bound to that all slaves are free to.
Utter my thoughts ? Why, say tliey are vile
and false ;
As Where's tiiat palace whereinto foul things
Sometimes intrude not? who has a breasfso
pure.
But some uncleanly apprehensions
Keep leets and law-days and in session sit 140
With meditations lawful 1
Oth. Thou dost conspire against thy friend,
lago, [his ear
If thou but think'st him wrong'd and makest
A stranger to thy thoughts.
lugo. I do beseech you—
Though I perchance am vicious in my guess.
As, I confess, it is my nature's plague
To spy into abuses, and oft my jealousy
Shapes faults that are not—that your wisdom
yet.
From onetiiatso imperfectly conceits,
Would take no notice, nor build yourself a
trouble 150 •
Out of ills scattering and unsure observance.
It were not for your quiet nor your good.
Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom.
To let you know my thoughts.
Oth. What dost tliou mean ?
lago. Good name in man and woman, dear
my lord.
Is the immediate jewel of their souls:
Who steals my purse steals trash ; 'tis some¬
thing, nothing;
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to
thousands ;
But he that filches from me my good name
Robs me of that which not enriches him 160
And makes me poor indeed.
Oth. By heaven, I'll know thy thoughts.
lago. You cannot, if my heart were m yous
hand;
Nor shall not, whilst 'tis in my custody.
Oth. ua i
OTHELLO.
600
OTHELLO
IAct in.
logo. O, beware, my lord, of jealousy ;
It is the green-eyed monster which dotii mock
The meat it feeds on ; that cnckold lives in bliss
Who, certain of his fate, ioves not his wronger;
But, O, what damned minutes tells he p'er
Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly
loves! 170
0th. O misery!
lago. Poor and content is rich and rich
enough.
But riches fineless ie as poor as winter
To lum that ever fears he shall be poor.
Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend
From jealousy!
0th. Why, why is this ?
ThiuIPst thou I'id make a life of jealousy,
To follow still the changes of the moon
With fresh suspicious ? No ; to be once In
doubt
Is once to be resolved : exchange me fora goat.
When I shall turn the business of my soul 181
To such exsnfflicate and blown surmises.
Matching tliy inference. 'Tis not to make me
■jeaious [puny.
To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves coni-
Is free of speech, sings, plays and dances well ;
Where virtue is, these are more virtuous :
Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw
Tlie smallest fear or doubt of her revolt;
For she had eyes, and chose me. No, lago ;
I'll see before I doubt; when I doubt, prove
And on the proof, there is no more but this,—
Away at once with love or jealousy !
lago. I am glad of it; for now I shall have
reason
To show the love and duty that I bear you
With franker spirit: therefore, as I am bound.
Receive it from me. I si)eak not yet of proof.
Look to your wife ; observe her well with
Cassio ;
Wear your eye thus, not jealous nor secure :
I would hot nave your free and noble nature.
Out of self-bounty, be abused ; look to't; 200
I know our country disposition well;
In Venice they do let heaven see the pranks
They dare not show their husbands ; their best
conscience
Is not to leave't undone, but keep't unknown.
0th. Dost thou say so ?
lago. She did deceive her father, marrying
you ;
And when she seem'd to shake and fear your
looks.
She loved them most
0th. And so she did.
lago. Why, go to then ;
She that, so yormg, could give out such a
seeming.
To seal her father's eyes up close as oak—210
He thought'twas witchcraft—but! am much
to blame ;
I humbly do beseech you of your pardon
For too much loving you. .
0th. I am bound to thee for ever.
logo. I see this hatii a little dash'd your
8[drit8.
Oth. Not a jot, not a joL
lago. r faitli, I fear it ha&
I hope you will consider what is s^wke
Comes from my love. But I do see you're
moved i
I am to pray you not to strain my speech
To grosser issues nor to larger reach
Thau to suspicion. 220
Oth. 1 will not.
lago. Should you do so, my lord.
My speech should fall into such vile success
As my thoughts aim i.ot at. Cassi )'s uiy worthy
friend—
My lord, I see you're moved.
Oth. No, not much moved:
I do not think but Desdemona's honest.
lago. Long live she so ! and long live you
to think BO I
Oth. And yet, how nature erring from it¬
self,-
logo. Ay, there's the point: as—to be bold
with you—
Not to affect many proposed matches 229
Of her own clime, comjilexion, and degree.
Whereto we see in all tilings nature tends—
Foil ! one may smell in such a will most rank,
Foul disproportion, thoughts unnaturaL
But pardon me ; 1 do not in position
Distinctly speak of her ; though I may fear
Her will, recoiling to her better judgment.
May fall to match you with her coimtry forms
And happily repent.
Oth. Farewell, farewell :
If more thou dost perceive, let me know more;
Set on thy wife to observe : leave me, lago.
lago. {Going'] My lord, I take my leave.
Oth. Why did I marry ? This honest crea¬
ture doubtless
Sees and knows more, much more, than he
unfolds.
logo. [Returning] My lord, I would I might
entreat your honor
To scan this tiling no further; leave it to time:
Though it be lit that Cassio have his place.
For sure, he fills it up with great ability.
Yet, if you please to hold him off awhile.
You shall by that perceive him and his means:
Note, if your lady strain his entertainment
With any strong or vehement importunity; 251
Much will be seen in that. In the mean time,
Let me be thought too busy in my fears—
As worthy cause I have to fear I am—
And hold her free, I do beseech your honor.
Oth. Fear not my government
lago. I once more take my leave. [Exit
Oth, This fellow's of exceeding honesty,
And Igiows all qualities, with a learned spirit,
Of human dealings. If I do prove her hag¬
gard, 260
Though that her jesses were my dear heart¬
strings,
rid whistle her off and let her down the wind
To pray at fortune. Haply, for I am black
And have not those soft parts of conversation
That chamberers have, or for I am declined
Into the vale of years,—yet that's not much-
3cekb' ni.]
OTHETJA).
80'
She's gone. , I am abased; and my relief '
^UKt be to loathe her. O curse of marriage,
That we can call these delicate creatures onrs,
And not their appetites I 1 had rather be a
toad, • 270
And live upon the vapor of a dungeon,
Thau keep a comer in the thing 1 love
For others' uses. Yet, 'tis the plague.of great
ones;
Prerogatived are they less than tlie base ;
'Tis destiny unshuimable, like death :
Even then this forked plague is fated to us
When we do quicken. Desdemona comes:
Re-enter Desdemona and Emilia.
If she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself I
I'll not believe't.
Des. How now, my dear Otheyo!
Tour dinner, and the generous islanders 280
By you invited, do attend your presence.
Olh, I am to blame.
Des. Why do you speak so faintly?
Are you not well ?
0th. . I have a pain upon my forehead hera
Des. 'Faith, that's with watching; 'twill
, away again:
Let me but bind it hard, within this hour
It will bq well.
0th. Your napkin is too little :
l.He puts the handtmrchief from him; and
it drops.
Let it alone. Come, I'll go in with you.
Des. I am very sorry that you are not well.
[Exeunt Othello and Desdiemona.
Emil. I am glad I have found this napkin:
This was her first remembrance from the Moor:
My wayward husband hath a«hundred times
Woo'd me to steal it; but she so loves) the
token,' ■ ■
For he conjured her she should ever keep it,
Tliat she reserves it evermore about her
To kiss and talk to. I'll have tlie work ta'en
out.
And give't lago : what he will do with it
Heaven knows, not I;
I nothing but to please his fantasy.
Re-enter Iago.
logo. How now! what do you here alone ?
Emil. Do not you chide ; I have a thing for
you. 301
logo. A thing for me ? it is a common
thing— I
EmU. Ha 1
logo. To have a foolish wife.
Emil. 0, is that all ? What will you give
me now
For the same handkerchief ?
logo. What handkerchief ?
Emil. What handkerchief ?
Why, that th Moor first gave to Desdemona;
That which so often you dm bid me steal.
itgo. Hast stol'n it from her ? 310
^mil. No^ 'faith ; she let it drop by negli.'
gence,
ABd,to the advantage, I, being here,took't up.
Look, here it is.
la^. A good wench ; give it me.
Emit. What will you do with't, that you
have been so earnest
To have me filch it 7
lugoi [Snatching Why, what's that to
you ?
Emil. If it be not for some purpose of im¬
port.
Give't me again : poor lady, she'll tun mad
When she shall lack it.
logo. Be not ackuown on't; I have use
lor it.
Go, leave me. [Exit Emilia. 320
I will in Cassio's lodging lose this napkin.
And let him find it. Trifles light as air
Are to the jealous confirmations strong
As proofs of holy writ: this may do something.
The Moor already changes with my poison:
Dangerous conceits are, in their natures, poi¬
sons,
Which at the first are scarce found to distaste.
But with a little act upon the blood.
Bum like the mines of sulphur. I did say so:
Look, where he comes .'
Re-enter Othello.
Not poppy, nor mandragora, 330
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world.
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
Which thou owedst yesterday.
Oth. Ha ! ha ! false to me ?
Iago. Why, how now, general! no more of
that
Oth. Avaunt! be gone ! thou hast set me
on the rack :
I swear 'tis better to be much abused
Than but to know't a little.
Iago. How now, my lord !
Oth. What sense had 1 of her stol'n hours
of lust t
I saw 't not, thought it not, it harm'd not me:
I slept the next nigiit well, was free and merry;
I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips: 341
He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stol'n.
Let him not know't, and he's not robb'd at all.
logo. I am sorry to hear this.
Oth. I had been happy, if the general camp,
Pioners and all, had tasted her sweet body,
So 1 had nothing known. O, now, for ever
Farewell the tranquil mind I farewell content!
Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars.
That make ambition Virtue ! O, farewell! 350
Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill
, trump,
The .spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife.
The royal banner, and all quality.
Pride, ;K)mp and circumstance of glorious war!
And, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats
The immortal .love's dead clamors counterfeit,
Farewell I Othello's occupation's gone!
Iago. Is 't possible, my lord ?
Oih. Villain, be sure thou prove my love a
whore.
Be sure of it; give me the ocular proof ; 360
Or by the worth of man's eternal soul,
fil
802
OTHELLO.
[Ao
Thou haclst been better have been bom a dog
Than answer my waked wrath !
Imjo. Is't come to this ?
0th. Make me to see't; or, at the least, so
prove it,
That tfie i>robation bear no hinge nor loop
To hang a doubt on ; or woe uiwn thy life !
lar/o. My noble lord,—
0th. If thou dost slander her and torture
me^
Never piay more ; abandon all remorse ;
On liori-or's liead horrors accumulate ; 370
Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth
amazed ;
For nothing canst thou to damnation add.
Greater than that.
lago. O grace ! O heaven forgive me!
Are you a man ? nave you a soul or sense ?
God be wi' you ; take mine office. O wretched
fooil,'
That livOst to make thine honesty a vice !
0 monstrous world I Take note, "take note, O
world,
To be direct and honest is not safe. '
1 thank you for this profit; and from hence
I'll love no friend, situ love breeds sucli offence.
0th. Nay, stay: thou shoiildst be honest.
laf/o. I should be wise, for honesty's a fool
And loses that it works fur.
0th. By the world,
I think my wife be hone.st and think she is not;
I think that thou art just and think thou art
not.
I'll have some proof. Her name, that was as
fresh
As Dlan's visage, is now begrimed and black
As mine own face. If there be cords, or knives.
Poison, or fire, or suffocating streams,
I'll not endure it. Would I were satisfied 1 390
lago. I see, sir, you are eaten up with pas¬
sion :
I do repent me that I put it to you.
You would be satisfied ?
0th. Would ! nay, I will.
Jaf/o. .And may: but, how ? how satisfied,
my lord ?
Would you, the supervisor, grossly gape on—
Behold her toiip'd ?
0th. Death and damnation ! O!
logo. It were a tedious difficulty, I think.
To bring them to that prospect: damn them
then.
If ever mortal eyes do see them bolster
More than their own ! What then? how then?
What shall I say ? Where's satisfaction ? 401
It is impossible you should see this.
Were they as prime as goats, as hot as mon¬
keys.
As salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross
As ignorance made drunk. But yet, I say.
If imputation and stiong circumstances.
Which lead directly to the door of truth.
Will give you satisfaction, you may have't.
0th. Give me a livi.i,g re^on she's disloyal.
lago. 1 do not like the office : 413
But. sith I am enter d in this cause so fyx,
Prick'd to't by foolish honesty and love,
I will go on. I lay with Cassio lately;
And, being trouble with a raging tooth,
I could not sleep. .
There are a kind of men so lo(Se of soi^ _
That in their sleeps will mutter their affairs;
One of this kind is Cassio :
In sleep I heard him say ' Sweet Desdemona,
Let us be wary, let us bide our loves ;420
And then, sir, would he griiie and wring my
hand.
Cry ' O sweet creature 1' and then kiss me
hard.
As if he pluck'd up kisses by the roots
That grew upon my lips : then laid his leg
Over my thigh, and sigh'd, and kiss'd ; and
then
Cried 'Cursed fate that gave thee to the
Moor!'
0th. 0 monstrous ! monstrous !
lago. Nay, this was but his dream.
0th. But this denoted a foregone con-
elusion :
'Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream.
lago. And this may help to thicken other
proofs 430
That do demonstrate thinly.
0th. I'll tear her all to pieces.
lago. Nay, but be wise : yet we see noth'
ing done ;
She may be honest yet. Tell me but this,
Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief
SpottM with strawberries in your wife's handl
0th. I gave her such a one ; 'twas my first
gift. .
lago. I know not that; but such a hand¬
kerchief—
I am sure it was your wife's—did I to-day
See Cassio wipe his beard with.
0th. If it be that,—
logo. If it be that, or any that was hers, 440
It speaks against her with the other proofs.
0th. O, that the slave had forty thousand ■
lives !
One is too poor, too weak for my revenge.
Now do I see 'tis true. Look here, lago ;
All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven.
Tis gone.
Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell!
Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne
To tyrannous hate ! Swell, bosom, with thy
fraught.
For 'tis of aspics' tongues !
lago. Yet be content. 450
Olh. O, blood, blood, blood !
lago. Patience, I say; your miiid perhaps
may change.
0th. Never, lago. Like to the Pontic sea.
Whose icy current and compulsive coarse
Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on
To the Propoutic and the Hellesiwnt,
Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent
pace.
Shall ne'er lOok back, ue'et ebb to humble
love,
.C.1 that a qanable .and wfde revenge
scehb IT.]
0THELL9.
803
Swallow them ap. Now, by youd marble
heaven, 4G0
\KmeU\ In the due reverence of a sacred vow
I here engage my words..
lago. » Do not rise y et.
[Kneels] Witness, you ever-burning lights
above.
Yon elements that clip us round about.
Witness that here lago doth give up
The execution of iiis wit, hands, heart.
To wrong'd Othello's service I Let him com¬
mand.
And to obey slmll be in me-remorse.
What bloody business ever. rise.
0th. I greet thy love.
Not with vain thanks, but with accex^tance
bounteous, 470
And will U|x>n the instant put thee to't;
Within these tiiree days let me hear thee say
That Cassio's not alive.
lago. My friend is dead ; 'tis done at your
request:
But let her live.
0th. Damn her, lewd minx! 0, damn her!
Come, go with me ax^art; I will witlidraw,
To furnish me with some swift means of death
For the fair devil. Now art thou my lieuten¬
ant.
lago. I am your own for ever. [Exeunt.
SCEMBIV. Be/ore the castle.
Enter Desdemona, Emilia, and Clown.
Des. Do you know, sirrah, where Lienten-
aOt Cassio lies ?
Clo. I dare not say he lies any where.
Des. Why, man ?
Clo. He's a soidier, and lor one to say ^
soldier lies, is stabbing.
Des. Go to : where iodges he ?
Clo. To teil you where he lodges, is to tell
you where I lie.
Des. Can any thing be made of this ? 10
Clo, I know not where he lodges, and for
me to devise a lodging and say he lies here or
he lies there, were to lie in mine own throat.
Des. Can you inquire him out, and be edi¬
fied by rexmrt ?
Clo. I will catechize the world for him ;
that is, make questions, and by them answer.
Des. Seek him, bid him come hitlier : tell
him I have moved my lord on his behalf, and
hope all will be well. 20
Clo. To do this is within the compass of
man's wit: and therefore 1 will attempt tlie
doing it. [Exit.
Des. Where should I lose that handker¬
chief, Emiiia ?
Emil. I know not, madam.
Des. Believe me, 1 had rather have lost my
purse J '
Ifulkof crusadoes : and, but my noble Moor
Is true of mind and made of no such base¬
ness
As jealous creatures are, it were enough
To put him to U1 thinking.
Emil. Is he not jealous 1
Des. Who, he ? I tliink the sun where he
was born 30
Drew all such humors from him
Emil. Look, where he comes.
Des. I will not leave him now till Cassio
Be cali'd to him.
Enter Othello.
How is't with you, my lord ?
0th. Well, my good lady. [Aside] O, hard¬
ness to dissemble !—
How do you, Desdemona ?
Des. Well, ray good lord.
0th. Give me your hand : this baud is
moist, my lady.
Des. It yet liath felt ho age nor known no
sorrow.
0th. This argues fruitfulness and liberal
heart: [quires
Hot, hot, and moist; this hand of yours re-
A sequester from liberty, fasting and prayer.
Much castigation, exercise devout; 41
For here's a young and sweating devil here.
That commonly r^els. 'Tis a good hand,
A frank one.
Des. Yon may, indeed, say so ;
For 'twas that hand that jmve away my heart.
Otlu A liberal hand ; the hearts of old gave
hands;
But our new heraldry is hands, hot hearts.
Des. I cannot speak of this. Come now,
your promise.
0th. What promise, chuck ?
Des. I have sent to bid Cassio come speak
with you. 50
0th. I have a salt and sorry rheum offends
me ;
Lend me thy handkerchief.
Des. Here, my lord.
0th. That which I gave you.
Des. .1 have it not about me.
0th. Not?
Des. No, indeed, my lord.
0th. That is a fault.
That handkerchief
Did an Egyptian to my mother give ;
She was a charmer, and could almost read
'The thoughts of peoxile : she told her, while
she kept it,
'Twould make her amiable and subdue my
father
Entirely to her love, but if she lost it 60
Or made a gift of it, my father's eye
Should hold her loathed and his spirits should
hunt
After new fancies : she, dying, gave it me j
And bid me, when my fate would have me
wive.
To give it her. I did so : and take heed on't;
Make it a darling like your precious eye ;
To lose 't or give 't away were such xierditiou
As nothing else could match.
Des. Is't x^sible "
0th. "Tis true :. there's magic in the web of
it;
Sol
A sibyl, tliat bad nnmber'd in the world 70
Tl>e sun to course two hundred conipasses,
III her prophetic Inry sew'd the work ;
The worms were hallow'd that did breed thd
silk ;
And it was dyed in mnmniy which the skilful,
Conserved of maidens' hearts.
Des. Indeed ! is't true ?
Olh. Most veritable ; therefore look to 't
well.
Des. Then would to God that I had never
seen't!
0th. Ha ! wherefore ?
Des. Why do you speak so startingly and
rash ?
Oth. Is't lost ? is't gone ? speak, is it out
o' the way ? 80
Des. Heaven bless us !
Oth. Say you ?
Des. It is not lost; but what an if it were ?
Oth. How !
Des. I ^y, it is not lost.
Olh. Fetch't, let me see't.
Des. Why, so I can, sir, but I will not now.
This is a trick to put me from my suit:
Pray you, let Cassio be received again.
Oth. Fetch me the handkerchief : my mind
misgives.
Des. Come, come ; 90
You'll never meet a more sufficient man.
Oth. The handkerchief!
Des. I pray, talk me of Cassio.
Oth. The handkerchief!
Des. A man that all his time
Hath founded his good fortunes on your love,
Sliared dangers with you,—
Oth. Tlie handkerchief !
Des. In sooth, you are to blame.
Oth. Away! [ExiU
Emit. Is not this man jealous ?
Des. I ne'er saw this before. 100
Sure, there's some wonder in this handker¬
chief :
1 am most unhappy in the loss of it
Emil. 'Tis not a year or two shows us a
man :
They are ail but stomachs, and we all but
food ;
To eat us hungerly, and when they are full.
They belch us. Look you, Cassio and my
husband !
Enter Cassio and Iaoo.
lago. There is no other way ; 'tis she must
do't:
And, lo, the happiness! go, and importune her.
Des. How now, good Cassio I what's the
news with you ?
Cas. Madam, my former suit: I do beseech
you 110
That by your virtuous means I may again
Exist, and be a member of his love
Whom I with all the office of my heart
Entirely honor : I would not be delay'd.
If my offence be of such mortal kind
That nor my service past, nor present sorrows,
■ lAct tit
Nor purposed merit in futuiity, '
Can ransom me into his love again.
But to know so must be my benefit;
So shall I clothe me in a forced content, 120
And shut myself np in some other couise.
To fortune's alms.
Des. Alas, thrice-gentle Cassio !
My advocation is not now in tune ;
My lord is not my lord ; nor should I know
him.
Were he in favor as in humor alter'd.
So iielp me every spirit sanctified,
As I have spoken fbr you ail my be.st
And stood within the blank of his displeasure
For my free speech ! you must awhile be
patient r
What I can do I will; and more I will 130
Than for m.yself I dare: let that suffice you. ■'
lago. Is my lord angry ?
Emil. He went hence but now,
And certainly in strange nnquietness.
lago. Can he be angry ? I have seen the
cannon,
IVIien it hath blown his ranks into the air.
And, like the devil, from his very arm
Puff'd his own brother:—and can he be angry 7
Sometliing of moment then : I will go meet
Iiim:
Tliere's matter in't indeed, if he be anpnT'
Des. I prithee, do so. [Exit lago.
Something, sure, of state, 140
Eitiier from Venice, or some uuhatch'd prac¬
tice
Made deraonsttable here in Cyprus to him, ■
Hath puddled his clear spirit: and in such
cases >
Men's natures wrangle with inferior things,
Though great ones are their object. 'Tis even
so ;
For let our finger ache, and it indues
Our other healthful members even to that
sense
Of pain : nay, we must think men are not gods,
Nor of tliem look for such observances
As fit tlie bridal. Beshrew me much, Emilia,
I was, unhandsome warrior as I am, 151
Arraigning his unkindness with my soul ;
But now I find I had subom'd the witnes.s,
And he's indicted falsely.
Emil. Pray heaven it be state-matters, as
you tliiuk.
And no conception nor no jealocstoy
Concerning you. '
Des. Alas the day ! I never gave him cause.
Emil. But jealous souls will not be answer'd
so ;
They are not ever jealous for the cause, 160
But jealous for they are jealous : !tis a mon¬
ster
Begot upon itself, born on itself.
Des. Heaven keep that monster from
Othello's mind I —
Emit. I^ady, amen.
Des. I will go seek him. Cassio, walk her»
about:
If I do find him fit, I'll move yonr suit
OTHELLO.
Sci!N< I.]
And seek to effect it to mj uttermost.
C'as. 1 humbly thank your ladyship.
IJ&eutU Dendemona and Emili^.
Enter Bianca.
Bian. Save you, friend Cassio !
Cat. What make you from home ?
How is it with you, my most fair Bianca ? 170
1' faith, sweet love, I wa^ coming to your
house.
Bian. And I was going to your lodging,
Cassio.
What, keep a week away ? seven days and
nights ? ■ [houi's,
Eight score eight hours ? and lovers* absent
More tedious than the dial eight score times ?
0 weary reckoning !
Cat. Pardon me, Bianca :
1 have this while witli leaden thoughts been
press'd :
But I shall, in a more contiunate time.
Strike off ibis score of absence. Sweet Bianca,
[Gwinr/ her Desdemona's handkerchief.
Take me tliis work out.
■ Bian. O Cassio, whence came this ? 180
This is some token from a newer friend :
To the felt absence now I feel a cause ;
Is't come to this ? Well, well.
Cat. Go to, woman !
Throw your vile guesses in the devil's teeth.
From whence you have them. You are;jealou3
now
That this is from mme mistress, some remem¬
brance :
No, in good troth, Bianca.
Bian. Why, whose is it ?
' Cat. I know not, sweet: I found it in my
chamber. '
I like the work well : ere it be demanded—
As like enough it will—I'ld have it copied: 190
Take it, and do't; and leave me fortius time.
Bian.' Leave yott ! wherefore ?
Cat. I do attend here on the general;
And think it no addition, nor my wish.
To have him see me womau'd.
Bian. Why, I pray you ?
Cat. Not that I love you not.
Bian. But that you do not love me.
1 pray yon, bring me on the way a little,'
And say if I shall see you soon at night.
Cat. "Tis but a little Way that I can bring
you ;
For I attend here : but I'll see you soon. 200
Bian. 'Tis very good ; I must be circum¬
stanced. [Exeunt.
ACT IV.
Scsmt I. Cyprut. Be/ore the cattle.
' ' Enter Otheli,o and Iaqo.
lago. Will you think aS ?
Oih. Think so, lago l
lago. What,
To kiss in private 7
' 0th. An unauthorized kiss.
805
lago. Or to be naked with her friend in bed
An hour or more, not meaning any harm ?
Olh. Naked in bed, lago, and not mean
harm 1
It is hyijocrisy against the devil :
They that mean virtuously, and yet do so.
The devil their virtue tempts, and they tempt
' heaven.
lago. So they do notliing, 'tis a venial slip ;
But if I give my wife a handkerchief,— 10
0th. What tlien 7
lago. Why, then, 'tis hers, my lord ; and,
being hers, ' ' ,
She may, I think, bestow't on any nian.
0th. She is protectress of her honor too ;
May she give that?
lago. Her honor is an essence that's not
seen;
They have it very oft that have it not:
But, for the hanakercliief,—
0th. By heaven, I would most gladly have
foigot it.
Tlion scid'st—O, it comes o'er my memory, 20
As doth the raven o'er the infected house,
Boding to all—he had my liandkerchief.
Jago. Ay, What of that 7
oih. That's not so good now.
lago. What,
It I had said I had seen him do you wrong 7
Or Iieard him say,—^as knaves be su^h abroad.
Who having, by their own importunate suit.
Or voluntary dotage of some mistress,
Convinced or supplied them, cannot choose
Bgt they must blab—
Oth. Hath he said any thing 7
lago. He hath, my lord ; but be you well
aasured, 30
No more than he'll unswear. '
Oth. What hath he said 7
lago. 'Faith, that he did—I know not what
he did.
Oth. What 7 what 7
lago. Lie—
Oih. With her 7
logo. With her, on her ; what you will.
Oth. Lie with her ! lie on iier! We say lih
on her, when they belie her. Lie with her!
that's fulsome.—Handkerchief—confessions—
handkerchief I—^To confess, and be hanged for
his labor ;—first, to be hanged, and then to
confess.—I tremble at it. Nature would not
invest herself in such shadowing passion with¬
out some instruction. It is not words that
shake me thus. Pish ! Noses, ears, and lips.
—Is't possible 7—Confess—handkerchief !—O
devil 1 [Eailt in a trance,
lago. Work on,
My medicine, work I Thus credulous fools
are caught;
And many worthy and chaste dames even thus.
All guiltless, meet reproach. What, ho! my
lord !
My lord, I say I Othello !
Enter Cassio. . i
How now, Cassio )
OTHELLO.
806
Cat. What's the matter ? 50
layo. My lord is taU'ii into an epilepsy :
This is his second fit; he had one yesterday.
Cat. Kub hira about the temples.
Icufo. No, forbear;
Tlie lethargy must have his quiet course :
If not, he foams at mouth and by and by
Breaks out to savage madness. Look, lie stirs:
Do you withdraw yonrseM a little while,
He will recover straight: when he is gone,
I would on great occasion speak with you. 59
[Exit Cassio.
How is it, general ? have you not hurt your
head?
CUA. Dost thou mock me ?
lago. I mock you I no, by heaven.
Would you would bear your fortune like a man I
0th. A horned man's a monster and a bea.st.
lago. There's many a beast then in a popu¬
lous city.
And mai^ a civil monster.
0th. Did he confess it ?
lago. Good sir, be a man ;
Think every bearded fellow that's but yoked
May draw with you : there's millions now alive
That nightly lie in those nnproper beds
AVhich they dare swear peculiar: your case is
better. 70
0, 'tis tt^pite of hell, the fiend's arch-mock.
To lip a wanton in a secure couch.
And to suppose her chaste I No, let me know;
And knowing what I am, [ know what she
shall be.
Olh. 0, thou art wise ; 'tis certain. •
Jago. Stand you awhile apart ;
Confine yourself but in a jiatient list
Whilst you were here o'erwhelraed with your
grief—
A passion most unsuiting such a man—
Cassio came hither : I shifted him away.
And laid good 'scuse uiwn your ecstasy, 80
Bade him anon return and here speak with me;
The which he promised. Do but eucave your¬
self, [scorns.
And mark the fleers, the gibes, and notable
That dwell in every region of his face ;
For I will make him tell the tale anew.
Where, how, how oft, how long ago, and when
He hath, and is again to cope your wife :
I say, but mark his gesture. Marry, i>atience;
Or I shall say you are all in all in spleen.
And nothing of a man.
Olh. Dost thou hear, lago ? 90
I will be found most cunning in my patience ;
But—dost thou hear ?—most bloody.
lago. That's not amiss ;
But yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw?
[Othello retires.
Now will I question Cassio of Bianca,
A housewife that by selling her desires
Buys herself biead and clothes : it is a creature
That dotes on Cassio ; as 'tis the strumpet's
plague
To beguile many and be beguiled by one :
He, when he hears of her, cannot refrain 99
From the excess pf laughter. Here he comes:
[Act it.
Jte-^nter Cassio.
As he shall smile, Othello shall go mad ;
And his unbookish jealousy must construe
Poor Cassio's smilra, gestures and light be¬
havior,
Quite in the wrong. Ho^v do you now, lieu¬
tenant ?
Cos. The worser that you give me the ad¬
dition
Whose want even kills me.
lago. Ply Desdemona well, and you are
sure 011*1.
[Speaking lower'] Now, if this suit hiy in
Bianca's power,
How quickly should you speed I
Cat. Alas, poor caitiff I
Olh. Look,how he laughs already I 110
logo. I never knew woman love man so.
cits. AIm, poor rogue I I think, i' faith, she
loves me.
Oth. Now he denies it faintly, aqd laughs
it out.
lago. Do you hear, Cassio ?
Oih. Now he importunes him
To tell it o'er: go to ; well said, well said.
lago. She gives it out tliat you shall marry
her :
Do vou intend it?
Cas. Ha, lia, ha I 1^
Oth. Do you triumpli, Roman ? do you
triumpli ?
Cas. I marry hm I what ? a customer 1 Pri¬
thee, bear some charity to my wit: do not
think it so unwholesome. Ha, ha, ha!
Oth. So, so, so, so : they laugh that win.
lago. 'Faith, the cry goes tliat you shall
marry her.
Cas. Prithee, say true.
lago. I am a very villain else.
oih. Have you scored me ? Well. 130
Cas. This is the monkey's own giving out:
she is persuaded I will maixy her, out of her
own love and flattery, not out of my promise.
Oth. lago beckons me ; now he begins the
story.
Cas. She was here even now ; she haunm
me in every place. I was the other day talk¬
ing on the sea-bank with certain Venetians ;
and thither comes the bauble, and,by this hand,
she falls me thus about nw neck— 14C
Oth. Crying ' O dear Cassio I' as it were .
his gesture imixirts it. i
Cos. So hangs, and lolls, and weeps upon
me ; so hales, and pulls roe : ha, ha, ha!
Oth. Now he tells how she plucked him to
my chamber. O, I see that nose of yours, but
not that dog I shall throw it to.
Cas. Well, I must leave her company.
lago. Before me t look, where she comes.
Cos. 'Tis such another fitchew 1 marry, a
(lerfumed one. 151
Enter Bianca.
What do yon mean by this haunting of me ?
Bian. i.et the devil and his dam haunt you
What di4 you mean by tliat same liandker-
OTHELLO.
Scene i.j
Aiet you gave me even now ? I was a fine fool
to take it 1 must take out tlie work ?—A
Lkely piece of work, that you should find it in
your chamber, and not know who left it there I
"niis is some minx's token, and 1 must take out
the work t There ; give it your hobby-horse:
wheresoever you had it, rif take out no work
on 'it. 161
Cas. How now, my sweet Pianca! how
now I how now t [kerchief I
0th. By heaven, that should be my haiid-
Bian. An you'll come to supper to-night
you may ; an you will not, come when you are
next prepared for. [Exit,
logo. After her, after her.
Cos. 'Faith, I must; she'll rail in the street
else. ' 171
logo. Will you sup there ?
Cos. 'F.iith, I intend so.
logo. Well, 1 may chance to see you ; for I
would very fain speak with you.
Cas. Frithee, come ; will you ?
Jago., Go to ; say no more. [Exit Cassio.
0th. [Advancing^ Ho^v shall 1 murder higi,
lago?
lugo. Did you perceive how he laughed at
his vice ? 181
0th. O lago!
lafio. And did you see the handkerchief ?
0th. Was that mine ?
lago. Yours by this hand : and to see how
he prizes the foolish woman your wife I she
gave it him, and he hath given'it his whore.
0th. 1 would have him nine years a-killing.
A fine woman ! a fair wom.an! a sweet woman!
lago. Nay, you must forget that. 190
0th. Ay, let her rot, and perish,' and be
damned to-night; for she shall not live : no,
my heatt is turned to stone ; 1 strike it, and it
hurts my hand. O, the world hath not a
sweeter creature i she might lie by an empe¬
ror's side and command him tasks.
lago. Nay, th.at's not your way.
0th. Hatig her! I do hat s-ay what she is :
so delicate with her needle : an admirable
musician : O 1 she will sing the savageness out
of a bear : of so high and plenteous wit and
invention :— 201
logo. She's tlio worse for all this.
Otiu O, a thousand thousand times : and
then, of so gentle a condition!
lago. Ay, too gentle.
0th. Nay, that's certain : but yet the pity
of it, lago 1 O lago, the pity of it, lago 1
lago. If you are so fond over her iniouity,
give her patent to offend; for, it it touch not
yon, it comes near nobody. 210
0th. I will chop her into messes : cuckold
me! ,
lago. O, 'tis foul in her.
0th. With mine officer ! _
logo. That's fouler. *
OOi. Get me some poison, lago ; this night:
ni not expostulate with her, lest her body and
beanty unprovide my mlud again : this night,
lag* 219
807
lago. Do it not with poison, strangle her ia
her bed, even tbe bed she hatli contiuninated.
0th. Good, good : the justice of it pleases:
very good.
logo. And for Cassio, let me be his under¬
taker : you shall hear more by midnight.
0th. Excellent good. [A trumpet within.^
What trumpet is that same 7
lago. Something from Venice, sure. 'Tis
Lodovico
Come from the duke : and, see, your wife is
with him.
Enter Lodovico, Desdehoma, and Attend¬
ants.
7/0<f. Save you, worthy general 1
0th. With all my heart, sir.
Lod. The duke and senators of 'V enice greet
you. [Gives him a letter.
0th. I kiss the instrument of their pleasures:
[Opens the letter, and reads.
Des. And what's the news, good cousin
Lodovico 7
lago. I am very glad to see you. signior;
Welcome to Cyprus.
Lod. I thank you. How does Lieutenant
Cassio 7
lago. Lives, sir.
Les. Cousin, there's faU'nbetwemi him and
my lord
An unkind breach : but you shall make all
well.
0th. Are you sure of tliat 7
Dcs. My lord 7'
0th. [Tfcads] ' This fall you not to do, as
you will—' 240
Lod. He did not call; he's busy in the
paper.
Ls there division 'twixt my lord and Cassio 7
Des. A most unhappy one : I would do
much
To atone them, for the love I bear to Cassio.
0th. Fire and brimstone I
Des. . My lord 7
0th. Are you wise 7
De.t. What, is he angry 7
Lod. May he the letter moved him ;
For, as I think, they do command him home,
Deiiuting Cassio in his government.
Des. Trust me, I am glad on't.
0th. Indeed!
Des. My lord 7
0th. I am glad to see you mad.
Des. Why, sweet OtheUo,— 250
0th. [Striking her] Devil !
Des. I have not deserved this.
Lod. My lord, this would not be believed
in Venice,
Though I should swear I saw't: 'tis very
much :
Make her amends ; she weeps.
0th. O devil, devil!
If that the earth could teem with woman's tears,
Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile.
Out of my sight 1
Des. 1 will uut stay to offend you, [Going.
OTHELl.0.
838
Ltd. Truly, an obedient lady:
I do beseech your lordship, eall her back., 2G0
0th. Mistress!
Des. My lord ?
0th. What would you with her, sir ?
Lod. Who, I, my lord ?
I 0th. Ay ; you did wish that I would make
her turn :
Sir, she can turn, and tuni, and yet go on.
And turn again ; and slie can weep, sir, weep ;
And she's obedient, as you say, obedient.
Very obedient. Proceed you in your tears.
Concerning this, sir,—O well-jminted pas¬
sion !—
I am commanded home. Get you away ;
I'll send for you anon. Sir, I obey the man¬
date, . 270
And will return to Venice. Hence, avaunt!
[Exit Desdemona.
Cassio sluill have my place. And, sir, to¬
night,
I do entreat that we may sup together :
You are welcome, sir, to Cyprus.—Goats and
monkeys! [Exit.
Lod. Is this the noble Moor whom our lull
senate
Call all in all sufficient ? Is this the nature
Whom passion could not shake ? whose solid
virtue
Tile shot of accident, nor dart of chance.
Could neither graze nor pierce 'I
lago. He is much changed.
Lod. Are his wits safe 1 is he not light of
brain 1 280
logo. He's that he is ; I may not breathe
my censure
What he might be : if what he might he is
not,
1 would to heaven he were !
Lod. What, strike his wife !
lago. 'Faith, that was not so well; yet
would I Icnew
That stroke would prove the worst!
Xod. Is it his use ?
Or did the letters work upon his blood.
And new-create this fault ?
lago. Alas, alas !
It is not honesty in me to speak
What I have seen and known. You shall ol>i
serve him,
And his own courses will denote him so 200
That I may save my speech : do but go after,
And mark how he continues.
Zlod. I am sorry that I am deceived in him.
[Exeunt.
Scene H. A room in the castle.
Enter Othello and Emilia.
0th. You have seen nothing then ?
Emit. Nor ever heard, nor ever did sus¬
pect.
0th. ■ Yes, you have seen Cassio and Mie
together.
EinH. But then I saw no harm, and then I
heard 1
[Act ir.
Each syllable that breath made up between
them.
0th. What, did they never whisper ?
Emil. Never, my lord.
0th. Nor send you out o' the way ?
Emd. Never.
0th. To fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask,
nor nothing ?
Emil. Never, my lord. 10
0th. That's strange.
Emil. I durst, my lord, to wager she is
honest, '
Lay down my soul at stake : If you think
other.
Remove your thought; it doth abuse' your
bosom.
If any wretch have put this in your head.
Let heaven requite it with the serpent's curse !'
For, if she be not honest, chaste, and true.
There's no man happy; the purest of their
wives
Is foul as slander.
0th. Bid her come hither : go.
[Exit Emilia.
Slfe says enough ; yet she's a simple bawd 20
That cannot say as much. This is a subtle
whore,
A closet lock and key of villanous secrets :
And yet she'll kneel and pray ; I have seen
her do't.
' , Enter Desdemona with Emilia.
Des. My lord, what is your will ?
0th. Pray> chuck, come hither.
Des. What is your pleasure ?
0th. Let me see your eyes ;
Look in my face.
Des. What horrible fancy's this ?
0th. [To EmUia\ Some of your function,
mistress ;
Leave procreants alone and shut the door ;
Cough, or cry ' hem,' if any body come :
Your mystery, your mystery : nay, dispatch.
[Exit Emilia. 30
Des. Upon my knees, what doth your
speech import ?
I understand a fury in your words.
But not the words.
0th. Why, what art thou?
Des. Your wife, my lord ; your true
And loyal wife.
0th. Come, swear it, damn thyself ;
Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils
themselves
Should fear to seize thee : therefore be double
damn'd :
Swear thou art honest.
Des. Heaven doth truly know it.
0th. Heaven truly knows that thou art false
as hell
Des. To whom, my lord ? -with whom ?
how am I false ? 40
0th. O Desdemona ! away ! away ! away !
Des. Alas the heavy day 1 Why do you
weep ?
Am I the motive of these tears, my lord ?.
OTHELLO.
Scene ii.]
OTHELLO.
809
If haply you my father do susMCt
An instrument of this your calling back,
Lay not your blame on me : if you have lost
him, •
Why, I have lost him too.
0th. Had it pleased heaven
To try me with affliction ; had they rain'd
All kinds of sores and shames on my bare
head.
Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips, 50
Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes,
I should have found in some place of my soul
A drop of patience ; but, alas, to make me
t A fixed figure for the time of scorn
To ijoint his slow unmoving finger at1
Yet could I bear that too ; well, very well :
But there, where I have gamer'd up my heart,
Where either I must live, or bear no life ;
Tlie fountain from the which my current runs.
Or else dries up ; to be discarded thence ! 60
Or keep it as a cistern for foul toads
To knot and gender in ! Turn thy complexion
there.
Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cheru-
bin,—i
Ay, there, look grim as hell I
i)es. I hope my noble lord esteems me
honest
0th. 0, ay ; as summer flies are in the
shambles.
That quicken even with blowing. 0 thou
weed.
Who art so lovely fair and smell'st so sweet
That the sense aches at thee, would thou hadst
ne'er been born I
Des. Alas, what ignorant sin have I com¬
mitted ? 70
0th. Was this fair paper, this most goodly
book, [initted I
Made to write ' whore' upon ? What coin-
Committed I O thou public commoner !
I should make very forges of my cheeks.
That would to cinders burn up modesty.
Did I but speak thy deeds. What conimitted!
Heaven stops the nose at it and the moon
. winks.
The bawdy wind that kisses all it meets
Is hush'd within the hollow mine of earth.
And will not hear it What committed I 80
Impudent strumpet!
Des. By heaven, you do me wrong.
0th. Are you not a strumpet ?
Des. No, as 1 am a Christian :
If to preserve this vessel for my lord
Prom any other foul unlawful touch
Be not to be a strumpet, I am none.
0th. What, not a whore ?
Des. No, as I shall be saved.
0th. Is't possible ?
Des. 0, heaven forgive us !
- OtL I cry you mercy, then ;
I took you for that cunning whore of Venice
That married with Othello. [Jiaisinff hps voiced
■ You, mistress, 90
That have the offlce opposite to Saint Peter,
And keep the gate of hell I
Re-enter Emilia.
You, you, ay, you !
We have done our course ; there's money for
your pains:
I pray you, turn the key and keep our counsel.
[Exit.
Emit. Alas, what does this gentleman con¬
ceive ?
How do you, madam ? how do you, my good
lady ?
Des. 'Faith, half asleep.
Emit. Good madam, what's the matter
with my lord ?
Des. With who ?
Emil. Why, with my lord, madam. 100
Des. Who is thy lord ?
Emil. • He that is yours, sweet lady.
Des. I have none : do not talk to me,
Emilia ;
I cannot weep ; nor answer have I none,
But what should go by water. Prithee, to¬
night
Lay on my bed my wedding sheets ; remem-
• her ;
And call thy husband hither.
Emil. Here's a change indeed I [Exit.
Des. 'Tis meet I should be used so, very
meet.
How have X been behaved, that he might
stick
The small'st opinion on my least misuse 7
Re-enter Emilia with Iago.
laga. What is your pleasure, madam 7
How is't with you 7 110
Des. I cannot tell. Those that do teach
young babes
Do it with gentle means and easy tasks :
He might have chid me so ; for, in good faith,
I am a child to chiding.
Iago. What's the matter, lady 7
Emil. Alas, Iago, my lord hath so bewhored
her..
Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon
her.
As true hearts cannot bear.
Des. Am I that name, Iago 7
Iago. What name, fair lady 7
Des. Such as she says my lord did say I
was.
Emil. He call'd her whore : a beggar in his
drink 120
Could not have laid such terms upon his callat.
Iago. Wliy did he so 7
Des. I do not know ; I am sure I am none
such.
Iago. Do not weep, do not weep. Alas the
day !
Emil. Hath she forsook so many noble
matches.
Her father and her country and her friends
call'd "
weep?
To be call'd whore ? won
•y anc
lid it
not make one
Des. It is my wretched fortune.
Iago. Beshrew him for't I
810
OTHELLO.
[Act IV.
How cosies this trick upon him ?
/Jes. heaven doth know.
Erml. I will be haiig'd, 11 some eternal vil¬
lain, 130
Some busy and insinuating rogue,
Some cogging, cozening slave, to get some
office,
Have not devised this slander ; I'll be hang'd
else. [possible.
laga. Fie, there is no such man ; it is im-
Des. If any such there be, lieaven pardon
him!
Emil. A baiter pardon him ! and hell gnaw
his bones!
Why should he call her whore ? who keeps her
company ?
What place ? what time ? what -form ? what
likelihood ? [knave,
The Moor's abused by some most villanous
Some base notorious knave, some scurvy fel¬
low. 140
0 heaven, that such companions tliou'ldst un¬
fold,
And put in every honest hand a whip
To lash the rascals naked through tlie world
Even from the east to the west!
logo. Speak within door.
Emil. O, fie upon them ! Some such squire
be was
That turn'd your wit the seamy side without.
And made you to suspect me with the Moor.
lago. You are a fool ; go to.
Bes- O good lago.
What shall I do to win my lord again ?
Good friend, go to him ; for, by this light of
heaven, 150
1 know not how I lost him. Here I kneel :
If e'er my will did trespass 'gainst his love.
Either in discourse of thought or actual deed.
Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense.
Delighted them in any other form ;
Or that I do not yet, and ever did.
And ever will—tliough he do shake me off
To beggarly divorcement—love him dearij'.
Comfort forswear me ! Unkindness may do
much I
.Ind hU unkindness may defeat my life, 160
But never taint my love. I cannot say 'whore:'
it does abhor me'now I speak tlie word ;
To do the act that might the addition earn
Not the world's mass of vanity could make me.
lago. I pray you, be content; 'tis but his
humor :
The business of the state does him offence.
And he does chide with you.
£>es. If 'twere no other,—
Jago. 'Tis but so, I warrant.
[Trumpets loithin.
Hark, how these instruments summon to sup-
Ijer!
The messengers of Veuice stay the meat; 170
Go in, and weep not; ail tilings shall be well.
[Exeunt Desdemotia and Emilia.
Enter Roderigo.
How now, Roderigo!
Rod. I do not find that thou dealest justiy
with me.
lago. What in the contrary ?
Ro(h Every day thou daffest me with some
device, lago ; and rather, as it seems to me
now, keepest from me ail conveiiieucy than
suppliest me with the least advantage of hope.
I will indeed no longer endure it, nor am I yet
tiersuaded to put up in peace what already I
lave foolishly suffered.
lago. Will you hear me, Roderigo ?
Rod. 'Faith, I have heard too much, for your
words and performances are no kin together.
lago. You charge me most unjustiy.
Rod. With no.ight but truth. I have wasted
myself out of my means. The jewels you have
had from me to deliver to Desdemona would
half have corrupted a votarist: you have told
me she hath received them and i-eturned mc
expectations and comforts of sudden respect
and acquaintance, but I find none.
lago. Well; go to ; very well.
Rod. Very well! go to ! I cannot go to,
man; nor 'tis not very well : nay, I think it
is scurvy, and begin to find myself fobbed in it
lago. Very well.
Rod. I tell you 'tis not very well. I will
make myself known to Desdemona : if she
will return me my jewels, I will give over my
suit and rejient my unlawful solicitation ; u
not, assure yourseii I will seek satisfaction of
you.
lago. You have said now.
Rod. Ay, and said nothing but wnat I pro¬
test intendment of doing.
lago. Why, now I see there's mettle in
thee, and even from this instant to build oi
thee a better opinion than ever before. Give
me thy hand, Roderigo: thou hast taken
against me a most just exception; but yet, I
protest, I have dealt most directly in thy affair.
Rod. It hath not appeared.
lago. I grant indeed it hath not appeared
and your suspicion is not without wit and
judgment But, Roderigo, if thou hast that in
thee indeed, which I liave greater reason to
believe now than ever, I mean purpose, cour¬
age and valor, this night show it; if thou the
next night following enjoy not Desdemona,
take me from this world with treachery and
devise engines for my life.
Rod. Well, what is it? is it within reason
and compass ?
lago. Sir, there is especial commission
come from Venice to depute Cassio in Othel¬
lo's place.
Rod. Is that true ? why, then Othello and
Desdemona return again to Venice.
lago. O, no ; he goes into Mauritania and
takes away with him the fair Desdemona, un¬
less his abode be lingered here by some acci¬
dent : wherein none can be so determinate as
the removing of Cassio.
Rod. How do you mean, removing of him?
lago. Why, by making him uncapable of
OthsUo's place ; knocking out his brains.
SCBNB III.]
OTHELLO.
81i
~ Bad. And that you would have me to do ?
lago. Ay, if yon dare do yourself a profit
and a right. He sups to-uight with a harlotry,
and thither will I go to him : he knows not
yet of his honorable fortune. If you will
watch his going thence, which I will fashion
to fall out between twelve and one, you may
take him at your pleasure : X will be near to
second your attempt, and he shall fall between
us. Come, stand not amazed at it, but go
along with me ; I will show yon such a neces¬
sity in his death that you shall think yourself
bound to put it on him. It is now high snpiier-
time, and the night grows to waste : about it.
Rod. I will hear further reason for tliis.
lago. And you shall be satisfied. {Eicmnt.
Scene IU. Another room in the castle.
Enter Othello, Lodovico, Desdemona,
Emilia, and Attendants.
Lad. I do beseech you, sir, trouble your¬
self no further.
0th. O, pardon me : 'twill do me good to
walk.
Lod. Madam, good night; I humbly thank
your ladyship.
Des. Your honor is most welcome.
0th. Will you walk, sir 7
0,—Desdemona,—
Des. My lord ?
0th. Get you to bed on the instant; I will
be returned forthwith ; dismiss your attendant
there : look it be done.
Des. I will, my lord. 10
^heeunt Othello, Lodovico, and Attendants.
Emil. How ^oes it now ? he looks gentler
than he did.
Des. He says he will return incontinent •.
He hath commanded me to go to bed.
And bade me to dismiss you.
Emil. Dismiss me !
Des. It was his bidding : therefore, good
Emilia,
Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu :
We must not now displease him.
EmU. I would you had never seen him !
Des. So would not I: my love doth so ap¬
prove him.
That even his stnbbomness, his checks, his
frowns,— 20
Pritliee, unpin me,—have grace and favor in
them.
Emil. I have laid tliose sheets you bade me
on the bed.
Des. All's one. Good faith, how foolish
are our minds !
If I do die before tliee, prithee, shroud me
In one of those same sheets.
Emil. Come, come, you talk.
Des. My mother had a maid call'd Barbara:
She was in love, and he she4oved proved mad
And did forsake her : she had a song of ' wil¬
low ;'
An old thing 'twas, but it eimress'd her fortune.
And she died singing it: that song to-night
Will not go from my mind ; I have much to do,
But to go hang my head all at one side.
And sing it like poor Barbara. Prithee, dis¬
patch.
Emit. Shall I go fetch your night-gown ?
Des. No, unpin me here.
Tliis Lodovico is a proper man.
Emil. A very handsome man.
Des. He speaks well.
Emit. I know a lady in Venice would have
walked barefoot to Palestine for a touch of his
nether lip. 40
Des. [Hinging] The poor soul sat sighing by
a sycamore tree.
Sing all a green willow :
Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee.
Sing willow, willow, willow :
The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur'd
her moans ;
Sing willow, willow, willow ;
Her salt tears fell from her, and soften'd the
stones ;—
Lay by these:—
[Hinging] Sing willow, willow, willow ;
Prithee, hie thee ; he'll come anon :— 50
Sing all a green willow must be my
garland.
Let nobody blame him; his scorn I approve,—
Nay, that's not next.—Hark! who is't that
knocks 7
Emil. It's the wind.
Des. [Hinging] I call'd my love false love j
but what said he then 7
Sing willow, willow, willow :
If I court moe women, you'll couch with moe
men.— [itch ,
So, get thee gone ; good night. Mine eyes dc
Dotli that bode weeping 7
Emil. 'Tis neither here nor there.
Des. I have heard it said so. O, these men,
these men 1 00
Dost thou in conscience think,—tell me, Emi¬
lia,—
That there be women do abuse their husbands
In such gross kind 7
Emil. There be some such, no que.stion.
Des. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all
the world 7
Emil. Why, would not you 7
Des. No, by this heavenly light!
EmM. Nor I neither by this heavenly light;
I might do't as well i' the dark.
Des. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all
the world 7
Emil. The world's a huge thing : it is a
great price
For a small vice.
Des. In troth, I think thou wouldst not 70
Emil. In trot, I think I should ; and undo't
when I had done. Idarry, I would not do such
a thing for a joint-ring, nor for measures of
lawn, nor for gowns, petticoats, nor caps, nor
any petty exhibition ; but, for the whole
world,—why, who would not make her hus¬
band a cuckold to make him a monarch 7 I
should venture purgatory loPt
812
Des. Beshrew me, if I wonld do such a
wroiijt
For the whole world. 79
Emil. Why tlie wrong is but a wrong i' the
world ; and having the world for your labor,
'tis a Wrong in your own world, and you
might quickly make it right.
l)es. I do not think there is any such wo¬
man,
Emil. Yes, a dozen ; and as many to the
vantage as would store the world they played
for.
Bui I do think it is their husbands' faults
If wives do fall ; say that they slack their du¬
ties,
And jwiir our treasures into foreign laps.
Or else break out in peevish jealousies, 90
"Throwing restraint u^n us ; or say they strike
us,
Or scant our former havhig in despite ;
Why, we have galls, andtlioughwe have some
grace,
Yet have we some revenge. Let husbands know
Their wives have sense like them : they see
and smell
And have their palates both for sweet and sour.
As husbands have. What is it that they do
When they change us for others ? Is it sport ?
I think it is : and doth affection breed it ?
I think it doth : is't frailty that thus errs ? 100
It is so too : and have not we affections.
Desires for sport, and frailty, as men have ?
Then let them use us well: else let them know.
The ills we do, their ills instruct us so.
Des. Good night, good night; heaven me
such uses send.
Not to pick bad from bad, but by bad mend 1
[Exeitnt.
ACT y.
Scene I. Cyprus. A street.
Enter Iago and Roderigo.
lago. Here, stand behind this bulk ; straight
will he come :
Wear thy good rapier bare, and put it home :
Quick, quick; fear nothing ; Til be at thy
elbow:
It makes us, or it mars us ; think on that.
And fix most firm thy resolution.
Bod. Be near at hand ; 1 may miscarry in't.
Iago. Here, at thy hand : be bold, and take
thy stand. [Retires.
Rod. I have no great devotion to the deed ;
And yet he hath given me satisfying reasons :
'Tis but a man gone. Forth, my sword be
dies. 10
lagd. 1 have rubb'd this young quat almost
to the sense.
And be grows angry. Now, whether he kill
Cassio,
Or Cassio him, or each do kill the other.
Every way makes my gain : live Roderigo,
He calls me to a restitution large
{Act r.
Of gold and jewels that I bobb'd from him,
As gifts to Desdemona ;
It must not be; if Cassio do remain.
He hath a daily beauty in his life
That makes me ngiy ; and, besides, the liloor
May unfold me to him ; there stand I in much
peril: 21
No, he must die. But so : I hear him comuig.
Enter Cassio.
Rod. I know his gait, 'tis he.—Villain, thou
diest! [Makes a pass at Cassio.
Cos. That tlirust had been mine enemy in¬
deed.
But that my coat is better than thou kuow'st:
1 will make proof of thine.
[Draws, and wounds Roderigo.
Rod. O, I am slain !
[Iago from behind %oounds Cassio in tlv
leg, and exi\
Cos. I am maim'd for ever. Help, ho t
murder ! murder! [Falls.
Enter Othello.
0th. The voice of Cassio : Iago keeps his
word.
Rod. O, villain that I am !
0th. It is even so.
Cas. O, help, ho I light! a surgeon ! 30
0th. 'Tis he :—O brave Iago, honest and
just.
That host such noble sense of thy friend's
wrong !
Thou teachest me. Minion, your dear lies
dead.
And your unblest fate hies : strumpet, I come.
Forth of my heart those charms, thine eyes,
are blotted ;
Thy bed, lust-stain'd, shall with lust's blood
be spotted. [Exit.
Enter Lodovico and Gratiano.
Cas. What, ho I no watch ? no passage ?
murder I murder !
Gra. 'Tis some mischance : the cry is very
direful.
Cas. O, help !
Lod. Hark ! 40
Rod. O wretched villain !
hod. Two or three groan : it is a heavy
night;
These may be counterfeits: let's thiiik't un¬
safe
To come in to the cry without more help.
Rod. Nobody come ? then shall I bleed to
death.
Lod. Hark !
Re-enter Iago, with a light.
Ora. Here's one comes in his shirt, with
light and weapons.
Iago. Who's there ? whose noise is this
that cries on murder ?
lA)d We do not know.
Iago. Did not you hear a cry 7
Cas. Here, here! for heaven's sake, help
me t
OTHELLO.
scenb i.]
, layo. What'3 the matter ? 50
Gra, This is Othello's ancieut, as I take it.
Lod. The same indeed ; a very valiant fel¬
low.
logo. What are you here that cry so griev¬
ously ?
Cos. l!i|;o ? 0,1 am spoii'd, undone by
villains !
Give me some help.
logo. O me, lieutenant! what villains have
done this ?
Cos. I think t]^at one of them is hereabout,
And cannot make away.
lago. O treacherous villains !
What are you there ? come in, and give some <
help. [To Lodovico and.Gratiano.
Bod. O, help me here ! 60
Cas. That's one of them.
lago. O murderous slave ! O villain !
[Stabs Boderigo.
Bod. O damn'd I^o I O iiihuman dog !
lago. Kill men i' tjie dark !—Where be
these bloody thieves ?—
How silent is this town !—Ho ! murder !
murder!—
What may you be ? are you of good or evil ?
Ijod. As you shall prove us, praise us.
lago. Signior Lodovico ?
Lod. He, sir.
lago. I cry you mercy. Here's Cassio hurt
by villains.
Gra. Cassio ! ,70
lago. How is't, brother ! '
Cas. My leg is cut in two.
lago. Marry, heaven forbid !
Light, gentlemen ; I'll bind it with my shirt.
Enter Bianca.
Bian. What is the matter, . ho ? who is't
that cried ?
lago. Who is't that cried !
Bian. 0 my dear Cassio ! my sweet Cassio!
0 Cassio, Cassio, Cassio !
lago. 0 notable strumpet t Cassio, may
you suspect
Who they should be that have thus mangled
you?
Cas. No. 80
Gra. I am sorry to find you thus : I have
been to seek you.
lago. Lend me a garter. So. O, for a chair.
To bear him easily hence !
Bian. Alas, he faints! O Cassio, Cassio,
Cassio !
lago. Gentlemen all, I do suspect this trash
To be a party in this iinury.
Patience awhile, good Cassio. Come, come ;
Lend me a light. Know we this face or no ?
Alas my friend and my dear countryman
Roderigo ! no :—yes, sure :—O heaven ! Bod¬
erigo. 90
Gra. What, of Venice ? •
lago. Even he, sir ; did you know him ?
Gra. Know him ! ay.
lago. Signior Gratiano ? I cry you gentle
pardon ;
813
These bloody accidents must excuse my man¬
ners,
That so neglected yon.
Gra. Iam|;lad tosee vou.
lago. How do you, Cassio ? O, a chair, a
chair!
Gra. I Roderigo !
lago. He, he, 'tis he. [A chair hronght in.]
O, that's well said ; the chair.
Some good man bear him carefully from hence;
I'll fetch the general's surgeon. [To Bianco]
For you, mistress, 100
Save you your labor. He that lies slain here,
Cassio, [you ?
Was my dear friend: what malice was between
Cas. None in the world ; nor do I know
the man.
logo. [To Bia,n.] What, look you pale ? 0,
bear hira out o' tlie air.
[Cassio and Boderigo are borne off.
Stay you, good gentlemen. Look you pale,
mistress ?
Do you perceive the gastness of her eye ?
Nay, if you stare, we shall hear more anon.
Behold her well; I pray you, look upon her :
Do you see, gentlemen ? nay, guiltiness will
speak.
Though tongues were out of use. 110
Enter Emilia.
Emil. 'Las, what's the matter ? what's the
matter, husband ?
lago. Cassio hath here been set on in the
dark
By Roderigo and fellows that are scaped :
He's almo.st slain, and Roderigo dead.
Emil. Alas, good gentleman ! alas, good
. Cassio !
lago. This is the fruit of whoring. Prithee,
Emilia,
Go know of Cassio where he supp'd to-night.
[2'o Bianca] What, do you shake aS that ?
Bian. He supp'd at my house ; but 1 there¬
fore shake not.
lago. O, did he so ? I charge you, go with
me. 120
Emil. Fie, fie upon thee, strumpet I
Bian. I am no strumpet; but of life as
honest
As you that thus abuse me.
Emil. As I! fob I fio upon thee I
lago. Kind gentlemen, let's go see poor
Cassio dress'd.
Come, mistress, you must tell's another tale.
Emilia, run you to the citadel.
And tell my lord and lady what hath happ'd.
Will you go on? I pray. [Aside] This is the
night
That either makes me or fordoes me quite.
[Exennt.
Scene 11. A bedchamber m the castle: Des-
DEMONA in bed asleep ; a light burning.
Enter Othello.
0th. It is the cause, it is the cause, my
soul,—
OTHELLO.
S14
OTHELLO.
! AfT "
Let me not name it to yon, you cbaste stars !—
It is the cause. Yet I'll not shed her blood ;
Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow,
And smooth as monnmeutal alabaster.
Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men.
Put out tlie light, and then put out the light :
If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,
I can again thy former light restore, 9
Should I repent ine : but once put out thy light.
Thou cnnning'st pattern of excelling nature,
I know not where is that Promethean heat
That can thy light relume. When I have
pluck'd the rose,
I cannot give it vital growth again.
It must needs wither: I'll smell it on the tree.
[Kissing her.
Ah, balmy bre.atli, th.at dost almost persuade
Justice to' break her sword ! One more, one
more.
Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill
thee.
And love thee after. One more, and this the
last:
So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep, 20
But they ai-e cruel tears : this sorrow's heav¬
enly ;
It strikes where it doth love. She wakes.
Des. Who's there ? Othello 1
0th. Ay, Desdemona.
Des. Will you come to bed, my lord ?
0th. Have yon pray'd to-night, Desdemona?
Des: Ay, my lord.
0th. If yon bethink yourself of any crime
iJnreconciled as yet to heaven and grace.
Solicit for it straight.
Des. Alas, ray lord, what do you mean by
that ?
0th. Well, do it, and be brief ; I will walk
by: 30
I would not kill thy unprepared spirit;
No; heaven forfend 11 would not kill thy soul.
Des. Talk you of killing ?
0th. Ay, I do.
Des. Then heaven
Have mercy on me !
0th. Amen, with all my heart!
Des. If you say so, I hope you will not kill
me.
0th. Hum !
Des. And yet I fear you ; for you are fatal
then
When your eyes roll so ; why I should fear I
know not.
Since guiltiness I know not; but yet I feel I
fear.
0th. Think on thy sins.
Des. They are loves I bear to you. 40
0th. Ay, and for that thou diest.
Des. That death's unnatural that kills for
loving.
Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip ?
Some bloody passion shakes your very frame:
These are portents ; but yet I hope, I hope.
They do not point on me.
0th. Peace, and be still!
Des. I will se. What's the matter ?
0th. That handkerchief which I so loved
and gave thee
Thou gavest to Oassio.
Des. No, by my life and sou' 1
Send for the man, and ask him.
Oth. Sweet soul, take heed, 59
Take heed of perjury ; thou art on thy death¬
bed.
Des. Ay, but not yet io die.
Oth. Yes, presently :
Therefore confess thee freely of thy sin ;
For to deny each article witli oath
Cannot remove nor choke the strong concep¬
tion
Tliat I do groan withal. Tliou art to die.
Des. Then Lord have mercy on me !
Oth. I say, amen
Des. And have you mercy too ! I never did
Offend you in my life ; never loved Oassio
But with such general warranty of heaven 60
As I might love ; I never gave him token.
Oth. By heaven, I saw my handkerchief
ill's hand.
0 perjured woman! thou dost stone my
heart.
And makest me call what I intend to do
A murder, which I thought a sacrifice ;
1 saw the handkerchief.
Des. He found it then ;
I never gave it him : send for him hither ;
Let him confess a truth.
Oth. He hath confess'd.
Des. What, my lord ?
Oth. That he hath used thee.
Des. How ? unlawfully ?
Oth. Ay. 70
Des. He will not say so.
Oth. No, his mouth is stopp'd ;
Honest lago hath ta'en order for't.
Des. O ! my fear interprets : what, is he
dead ?
Oth. Had all his hairs been lives, my great
revenge
Had stomach for them all.
Des. Alas ! he is betray'd and I undone.
Oth. Out, strumpet! weep'st thou for him
to my face ? [not I
Des. O, banish me, my lord, but kill me
Oth. Down, strumpet I
Des. Kill me to-morrow : let me live to¬
night ! M
Oth Nay, if yon strive,—
Des. But half an hour I
Oth. Being done, there is no pause.
Des. But while I say one prayer !
Oth. It is too late.
[He stifles her.
Emit. [Within'X My lord, my lord ! what,
ho ! my lord, my lord I
Oth What noise is this ? Not dead 7 not
yet quite dead ?
I that am cruel am yet merciful ;
I would not have thee linger in thy pain :
So, so.
Emit. [ Within.'\ What, ho I my lord, mj
lord I
SOBN> II.1
0th. Who's there ?
Emil. [ Within] O, good ray lord, I would
speak a word with you ! 90
0th. Yes : 'tis Emilia. By and by. She's
dead,
'Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio's
death.—
The noise was here. Ha ! no more moving ?
Still as the grave. Shall she come in't were't
good ?—
I think she stirs again :—no. What's best to
do?
she come in, she'll sure speak to ray wife :
My wife ! ray wife! wliat wife ? I have no
wife.
0, insupportable ! O heavy hour !
Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse
Of sun and moon, and that tlie amighted
globe
Should yawn at alteration.
Emit. [ ITifAiu] 1 do beseech you 101
That 1 may apeak with you, O, good my lord!
0th. 1 liad forgot thee : O, come in, Emilia;
Soft; by and by. Let me the curtains draw.
Where art thou ? [Unlocks the door.
Enter Emilia.
Wiiat's the matter with thee now ?
Emil. 0, my good lord, yonder's foul mur¬
ders done!
0th. What, now ?
Emil. But now, my lord.
0th. It is the very error of the moon ;
She comes more nearer earth than she was
wont, 110
And makes men mad.
Emil. Cassio, my lord, hath kill'd a young
Venetian
Cail'd Boderigo.
0th. Boderigo kill'd !
And Cassio kill'd !
Emil. No, Cassio is not kill'd.
0th. Mot Cassio kill'd 1 then murder's out
of tune.
And sweet revenge grows harsh.
Dee. O, falsely, folsely murder'd!
Emil. . Alas, what cry is that ?
0th. That! what ?
Emit. Out, and alas! that was my lady's
voice. 119
Help ! help, ho! help ! O ladjr, speak again !
Sweet Desmemona I O sweet mistress, speak !
Des. A guiltless deatli I die.
Emil. O, who hath done this deed ?
Des. Nobody ; I myself. Farewell :
Commend me to my kind lord : O, farewell!
[Dies.
0th. Why, how should she be murder'd ?
Enul. Alas, who knows ?
Oth. Yon heard her say herself, it was not I.
Emil. She said so : I must needs report the
truth. •
Oth. She's, like a liar, gone to burning hell;
'Twas I that kill'd her.
Emil. O, the more angel she, 130
And you the blacker devil I
81o
Oth. She tum'd to lolly, and she was a
whore.
Emil. Thou dost belie her, anl thou art a
devil.
Oth. She was false as water.
Emil. Tiiou art rash as fire, to say
That she was false : O, slie was hea/enlv
true I [elst
Oth. Cassio did top her ; ark thy husbauu
O, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell.
But that I did proceed upon just grounds
To this extremity. Thy husband knew it all.
Emil. My husband ! 140
Oth. Thy husband.
Emil. That siie was false to wedlock ?
Oth. Ay, with Cassio. Nay, had she been
true.
If heaven would make me such another world
Of one entire and perfect chrysolite,
I'ld not have sold her for it.
Emil. My iiusband !
Oth. Ay, 'twas he that told me first :
An honest man he is, and hates the slime
■That sticks on filthy deeds.
Emil. My husband !
Oth. What needs this iteration, woman ? I
say thy husband. 150
Emil. O mistress, viilauy hath made mocks
with love.
My husband say that she was false !
Oth. He, woman ;
I say thy husband : dost understand the
word ?
My friend, thy husband, honest, honest lago.
Emil. If he say so, may his pernicious soul
Bot half a grain a day I he lies to the heart:
She was too fond of her most filthy bargain.
Oth. Ha!
Emil. Do thy worst :
This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven
Than thou wast wortliy her. 161
Oth. Peace, you were best.
Emil. Thou hast not half that power to do
me harm
As I have to be hurt. O gull ! O dolt I
As ignorant as dirt! thou hast done a deed—
I care not for thy sword ; I'll make tliee
known.
Though I lost twenty lives.—Help ! help, ho !
help!
The Moor hath kill'd my mistress! Murder !
murder!
Enter Montano, Gkatiano, Iaoo, and
others.
Mon. What is the matter 7 How now, gen¬
eral !
Emil. O, are you come, lago? you have
done well.
That men must lay tlieir murders on your
neck. 170
Gra. What is the matter ?
Emil. Disprove thi^villain, if thou be'st a
man :
He says thou told'st Uw that his wife was
OTHELLO.
816
I know thou didst not, thou'rt not such a Til-
lain :
Speak, lor' my heart is full.
lago. 1 told him what I thought, and told
no more
Tliau what he found himself was apt and
true.
Emil. But did you ever tell him she was
false ?
lago. I did.
Emil. You told a lie ; an odious, damned
lie; 180
TJpon ray soul, a lie, a wicked lie.
She false with Cassio !—did you say with
Cassio ?
logo. With Cassio, mistress. Go to, charm
your tongue.
Emil. I will not cliarm my tongue; I am
bound to speak :
My mistress here lies murder'd in her bed,—
All. O heavens forfend !
Emil. And your reports have set the mur¬
der on.
0th. Nay, stare not, masters : it is true,
indeed.
Gra. 'Tis a strange truth.
Man. O monstrous act!
Emit, Villany, villany, villany ! 190
Ithink upon't, I think: Israell't: Ovillauy!—
I thought so theu : — I'll kill myself for
grief :— ^
0 villany, villany !
lago. What, are you mad ? I charge you,
get you home.
Emu^ Good gentlemen, let me have leave
to speak :
'Tis proper I obey him, but not now.
Perchance, hago, I will ne'er go home.
0th. 0»! O ! O ! [He falls on the bed.
Emil. Nay, lay thee down and roar ;
For thou hast kill'd the sweetest iuuoceut
That e'er did lift up eye.
0th. [ifisin.V] O, she was foul! 200
1 scarce did know you, uncle : there lies your
niece,
Whose breath, indeed, these bauds have new¬
ly stopp'd :
1 know this art shows horrible and grim.
Gra. Poor Desdemoua 1 1 am glad tliy
father's dead :
Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief
Shore his old thread m twain ; drd he live
now.
This sight would make him do a desperate
turn.
Tea, curse his better angel from his side.
And fall to reprobation.
0th. 'Tis pitiful; but yet lago knows 210
That she with Cassio hath the act of shame
A thousand times committed ; Cassio con¬
fess'd it :
And she did gratify his amorous works
With that recoguizance*and pledge of love
Which I first gave her ; I saw it in his hand :
It was a handkerchief, an antique token
My father gave my mother.
[Act v.
Emit. O heaven ! O he-avenly powers !
Jago. Come, hold your peace.
Emil. 'Twill out, 'twill out : I peace !
No, I will speak as liberal as the north : 220
Let heaven and men and devils, let them all.
All, all, cry shame against me, yet I'll speak.
lago. Be wise, and get you home.
Emil. I will not
[lago offers to stab Emilia.
Gra. Fie.'
Your sword upon a woman ?
Emit. O thou dull Moor ! that handker¬
chief thou speak'St of
I found by fortune and did give my husband;
"For often, with a solemn earnestness,
More than indeed belong'd to such a trifle,-
He begg'd of me to steal it.
lago. Villanous whore !
Emil. She give it Cassio ! no, alas! 1 found
it, 230
And I did give't my husband.
lago. Filth, thou liest!
Emil. By heaven, I do not, I do not, gen¬
tlemen.
O murderous coxcomb ! what should such a
fool
Do with so good a woman ?
0th. Are there nc stones in heaven
But what serve for the thmider ?---Precious
villian!
[He runs at lago: lam, from behind,
stabs Emilia, and exit.
Gra. The woman falls ; sure, he hath kill'd
his wife.
Emil. Ay, ay : O, lay me by my mistress'
side.
Gra. He's goue, but his wife's kill'd.
Mon. 'Tis a notorious villain. Take you this
weapon,
Wliich I have here recover'd from the Moor :
Come, guard the door without; let him not
pass, 241
But kill him rather. I'll after that same vil¬
lain,
For 'tis a damned slave.
[Exeunt Montana and Gratiano.
0th. I am not valiant neither,
But every puny whipster gets my sword :
But why should honor outlive honesty ?
Letitgoall.
Emit. Wliat did thy song bode, lady ?
Hark, canst thou hear me ? I will play the
swau,
And die in music. [Nin,qjnp] Willow, willow,
willow,—
Moor, she was chaste ; she loved thee, cruel
Moor;
So come my soul'to bliss, as I speak true; 250
So speaking as I think, I die, I die. [Dies.
0th. I have another weapon in this cham-
. ber;
It is a sword of Spain, the ice-brook's tem¬
per
O, here it is. Uncle, I must come forth.
Gra. f IKii/un] If tlmu attempt it, it wiB
cost thee dear:
OTHELLO.
ScKMB n.]
OTHELLO,'
817
Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suf¬
fer.
OfA. Look in upon me then and speak with
me,
Or, naked as I am, I will assault thee
Re-enter Gratiano.
Ora. What is the matter ?
Oih. Behold, I have a weapon ;
A better never did itself sustain 2^
Upon a soldier's thigh: 1 have seen the day, .
That, with this little arm and this good sword,
1 have made my way through more impedi¬
ments
Than twenty times your stopi hut, O vain
boast]
Who can control his fate.? 'tis not so now.
Be not afraid, though you do see me weap-
on'd ;
Here is my journey's end, here is my butt.
And very sea-mark of mv utmost sail.
Do you go back dismay'ii ? 'tis a lost fear ;
Man but a rush against Othello's breast, 270
And he retires. Where should Othello go ?
Now, how dost thou look now ? O ill-starr'd
wench !
Pale as thy smock I when we shall meet at
compt.
This look of thine will hurl my soul from
heaven,
And Bends will snatch at it Cold, cold, my
girl!
Even Uke thy chastity. O cursed slave !
Whip me, ye devils.
From the ^ssession of this heavenly sight I
Blow me about m winds ! roast me in sul¬
phur !
Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid Bre !
O Desdemona ! Desdemona ! dead ! 281
Oh I Oh ! Oh !
Enter Lodovico, Montano, Cassio earned in
a chair, and Officers with Iaoo, prisoner.
Lod. Where is this rash and most unfor¬
tunate man ?
0th. That's he that was Othello ; here I
am.
Lod. Where is that viper ? bring the villain
forth.
0th. I look down towards his feet; but that's
a fable.
If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee.
[ Woutids lago.
Lod. Wrench his sword from him.
lago. I bleed, sir ; but not kill'd.
0th. I am not sorry neither; I'Id have thee
live ;
For, in my sense, 'tis happiness to die. 290
Lod. O thou Othello, thou wert once so
food,
Fall'n in the practice of a damaed slave,
What shall be said to thee ?
0th. Why, any thing :
An honorable murderer, if you will ;
For nought I did in hate, but all in honor.
' Lod. This wretch hath part confess'd hi.i
villany :
Did you and he consent in Oassio's death ?
oih. Ay.
Cos. Dear general, I never gave yon cause.
0th. I do believe it, and I ask your pardon.
Will you, I pray, demand tliat demi-devil 301
Why he hath thus ensnared my soul and
body?
lago. Demand me nothing: what you know,
you know;
From this time forth I never will speak word,
Lod. What, not to pray ?
Gm. Torments will ope your lips.
0th. Well, thou dost best
Lod. Sir, you shall understand what hath
befall'n.
Which, as I think, yod know not. Hcire is a
letter
Found in the pocket of the slain Roderigo;
And heio another : the one of them imports
The death of Cassio to be undertook 311
By Roderigo.
0th. O villain!
Cos. Most heathenish and most gross
Lod. Now here's another discontented
paper.
Found in his pocket too ; and this, it seems,
Roderigo meant to have sent this damned vil¬
lain ;
But that belike lago in the interim
Came in and satisfied him.
0th. O the peniicious caitiff !
How came yon, Cassio, by that handkerchief
That was my wife's ?
Cas. I found it in my chamber : 320
And he himself confess'd but even now
That there he dropp'd it for a special purpose
Which wrought to his desire.
0th. O fool! fool! fool!
Cas. There is besides in Roderigo's letter.
How he upbraids lago, that he made him
Brave me upon the watch ; whereon it came
That I was cast; and even but now he spake.
After long seeming dead, lago hurt him,
lago set him on.
Lod. You must forsake this room, and go
with us ; 330
Your power and your command is taken off.
And Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave.
If there be any cunning cruelty
That can torment him much and hold him
long,
It shall be his. You shall close prisoner rest,
Till that the nature of your fault be known
To the Venetian state. Come, bring him
away.
0th. Soft you ; a word or two before you
go-
I have done the state some service, and they
know't.
No more of that. I'pray yon, in your letters,
When you shall these unlucky de^s relate.
Speak of me as I am ; nothing extenuate.
Nor set down aught in malice : then must you
speak
Si
818
OTHELLO.
{Act T.
Of one that loved not wisely but too well;
Of one not easily jealous, but being wrought
Perplex'd in the extreme; of one whose
hand,
Like the baM Indian, threw a pearl away
Richer than all his tribe ; of one whose sub¬
dued eyes,
Albeit unused to tlie melting mood,
Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees 350
Tlieir medicinal gnm. Set you down this ;
And say besides, that in Aleppo once,
Where a malignant and a turbau'd Turk
Beat a Venetian and traduced tlie state,
T took by the throat the circumcised dog
knd smote him, thus. [iS?la6« himself.
Lod. O . bloody period 1
Gra. All that's spoke is marr'd.
0th. I kiss'd thee ere I kill'd thee : no way
bntthis;
Killing myself, to die upon a kiss.
[.Furs on the bed, and dies.
Cos. This did I f^, but thought, he had no
weapon; 360
For he was great of heart.
Lod. [To Japo] O Spartan dog.
More fell tlian aguish, hunger, or the sea !
I..ook on tlie tragic loading of this bed ;
This is thy work : the object poisons siglit;
Let it be hid. Gratiano, keep the house.
And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor,
For they succeed on you. To you, lord gover¬
nor.
Remains the censure c<f this hellish villain ;
The time, the place, the torture : O, enforce
it I
Myself will straight aboard : and to the state
This heavy act with heavy heart relate. 371
[Exeunt.
KING LEAR
tWRITTEN ABOUT 1605.)
9
. INTRODUCTION.
Among the tragedie* of pasrion Xinff Lear Is the one in which passions assume the largest pro.
portions, act upon the widest theatre, and attain their absolute extremes. The story of Lear and
his daughters was found Shakespeare in Holinsked, and he may have taken a few hints from
an old p.»y, jfAe True Chronicle Uisloru of King Leir. In both Holinshed's version and that of the
True Chronicle, the army of Lear and his French allies is victorious; Lear is reinstated in his king¬
dom : but Hoiinshed relates how, after Lear's death, her sister's sons warred against Cordelia and
took her prisoner, when "being a woman of a manly courage and despairing to recover liberty," she
slew herself. With the story of Lear Shakespeare connects that of Gloucester and his two sons. An
episode in Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia supplied characters and incidents for t^ portion of the play,
Sidney's blind king of Paphlagoiiia corresponding to the Gloucester of Stokespeare. But here, too,
the stogy had in the dramatist's original a nappy ending; the Paphlagonian king is restored to his
throne, and the brothers are reconciled. The date of the play is probably ItiOS or 1606. It was en¬
tered on the Stationers' register, Nov. 26,1607, and the entry states that it had been acted " upon St.
Stephen's day at Christmas last," i. e. Dec. 26,1606. It was printed in quarto in 1608. Shakespeare
cares little to give the opening incidents of his play a look of prosaic, historical probability. The
spectator or reader is asked, as it were, to grant the dramatist certain data, and then to observe
what the imagination can mwe of them. Good and evil in this play are clearly severed from one
another—(more so than in Macbeth or in Othello)—and at the last, goodness, if we judge merely by
external fortune, would seem to be, if not defeated, at least not triumphant. Shakespeare has
dared, while paying little regard to mere historical verisimilitude, to represent the most solemn and
awful mysteries of life as they actually are, without attempting to offer a ready-made explanation
of them. Cordelia dies strangled in prison ; yet we know that her devotion of love was not mis¬
spent. Lear expires in an agony of grief ; but he has been delivered from his pride and passionate
.mlfulness : he has-found that insteim of being a master, at whose nod all things must how, he is
weak and helpless, a sport even of the wind and the rain ; his ignorance of true love, and pleasure
in false professions of love, have given place to an agonized clinging to the love which is reai, deep,
and tranquil because of its fulness. Lear is the greatest sufferer in Shakespeare's plays ; though so
old, he has strength which makes him a subject for prolonged and vast agony; and patience is un¬
known to him. The elements seem to have conspired against him with his unnatural daughters;
the upheaval of the moral world, and the rage of tempest in the air seem to be parts of the same
gigantic convulsion. In the midst this tempest wanders unhoused the white-haired Lear: while
his fool—most pathetic of ail the minor characters of Shakespeare—jests half-wildly, half-coher-
ently,lutlf-bitterly,.half-tenderly, and always with a sad remembrance of the happier past. The
poor boy's heart has been sore ever since his " young mistress went to France." If Cordelia is pure
love, tender and faithful, and Kent is unminglM loyalty, the monsters Goneril and Began are gor-
gons rather than women, such as Shakespeare has nowhere else conceived. The aspect of Goneril
can almost turn to stone; in Began's tongue there is a viperous hiss. The story of Gloucester en¬
larges the basis of the tragedy. Lear's affliction is no mere private incident; there is a breaking of
the bonds of nature and soc^y all around us. But Gloucester is suffering for a former sin of self-
indulgence, Lear is " more sHined against than sinning." Yet Gloucester is granted a death which
is half joyful. His«ffliction serves as a measure of the longer affliction of the king. Edgar and
Edmund are a contrasted pair—both are men of penetration, energy, and skill, one on the side of
evil^, the other on the side of good. Everywhere throughout the play Shakespeare's imaginative
danng impresses u8. Nothing in poetry is bolder or more wonderful than the scene on the night of
the tempest in the hovel where the king, whose intellect has now given way, is in company with
iSdgar, assmning madness, the Fool, with his forced pathetic mirth, and Kent.
DRAMATIS PERSON.®,
«
Earl of Gloucester,
Edgar, son to Gloucester.
Kdmumd, bastard son to Gloucesten
CuRAN, a courtier.
. Old man, tenant to Gloucester.
' Doctor.
Dvkb of Burgundy.
Duke of Cornwall.
Duke of Albany.
Easo. of Kent.
(619:
82»
KING LEAR.
[Act 1.
Fool. k
Oswald, steward to Goneril.
A Captain employed by Edmund.
Gentleman attendant on Cordelia.
A Herald. < f ' • ^
Servants to Cornwall.« I 1 ' 'Ik
ACT I.
Scene I. King Lear's pdUtee, '
Enter Kent, 6m)UCesteb, and Edmund.
Kent, I tbonght the king bad inore afiected
the Duke of Altoiy than Cornwall.
Olotc. It did always, seem so to us: bat
now, in the division of tbe kingdom, it appears
not which of the dukes he values mo.st; for
equalities are so weighed, that curiosity in
neither can make choice of cither's moiety.
Kent. Is not this your son, my lord ?
Glou. His breeding, sir, hath been at my
charge: I have so often blushed to acknowl¬
edge him, that now I am brazed to it. 11
Kent. I cannot conceive you.
Glau. Sir, this young fellow's mother could':
whereupon she grew round-wombed, and had,
indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere she bad a
husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault ?
Kent. I cannot wish the fault undone, the
issue of it being so proper.
Glou. But I have, sir, a son by order of
law, some year elder than this, who yet is no
dearer in my account: tliough this knave came
something saucily into the world before he
was sent for, yet was his mother fair ; there
was good sport at his making, and the whore¬
son must be acknowledged. Do you know this
noble gentleman, Edmund ? ■
Edm. No, my lord.
Glou. My lord of Kent: remember him
hereafter as my honorable friend.
Edm. My Services to your lordship.
Kent. I must love yon, and sue to know
you better. 31
Edm. Sir, I shall study deserving.
Glou. He hath been out nine years, and
away he shall again. The king is coming.
Sennet. Enter Kino Lear^ Cornwall, Al¬
bany, Goneril, Began, Cordelia, and
Attendants.
Lear. Attend the lords of France and Bur¬
gundy, Gloucester.
Glou. I shall, my liege.,. .
[Exeunt Gloucester and Edmund.
Lear. Meantime we shall express our darker
Xiurpose.
Give me the map there. Know that we have
divided
in three our kingdom: and 'tis our fast intent
To shake all cares and business from our age;
Conferring them on younger strengths, while
we ' 41
Gonebil, )
Regan, 1 danghtera to Lear.
cobdelia, )
Knights of Lear's ti^. Captains, Messengers,
^ /, S<ddier8,.3nd Attendants.
' S<3s^; Britain.
1 I, ii-ii
Unburthen'd crawl toward death. Our son of
.Cornwall,
And you, our no less loving son of Albany,
'We have this hour a constant will to publish
Our daughters' several dowers, that fntnre
strife
May be prevented now. The princes, France
and Burgundy,
Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love.
Long in our court have made their amorous
sojourn.
And here are to be answer'd. Tell me, my
daughters,—
Since now we will divest ns, both of rule, SO
Interest of territory, cares of state,—
Which of you shall we say doth love us most ?
That we our largest bounty may extend
Where nature doth witli merit cbidlenge.
Goneril,
Our eldest-bom, speak first.
Gon. Sir, 1 love you more than words can
wield the matter;
Dearer than eye-sight, space, and liberty;
Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare ;
No less than life, with gra^ health, beauty,
honor;
As much as child e'er Ipved, or father found ;
A love that makes breath poor, and speech un¬
able ; 61
Beyond all manner of so much I love you.
C'or. [Aside] What shall Cordelia do? Love,
and be silent.
Lear. Of all these bounds, even from this
line to this.
With shadowy forests and with champains
rich'd,
With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads.
We make thee lady: to thine and Albany's
issue
Be this peiqietual. . What says our second
daughter.
Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall ? Speak.
Reg. Sir, 1 am made 70
Of tbe self-same metal that my sister is.
And prize me at her worth. In my trae heart
1 find she names my very deed of love ;
Only she comes too short: that 1 profess
Myself an enemy to all other joys.
Which the most precions square of sense pos¬
sesses ;
And find 1 am alone felicitate
In your dear highness' love.
Cor. [Aside] Then poor Cordelia 1
And yet not so ; since, 1 am sure, my love's
More richer than my tongne to
Scene i.]
Lear. To thee and thine hereditary ever
Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom ;
No less in si«ce, validity, and pleasure,
Than that conferr'd on Goneril. Now, our
Although'the last, not least; to whose young'
love
The vines of France and milk of Burgundy
Strive to be iuteress'd ; what can you say to
draw
A third more opulent than your sisters ? Speak.
Cor. Nothing, my lord.
Aear. Nothing I 90
Cor. Nothing.
Lear. Nothing will come of nothing; speak
again.
Cor. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave
My heart into my mouth : I love your majesty
According to my bond ; nor more nor less.
Lear. How, how, Cordelia! mend your
speech a little.
Lest it may mar your fortunes.
Cor. Good my lord.
You have begot me, bred me, loved me ; 1
Return those duties back as are right fit.
Obey you, love you, and most honor you. 100
Why have my sisters husbands, if they say
They love you all 1 Haply, when I shall wed.
That lord whose hand must take my plight
shall carry
Half my love with him, half my care and duty:
Sure, I shall never marry like ray sisters,
To love my father all.
Lear. Bnt goes thy heart with this ?
Cor. Ay, good my lord.
Lear. So young, and so untender ?
Cor. So young, my lord, and true.
Lear. Let it be so ; thy truth, then, be thy
dower: 110
For, by the saered radiance of the sun.
The my.sterles of Hecate, and the night;
By all the operation of the orbs
From whom we do exist, and cease to be
Here I disclaim all my {Eternal care,
Propinquity and property of blood,
And as a stranger to my heart and me
Hold thee, from this, for ever. The barbar¬
ous Scythian,
Or he that makes his generation messes
To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom 120
Be as well neighbor'd, pitied, and relieved.
As thou my sometime daughter.
Kent. Good my liege,—
Ijear. Peace, Kent !
Come not between the dragon and his wrath.
I loved her most, and thought to set my rest
On her kind nursery. Hence, and avoid my.
sight!
So be my grave my peace, as here I give
Her father's heart from her 1 Call France;
who stirs ? ^
Call Burgundy. Cornwall and Albany,
With my two daughters' dowers digest this
third: 130
Let pride, which calls plainness, marry
her,
821
I do invest yon jointly with my power,
Pre-eminence, and all the large effects
That troop with majesty. Onrself, by monthly
course,
With reservation of an hundred knights,
By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode
Make with you by due turns. Only we still
retain
The name, and all the additions to a king ;
The sway, revenue, execution of the rest.
Beloved sons, be yours: which to con&m, 140
This coronet part betwixt you.
[Giving the crown.
Kent. ^yal Lear,
Whom I have ever honor'd as my king,
Ix>ved as my father, as my master foUow'd,
As my great patron thonght on in my pray¬
ers,—
Lear. The bow is bent and drawn, make
from the shaft.
Kent. Let it fall rather, though the fork
invade
The region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly.
When Lear is mad. What wilt thou do, old
man ?
Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to
speak,
When power to flattery bows ? To plainness
honor's bound, IM
When majesty stoo^ to folly. Reverse thy
doom :
And, in thy best consideration, check
This hideous rashness : answer my life my
judgment.
Thy youngest daughter does not love thee
least;
Nor are tliose empty-hearted whose low sound
Reverbs no hollowness.
Lear. Kent, on thy life, no more.
Kent. My life I never lield but as a pawn
To wage against thy enemies ; nor fear to
lose it.
Thy safety being the motive.
Lear. Out of my sight!
Kent. See better, Lear ; and let me stin re¬
main 160
The true blank of thine eye.
Lear. Now, by Apollo,—
Kent. Now, by Apollo, king.
Thou swear'st thy gods in vain.
Lear. O, vassal! miscreant!
[Laying his hand on his sword.
C^n. I
Kent. Do:
Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow
Upon thy foul disease. Revoke thy doom ;
Or, whilst I can vent clamor from my throat,
rU tell thee thou dost evil.
Lear. Hear me, recreant!
On thine allegiance, hear me 1 170
Since thou hast sought to make ns break our
vow.
Which we durst never yet, and with strain'd
pride
To come between ear eenteoce and our power,
KING LEAR.
822
Which uor our nature nor our place can bear,
Our potency made good, take thy reward.
Five days we do allot thee, for provision
To shield thee from diseases of the world ;
And on the sixth to turn thy hated back
Upon our kingdom : if, on tlie tenth day fol¬
lowing, 179
Thy banish'd trunk be found in our domiuions.
The moment is thy death. Away! by Jupiter,
This shall not be revoked.
Kent. Fare thee well, king: sith thus thou
wilt appear.
Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.
[To Cordelia] The gods to their de.ar shelter
take thee, maid.
That justly think'st, and hast most rightly
.said!
[To Regan and GonerU] And your large
speeches may your deeds approve,
That good effects may spring from words of
love.
Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu ;
He'll shape his old course in a country new.
[Exii.
Flourish. Re-enter Gloucester, with
FR.ince, Burgundy, and Atteudauts.
Gtdu. Here's France and Burgundyf my
noble lord. 191
Lear. My lord of Burgundy.
We first address towards you, who with this
king
Hath rivall'd for our daughter ; what, in the
least.
Will you require in present dower with her.
Or cease your quest of love ?
Bur. Most royal majesty,
I crave no more than what your highness
offer'd.
Nor will you tender less.
Lear. Right noble Burgundy,
When she was dear to us, we did hold her so;
But now her price is fall'n. Sir, there she
stands: 200
If aught within that little seeming substance.
Or all of it, with our displeasure pieced.
And nothing more, may fitly like your grace.
She's there, and she is yours.
Bur. I know no answer.
Lear. Will you, with those infirmities she
owes.
Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate,
Dower'd witli our curse, and strauger'd with
our oath.
Take her, or leave her ?
Bur. Pardon me, royal sir ;
Election makes not up on such conditions.
Lear. Then leave her, sir; for, by the
power that made me, 210
I tell you all her wealth. [To France] For
you, great king,
I would not from your love make such a stray.
To match you where I hate ; therefore beseech
you
To avert your lilting a more worthier way
Tlian on a wretch whom nature is ashamed
[Act i.
Almo.st to acknowledge hers.
France. This is most strange,
That she, that even but now was your best
. object.
The argument of your praise, balm of your
age.
Most best, most dearest, should in tliis trice of
time 219
Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle
So many folds of favor. Sure, her offence
Must be of such unnatural degree.
That monsters it, or your fore-vouch'd affec¬
tion
Fall'n Into taint: which to believe of her.
Must be a faith that reason without miracle
Could never plant in me.
Cor. I yet beseech your majesty,—
If for I want that glib and oily art.
To speak and purpose not; since what I well
intend,
I'll do't before I speak,—that you make knowv
It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, 230
No unchaste action, or dishonor'd step,
Tlmt hath deprived me of your grace and
favor;
But even for want of that for which I am
richer,
A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue
As I am glad I have not, though not to have it
Hath lost me in your liking.
Lear. Better thou
Hadst not been bom than not to have pleased
me better.
France. Is it but this,—a tardiness in na¬
ture
Which often leaves the history unspoke 239
That it intends to do ? My lord of Burgundy,
Wliat say you to the lady ? Love's not love
When it is mingled with regards that stand
Aloof from the entire point. Will you have
her? ;
She is herself a dowry.
Bur. Royal Lear,
Give but that portion which yourself pro¬
posed.
And here I take Cordelia by the hand.
Duchess of Burgundy.
Lear. Nothing : I have sworn ; I am firm.
Bur. I am sorry, then, you have so lost a
father
That yon must lose a husband.
Cor. Peace be with Burgundy 1 250
Since that respects of fortune are his love,
I shall not be his wife.
France. Fairest Cordelia, tliat art most
rich, being poor ;
Most choice, forsaken ; and most loved, de¬
spised !
Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon:
Be it lawful I take up what's cast away.
Gods, gods ! 'tis strange that from their cold'st
neglect
My love should kindle to inflamed respect
Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to mj
chance.
Is queen of us, of ours, f ud our fair France '
KING LEAR.
Scene ii.]
KING
LEAR,
823
Not all the dukes ot waterUh Burgundy 261
Cau buy this unprized precious niaid of me
Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkiud:
Thou losest here, a better where to find.
Lear. Thou hast her, France : let her be
thine; for we
Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see
Tiiat face of hers again. Therefore be gone
Without our grace, our love, our benison.
Come, noble Burgundy.
[FloMrish. Exeunt all but France,
Goneril, Reyan, ami Cordelia.
France. Bid farewell to your sisters. 270
Cor. Tlie jewels of our father, with wash'd
eyes
Cordelia leaves you : I know you whai you
are;
And like a sister am most loath to call
Your faults as they are named. Use well our
hither:
To your professed bosoms I commit him
But yet, alas, stood I within his grace,
I would prefer him to a better place.
So, farewell to you both.
Reg. Prescribe not us our duties.
Goii. Let your study
Be to content your lord, who hath received
you 280
At fortune's alms. You have obedience
scanted.
And well are worth the want tliat you have
wanted.
Cor. Time shall unfold what plaited cunning
hides:
Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.
Well may you prosper !
France. Come, my fair Cordelia.
[Exeunt France and Cordelia.
Gon. Sister, it is not a little I have to say
of wliat most nearly appertains to us both. I
Aink our father will hence to-night
Reg. That's most certain, and with you ;
next month with us. 200
Gon. Y'ou see liow full of changes his age
is; the observation we have made of it hath
not been little : he always loved our sister
most; and with wh.at poor judgment he liath
now cast her off appears too grossly.
Reg. 'Tis the innrmity of his age ; yet he
hath ever but slenderly known himself.
Gon. The best and soundest of his time
hath been but rash ; then must we look to re¬
ceive from Ids age, not alone the imperfections
of long-engraffed condition, but therewithal
the unruly waywardness that infirm and
choleric years bring with them.
Reg. Such unconstant starts are we like to
have from him as this of Kent's bainshment
. Gon. "There is furthercomplimento''leave-
taking between France and him. Pray you,
let's hit together ; if ourfathercarry authority
with such dis|rositions as he ^ears, this last
surrender of his wiil but offend us. 310
Reg. We shall further think on't.
^n. We must do something, and i' the
heat. [Exeunt.
Scene II. The Earl Cjf Ghucester't castle.
Enter F.dmund, teith a letter.
Edm. Thou, nature, art my goddess; tothy
law
My services are bound. Wherefore should I
Stand in the plague of custom, and permit
The curiosity of nations to deprive me.
For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon ¬
shines
Lag of a brother ? Why bastard ? wherefore
base?
When my dimensions are as well compact.
My mind as generous, and ray shape as true.
As honest madam's issue ? Why brand they
us
"With base 7 with baseness ? bastardy ? base,
base ? 10
Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, talce
More composition and fierce quality
Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed.
Go to the creating a whole tribe of fop.s.
Got 'tween asleep and wake ? Well, then,
Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land :
Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund
As to the legitimate : fine word,—legitimate !■
Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed,
And my invention thrive, Edmund the base20
Shali top the legitimate. I grow ; I prosper: ■
Now, gods, stand up for bastards !
Enter Gloucester.
Glou. Kent banish'd thus 1 and France ia
choler parted 1
And the king gone to-night I subscribed his
power!
Confined to exhibition 1 All this done
Upon the gadl Edmund, how now! what
news ?
Edm. So please your lordship, none.
[Putting up the letter.
Glou. Why so earnestly seek you to put
up that letter ?
Edm. I know no news, my lord.
Glon. What paper were you reading ? 30
Edm. Nothing, my lord.
Glou. No ? What needed, then, that ter¬
rible dispatch of it into your pocket ? the
quality of nothing hath not such need to hide
itself. Let's see: come, if it be nothing, I shall
not need sjiectacles.
Edm. I beseech you, sir, pardon roe : it is
a letter from my brotlier, that I have not all
o'er-read ; and for so much as I have perused,
1 find it not fit for your o'er-looking. 40
Glou. Give me the letter, sir.
Edm. I shall offend, either to detain or
give it The contents, as in part I understand
them, are to blame.
Glou. Let's see, let's see.
Edm. I hope, for my brothei-'s justification,
he wrote this but as an essay or taste of my
virtue.
Glou. [Bcad.'sl 'This policy and reverence
of age makes the world bitter to the best of
our times ; keeps our fortunes from us till out
nm
oldness cannot relish thera. I begin to find
an idle and loud bondage in tlie oppression of
aged tyranny; who sways, not as it hath
power, but as it is suffered. Come to me, that
of this I may speak more. If our father
would sle^ tiil I waked him, you should en¬
joy half his revenue for ever, and iive the be¬
loved of your brother. Edgar.'
Hum—conspiracy I—'Sleep till I waked him,
—you should enjoy half his revenue,'—My
son Edgar ! Had he a hand to write this 1 a
heart and brain to breed it in ?—When came
this to you ? who brouglit it ?
Edm. It was not brought me, my lord ;
there's the cunning of it; I found it thrown in
at the casement of my closet.
OU>u. Von know the character to be your
brother's ?
Edm. It the matter were good, my lord, I
durst swear it were his; but, in respect of
that, I would fain think it were not. 70
Olou. It is bis.
Edm. It is his hand, my lord ; but I hope
his heart is not in the contents.
Glou. Hath he never heretofore sounded
you in this business ?
Edm. Never, my lord : but I have heard
hbn oft maintain it to be fit, that, sons at
perfect age, and fathers declining, the father
should be as ward to the sou, and the son
manage his revenue.
Qlou. O viiiain, viiiain ! His very opinion in
the letter I Abhorred villain ! Unnatural, de¬
tested, brutish villain ! worse than brutish !
Go, sirrah, seek him ; I'll apprehend him;
abominable villain ! Where is he ?
Edm. I do not well know, my lord. If it
shall please you to suspend your indignation
against my brother till you can derive from
him better testimony of his intent, you shall
run a certain course ; where, if you violently
proceed against him, mistaking his purpose,
it would make a great gap in your own honor,
and shake in pieces the heart of his obedience.
I dare pawn down my life for him, that he
hath wrote this to feel my affection to your
honor, and to no further pretence of danger.
Glou. Think you so 1
Edm. If your honor judge it meet, I will
place you where you shall hear us confer of
this, and by an auricular assurance have your
satisfaction; and that without any further
delay than this very evening. 101
Olov. He cannot be such a monster—
Edm. Nor is not, sure,
Glou. To his father, that so tenderly and
entirely loves him. Heaven and earth ! Ed¬
mund, seek him out: wind me into him, I
pray you : frame the business after your own
wisdom. I would unstate myself, to be in a
due resolution.
Edm. I will seek him, sir, presently : con¬
vey the business as I shall find means, and
ac^aint you withal. Ill
Glou. These late eclipses in the snn and
moon portend no good to us ; though the wis¬
LEAH fAcr 1.
dom of nature can reason it thus and thus,
yet nature finds itself scourged by the sequent
effects : love cools, friendship falls off, broth¬
ers divide : in cities, mutinies ; in countries,
discord; in palaces, treason ; and the bond
cracked 'twixt son and father. Tliis villain of
mine comes under the prediction ; there's son
against father : the king falls from bias of
nature; tiiere's father against chiid. We have
seen the best of our time : machinations, hol-
luwuess, treachery, and ail ruinous disorders,
foliow us disquietly to our graves. Find out
tiiis viiiain, Edmuiid ; it shall lose thee noth¬
ing ; do it carefuily. And the noble and true-
hearted Kent banished I his offence, honesty !
"Tis strange. [Exit.
Edm. This is the excellent foppery of the
world, that, when we ate sick in fortune,—
often the surfeit of our own behavior,—we
make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon,
and the stars: as if we were villains by neces¬
sity ; fools by heavenly compulsion ; knaves,
thieves, and treachers, by spherical predom¬
inance ; drunkards, liars, and adulterers, by
an enforced obedience of planetary influence ;
and all that We are evil in, by a divine thrust¬
ing on ; an admirable evasion of whoreraaster
man, to lay his goatish disposition to the
charge of a star I My father compounded
with my mother under the dragon's tail; and
my nativity was under Ursa major ; so that it
follows, I am rough and lecherous. Tut, I
should have been that I am, had the maiden-
liest star in the firmament twinkled on my
bastardizing. Edgar—
Enter Edgar.
and pat he comes like the catastrophe of the
old comedy ; my cue is vilianous melancholy,
with a sigh like Tom o' Bedlam. O, these
eclipses do portend these divisions ! fa, sol, la,
mi.
Edg. How now, brother Edmund ! what
serious contemplation are you in ? 15!
Edm. 1 am thinking, brother, of a predic
tion I read this other day, what should follow
these eclipses.
Edg. Do you busy yourself about that 7
Edm. I promise you, the effects he write»
of succeed uuiiappily; as of uuuaturalness
between the child and the parent; death,
dearth, dissolutions of ancient amities ; divis¬
ions in state, menaces and maledictions against
king and nobles ; needless diffidences, banish¬
ment of friends, dissipation of cohorts, nuptial
breaches, and I know not what.
Edg. How long have you been a sectary
astronomical ?
Edm. Come, come ; when saw you my
father last 7
Edg. Why, the night gone by.
Edm. Spake you with him 7
Edg. Ay, two hours together. 17fi
Edm. Parted you in good terms 7 Found
you no displeasure in him by word or coun¬
tenance 7
SotNS ir.]
KING
LEAR.
826
Edg. None at all.
Emn. Bethink yourself wherein you may
have offended him : and at my entreaty for¬
bear his presence tilt some little time hath
qualified tlie heat of his displeasure ; whi^ at
wis instant so rageth in him, that with the
mischief of your person it would scarcely
all^.
Edg. Some villain hath done me wrong.
Edm. That's my fear. I pray you, have a
continent forbearance till the speed of Ills rage
goes slower ; and, as 1 say, retire with me to
my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you
to hear my iord speak : pray ye, go ; there's
my key : if you do stir abroad, go armed.
Edg, Armed, brother!
Edm. Brother, I advise you to the best;
go armed : I am no honest man if there be any
good meaning towards you : I have told you
what I have seen and heard ; but faintly,
nothing like the image and horror of it: pray
you, away.
Edg. Shail I hear from you anon ?
Edm. I do serve you in this business.
{Exit Edgar.
A credulous father ! and a brother noble.
Whose nature is so far from doing harms.
That he suspects none : on wl^ose foolish hon¬
esty
Hy practices ride easy ! I see the business.
Let me. if not by birth, have lauds by wit: }99
All with me's meet that I can fashion fit.
[Exit.
SCBNX nr. The Duk« of Albany's palace.
Enter Gomeril, and Oswald, her steward.
Oon. Did my father strike my gentleman
for chiding of his fool ?
Osw. Yes, madam.
Gon. By day and night he wrongs me ;
every hour
He flashes into one gross crime or other,
^That sets us ail at odds : I'll not endure it:
. His knights grow riotous, and himself up-
I— braids us
On every trifle.'~\ When he returns from hunt¬
ing.
I will not speak with him ; say I am sick :
If you come slack of former services, 9
You shall do well; the fault of it I'll answer.
Osw. He's coming, madam ; 1 hear him.
[Horns within.
Oon. Put on what weary negligence you
please.
You and your fellows ; I'll have it come to
question :
If he dislike it, let him to our sister.
Whose mind and mine J know, in that are one.
Not to be over-ruled. Ljdle old man,
That still would manage those authorities
That he hath given away IT^ow, by my life.
Old fools are babes agaiirfaDd must be used
With checks as flatteries,—when they are seen
abused. 20
Bern ember what I tell you.
Osw. WeQ, madam.
Gon. And let his knights liave coider looks
among you ;
What grows of it, no matter; advise your fel¬
lows so:
I would breed from hence occasions, and I
shall.
That I may speak : Pll write straight to my
sister.
To hold my very course. Prepare for dinner.
[Exeunt.
SCENB IV. A hall in the same.
Enter Kekt, disguised.
Kent. If but as well I other accents borrow,
Tiiat can my speech defuse, my good intent
May carry through itseif to that full issue
For which I razed my likeness. Now, ban-
ish'd Kent,
If thou canst serve where thou dost stand con-
demn'd, '
So may it come, thy master, whom thou lovest.
Shall find thee full of labors.
Horns within. Enter Lear, Knights,
and Attendants.
Lear. Let me not stay a jot for dinner ; go
get it ready. [Exit an Attendant.^ How now I
what art thou ? 10
Kent. A man, sir.
Lear. What dost thou profess ? what
wouldst thou with us ?
Kent. I do profess to be no less than I
seem ; to serve him truly that will put me in'
trust: to love him that is honest; to converse
with him that is wise, and says little ; to fear
judgment; to fight when I cannot choose;
and to eat no fish. .
Lear. What art thou ? '
Kent. A very honest-hearted fellow, and as
poor as the king. 21
Lear. It thou be as poor tor a subject as he
is for a king, thou art poor enough. What
wonldst thou ?
Kent. Service.
Lear. Who wouldst thou serve ?
Kent. You.
Lear. Dost thou know me, fellow ?
Kent. No, sir ; but you have that in your
countenance which I would fain call master.
Lear. WTiat's that ? 31
Kent. Authority.
Lear. What services canst thou do ?
Kent. I can keep honest counsel, ride, run,
mar a curious tale in telling it, and deliver a
plain message bluntly : that which ordinary
men are fit for, I am qualified in ; and the best
of me is diligence.
Lear. How old art thou ? 39
Kent. Not so young, sir, to love a woman
for singing, nor so old to dote on her for any
thing; I have years on my back forty eight.
Lear. Follow me ; thou shalt serve me : if '
I like thee no worse after dinner, 1 will not
part from thee yet. Dinner, ho, dinner !
Where's my knave ? my fool ? Go you, and
call my fool hither. [Exit an A'ttetidant.
82^
EnUr Oswald.
Too, you, sirrah, where's my daughter 7
Osw. So please you,— [Exit.
Lear. What says the fellow there 7 Call the
clotpoll back. [Exit a Knif/ht,] Where's my
fool, ho 7 I thiuk the world's asleep.
■, Re-erUer Kuight^
How now ! where's that mongrel 7
Knight. He says, my lord, your daughter
is not well.
Lear. Why came not the slave back to me
when 1 called him.
Knight. Sir, he answered me in the round¬
est manner, he would not.
Lear. He would not 1 60
Knight. My lord, I know not what the
matter is; but, to my judgment, your highness
is not entertained with that ceremonious affec¬
tion as you were wont; there's a great abate¬
ment of kindness appears as well in the gen¬
eral dependants as in the duke himself also
and your daughter.
Lear. Ha ! sayest thou so 7
Knight. I beseech you, pardon me, my lord,
if I be mistaken ; for my duty cannot be silent
when I think yunr highness wronged. 71
Lear. Thou but remeraberest me of mine
own conception : I have perceived a most faint
neglect of late : which I have intlier blamed
as mine own jealous curiosity than as a very
Inetence and puri>ose of unkindness : I will
ook hirtlier into't. But where's my fool 7 I
have not seen him this two days.
Knight. Since my young lady's going into
France, sir, the fool hath much pined away.
Lear. No more of that ; I have noted it
well. Go you, and tell iny daughter I would
speak with her. [Exit an Attendant.'] Go you,
call hither my fool. [Exit an Atten^nt.
Re-enter Oswald.
0, you sir, you, come you hither, sir : who am
1, sir 7
Osw. My lady's father.
Lear. ' Ay lady's father' ! my lord's knave:
your whoreson dog ! 3'ou slave ! yon cur I
One. I am none of these, my lord ; I be¬
seech your pardon. 91
Lear. Do you bandy looks with me, you
rascal 7 [Striking him.
Osw. I'll not be struck, my lord.
Kent. Nor tripped neither, you l)ase foot¬
ball player. [Tripping up his heels.
Lear. I thank thee, fellow ; thou servest
me, and I'll love thee.
Kent. Come, sir, arise, away! I'll teach
you differences : away, away ! If you will
measure your lubber's length again, tarry;
but away i go to ; have you wisdom? so.
[Pushes Osieald out.
Lear. Now, ray friendly knave, I thank
thee: there's earnest of thy service:
[Gieing Kent money.
[Aot t
Enter Fool.
Fool. Let me hire him too : here's my cox¬
comb. [Offering Kent hiseap,
Lear. How now, my pretty knave 1 how
dost thou 7
Fool. Sirrah, you were best take my cox¬
comb.
Kent. Why, fool 7 IW
Fool. Why, for taking one's part that's out
of favor: nay, an thou canst not smile as the
wind sits, thou'lt catch cold shortly : there,
take my coxcomb: why, this fellow has ban¬
ished two oil's daughters, and did the third a
blessing against his will ; if thou follow him,
thou must needs wear my coxcomb. How novf,
nnncle ! Would I had two coxcombs and two
daughters 1
Lear. Why, my boy 7 119
Fool. If I gave them all my living, I'Id
keep my coxcombs myself. There's mine ;
beg another of thy daughters.
Lear. Take heed, sirrah ; the whip.
Fool. Truth's a dog must to kennel; he
must be whipped out, when Lady the brach
m^ stand by the fire and stink.
Lear. A pestilent gall to me 1
Fool. Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech.
Lear. Do.
Fool Mark it, n uncle : 130
Have more than thou showest,
Speak less than thou knowest.
Lend less than thou owest,
Ride more than thou goest.
Learn more than thou trowest,
Set less than thou throwest ;
Leave thy drink and thy whore.
And keep in-a-door.
And thoU shalt have more
Than two tens to a score. 140
Kent. This is nothing, fool.
Fool. Then 'tis like the breath of an un¬
fee'd lawyer ; you gave me nothing for't.
Can you make do> use of nothing, nuncle 7
Lear. Why, no, boy ; nothing can be made
out of nothing.
l^ool. [To Kent] Prithee, tell him, so much
the rent of hia land comes to: he will not be¬
lieve a fool.
Lear. A latter fool 1 150
Fool. Dost thou know the difference, my
boy, between a bitter fool and a sweet fool 7
Lear. No, lad ; teach me.
Fool. That lord that couusell'd thee
To give away thy land.
Come place him here by me.
Do tliou for him stand :
The sweet and bitter fool
Will presently appear;
The one in motley here, 160
The other found out there.
Lear. Dost thou call me fool, boy 7
Fool. All thy other titles thou hast given
away ; that thou wast bora with.
Kent. This is not altogether fool, my lord.
Fool. No, faith, lords and great men will
not let me; if I had a monopoly out, they
KING LEAR.
Scene iv.]
KING £EAA
irould have part on't: and ladies too, fliey
will not let me liave ail fool to myself ; they'll
he snatching. Give me an egg, uuucle, and
I'll give tliee two crowns. 171
Lear. What two crowns shali they be ?
Fool. Why, alter I have cut the egg i' the
middle, and eat up the meat, the two crowns
of the egg. When thou clovest thj' crown 1'
the middle, and gavest away both i>arts, thou
horest thy ass on thy back o'er the dirt: thou
badst little wit in thy bald crown, when thou
gavest thy golden one away. If I speak like
myself iu this, let him be whipped that first
finds it so. 180
Fools had ne'er less wit in a year ;
For wise men are grown foppish.
They know not how their wits to wear.
Their manners are so apish.
Lear. When were you wont-to be so full of
80^, sirrah ?
Fool. I have used it, nuncle, ever since
thou madest thy daughters thy mothers : for
when thou gavest them tlie rod, and puf st
down thine own breeches, 190
[Singinr/'] Tlien they for sudden joy did weep.
And I for sorrow sung.
That such a king should play bo-peep.
And go tlie fools among.
Prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can
teach thy fool to lie : I would fain learn to
lie.
Lear. An you lie, sirrah, wVll have you
wl^ped.
Fool. I marvel what kin thou and thy
daughters are : thej^'ll have me whipped for
speaking true, thou'lt have me wliipped for
lying ; and sometimes I am whipped for hold¬
ing my peace. I had rather be any kind 0'
thing tlian a fool: and yet I would not be
thee, nuncle ; thou hast pared thy wit o' both
sides, and left nothing i' the middle : here
comes one o' tlie parings.
Enter Goneril.
Lear. How now, daughter ! what makes
that frontlet on ? Metbiiiks you are too much
of late i' the frown. 209
Fool, Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou
hadst no need tc) care for her frowning ; now
thou art an O without a figure : I am better
than thou art now ; I am a fool, thou art
nothing. [To Gon.] Yes, forsooth, I will hold
my tongue ; so your face bids me, tliough
you say nothing. Mum, mum.
He that keeps nor crust nor crum.
Weary of all, shall want some.
[JPointing to ieor] Thai-s a shealed peascod.
Gon. Not only, sir, this your all-licensed
fool, 220
But other of vour insolent retinue
iJo hourly lairp and quarrek; breaking forth
In rank and uot to-be endurM riots. Sir,
I had thought, by making tills well known
imto yoa.
To have found a safe redress : hut now grow
learf'Jl,
By what yourself too late have spoke and
done.
That you protept this course, and put it on
By your allowance ; which if you should, the
fault
Would not 'scape censure, nor the redresses
sleep, 229
Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal.
Might ill their working do you that offence.
Which else were shame, that then necessity
Will call discreet proceeding.
Fool. For, you trow, nuncle.
The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so
long.
That it's had it head bit off by it young.
So, out went the candle, and we were left
darkling.
Lear. Are you our daughter ?
Gon. Come, sir,
I would you would make use of that good
wisdom, 240 -
Whereof I know you are fraught; and put
away
These dispositions, that of late transform you
From wli.at you rightly are.
Fool. May not an ass know when the cart
draws the horse? Whoop, Jug ! T love thee.
Lear. Both any here know me ? "Tiiis is
not Lear :
Doth Lear walk thus ? speak thus ? Where
are his eyes ?
Either his notion weakens, his discerniugs
Are lethargied—Ha 1 waking ? 'tis not so.
Who is it that can tell me who I am ? 2S0
Fool. Lear's shadow.
Lear. I would leam that; for, by the
marks of sovereignty, knowledge, and rea¬
son, I should be false ^rsuaded 1 had daugh'^
ters.
Fool. Which they will make an obedient
father.
Lear. Your name, fair gentlewoman ?
Gon. This admiration, sir, is much o' the
savor
Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you
To understand my purposes aright: 260
As you are old and reverend, you should be
wise.
Here do you keep a hundred knights and
squires;
Men so di.sorder'd, so debosh'd and bold.
That this our court, infected with their man¬
ners.
Shows like a riotous inn ; epicurism and lust
Make it more like a tavern or a brothel
Than a graced palace. The shame itself doth
speak
For instant remedy : be then desired
By her, that else will take the thing she begs,
A little to disquantity your train ; HlO
And the remainder, that shall still depend
To be such men as may besort your age,
And know themselv^ and yon.
Lear. * Darkness and devils t
Saddle my horses ; call my train together:
Degenerate bastard ! I'll not trouble theOi
KING LEAR.
[Act t
Tet have I left a daughter.
Gon, Tou strike my people ; and your dis-
order'd rabble
Make senrants of their betters.
Enter Albamt.
Lear. Woe, that too late repents,—[To
A i.] O, sir, are you come ?
■ Is it your will ? Sp<^, sir. Prepare my
horses,
Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend.
More hideous when thou, show'st thee in a
child
Than the sea-monster I
Alb.. Pray, sir, be patient.
Lear. [Tb Gon.] DetestM kite! thou liest:
My train are men of choice and rarest parts.
That all particulars of duty know.
And in the most exact regard support
The worships of their name. 0 most small
fault.
How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show !
That, like au engine, wrench'd my frame of
nature 290
From the fix'd place; drew from heart all
love.
And added to the gall. 0 Lear, Lear, Lear 1
Beat at tliis gate, that let thy folly in,
[Striking his head.
And thy dear judgment out! Go, go, my
people.
Alb. My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignor¬
ant
Of what hath moved you.
Lear. It may be so, my lord.
Hear, nature, hear ; dear goddess, hear I
Suspend thy purpose, if tliou didst intend
To make tliis creature fruitful I
Into her womb convey sterility I 300
Dry up ill her the organs of increase ;
And from her derogate body never spring
A babe to honor her I If she must teem.
Create her child of spleen ; that it may live.
And be a thwart disnatured torment to her!
Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth ;
With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks;
Turn all her mother's pains and benefits
To laughter and contempt; that she may feel
How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is 310
To have a thankless child 1 Away,'away I
[Exit.
Alb. Now, gods that we adore, whereof
comes this ?
Gon. Never afflict yourself to know the
cause;
But let his disposition have tliat scope
That dotage gives it.
Re-enter Lear,
Lear. What, fifty of my followers at a clap!
Within a fortnight I
Alb. 'What's the matter, sir ?
Lesr. I'll tell thee : [To Gon.] Life and
death ! I am ashamed
TL-m thou hast power to shake jny manhood
thns;
That these hot tears, which break from me
I perforce, 320
Should make thee worth them. Blasts and
fogs upon thee !
The untented wouudings of a father's curse
Pierce every sense about thee! Old fond
eyes,
Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck ye out.
And cast you, with tlie waters that you lose,
To temper clay. Yea, is it come to this ?
Let it be so : yet have I left a daughter.
Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable ;
When she shall hear this of thee, with her
nails
She'll flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt
find 330
That I'll resume the shape which tliou dost
think
I have cast off for ever : thou shalt, I warrant
thee.
Lear, Kent, and Attendants.
Gon. Do you mark that, my lord ?
AJb. I cannot be so partial, Goneril,
To the great love I bear you,—
. Gon. Pray you, content. What, Oswald,
ho!
[To the Foot] You, sir, more knave than fool,
after your master.
FobL Nuucle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry and
take the fool with thee.
A fox, when one has caught her, 340
And such a daughter.
Should sure to the slaughter,,
If my cap would buy a nalter':
So the fool follows after. [ExU.
Gon. This man hath had good counsel:—a
hundred knights!
'Tis politic and safe to let him keep
At point a hundred knights: yes, that, on
every dream.
Each buzz, each fhncy, each complaint, dis¬
like.
He may enguard his dotage with their pow¬
ers.
And hold our lives in mercy, Oswald, I say !
Alb. Well, you may fear too far. ^
Gon. Safer than trust too far:
Let me still take away the harms I fear.
Not fear still to be taken : I know his heart
^Vhat he hath utter'd 1 have writ my sister:
If she sustain him and his hundred knights,
'When I have show'd the unfitness,—
Re-enter Oswald.
How now, Oswald 1
What, have you writ that letter to my sister ?•
Osw. Yes, madam.
Gon, Take you some company, and away
to horse:
Inform her full of my particular fear; 360
And thereto add such reasons of your own
As may compact it more. Get you gone ;
And hasten your return. [£zit Osuiald.\ Ho,
no, my lord.
This milky gentleness and course of yours
Though 1 condemn not, yet, under pardoa.
SOBMB t.]
KING
LEAK.
839
Tou^re mach more attask'd for want of wis¬
dom
Than praised for harmful mildness.
Alb. How far your eyes may pierce I can^
not tell:
Striving to better, oft we mar what's well-
Qon, Nay, then— 370
Alb. Well, well; the event. Exeunt.
Scene V. Court be/ore the some.
Enter Lbak, Kent, and Fool.
Lear. Go you before to Gloucester with
these letters. Acquaint my daughter no fur¬
ther with any thing you know than comes from
her demand out of the letter. If yourdiligence
be not speedy, I sha. be there afore you.
Kent. I will not sleep, my lord, iiil I have
delivered your letter. [Exit.
Fool. If a mau's brains were in's heels,
were't not in danger of kibes 7
Lear. Ay, boy. 10
Fool. Then, 1 prithee, be merry ; thy wit
shall ne'er go slip-shod.
Lear. Ha, ha, ha !
Fool. Shalt see thy other daughter will use
thee kindly ; for though she's as like this as a
crab's like an apple, yet I can tell what 1 can
tell.
Lear. Wliy, what canst thou tell, my boy 7
Fool. She will taste as like this as a crab
does to a crab. Thou canst tell why one's
nose stands i' the middle on's face 7 20
Lear. No.
Fool. Why, to keep one's eyes of either
side's nose ; that what a man camiot smell out,
he may spy into.
Lear. I did her wrong—
Fool. Canst tell how an oyster makes his
shell 7
Lear. No.
Fool. Nor I neither ; but I can tell why a
snail has a house. 30
Lear. Wliy 7
Fool. Why, to put his head in ; not to give
ti away to his daughters, and leave his horns
without a case.
Lear. I will forget my nature. So kind a
father! Be my horses ready 7
Fool. Thy asses are gone about' em. The
reason why the seven stars are no more than
seven is a pretty reason.
Lear. Because they are not eigiit 7 40
Fool.- Yes, indeed : thou wouidst make a
good fool. [ingratitude 1
. Lear. To take't again perforce ! Monster
Fool. If thou wert my fool, nnncle, I'ld
have thee beaten for being old before thy time,
/.car. How's that 7
Fool. Thou shouldst not have beep old till
thou hadst been wise.
/car. O, let me not be iftul, not mad, sweet
heaven 60
Keep me in temper : I would not bt mad !
, Enter Gentleman.
How now I are the horses ready 7
Oent. Ready, my lord.
Lear. Come, boy.
Fool. She that's a maid now, and laughs at
my departure.
Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut
shorter. \Exeunt.
ACT IL
Scene I. The Earl of Oloueester's eaetU.
Enter Edmund, and Curan meets him.
Edm. Save thee, Curan.
Cur. And you, sir. I have been with your
father, and given him notice that the Diike of
Cornwall and Regan his duchess will be here
with him this ni^t.
Edm. How comes that 7
Cur. Nay, I know not. You have heard of
the news abroad ; I mean the whispered ones,
for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments 7
Edm. Not 1: pray you, what are they 7 10
Cur. Have you heard of no likely wars to¬
ward, 'twixt the Dukes of Cornwall and
Albany 7
Edm. Not a word.
Cur. You may do, then, in time. Fare yon
well, sir. [Exit.
Edm. The duke be here to-night 7 The
better! best!
This weaves itself perforce into my business.
My father hath set guard to take my brother ;
And I have one thing, of a queasy question,
Which I must act: briefness and fortune,'
work ! 20
Brother, a word ; descend : brother, I say'!
Enter Edgar.
My father watches; O sir, fly this place ;
Iiiteliigeiice is given where you are hid ;
You have now the good advantage of the night:
Have yon not spoken 'gainst the Duke of Corn¬
wall 7
He's coming hither: now, i' the night, i' the
haste.
And R^n with him ; have you nothing said
Upon his party 'gainst the Duke of Albany 7
Advise yourself.
Edg. I am sure on't, not a word 29
Edm. I hear my father coming : pardon me;
In cunning I must draw my sword upon you :
Draw ; seem to defend yourself ; now quit you
well.
Yield: come before my father. Light, ho,
here!
Fly, brother. Torches, torches I So, farewell.
[Exit Edgar.
Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion
[ Wounds his arm.
Of my more fierce endeavor: I have seen
drunkards
Do more than this in sport. Father, fiither I
Stop, stop ! No help 7
J^nfer Gloucester, and Servants tct'f A torches.
Olou. Now, Edmund, where's the villain ?
m
KING
tSAR.
[Act a.
Edm. Here stood he in tlie dark, his sharp
sword out, 40
Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring tlie
moon
To stand auspicious mistress,—
Gtm. But where is he ?
Edm. Look, sir, I bleed.
Glc... Where is the villain, Edmund ?
Edm. fled tliis way, sir. Wlien by no
means lie could—
Ghu Pursue him, hot Go' after. [Exetml
some By no means what?
Edm. Persuade me to the murder of your
lordship ;
But that I told him, the revenging gods
'Gainst parricides did all their tiiunders bend ;
Spoke, with how manifold and strong a bond
The child was bound to the father ;sir, in flue,
Seeing how loathly opimsite I stood 51
To his uuuatnral purpose, in fell motion.
With his prejiared sword, he charges home
My unprovided body, lanced mine arm :
But when he saw my best alarum'd spirits.
Bold in the quarrel's right, roused to the en¬
counter.
Or whether gasted by the noise I made,
Full suddenly he fled.
Glou. Let him fly far :
Not in this land shall he remain nncaught;
And found—dispatch. The noble duke my
master, (JO
My worthy arch and mtron, comes to-night:
By his authority I will proclaim it.
That he which finds him siiall deserve our
thanks.
Bringing the murderous coward to the stake ;
He that conceals him, death.
Edm. When I dissuaded him from his
intent,
And found him pight to do it, with' Curst
speech
I threaten'd to discover him : he replied,
' Thou ungiossessing bastard 1 dost thou think,
If I would stand against thee, would the
reposal 70
Of any trust, virtue, or worth in thee
Make thy words faith'd ? No : what I should
deny,— .
As this I would : ay, thougli thou didst pro¬
duce
My very character,—I'ld turn it all
To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice:
And thou must make a dullard of the world.
If they not thougiit the profits of my death
Were very pregnant and potential spurs
To make thee seek it.'
Glou. Strong and fasten'd villain !
Would he deny his letter ? I never got him.
[Tucket wkhbi. 81
Hark, the duke's trumpets I I know not why
he comes.
All ports I'll bar ; the villain shall not 'scape ;
The duke tnust grant me that: besides-, his
picture
I will send far and near, that all the kingdom
May have the due note of him;aud of my land,
Loyal and natural boy, I'll work the means
To make tliee capable.
Eater Coknwali., Reoak, and Atttendanta
Corn. How now, my noble friend I since I
came hitiier,
Wiiich I can call but now, I have Iieard
strange news.
Reg. If it be true, all vengeance comes too
short 90
Which can pursue tiie offender. How dost,
my lord 1
Glou. O, madam, my old heart is crac,r'd,
it's crack'd !
Reg. What, did my father's godson seek
■ your life ?
He whom my father named 7 your Edgar ?
Glo^i. O, lady, lady, shame would have it
hid!
Reg. Was he not companion with the
notous knights
That tend upon my father? [too bad.
Glou. I know not, madam ; 'tis too bad,
Edm. Yes, madam, he w.as of that consort.
Reg. No marvel, then, though lie were ill
affected: 100
'Tis they have put him on the old man's death.
To have the expense and waste of his revenues,
I have this present evening from my sister
Been well mform'd of them ; and with such
cautions.
That if they come to sojouni at my house,
I'll not be there. '
Corn. Nor I, assure thee, Regan.
Edmund, I hear that you have sliown your fa¬
ther
A child-like office.
Edm. 'Twas my duty, sir.
Glou. He did bewray his practice ; and
received
This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him.
Corn. Is he pursued ? Ill
Glou. Ay, my good lord.
Corn. If he be taken, he sliall never more
Be fear'd of doing harm ; make your own
purpose.
How in my .strength you please. For you,
Edmund,
Whose virtue and obedience dotli this instant
So much commend itself, you shall be ours :
Natures of such deep trust we shall much
need ;
You we first seize on.
Edm. I shall serve you, sir,
Truly, however else.
Glou. For him I thank your gracei
Com. You know not why we came to visiS
you,— 120
Reg. Thus out of season, threading dark-
eyed night:
Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some 'poise,
■Wlierein we must have use of your advice •
Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister,
Of differences, which I least thought it fit
To answer from our home ; the seversid men*
sengers j
SOBNS II.]
KlN(i
LEAR.
From hence attend dispatch. Oar good old
friend,
Lay comforts to your hosom ; and bestow
Your needful counsel to our business, '
Which craves the instant use.
• Glou. I serve yon, madam: ISO
Your graces are right welcome. [Exeunt.
ScENEl II. Befoi-e Glmteegter'e castle.
Enter Ken? and 0.swai,d, severally.
Osu). Good dawning to thee, friend : art of
this bouse ?
Kent. Ay.
Osw. Where may we set bur horses ?
Kent. F the mire.
Osw. Prithee, if thou lovest me, tell me.
Kent. I love thee not. " '
Osw. Why, then, I care not for thee.
Kent. If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I
would make thee care for me. 10
Osw, Why dost thou use me thus ? I know
thee not.
Kent. Fellow^ I know thee.
Osw. What dost thou know me for ?
Kent. A knave ; a rascal; ' an eater of
broken meats ; a base, proud, shallow, beg¬
garly, three-snited, luindred-pound, filthy,
worsted-stocking knave ; a lily-livered, action-
taking knave, a whoreson, glass-gazing, super-
serviceable, finical rogue ; one-trunk-inherit-
iug slave ; one that wouldst be a bawd, in way
of good service, and ai-t nothing but the com-
liesition of a knave, beggar, coward, pandar,
and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch : one
whom I will beat into clamorous whining, if
thou deniest tlie lea.st syllable of thy addition.
Osw. Why, what a monstrous fellow art
thou, thus to rail on one that is neither known
of thee nor knows thee 1 29
Kent. What a brazen-faced varlet art thou,
to deny thou knowest me ! Is it two days ago
since I tripjied up thy heels, and beat thee be-'
fore the king ? Draw, you rogue ; for, though
it be night, yet the moon shines ; I'll make a
sop o' the moonshine of you: draw, you whore¬
son cuUionly barber-monger, draw.
[Drawing his sword.
Osw. Away i I have nothing to do with
thee.
Kent. Draw, you rascal: you come with
etters against the king; and take vanity the
puppet's part against the royalty of her father:
draw, you rogue, or I'll so carbonado your
shanks : draw, you rascal; come your ways.
Osw. Help, ho! murder! help!
Kent. Strike, you slave; stand, rogue,
stand ; yon neat slave, strike. [Heating him.
Osw.' Help, ho I murder 1 murder !
Enter EDMoitD, touh his rapier drawn, Corn¬
wall, Regan, GLOOCEnEB, and Servants.
Edm. How now I What's the matter ?
■ Kent. With you, goodman boy, an you
please : come, I'll flesh ye; come on. young
Biet*'"-
Glou. Weapons .' arms ! What's the matter
here ? 61
Corn. Keep peace, upon your lives :
He dies that strikes again. Whatis the matter?
Beg. The messengers from our sister and
the king.
Com. What is your difference ? speak.
Osw. I am scarce in breath, my lotd.
Kent. No marvel, you have so bestirred
your valor. You cowardly rascal, nature dis¬
claims in thee : a tailor made thee. 60
Corn. Thou art a strange fellow : a tailor
make a man ?
Kent. Ay, a tailor, sir; a stone-cutter or a
pauiter could uiit have made him so ill, though
he had been buc two hours at the trade.
Corn. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel ?
Osw. This ancieut ruffian, sir, whose life I
have spared at suit of his gray beard,—
Kent. Thou whoreson zed I thou unneces¬
sary letter 1 My lord, if you will give me
leave, I will tread this unbolted villairr into
mortar, and daub the wall of a jakes with'
iiim. Spare my gray beard, you wagtail ?
Corn. Peace, sirrah !
You beastly knave, know you no reverence 7'
Kent. Yes, sir ; but anger hath a privilege.
Com. Why art thou angry ?
Kent. That such a slave as tliis should wear
a sword, [as these.
Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues
Like rats, oft bite the holy cords a-twuin 80,
Which are coo intriuse t' unloose ; smooth
every passion
That in tlie natures of their lords rebel;
Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods ;
Renege, affirm, and turn their haicyon beaks
With every gale and vary of their masters.
Knowing nought, like dogs, but foliowing.
A plague upon your epileptic visage!
Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool ?
Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain,
rid drive ye cackling home to Canielot. , 90
Corn. What, art thou mad, old fellow ?
Glou. How fell you "ut .' say that
Kent. No Contraries hold more antipathy
Than I and such a knave.
Com. Why dost thou call him knave?
What's h.s offence ?
Kent. His countenance likes me not.
Com No m re, perchance, does mine, nor
his, no hers.
Kent. Sir, tis my occupation to be plain i
I have seen better faces in my time
Than s ands on any shoulder that I see 100
Before me at this instant.
I Com. This is some fellow.
Who, having been praised for blnntness, doth
affect
A saucy roughness^ and constrains tlie garb
Quite from his nature *. he cannot flatter, he.
An honest mind and plain, he must speak
truth »
An they will take It, so ; if not, he's plain.
These- kind of knaves I know, which in this
,882
KING
LEAR.
[Act ii.
Harbor more craft and more corrupter ends
Thau twenty silly duckiug observants
That stretch their duties nicely. 110
Kent. Sir, in good sooth, in sincere verity.
Under the ailowauce of your great aspect,
Whose influence,like the wreath of radiant fire
Ou flickering Phoebus' front,—
Corn. • What mean'st by this 1
• Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you
discommend so much. I know, sir, I am no
flatterer : he that beguiled you in a plain
accent was a plain knave ; which for my part
I will not be, though I should win your dis¬
pleasure to entreat me to't. 120
Corn. What was the offence you gave him?
Oiw, 1 never gave him any :
It pleased the king his master very late
To strike at me, upon his misconstruction ;
When he, conjunct, and flattering his dis¬
pleasure,
Tripp'd me behind ; being down, insulted,
raii'd.
And put upon bim such a deal of man.
That worthied him, got praises of the king
For him attempting who was self-subdued ;
And, in the fleshment of this dread exploit.
Drew on me here again. 131
Kent. None of these rogues and cowards
But Ajax is their fool.
Corn. Fetch forth the stocks !
You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend
braggart.
We'll teach you—
Kent. Sir, I am too old to leam :
Call not your stocks for me : I serve the king ;
On whose employment I was sent to you ;
You shall do small respect, show too bold
malice
Against the grace and person of my master,
Stocking his messenger.
Corn. Fetch forth the stocks ! As I have
life and honor, 140
There shall he sit till noon.
Reg. Till noon ! till night, my lord ; and
all night too.
Kent. Why, madam, if I were your fatlier's
dog.
You should not use me so.
Reg. Sir, being his knave, I will.
Corn. This is a fellow of the self-same color
Our sister speaks of. Come, bring away the
stocks ! [Stocke brought out.
Glou. iiCt me beseech your grace not to do
so :
His fault is much, and the good king his
master
Will check him for't: your purposed low cor-,
rectiou
Is such as basest and conteroned'st wretches
For pilferings and most common trespasses
Are punish'd with : the king must take it ill.
That he's so slightly valued in his messenger.
Should have him thus restrain'd.
Com. I'll answer that.
Beg. Hy sister may receive it much more
worse,
To have her gentleman abused, assaulted,
For following her affairs. Put in his legs.
[Kent is put in the stocks.
Come, my good lord, away.
[Exeunt all but Gloucester and Kent.
Glou. I am sorry for thee, friend ; 'tis the
duke's pleasure.
Whose disposition, ail the world well knows.
Will not be rubb d nor stopp'd : I'll entreat
for thee. IGl
Kent. Pray, do not, sir : I have watched
and traveii'd hard -,
Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle
A good man's fortune may grow out at heels ;
Give you good morrow I
Glou. The duke's to blame in this ; 'twill
be ill taken. [Exit
Kent. Good king, that must approve the
common saw.
Thou out of heaven's benediction comest
To the warm sun !
Approach, thou beacon to this under globe, 170
That by thy comfortable beams I may
Peruse this letter! Nothing almost sees
miracles
But misery : I know 'tis from Cordelia,
Who hath most fortunately been inform'd
Of my obscured course ; and shall find time
tFrom this enormous state, seeking to give
Losses their remedies. All weary and o'er-
watch'd.
Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold
Tills shameful lodgmg.
Fortune, good night: smile once more : turn
thy wheel t [Sleeps. 180
ScEMS in. A teood.
Enter Edoab.
Edg. I heard myself proclaim'd ;
And by the happy hollow of a tree
EscapM the hunt. No port is free ; no place,
That guard, and most unusual vigilanc^
Does not attend my taking. Whiles 1 may
'scape,
I will preserve myself ; and am bethought
To take the basest and most poorest shape
That ever penury, in contempt of man.
Brought near to beast: my face I'll grime with
filth ;
Blanket my loins : elf all my hair in knots ;
And with presented nakedness out-face 11
The winds and persecutions of the sky.
The country gives me proof and precedent
Of Bedlam beggars, wno, witb roaring voices.
Strike in their numb'd and mortified bare arms
Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary;
And with this horrible object, from low farms.
Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes, and mills.
Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with
prayers,
Enforce their charity. Poor Tnrlygod 1 poor
Tom! 20
That's something yet: Edgar I nothing am.
Scene it.]
KING
LEAR
88*
Scene IV. B^ore Gloucetter'i castle. Kent
in the stocks.
Enter Leak, Fool, and Gentleman.
Lear. 'Tie strange that they should so de¬
part from home, <
And nut send back my messenger.
Oent. As I leam'd.
The night before there was no purpose in them
Of this remove.
Kent. Hail to thee, noble master I
Lear. Ha I
Hakest thou this shame thy pastime ?
Kent. No, my lord.
Fool. Ha, ha! he wears cruel garters.
Horses are tied by the heads, dogs and hears
by the neck, monkeys by the loins, and men
by the legs : when a man's over-lusty at legs,
then he wears wooden nether-stocks. 11
Lear. What 's he that hath so much thy
place mistook
To set thee here?
Kent. It is both he and she ;
Your son and daughter.
Lear. No.
Kent. Yes.
Lear. No, I say.
Kent. I say, yea.
Ijear. No, no, they would not.
Kent. Yes, they have. 20
Lear. By Jupiter, I sw^r, no.
Kent. By Juno, I swear, ay.
Lear. They durst not do't;
They could not, would not do't; 'tis worse
than murder.
To do upon respect such violent outrage :
Resolve me, with all modest haste, which way
Thou mightst deserve, or they impose, this
usage.
Coming from us.
Kent. My lord, when at their home
I did commend your highness' letters to them.
Ere 1 was risen from the place that show'd
My duty kneeling, came there a reeking po^t,
Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting
forth 31
From Goneril his mistress salutations ;
Deliver'd letters, spite of intermission.
Which presently they read: on whose contents.
They summou'd up their meiuy, straight took
horse ;
Commanded me to follow, and attend
The leisure of their answer; gave me cold
looks :
And meeting here the otlier messenger,
Whose welcome, I perceived, had poison'd
mine,—
Being the very fellow that of late 40
Dispmy'd so saucily against your highness,—
Having more man than wit about me, drew ;
He raised the house with lo%d and coward cries.
Your son and daughter found this trespass
worth
The shame which here it suffers.
Fool. Winter's not gone yet, if the wild-
geese fly that way.
Fathers that wear rags
Do make their children blind ;
But fathers that bear bags SO
Shall see their children kind.
Fortune, that arrant whore.
Ne'er turns the key to the poor.
But, for all this, thou shalt have as many do¬
lours lor tliy daughters as thou canst tell in a
year.
Lear. O, how this mother swells up toward
my heart!
Hysterica (lassio, down, thou climbing sorrow.
Thy element's below ! Where is this daughter ?
Kent. With the earl, sir, here within.
Lear. Follow me not;
St^ here. [Exit. 60
Gent. Made you no more offence but what
you speak of ?
Kent. None
How chance the king comes with so small a
train?
Fool. And thou hadst been set i' the stocks
for that question, thou hadst well deserved it.
Kent. Why, fool ?
Fool. We ll set thee to s< hool to an ant, to
teach thee there's no laboring i' tlie winter.
All that follow their noses are led by their
eyes but bliud men ; and there's not a nose
among twenty but can smell him that's stink¬
ing. Let go thy hold when a great wheel runs
down a hill, lest it break thy neck with fol¬
lowing it: but the great one that goes up the
hill, let him draw thee after. When a wise
man gives thee better counsel, give me mine
again : I would have none but knaves follow
it, since a fool gives it.
That sir which serves and seeks for gain.
And follows but for form, 80
Will pack when it begins to rain.
And leave thee in tlie storm.
But I will tarry ; the fool will stay.
And let the wise man fly :
The knave turns fool that rims away ;
The fool no knave, perdy.
Kent. Where learned you this, fool ?
Fool. Not i' the stocks, fool.
Be-enter Lear, xeith Gloucester.
' Lear. Deny to speak with me ? Tliey are
sick ? they are weary ?
They have traveU'd all the night ? Mere
fetches; 90
The images of revolt and flying off.
Fetch me a better answer
Glau. My dear lord.
You know the fiery quality of the duke ;
How unremoveable and fix'd he is
In his own course.
Lear. Vengeance! plague ! deatii! con¬
fusion !
Fiery ? what quality ? Why, Gloucester,
Gloucester,
I 'Id speak with the Duke of Ciomwall and his
wife.
Glou. Well, my gopd lord, I have iuform'd
them 89,
fiS
834
KING LEAR.
TAct lit
Lear. Inform'd them I Dost thou under¬
stand me, man 1 100
Glon. Ay, my good lord.
Lear. The king would speak with Cornwall;
the dear father
Would with his daughter speak, commands
her service ;
Are they inform'd of this ? My breath and
blood I
Fiery ? the fiery duke ? Tell the hot duke
that—
No, but not yet: may be he is not well;
Infirmity doth still neglect all office
Whereto our bearlth is bound; we are not
ourselves
When nature, being oppress'd, commands the
mind
To suffer with the body : I'll forbear ; 110
And am fall'u out with my more headier will,
To take the indisposed and sickly fit
For the sound man. Deatli ou my state !
wherefore [Jjookiny on Kent.
Should he sit here ? This act persuades me
That this remotiou of tlie duke and her
Is practice only. Give uie my servant forth.
Go tell the duke and 's wife I'ld speak with
them,
Now, nreseutly : bid them come forth and
near mo.
Or at their chamber-door I'll beat the drum
Till it cry sleep to death. 120
Glou. I would have all well betwixt yon.
[Exit.
Lear. O me, my heart, my rising heart!
but, down!
Fool. Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did
to the eels when she put 'emi' the paste alive;
she knapped 'emo' the coxcombs with a stick,
and cried ' Down, wantons, down!' 'Twas her
brother that, in pure kindness to his horse,
battered his hay.
Enter Cornwapi,, Regax, Gloucester, and
Serv.onts.
Lear. Good morrow to you both.
Com. Hail to your grace !
[Kent is set at liberty,
liey. I am glad to see your highness. J 30
Lear. Regan, I think you are ; I know
what reason
I have to think so: if thou shouldst not be glad,
1 would divorce me from thy mother's tomb.
Sepulchring an adultress. \To Kent] are
you free ?
Some other time for that. Beloved Regan,
Thy sister's naught: O Regan, she hath tied
Sharivtooth'd nnhinduess, like a vulture, here:
[Points to his heart,
i can scarce speak to thee ; thou'It not believe
With how depraved a quality—O Regan !
Rey. I pray you, sir, take patience : I'have
hope. 140
You less know how to value her desert
Than she to scant her duty.
Lear. Say, how is that ?
I cannot think my sister in the least
Would fail her obligation : if, sir, perchance
Slie have restrain'd the riots of your followers,
'Tis ou such ground, and to such wholesome
end.
As clears her from all blame.
Lear. My curses on her!
Rey. O, sir, yon are old;
Nature in you stands on the very verge 149
Of her confine : you should be ruled and led
By some discretion, that discerns your state
Better than you yourself. Therefore, I pray
you.
That to our sister yo'i do make return ;
Say yon have wrohg'd her, sir.
Lear. Ask her forgiveness ?
Do you but mark how this becomes the house:
' Dear daughter, I confess that 1 am old ;
[Kneeling. •
Age is unnecessary : ou my knees 1 beg
That you'll vouclisafe me raiment, bed, and
food.'
Rey. Good sir, no more ; these are un-
siglitly tricks :
Return you to my sister.
Lear. [Rising] Never, Regan : 160
Slie hath abated me of half ray train ;
Look'd black upon me ; struck me with her
tongue.
Most serpent-like, upon the very heart :
All the stored vengeances of heaven fall
Ou her ingrateful toj) ! Strike her young
bones.
You taking airs, wiffi lameness I
Corru Fie, sir, fie !
Lear. You nimble lightnings, dart your
blinding flames.
Into her scornful eyes I Infect her beauty.
You fen-snck'd fogs, drawn by the powerful
sun.
To fall and blast her pride ! 170
Rey. O the blest gods ! so will you wish on
me,
Wlien the rash mood is on. [cuise ;
Lear. No, Regan, thou shalt never have my
Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give
Thee o'er to harshness : her eyes are fierce ;
but thhie
Do comfort and not burn. "Tis not in thee
To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train,
To bandy hastyj words, to scant my sizes,
And in conclusion to oppose the bolt
Against my coming in : tliou better know'st
The offices of nature, bond of childhood, 181
Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude ;
Thy half o' the kingdom hast thou not forgot.
Wherein I thee endow'd.
Rey. Good sir, to the puimose.
Lear. Who put my man i' the stocks ?
[Tucket within.
Com. What trumpet's that?
Rey. I know't, my sister's : this approves
her letter.
That she would soon be here.
Enter Oswald.
Is your lady
SCBNE ir ]
KING
LEAR.
Lear. This is a slave, whose easy-borrow'd
pride
Dwells iu the iickle grace of her he followa
Out, varlet, from my sight!
Com. What means yonr griice 1 190
£ear. Who stock'd my servant? Regan, I
have good hope
Thoa didst not know on't. Who comes here ?
0 heavens,
Enter Goneril.
If you do love old men, if your sweet sway
Allow obedience, if yourselves are old.
Make it your cause ; send down, anl take my
part!
[To Con.] Art not ashamed to look upon this
beard ?
0 Regan, wilt thon take her by the hand ?
Con. Why not by the hand, sir ? How have
1 offended ?
All's not offence that indiscretion finds
And dotage terms so.
Lear. 0 sides, you are too tough ; 200
Will yon yet hold ? How came my man i' the
stocks ?
Corn. I set him there, sir : but his own
disorders
Deserved much less advancement.
Lear. You ! did you ?
Reej. I pray you, father, being weak, seem
so.
If, till tl\e expiration of your month.
Ton will return and sojourn with my sister,
Dismissing half your train, come tlien to me :
1 am now from home, and out of that provision
Which shall be needful for your entertainment.
Lear. Return to her, and fifty men dis-
miss'd ? 210
No, rather 1 abjure all roofs, and choose
To wage against the enmity o' the air ;
To be a comrade with the wolf and owl,—
Necessity's sharp pinch ! Return with her 7
Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless
took
Our youngest born, I could as well be brought
To knee his throne, and, squire-like; pension
beg
To keep base life afoot. Return with her?
Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter
To this detested groom. [PoinUnt/ at Oswald.
Gon. At your choice, sir. 220
Lear. I prithee, daughter, do not make
me mad :
I will not trouble thee, my child ; farewell :
We'll no more meet, no more see one another;
But yet thou art myflesh, my blood, my daugh¬
ter ; I
Or rather a disease that's in my flesh.
Which 1 must needs call mine : thou artaboil,
A plague-sore, an embossed carbuncle.
In my corrupted blood. But I'll not chide thee;
Let shame come when it will, I do not call it:
I do not bid the thnnder-bearer shoot, 230
Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove :
Mend when tliou canst; bebetterat thy leisure*
I can be patient; I can stay with Regw,
I and my hundred knights.
Reg. Not altogether so *.
I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided
For your fit welcome. Give ear, sir, to my
sister ;
For those that mingle rea.son with yonrpassior
Must be content to think you old, and so—
But she knows what she does.
Lear. Is this well spoken 7
Reg. I dare avouch it, sir ; What, fifty fol¬
lowers ? 240
Is it not well? What should you need of
more? •
Yea, or so many, sith that both charge and
danger
Speak 'gainst so great a number ? How, in
one house.
Should many people, under two commands,
Hold amity ? 'Tis hard ; almost imix>ssible.
Gon. Why might not yon, my lord, receive
attendance
From tho.se that she calls servants or from
mine ?
Reg. Why not, my lord ? If then they
chanced to slack you.
We could control them. If you Will come to
me,—
For now I spy a danger,—I entreat you 260
To bring but five and twenty : to no more
Will I give place or notice.
Lear. I gave ydu all—
Reg. And in good time yon gave it.
Lew. Made yon my guardians, my deposi¬
taries ;
But kept a reservation to be follow'd
With such a number. What, must I come to
you
With five and twenty, Regan ? said you so ?.
Reg. And speak't again, my lord ; no more
with me.
Lear. Tliose wicked creatures yet do look
well-favor'd,
When others are more wicked : not being the
worst 260
Stands in some rank of praise. [To Gon.] I'll
go with thee :
Thy fifty yet doth double five and twenty, ,
And thou art twice her love.
Gon. Hear me, my lord ;
What need you five and twenty, ten, or five.
To follow in a house where twice so many
Have a command to tend you ?
Reg. What need one?
Lear. O, reason not the need : our basest
beggars
Are in the poorest thing superfluous :
Allow not nature more than nature needs,
Man's life's as cheap as beast's : thou art a
lady ; 270
If only to go warm were gorgeous.
Why, nature needs pot what thou gorgeous
wear'st.
Which scarcely keeps thee warm. But, for
true need,—
You heavens, give me that patience, patience
T need 1
8S6
Kim
lEAR.
[Ao! ML
Tou see me here, you gods, a poor old man,
As tnll of grief as age ; wretched in both !
If it be yon that stir these daughters' hearts
Against their father, fooi me not so mucii
To bear it tamely ; touch me with noble auger,
And let not women's weapons, water-drops,
Stain my man's cheeks 1 Ko, you unnatural
bags, 281
I will have such revenges on yon both.
That ail the world sbaii—I will do such
things,— [be
What they are, yet I know not: but they shall
The terrors of the earth. Tou think I'll weep ;
No, I'll not weep :
I have full cause of weeping ; but this heart
Shall break iuto a hundred thousand flaws.
Or ere I'll weep. O fooi, I siiaii go mad !
[ExeutU Lear, Gloucester, Kent, and Fool.
Storm and tempest.
Com. Let us withdraw ; 'twill be a storm.
Reg. This house is little : the old man and
his people 291
Cannot be well bestow'd.
Oon. 'Tis his own blame ; hath put himself
from rest.
And must needs taste his folly.
Rig. For his particular, I'll receive him
gladly.
But not one follower.
Gon. So am I purposed.
Where is my lord of Gloucester ?
Corn. Follow'd the old man forth ; he is
retum'd.
Re-enter Gloucesteb.
Glou. The king is in high rage.
Com. Whither is he going ?
Glou. He calls to horse ; but will I know
not whither. 300
Corn. "Tis best to give him way ; he leads
himself.
Gon. My lord, entreat him by no means to
stay.
Glmi. Alack, the night comes on, and the
bleak winds
Do sorely ruffle ; for many miles about
There's scarce a bush.
Reg. O, sir, to wilful men.
The injuries that they themselves procure
Must be their schoolmasters. Shut up your
doors :
He is attended with a desperate train ;
And what they may incense him to, being apt
To have his ear abused, wisdom bids fear. 310
Corn. Shut up your doors, my lord ; 'tis a
wild night :
My Began counsels well; come out o' the
storm. [Exeunt,
ACT ra.
SoEMX I. A heath.
Aomt etui. Enter EIemt and a Gentleman,
meeting.
Sent. Who's there, besides foi4 weather ?
Gent. One minded like the weather, most
unquietly.
Kent. I know yon. Where's the king ?
Gent. Contending with the fretful element:
Bids the winds blow tlie earth into the sea.
Or swell the curled water 'bove the main,
'That things might change or cease ; tears his
white hair.
Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage.
Catch in their fury, and make nothing of ;
Strives in his little world of man to out-scom
The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain. 11
This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would
oouch.
The liod and the belly-pinched wolf
Keep r.u«ir fur dry, unbonueted he runs.
And bids wlmt will take all.
Ke,it. But who is with him ?
Genl. None but the fool; who labors to
out-jest
His heart-struck injuries.
Kent. Sir, I do know you ;
And dare, u|Knt the warrant of ray note.
Commend a dear thiug to you. There is di¬
vision.
Although as yet the face of it be cover'd 20
With mutual cunning, 'twixt Albany and
Cornwall;
Wlio have—as who have not, that their great
stars
Throned and set high ?—servants, who seem
no less.
Which are to Fiance the spies and specula¬
tions
Intelligent of our state ; what hath been seen.
Either in snuffs and packings of the dukes.
Or the hard rein which both of them have
borne
Against the old kind king ; or something
deeper.
Whereof perchance these are but furnishiugs ;
But, true it is, from France there comes a
power 30
Into this scatter'd kingdom ; who already.
Wise in our negligence, have secret feet
In some of our best ports, and are at point
To show their open banner. Now to you :
If on my credit you dare build so far
To make your speed to Dover, you shall find
Some that will thank you, making just report
Of how unnatural and bemadding sorrow
The king hath caflse to plain.
I am a gentleman of blood and breeding ; 40
And, from some knowledge and assurance,
offer
This offlce to you.
Gent. I will talk further with you.
Kent. No, do not
For confirmation that I am much more
Than ray out-wall, open this purse, and take
What it contains. If you shall see Cordelia,—^
As fear not but you shall,—show her thia'
>
And she will tell you who your fellow is
That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm I
I will go seek the king. BQ
SoKMlt It.]
Oent. Give me yonr Land : have yon no
' more to say ?
Kent. Few words, but, to effect, more than
all yet;
Tha^ when we have found the king,—in
. which your pain
That way, ril this,—he that first lights on him
Hoila the other. [Exeunt severally.
ScEMicII. Another part of the heath. Storm
still.
Enter Leak and Fool.
Lear. Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks !
rage! blow 1
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have dreuMi'd our steeples, drown'd
the cocks!
Tou sulphurous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thnndertolts,
Singe my white head 1 And thou, all-shaking
thunder,
Smite flat the thick rotundity o' the world !
Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at
once.
That make ingratefui man I 9
Fool. O nuncle, court holy-water in a dry
bouse is better than this rain-water out o'
door. Good nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters'
blessing : here's a night pities neither wise
man nor fool.
Lear. Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire !
spout, rain 1
Nmr rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daugli-
ters:
I tax not you, yon elements, with unkindness;
I never gave you kingdom, call'd you chil¬
dren,
Tou owe me no subscription : then let fall
Tour horrible pleasure : here I stand, your
slave,
A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man :
But yet I call you servile ministers, 21
That have with two pernicious daughters
join'd
Tour high engender'd battles 'gainst a head
So old and white as this. 010! 'tis foul 1
Fool. He that has a honse to put's head in
has a good head-piece.
The cod-piece that will house
Before the head has any.
The head and he shall louse ;
So beggars marry many. 30
The man that makes his toe
What he his heart should make
Shall of a com cry woe.
And turn his sleep to wake.
For there was never yet fair woman but she
Bade mouths in a glass.
Aeor. No, 1 will be the pattern of all iia-
tience; ^
I will say nothing. *
EnterKKST.'
Kent. Who's there ?
#*00^ Marry, here's grace and a cod-piece ;
ttatfe s wise man and a fooL 41
Kent. Alas, sir, are you here ? things that
love night
Love not such nights as these ; the wratliful
skies
Gallow the very wanderers of the dark.
And make them keep their caves ; since I was
man.
Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid
thunder.
Such groans of roarhig wind and rain, I iievei
Remember to have heard : man's nature can¬
not carry
The afiiiction nor the fear.
Lear. Let the great gods.
That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads.
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou
wretch, 51
That hast within thee undivulged crimes,
Unwhipp'd of justice : hide thee, thou bloody
hand ;
Thou perjured, and thou simular man of vir¬
tue
That art incestuous : caitiff, to pieces shake.
That under covert and convenient seeming
Hast piactised on man's life : close pent-up
guilts.
Rive your concealing continents, and cry
These dreadful summoners grace. 1 am a
man
More sinn'd against than sinning.
Kent. Alack, bare-headed ! GO
Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel ;
Some friendship will it lend you 'gain.st the
tempest; •
Repose you there ; while I to this hard honse—
More harder than the stones whereof 'tis
raised;
Which even but now, demanding after yon.
Denied me to come in—return, and force
Their scanted courtesy.
Lear. My wits begin to turn.
Come on, my boy : how dost, my boy 7 art
cold 7
I am cold myself. Where is this straw, my
fellow 7
The art of our necessities is strange, 70
That can make vile things precious. Come,
your hovel.
Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my
heart
That's sorry yet for thee.
Fool. [&'fn^tng] He that has and a little tiny
wit—
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,"—
Must make content with his fortunes fit.
For the rain it raiueth eve^ day.
Lear. True, my good boy. Come, bring us
to this hovel. [Exeunt Lear and Kent.
Fool. This is a brave night to cool a cour¬
tezan.
I'll speak a prophecy ere I go ; 80
When prie.sts are more in word than matter;
When brewers mar their malt with water;
When nobles are their tailors' tutors ;
No heretics burn'd, but wenches' suitors •
When every case in law is right;
kim iMAk.
838
Kim
LEAR.
[Act lit.
No squire iu debt, nor no poor knight;
When slauders do not live in tongues ;
Nor cntpurses come not to throngs ;
When usurers tell their cold i' the field ;
And bawds aud whores do churches build ;
Then shall the realm ot Albion 91
Come to great contusion :
Then comes the time, who lives to see't
That going shall be used with teet.
This prophecy Merlin shall make ; for I live
before his time. \_Exit.
Scene III. Olottcetier's castle. '
Enter GnoucesTER and Edmund.
Glou. Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this
unnatural dealing. When I desire their leave
that I might pity him, they took from me the
use of miue own house ; charged me, on pain
of their peipetual displeasure, neither to speak
of him, entreat for him, nor any way sustain
him.
Edm. Most savage aud unnatural 1
Glou. Go to ; say you nothing. There's a
division betwixt the dukes ; and a worse mat¬
ter than that: I have received a letter this
night; 'tis dangerous to be spoken ; I have
locked the letter iu my closet : these injuries
the king now bears will be revenged home ;
there's part of a power already footed : we
must incline to the king. I will seek him, and
privily relieve him: go you and maintain talk
with the duke, that my charity be not of him
perceived: if he ask for me, I am ill, and gone
to bed. Though I die for it, as no less is
threatened me, the king my old master must
be relieved. There is some strange thing
toward, Edmund ; pray you, be careful. .
[Exit. 21
Edm. This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the
duke
Instantly know ; and of that letter too:
This seems a fair deserving, and must draw
me
That which my father loses ; no less than all;
The younger rises when the old doth fall.
[Exit.
Scene IV. The heath. Before a hovel.
Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool.
Kent. Here Is the place, my lord ; good my
lord, enter:
Tlie tyranny of the open night's too rough
For nature to endure. still.
Lear Let me alone.
Kent. Good ray lord, enter here.
iear. Wilt break my heart?
Kent. I had rather break miue own. Good
my lord, enter.
Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much that this con¬
tentious storm
Invades us to the skin : so 'tis to thee ;
But where the greater malady is fix'd,
Tlie lesser is scarce felt Thou'Idst shun a .
bear;
But If thy flight lay toward the raging sea, 10
Thou'Idst meet the bear i' the mouth. When
the mind's free.
The body's delicate : the tempest in my mind
Doth from my senses take all feeling else
Save what beats there. Filial ingratitude !
Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand
For lifting food to't ? But I will punish home:
No, I will weep no more. In such a night
To shut me out 1 Pour on ; I will endure.
In such a night as this ! O Regan, Goneril 1
Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave
all,— 20
O, that way madness lies; let me shun that;
No more of that
Ketit. Good my lord, enter here.
Lear. Prithee, go in thyself : seek thine
own ease :
This tempest will not give me leave to ponder
On things would hurt me more. But I'll go in.
[To the Fool] In, boy ; go first. You house¬
less povertj',—
Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep.
[foof goes in.
Poor naked wretches, whereso'er you are.
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm.
How shall your houseless heads and unfed
sides, 30
Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend
you
From seasons such as these ? O, I have ta'en
Too little care of this ! Take physic, pomp ;
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel.
That thou mayst shake the superflux to them, '
And show the heavens more just.
Edg. [WiIAhjI Fathom and half, fathom
and half ! Poor Tom 1
[The Fool runs out from the hovel.
Fool. Come not in here, nuncle, here's a
spirit
Help me, help me 1 40
Kent. Give me thy hand. Who's there ?
Fool. A spirit, a spirit: he says his name's
poor Tom.
Kent. What art thou that dost grumble
there 1' the straw ? Come forth.
Enter Edoak disgxiised as a mad man.
Edg. Away ! the foul fiend follows me 1
Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold
wind.
Hum ! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.
Lear. Hast thou given all tjo thy two daugh¬
ters ?
Aud art thou come to this ? 50
Edg. Who gives any thing to poor Tom ?
whom the foul fiend hath led through fire and
through flame,and through ford and whirlipool
e'er bog and quagmire ; that hath laid knives
under his pillow, and halters in his pew ; set
ratsbane by his imrridge ; made him proud of
heart, to ride on a bay trotting-horse over
four-inched bridges, to course his own shadow
for a traitor. Bless thy five wits 1 Tom's a-
cold,—O, do de, do de, do de. Bless thee from
whirlwinds, star-blasting, aud taking! Do poot
Scene it.]
LEAH
83$
Tom Bome charity, whom the foul fiend vexes:
there could I have him now,—and there,—and
there again, and there. [6'(orm still.
Lear. What, have his daughters brought
him to this pass ?
Couldst thou save nothing ? Didst thou give
them ali ?
Fool. Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we
had been all shamed. [dulous air
Lear. Now, all the plagues that in the pen'
Hang fated o'er men s faults light on thy
daughters! 70
Kent. He luitii no daughters, sir.
Lear. Death, traitor 1 nothing could have
' subdued nature
To such a lowness but his unkind daughters.
Is it the fashion, that discarded fathers
Should have thus little mercy on their flesh ?
Judicious punishment! 'twas this flesh begot
Tliose pelican daughters.
Edg. Piliicock sat on Pillicock-hill:'
Halloo, halloo, looy loo !
Fool. This cold niglit will turn us all to
fools and madmen. 81
Edg. Take heed o' the foul fiend: obey thy
parents; keep thy word justly ; swear not;
commit not with man's sworn spouse ; set nut
thy sweet heart on proud array. Tom's a-cold.
Lear. What hast thou been ?
Edg. A serving-man, proud in heart and
mind ; that curled my hair ; wore gloves in
my cap ; served the lust of my mistress' heart,
and did tlie act of darkness with her ; swore
as many oaths as I spake words, and broke
them ill the sweet face of heaven : one that
slept in the contriving of lust, and waked to
do it: wine loved I deeply, dice dearly : and
in woman out-paramonred the Turk : false of
heart, light of ear, bloody of hand; hog in
sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in
madness, lion in prey. Let not the creaking
of shoes nor tlie rustling of silks betray thy
Cr heart to woman: keep thy foot out of
thels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen
from lenders' books, and defy the foul fiend.
Still through the hawthorn blows the cold
wind :
Says sunm, mun, ha, no, nonny.
Dolphin my boy, my boy, sessa ! let him trot
by. still.
/..ear. Why,'thou wert better in thy grave
than to answer with thy uncovered body this
extremity of the skies. Is man no more than
this? Consider him well. Thou owest the
worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no
wool, the cat no perfume. Ha i here's three
on's are sophisticated ! Thou art the thing
itself ; unaccommodated man is no more but
such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art.
Oft, off, yon lendings I come unbutton here.
[Tea^ng off his clothes.
Fool. Prithee, nuncle, be contented ; 'tis a
naughty night to swim in, Now a little fire
in a wild field were like an old lecher's heart;
a small spark, all the rest ou's body cold.
Look, here comes a walking fire, 119
.Bnf-.r Gloucester, Mif/t a forcft.
Edg. This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet;
he begins at curfew, and walks till the first
cock ; he gives the web and the pin, squints
the eye, and makes the hare-lip ; mildews the
white wheat, and hurts the poor creature of
eaith.
S. Withold footed thrice the old ;
He met the night-mare, and her nine-fold ;
Bid her alight.
And her troth plight.
And, aroint thee, witch, aroint thee t
Kent. How fares your grace 7 130
Lear. What's he ?
Kent. Who's there ? What is't you seek ?
Glou. What are you there ? Your names ?
Edg. Poor Tom ; that eats the swimming
frog, the toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt and
the water ; that in the fury of his heart, when
the foui fiend rages, eats cow-dnng for sallets;
swallows the old rat and the ditch-dog ; drinks
the green mantle of the standing pool; who is
whipped from titiiing to tithing, and stock-
punished, and imprisoned ; who hath had
three suits to his back, six shirts to his body,,
horse to ride, and weapon to wear ;
But mice and rats, and such small deer.
Have been Tom's food for seven long year.
Beware my follower. Peace, Sraulkiu; ]^ce,
tliou fiend I
Glou. What, hath your grace no better
company ?
Edg. The prince of darkness is a gentle¬
man :
Modo he's call'd, and Mahu.
Glou.. Our flesh and blood is grown so vile,
my lord, 150
That it doth hate what gets it.
Edg. Poor Tom's a-cold.
Glou. Go in with me : my duty cannot
suffer
To obey in all your daughters' hard com¬
mands :
Tliough their injunction be to bar my doors,
And let this tyrannous night take hold uix>n
you,
Yet have I ventured to come seek you out.
And bring you where both fire and food is
ready. . fopher.
Lear. First let me talk with this philos-
What is the cause of thunder ? 160
Kent. Good my lord, take his offer ; go
into the house.
Lear. I'll talk a word with this same learned
Thebau.
What is yonr study ?
Edg. How to prevent the fiend, and to kill
vermin.
Lear. Let me ask you one word in private.
Kent. Importune him once more to go, my
lord ;
His wits begin to unsettle.
Glou. Canst thou blame him ? [Storm still.
His daughters seek his death: ah, that good
Kent!
He said it would be thus, poor banish'd man 1
640
Thou say'st the king grows mad ; I'll tell thee,
friend, 170
I am almost mad myself; I had a son,
Kow outlaw'd from my blood ; he sought my
lite.
But lately, very late : I loved him, friend ;
No father his son dearer : truth to teli thee.
The grief hath crazed my wits. What a night's
this!
t do beseech your grace,—
Lsar. O, cry your mercy, sir.
Noble philosopher, your company.
. Edij. Tom's a-cold.
Glou. In, fellow, there, into the hovel :
keen thee warm.
Lear. Come let's in all.
Kent, This way, my lord.
Lear. With him ; 180
I will keep still with my philosopher.
Kent Good my lord, soothe him ; let him
take the fellow.
Glou. Take him you on.
Kent. Sirrah, come on ; go along with us.
Lear. Come, good Athenian.
Gtou. No woTOS, no words: hush.
Edg. Child Rowland to the dark tower
came.
His word was still,—Fie, foh, and fum,
I smell the blood of a British man.
[Exeunt.
Scene V. Gloucester's castle.
Enter Cornwali. and Edmdkd.
Corn. I will have my revenge ere I depart
his house.
Edm. How, my lord, I may be censured,
that nature tlius gives way to loyalty, some¬
thing tears me to think of.
Corn. I now perceive, it was not altogether
2our brother's evil disposition made him seek
is death ; but a provoking merit, set a-work
by a reprovable badness in himself. 9
Edin. How malicious is my fortune, that I
must repent to be just 1 This is the letter he
spoke of, which approves him an intelligent
party to the advantages of France. O heavens!
that tins treason were not, or not I the de¬
tector !
Corn. Go.with me to the duchess.
Edm. If the matter of this paper be certain,
yon have mighty business in hand.
Corn. True or false, it hath made thee earl
of Gloucester. Seek out.where thy father is,
that he may be ready for our apprehension. 20
Edm. [Aside] If I find him comforting the
king, it will stuff his suspicion more fully.-^I
wiil persevere in my course of loyalty, though
the conflict be sore between that and my
blood.
Com. I will lay trust upon thee ; and thou
shalt find a dearer father in my love. [Exeunt.
Scene VI. A chamber in a farmhouse adjoin¬
ing the castle.
Enter Gloucester, Lear, Kent, Fool, and
-.. edgae..
[Act III.
Glou. Here is better than the open air; take
it thankfully. I will piece out the comfort with
wliat addition I can : I will not be long from
yon.
Kent. All the power of his wits have given
way to his impatience : the gods reward your
kindness ! [Exit Gloucester.
Edg. Frateretto calls me ; and tells me
Nero is an angler in the lake of darkness.
Pi'^, innocent, and beware the foul fiend.
Fool. Prithee, nuncle, tell me whether a
madman be a gentleman or a yeoman ? 11
Lear. .-V king, a king !
Fool. No, he's a yeoman that has a gentle¬
man to his son ; for he's a mad yeoman that
sees his son a gentleman before him.
Lear. To have a thousand with red burn¬
ing spits
Come hissing in upon 'em,'—
Edg. The foul fiend bites my back.
Fool. He's mad that trusts in the tameness
of a wolf, a horse's health, a boy's love, or a
whore's oath. 21
Lear. It shall be done; I will arraign them
straight.
[To Edgar^ Come, sit thou here, most learned
justicer;
[To the Fool] 'Thou, sapient sir, sit here. Now,
yon she foxes!
Edg. Look, where he stands and glares !
Wantest thou eyes at trial, madam ?
Come o'er the bourn, Bessy, to me,—
Focd. Her boat hath a leak.
And she must not speak
Why she dares not come over to thee.
Edg. The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the
voice of a nightingale. Hopdance cries in
Tom's belly for two white herring. Croak
not. black angel; I have no food for thee.
Kent. How do you, sir ? Stand you not
so amazed:
Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions?
Lear. I'll see their trial first Bring in the
evidence.
[To Edgar'] Thou robed man of justice, take
r... thyjJ'ace; [equity,
[To the Fool] And thou, his yoke-fellow of
Bench by his side : [To Kent] you are o' the
commission, 40
Sit you too.
Edg. Let us deal justly.
Sleepest or wakest thou, jolly shepherd ?
Thy sheep be in the corn ;
And for one blast of thy minikin mouth.
Thy sheep shall take no harm.
Pur! the cat is gray.
Lear. Arraign her first; 'tis Goneril. I hero
take ray oath before this honorable assembly,
she kicked the poor king her father. 60
Fool. Come hither, mistress. Is your name
Goneril ?
Lear. She cannot deny it.
Fool. Cry you mercy, I took you for a jolnt-
stooL ,
Lear. And here's another, whose warp'd
looks proclaim ^
KING LEAR.
ScexB'TITJ
KING LEAR.
S4}
What atore her heart ia made on. Stop her
there!
Anna, arma, sword, fire ! Corruption in the
place!
False justicer, why hast thou let her 'scape ?
Edff, Bless thy five wits t 60
Kent. O pity 1 Sir, where is the patience
now.
That thou so oft have boasted to retain 7
Edff. [Aside] My tears begin to take his
nrt so much,
nar my couuteirfeiting.
Lktr. The iittle dogs and ml,
Tray, Blanch, andiSweet-heart, see, they bark
at me,
Edff. Tom will throw his head at them.
Avaunt, you curs ! >
thy mouth or black or white.
Tooth that poisons if it bite ; 70
Mastiff, greyhound, mongrel grim.
Hound or spaniel, brach or lym.
Or bobtail tike or trundie-tail,
Tom will make them weep and wail;
For, with throwing thus my hea^
Dogs leap tiie hatch, and all are fled.
Do de, de, de. Sessa ! Come, march to wakes
and fairs and market-towns. Poor Tom, thy
horn is dry. 79
Lear. Then let them anatomize Regan; see
what breeds about her heart. Is there any
cause in nature that makes these hard hearts?
[To Edgar'] You, sir, I entertain for one of my
' hundred ; only I do not like the fasliion of
your garments : you will say they are Persian
attire : but let them be changed.
Kent. Now, good my .lord, lie here and rest
awhile.
Lear. Make no noise, make no noise; draw
fhecurt:uns:so,so, so. We'll go to supper i'the
morning. So, so, so. 91
Fool. And ril go to bed at noon.
Be-e)Uer Gloccesteu.
OUni. Come hither, friend: where is the
king my master ?
Kent. Here, sir; but trouble him not, his
wits are gone.
. GIou. Good friend, I prithee, take him in
thy arms ;
I have o'erheard a plot of death npon him:
There is a litter ready; lay him in't.
And drive towards Dover, friend, where ihou
shait meet
Both welcome and protection. Take up thy
master: 99
If thou shouldst dally half an hour, his life,
With thine, and all that offer to defend him.
Stand in assured loss: take up, take up ;
And follow me, that will to some provision
Give thee quick conduct.
Kent. Oppressedwature sleeps:
Uus test might yet have balm'd thy broken
senses.
Which, if convenience will not allow.
Stand in hard core. (7b the Foot] Cohie, help
tobeartbymastMj
Thoamust not stay behind.
Qlou. Come, come, away.
[Exeunt all hut Edgar.
Edg. When we our betters see bearing our
woes.
We scarcely think our miseries our foes. 110
Who alone suffers suffers roost i' the mind.
Leaving free thinp and happy shows behind :
But then the mind much sufferance doth o'er-
Wlien gnet hath mates, and bearing fellow¬
ship.
How light and portable my pain seems now.
When that which makes me bend makes the
king bow.
He eliilded as I father'd ! Tom, away !
Mark the high noises ; and thyself bewray.
When false opinion, whose wrong thought de¬
files tliee.
In thy just proof, repeals and reconciles thee.
What will nap more to-night, safe 'scape the
king! 121
Lurk, lurE [Exit.
Scene VIL ' Glouceeter's castle.
Enter Cobnwaei., Regan, Goneril, Edmund,
and Servants.
Com. Post speedily to my lord your hus¬
band ; show him this letter: the army of
France is landed. Seek out the villain Glou¬
cester. [Exeunt some of the Servants.
Reg. Hang him instantly.
Gon. Pluck out iiis eyes.
Corn. Leave him to my displeasure. Ed¬
mund, keep you our sister company: the re¬
venges we are bound to take upon your trai¬
torous father are not fit for your beholding.
Advise the duke, where you are going, to a
most festinate preparation : we are bound to
the like. Our {xists shall be swift and intel¬
ligent betwixt us. Farewell, dear sister *
farewell, my lord of Gloucester.
Enter Oswald.
How now 1 Where's the king ?
Osw. My lord of Gloucester hath convey'd
him hence :
Some five or six and thirty of his knights.
Hot questrists after him, met him at gate ;
Who, with some other of the lords dependants,
Are gone with him towards Dover ; where
they boast
To have well-armed friends.
Com. Get horses for your mistress.
Gon. Farewell, sweet lord, and sister. 21
Corn. Edmund, farewell.
[Exeunt Goneril, Edmund, and Oswald.
Go seek the traitor Gloucester,
Pinion him like a thief, bring him before us.
[Exeunt other Servants.
Though weli we may not pass upon his life
Without the form of justice, yet, our power
Shall do a courtesy to our wrath, which men
May blame, but not control. Who's there ^
the traitor 7
KING
LEAR,
[Act ih.
Enter Gloucester, brought in bij two or three.
Reg lugratetul fox ! 'tis he.
Corn. Bind fast his corky arms.
Olott. WItat mean your graces ? Good my
friends, consider 30
You are my guests : do me uo foul play,
friends.
Corru Bind him, I say. [Servants bind him.
Reg. ■ Hard, hard. 0 flltliy traitor!
Gtou. Unmerciful lady as you are, I'm
none.
Com, To this chair bind him. Villain,
thou shalt find—
[Regan plucks his beard.
Glou. By the kind gods, 'tis most ignobly
done
To pluck me by the beard.
Reg. So white, and such a traitor !
Glou. Naughty lady.
These hairs, which thou dost ravish from my
chin.
Will quicken, and accuse tliee : I am your
host:
With robbers' hands my hospitable favors 40
You should not rufHe thus. What will you
do?
Corn. Come, sir, what letters had you late
from Fi-ance ?
Reg. Be simple answerer, for we know the
truth.
Corn. And what confederacy have you
with the traitors
Late footed in the kingdom ?
Reg. To who.se hands have you sent the
lunatic king ?
Glou. I have a letter guessingly set down.
Which came from one that's of a neutral
heart.
And not from one opposed.
Corn. Cunning.
Reg. And false.
Corn. Where hast thou sent the king ? 50
Glou. To Dover.
Reg. Wherefore to Dover ? Wast thou not
charged .at peril—
Com. Wherefore to Dover ? Let him first
answer that.
GUm. I am tied to the stake, and I must
stand the course.
Reg. Wherefore to Dover, sir ?
Glou. Because I would not see tliy cruel
nails
Pluck out his poor old eyes ; nor thy fierce
sister
In his anointed flesh stick bearish fangs.
The sea, with such a storm as his bare head
In hell-black night endured, would have
buoy'd up, 60
And queuch'd the stelled fires :
Yet, ^or o'd heart, he help the heavens to
rain.
If wolves had at thy gate howTd that stem
time,
Tbou shouldst have said ' Good porter, turn
^e key/
All cruels else subscribed : but I shall see
The winged vengeance overtake such cbl!
' dreu.
Corn. See't shalt thou never Fellows,
hold the chair.
Upon these eyes of thine I'll set my foot.
Glou. He that will think to live tiil he be
old.
Give me some help ! O cruel! O you gods f
Reg. One side will mock another ; tlie
other too. 71
Corn. If you see vergeance,—
First Serv. Hold your Jiaud, my lord :
1 have served you ever smee I was a child ;
But better service have I never done you
Than now to bid you hold.
Reg. How now, you dog I
First Serv. If you did wear a beard upon
your chin,
I'd shake it on this quarrel. What do you
mean ?
Corn. My villain I [They draw and fight
First Serv. Nay, then, come on, and take
the chance of anger.
Reg. Give me thy sword. A peasant stand
up thus ! 60
[Takes a sword, and runs at him behind.
First Serv. O, I am slain ! My lord, you
have one eye left
To see some mischief on him. 0 ! [Dies.
Corn. Lest it see more, prevent it. Out,
vile jelly !
Where is thy lustre now ?
Glou. All dark and comfortless. Where's
my son Edmund ?
Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature,
To quit this horrid act.
Reg. Out, treacherous villain !
Thou call'st on him that hates thee ; it was
he
That made the overture of thy treasons to us;
Who is too good to pity thee. 90
Glou. O my follies! then Edgar was
abused.
Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him!
Reg. Go thrust him out at ^tes, and let
him smell
His way to Dover. [Exit one with Gloucester.
How is't, my lord ? how look you ?
Com. I have received a hurt: follow me;
lady.
Turn out that eyeless villain ; throw this slave
Upon the dunghill. Regan, I bleed apace:
Untimely comes this hurt: ^ve me your arm.
[Exit Cornwall, led by Regan.
Sec. Serv. I'll never care wliat wickedness
I do.
If this man come to good.
Third Serv. If she live long, KM
And in the end meet the old course of death,
Women will all turn monsters.
Sec. Neru Let's follow the old earl, and'
get the Bedlam
To lead him where he would; his.rqgaish
madness
Allows itself to any thing. . ..
Scamt 1.]
KING
LEAR.
843
Third Serv. Go thou : I'll fetch some flax
and whites of eggs
To apply to hie bleeding face. Now, heaven
help him! [Nxeunt teverally.
ACT IV.
ScENK I. The heath.
Enter Edgar.
Bdg. Yet better thus, and known to be
oontemn'd.
Than still contemn'd and flatter'd. To be
worst.
The lowest and most dejected thing of for¬
tune.
Stands stiil in esperance, lives not in fear :
The lamentable cliange is from the best;
The worst returns to laughter. Welcome,
then,
Thou unsubstantial air that I embrace !
The wretch that thou hast blown unto the
worst
Owes nothing to thy blasts. But who comes
here ?
Enter Gloucester, led by an Old Man.
My father, poorly led ? World, world, O
world! 10
But that thy strange mutations make us hate
thee.
Life would not yield to age.
(Hd Man. O, my good lord, I have been
your tenant, and your father's tenant, these
fourscore years..
Otou. Away, get tiiee away ; good friend,
be gone :
Thy comforts can do me no good at ail;
Thee they may hui-t.
Old Man. Alack, sir, you cannot see your
way.
Olmi. 1 have no way, and therefore want
no eyes; 20
I stumbled when I saw : full oft 'tis seen.
Our means secure us, and our mere defects
Prove our commodities. O dear son Edgar,
The food of thy abused father's wratli !
Might 1 but live to see thee in my touch,
I'id say I had eyes again !
Old Man. How now! Who's there ?
Edg. [Aside] O gods I Who is't can say ' I
am at the worst' ?
I am worse than e'er I was.
Old Man. 'Tis poor mad Tom.
Edg. [Aside] And worse I may be yet: the
worst is not
So long as we can say ' This is the worst.' 30
Old Man. Fellow, where goest ?
Ghv. Is It a beggar-man ?
Old Man. Madman and lieggar too.
Glou. He has some reason, else he could
not beg.
r the last night's storm I such a fellow saw ;
Which made me think a man a worm: my
SOU
Came then into my mind ; and yet my mind
Was then scarce friends with him : I have
heard more since.
As flies to wanton boys, are we to tlie gods.
They kill us for their sport.
Edg. [Aside] How should this be ?
Bad is the trade that must play fool to sor¬
row, 40
Angering itself and others.—Bless thee, mas¬
ter !
Glov. Is that the naked fellow ?
Old Man. Ay, my lord.
GUnt. Then, prithee, get thee gone ; if, for
my sake.
Thou wilt o'ertake ns, hence a mile or twain,
r the way toward Dover, do it for ancient
love ;
And bring some covering for this naked soul.
Who I'll entreat to lead me.
Old Man. Alack, sir, he is mad.
Glou. 'Tis the times' plague, when mad¬
men lead the blind.
Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure ;
Above the rest, be gone. 50
Old Man. I'll bring him the best 'parel that
I have.
Come ou't what wiil. [Exit.
Glou. Sirrah, naked fellow,—
Edg. Poor Tom's a-cold. [Aside] I cannot
daub it further.
Glou. Come hither, fellow.
Edg. [Aside] And yet I must.—Bless thy
sweet eyes, they bleed.
Glou. Know'st thou the way to Dover ?
Edg. Both stile and gate, horse-way and
foot-path. Poor Tom hath been scared out of
his good wits : bless thee, good man's son,
from the foul fiend ! five fiends have been in
poor Tom at once ; of inst, as Obidicut; Hob-
bididance, prince of dumbness ; Mahn, of
stealing ; Modo, of mu^er ; Flibbertigibbet,
of mopping and mowing, who since possesses
chambermaids and waiting-women. So, bless
thee, master !
Glou. Here, take this purse, thou whom
the heavens' plagues •
Have humbled to all strokes : that I am
wretched
Makes thee the happier: heavens, deal so
still !
Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man, 70
That slaves your ordinance, that will not see
Because he doth not feel, feel your power
; quickly;
So distribution should undo excess.
And each man have enough. Dost thou know
Dover ?
Edg. Ay, master.
Glou. There is a cliff, whose high and
bending head
Looks fearfully in the confined deep •,
Bring me but to the very brim of it.
And I'll repair the misery thou dost bear
With something rich about me: from that
place
I shall no leading need.
m
Rim
LEAR.
[Act I*.
Edg, Give me thy ann : 81
Poor Tom shall lead thee. [Exeunt,
ScENB n. Before the Duke of Athan^e
palace.
Enter Gomebil and EomrirD.
Gon. Welcome, my lord: 1 marvel our
mild husband
Not met us on the way.
Enter Oswau).
Now, Where's your master ?
Osu). Madam, withiu; but never man so
changed.
I told him of the army that was landed ;
He smiled at it: 1 told him you were com¬
ing :
His answer was ' The worse :' of Glouces¬
ter's treachery,
And of the loyal service tt his son,
When I inform'd him, then he call'd me sot,
And told me I had turn'd the wrong side out:
What most he should dislike seems pleasant
to him ; 10
What like, offensive.
Gon. [To Edm.] Then shall you go no
furtlier.
It is the cowish terror of his spirit.
That dares not undertake: he'll not feel
wrongs
Which tie him to an answer. Our wishes on
the way
May prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my
brother ;
Hasten his musters and conduct his powers :
I must change arms at home, and give the
distaff
Into my husband's hands. This trusty ser¬
vant
Shall pass between us : ere long you are like
to hear.
If you dare venture in your own behalf, 20
A mistress's command. Wear this ; spare
speech ; [Giving a favor.
Decline your head : this kiss, if it durst
speak.
Would stretch thy spirits up into the air :
Conceive, and fare thee well.
Edm. Tours in the ranks of death.
Gon. My most dear Gloucester !'
[Exit Edmund.
O, the difference of man and man !
'To tliee a woman's services are due :
My fool usurps my body.
Osw. Madam, here comes my lord.
[Exit.
Enter the Duke of Axbant.
Gon, I have been worth the whistle.
Alb, O Goneril I
Ton are not worth the dust which the rude
wind 30
Blows in your face. I fear your disposition :
Tliat nature, which contemus its origin.
Cannot be border'd certain in itself ;
St) *) that herself will sliver and disbranch
From her material sap, perforce must wither
And come to deadly use.
Gon. No more ; the text is foolish.
Alb. Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem
vile:
Filths savor but themselves. Wliat have you
done ?
Tigers, not daughters, what have you per.
form'd ? 40
A father, and a gracious aged man.
Whose reverence even the head-lugg'd bear
would lick,
Most barbarous, most degenerate I have you
madded.
Could my good brother suffer you to do it ?
A man, a prince, by liim so benefited I
If that the heavens do not their visible spirits
Send quickly down to tame tliese vile of¬
fences.
It will come.
Humanity mast perforce prey on itself,
Like monsters of the deep.
Gon. Milk-liver'd man I 60
That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for
wrongs ;
Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning
Thine honor from thy suffering; that not
know'st
Fools do those villains pity who are punish'd
Ere they have done their mischief. Where's
thy drum ?
France spreads his banners in our noiseless
land;
tWith plumed helm thy slayer begins
threats;
Wliiles thou, a moral fool, sit'st still, and criest
' Alack, why does he so ? *
Alb- See thyself, devil!
l'ro[)er deformity seems not in foe Bend 68
So horrid as in woman.
Gon. O vain foo» /
Alb. Thou changed and self-cover'd thing,
for shame,
Be-mouster not thy feature. Were't my fitness
To let these liands obey my blood,
They are apt enough to dislocate and tear
Thy flesh and bones : howe'er thou art a fiend,
A woman's shape doth shield thee.
Gon. Marry, your manhood now—
Enter a Messenger.
Alb. What news ?
Mess. O, my good lord, the Duke of Corn¬
wall 's dead : 70
Slaiu by his servant, going to put out
The other eye of Gloucester.
Alb. Gloucester's eyes I
Mess. A servant tliat he bred, thrill'd with
remorse.
Opposed against the act, bending his sword
To his great master; who, thereat enraged.
Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him
dead ;
But not without that harmful stroke, which
since
Hath pluck'd him after.
bobne tt.1
KING
LEAR.
84t
Alh, This shows you are abore,
Tou justicers, that these oiiruether crimes
So speedily can veuge 1 But, O poor Glouces-
Lost he his other eye 7
Mets. Both, both, my lord. 81
This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer ;
'Tis from your sister.
Oon. [Aside] One way 1 like this well;
But being widow, and my Gloucester with her.
May all the buildiug in my fancy pluck
Upon my hateful life ; another way.
The news is not so tart —I'll read, and answer.
[Exit.
Alb. Where was his son when tliey did
take his eyes 7
Mess. Come with my lady hither.
Alb. He is not here. 90
Mess. No, my good lord ; I met him back
again.
Alb. Knows he the wickedness 7
Mess. Ay, my good lord ; 'twas he inform'd
a^inst him *,
And quit the house on purpose, that their pun¬
ishment
Might have the freer course.
Alb. Gloucester, I live
To thank thee for the love thou show'dst the
king.
And to revenge thine eyes. Come hither,
friend ;
Tell me what more thou know'st. [Exeunt.
Scene IH. The French camp near Dover.
Enter Kent and a Gentleman.
Kent. Why the King of France is so sud¬
denly gone back know you the reason 7
Gent. Something he left imperfect in the
state, which since his coming fortli is thought
of; which imports to the kingdom so much
fear and danger, that his personal return was
most required and nece.ssary.
Kent. Who hath he left behind him general 7
Gent. The Marshal of France, Monsieur La
Far. 10
Kent. Did your letters pierce the queen to
any demonstration of grief 7
Gent. Ay, sir ; she took them, read them
in my presence;
And now and then an ample tear trill'd down
Her delicate cheek : it seem'dshe wasaqueen
Over her passion ; who, most rebel-like.
Sought to be king o'er her.
Kent. O, then itmoved her.
Gent. Not to a rage : patience and sorrow
strove
Who should express her goodliest. You have
seen
Snnsbhie and rain at once: her smiles and tears
1 Were like a better way : those happy smilets,
'Thatplay'd on her ripe lip, ^em'dnottoknow
What guests were in her eyes ; which parted
thence.
As pearls from diamonds dropp'd. In brief,
Sorrow would be a rarity most beloved,
If all could so become it
Kent. Made she no verbal question 7
Gent. 'Faith, once or twice she heaved tlie
name of ' father'
Pantingly forth, as if it press'd her heart:
Cried 'Sisters ! sisters ! Shame of ladies2
sisters 2
Kent 2 father I sisters I What, i' the storm 7
i' the nigiit 7 30
Let pity not be believed 2' There she shook
The holy water from her heavenly eyes.
And clamor moisten'd : tlien away she started
To deal with grief alone.
Kent It is the stars.
The stars above us, goveni our conditions ;
Else one self mate and mate conld not beget
Such different issues. Yon spoke not with her
• since 7
Gent. No.
Kent. Was this before the king return'd 7
Gent. No, since.
Kent. Well, sir, the poor distressed Lear's
i' the town ; 40
Who sometime, in his better tune, remembers
What we are come about, and by no means
Will yield to see his daughter.
Gent. Why, good sir 7
Kent. A sovereign shame so elbows him :
his own unkindness,
That stripp'd her from his benediction, turn'd
her
To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights
To his dog-bearted daughters, these things
sting
His mind so venomously, that burning shame
Detains him from Cordelia.
Gent. Alack, poor gentleman !
Kent. Of Albany's and Comwairs powers
you heard not 7 50
Gent. 'Tis so, they are afoot
Kent. Well, sir, I'll bring you to our mas¬
ter Lear,
And leave yon to attend him: some dear cause
Will in concealment wrap me up awhile ;
When I am known aright, you shall not grieve
Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you, go
Along with me. [Exeunt
Scene IV. 27le same. A tent.
Enter, with drum and colors, Cobdelia,
Doctor, and Soldiers.
Cor. Alack, 'tis he : why, he was met even
now
As mad as the vex'd sea ; singing aloud ;
Crown'd with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds.
With bur-docks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo¬
flowers,
Daniel, and all the idle weeds that grow
In our sustaining com. A century send forth;
Search every acre in the high-grown field,
And bring him to our eye. [Exit an Officer.]
What can man's wisdom
In the restoring his bereaved sen.ae 7
He that helps him take all my outward worth.
Doct. There is means, nmam : II
846
KING LEAR.
{Act iV.
Our foster-nurse of nature is repose,
The which he lacks ; that to provoke in him,
Are many simples operative, whose power
Will close the eye of anguish.
Cor. All blest secrets,
All you unpublish.'d virtues of the earth,
Spring with my tears! be aidant and remediate
In the good man's distress 1 Seek, seek fcsr
hira ;
Lest his nngovem'd rage dissolve the life
That wants the means to lead it.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Kews, madam ; 20
The British iiowers are marching hitherward.
Cor. 'Tis known before ; our preparation
stands
In expectation of them. O dear father, •
It is thy busincs.s ttiat I go about;
Therefore great France
My mourning and important tears hath pitied.
No blown ambition doth our arms incite.
But love, dear love, and our aged father's
right:
Soon may I hear and see him ! [Exeunt.
SCENB v. Gloucester's castle.
Enter Reoaic and Oswald.
Eeff. But are ray brother's powers set forth?
Os'w. Ay, madam.
Eeff. Himseif in person there ?
Osto. Madam, with much ado:
Your sister is the better soldier.
Eeff. Lord Edmund spake not with yonr
lord at home ?
Osw. No, madam.
Beg, What might import my sister's letter
to him ?
Osto. I know not, lady.
Reg. 'Faith, he is posted hence on serious
matter.
It was great ignorance, Gloucester's eyes being
out.
To let him live : where he arrives he moves 10
All hearts against us: Edmund, I tliink, is
gone,
In pity of his misery, to dispatch
His iiighted life ; moreover, to descry
Tiie strength o' the enemy.
Osto. I must needs after him, madam, with
ray letter.
Reg. Our troops set fortlt to-morrow i stay
with us ;
The ways are dangerous.
Osio. I may not, madam :
My lady charged my duty in this business.
Reg. Why should she write to Edmund ?
Might not you
Transport her purposes by word ? Belike, 20
Sometliing—I know not what: I'll love thee
much.
Let me unseal the letter.
Osto. Madam, I had rather—
Reg. I know your ladjr does not love her
boshnod'
I am sure of that: and at her late being here
She gave strange ceillades and most speaking
looks
To noble Edmnnd. I know you are of her
bosom.
Osto. I, madam ?
Reg. I speak in understanding ; you are, I
■ know't:
Therefore I do advise you, take this note :
My lord is dead ; Edmund and I have talk'd ;
And more convenient is be for my hand 31
Thau for your lady's: you may ^ther more.'
If you do find him, pray you, give him this ;
And when yonr mistress hears thus much from
you,
I pray, desire her call her wisdom to her.
So, fare you well.
If you do ehauce to hear of that blind traitor.
Preferment falls ou him that cuts him off.
Os!W. Would I could meet him, madam ! I
should show
What party I do follow.
Reg. Fare thee well. [Exeunt. 40
Scene VI. Fields near Dover.
Enter Qlottcesteb, and Edgak dressed like a
peasant,
Glou. When shall we come to the top of
that same hill ?
Edg. You do climb up it now: look, how
we labtw.
Glou. Methinks the ground is even.
Edg. Horrible steep.
Hark, do you hear the sea ?
Glou. No, truly.
Edg. Why, then, your other senses grow
imperfect
By your eyes' anguish.
Gloti. So may it be, indeed :
Methinks thy voice is alter'd; and thou
speak'St
In better phrase and matter than thou didst.
Edg. You're much deceived: in nothing
am I changed
But in my garments.
Glou. Methinks you're better spoken. 10
Edg. Come un,sir ; here's the place: staud
still. How fearful
And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low !
The crows and choughs that wing the midway
air
.Show scarce so gross as beetles: half way down
Hangs one that gathers eamphire, dreadful
trade!
Methinks he seems no bigger than his head :
The fishermen, that walk upon the beach.
Appear like mice; and yond tall anchoring
bark,
Diminish'd to her cock ; her cock, a buoy
Almost too small for sight: the murmuring
surge, 20
That on the nnnumber'd idle pebbles chafes,
Cannot be heard so high. I'll look no more ;
Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight
Topple down headlong.
ficSNK Tl.]
KING
LEAR.
847
Set me where yon stand.
Edg. Give me your hand : you are now
within a foot
Of the extreme verge : for all beneath the
moon
Would I not leap upright
Olou, Let go my hand.
Here, friend, 's another purse ; in it a jewel
Weil worth a poor man's taking ; fairies and
gods
Prosper it with thee ! Go thou farther off ; 30
Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.
Edg. Now fare you well, good sir.
Gtou. With all my heart.
Edg. Why I do trifle thus with his de.spair
Is done to eure it.
Glou. [Kneeling'] O you mighty gods 1
This world 1 do renounce, and, in your sights,
Shake patiently ray great affliction off :
It I conid bear it longer, and not fall
To quarrel with your great opposeless wills.
My snuff and loathed part of nature should
Burn itself out.. If Edgar live, O, bless him!
Now, fellow, fare thee well. [He falls fonoard.
Edg. Gone, sir ; farewell.
And yet I know not how conceit may rob
Tlie treasury of life, when life itself
rields to the theft: had he been where be
thought.
By this, had thought been past. Alive or
dead ?
Ho, you sir 1 friend ! Hear you, sir 1 speak !
Thus might he pass indeed : yet he revives.
What are you, sir ?
Glau. Away, and let me die.
Edg. Hadst thou been aught but gossamer,
feathers, air.
So many fathom down precipitating, 50
Thou'dst sUiver'd like an egg : but thou dost
breathe ;
Hast heavy substance; bleed'st not, speak'st;
art somid.
Ten masts at each make not tire altitude
Which thou hast jjerpendicularly fell:
Thy life's a miracle. Speak yet again.
Glcm. But have I fall'ii, or no ?
Edg. From the dread summit of this chalky
bourn.
Look up .a-height; the shrill-gorged lark so
far
Cannot be seen or heard : do but look up.
• Glov. Alack, I have no eyes. 60
Is wretchedness deprived that benefit.
To end itself by death ? 'Twas yetsome com¬
fort,
Wlien miserj' could beguile the tyrant's rage.
And frustrate his proud will.
Edg. Give me your arm :
Up ; so. How is't 7 Feel you your legs? You
stand.
Glou. Too well, too well.
Edg. This is abofe ali strangene.ss:.
Upon the crown o' the cliff, what thing was
that
Which parted from yon ?
QUnt. A poor unfortunate beggar. '
Edg. As I stood here below, methought his
eyes
Were two full moons ; he had a thousand
noses, 70
Horns whelk'd and waved like the enridged
sea;
It was some fiend; therefore, thou happy
fatlier.
Think that the clearest gods, who make them
honom
Of men's impossibilities, have preserved thee.
Glou. I do remember now : henceforth I'll
bear
Affliction till it do cry out itself
'Enough, enough,' and die. That thing you
sp^k of,
I took it for a man ; often 'twould say
'The fiend, the fiend:' he led me to that
place.
Edg. Bear free and patient thoughts. But
who comes here ? i 80
Enter Leas, fantastically dressed with wild
flowers.
Tire safer sense will ne'er accommodate
His master thus.
Lear. No, they cannot touch me for coining;
I am the king himself.
Edg. O thou side-piercing sight!
Lear. Nature's above art in that respect.
There's your press-money. That fellow
handles his bow like a crow-keeper : draw me
a clothier's yard. Look, look, a mouse !
Peiice, peace ; this i)iece of toasted cheese will
do't. There's my gauntlet; I'll prove it on a
giant. Bring np the brown bills. O, well
flown, bird 1 i' the clout, i' the clout: hewgh!
Give the word.
Edg. Sweet marjoram.
Lear. Pass.
Glou. I know that voice.
Lear. Ha 1 Goiieril, with a white beard 1
They flattered me like a dog ; and told me I
had white hairs in my beard ere the black
ones were there. To say ' ay' and ' no' to
every thing that I said !—'Ay' and 'no' too
was no good divinity. When the min came to
wet me once, and the wind to. make me
chatter ; when the thunder would not peace at
my bidding ; there I lound 'em, there I smelt
'era out. Go to. they are not men o' their
worvls: they told me i was every thing ; 'tis a
lie, I am not ague-proof.
Glou. The trick of that voice I do well re¬
member :
Is't not the king ?
Lear. Ay, every inch a king :
When I do stare, see'how the subject quakes.
I pardon that man's life. What was thy
cause ?
Adultery ?
Thou sh'alt not die : die for adultery f No :
The wren goes to't, and the small gilded fly
Does lecher in my sight.
Let copulation thrive ; for Gloucester's bastard
son
848
KING
LEAK
[Ac* n
Was kinder to his father tlian my daughters
Got 'tween the lawful sheete.
To't, luxury, pell-mell I for I lack soldiers.
Behold youd simpering dame, 120
Whose face between her forks presages snow ;
That minces virtue, and does shake the head
To hear of pleasure's name ;
The fitchew, not the soiled horse, goes to't
With a more riotous appetite.
Dowu from the waist they are Centaurs,
Though women ul above :
But to the girdle do the gods inherit.
Beneath is all the fieuds' ;
There's hell, there's darkness, there's the
sulphurous pit, 130
Burning, scalding, stench, consumption ; fie,
fie, fie ! pah, pah ! Give me an ounce of civet,
good apothecary, to sweeten my imagination :
there's money for thee.
Oloii. O, let me kiss that hand !
Lear. Let me wipe it first; it smells of
mortality.
Glou. O ruin'd piece of nature ! This great
world
Shall so wear out to nought. Dost thou know
me ?
Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough.
Dost thou squiny at me ? No, do thy worst,
blind Cupid ; 111 not love. Read thou this
challenge ; mark but the penning of it.
Glou. Were all the letters suns, I could not
see one.
Edg. I would not take this from report; it
is.
And my heart breaks at it.
Lear. Read.
Glou. What, with the case of eyes ?
Lear. O, ho, are you there with me ? No
eyes in your head, nor no money in your purse?
Your eyes are in a heavy case, your purse in a
light; yet you see how this world goes. 151
Glou. I see it feelingly.
Lear. What, art mad? A man may see
how this world goes with no eyes. Look with
thine ears : see how yond justice rails upon
yond simple thief. Hark, in thine ear ; change
places ; and, handy-dandy, which is the jus¬
tice, which is the thief ^ Thou hast seen a
farmer's dog bark at a beggar ?
Glou. Ay, sir. 160
Lear. And the creature run from the cur ?
There thou mightst behold the great image of
authority : a dog's obeyed in office.
Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand !
Why dost thou lash that whore ? "Strip thine
own back ;
Thou hotly lust'st to use her in that kind
for which thou whipp'st her. The usurer
hangs the cozener.
Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear;
Kobes and furr'd gowns hide all. Plate sin
with gold, 169
And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks:
Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw does pierce it.
Hone does offend, none, I say, none ; I'll able
'em:
Take that of me, my friend, who l»av« the
power
To seal the accuser's lips Getthee glass eyes ;
And, like a scurvy politician, seem
To see the things thou dost not. Now, now,
now, now :
Pull off my boots : harder, harder : so.
Edg. O, matter and impertinency mix'd !
Reason in madness 1
Lear. If thou wilt weep my fortunes, tako
ray eyes. 1^
I know thee well enough ; thy name is
Gloucester:
Thou must be patient; we came crying
hither:
Thou kuow'st, the first time that we smell the
air,
We wawl and cry. I will preach to thee:
mark.
Glou. Alack, alack the day !
Lear. When we are bom, we cry that we
are come
To this great stage of fools : this a good
block ;
It were a delicate stratagem, to shoe
Atroop of horse with felt: I'll put't in proof;
And when I have stul'n upon these sons-in-
law.
Then, kiU, kill, kill, kill, kill, kUl!
Enter a Gentleman, with Attendants.
Gent. O, here he is : lay hand upon him.
Sir,
Your most dear daughter—
Lear. No rescue? What, a prisoner? I
am even
The natural fool of fortune. Use me well;
You shall have ransom. Let me have sur¬
geons ;■
I am cut to the bndns.
Gent. You shall have any thing.
Lear. No seconds ? all myself ?
Why, this would make a man a man of salt.
To use his eyes for garden water-pots, 200
Ay. and laying autumn's dust.
Gent. Good sir,—
Lear. 1 will die bravely, like a bridegroom.
What !
I will be jovial: come, come; I am a king.
My masters, know you that
Gent. You are a royal one, and we obey
you.
Lear. Then there's life in't. Nay, if you
get it, you shall get it with running. Sa, sa,
sa, sa. [£xft running; Attendants follow.
Gent. A sight most pitiful in the meanest
wretch.
Past speaking of in a king 1 Thon hast one
daughter.
Who redeems nature from the general curse
Which twain have brought her to. 211
Edg. Hail, gentle sir.
Gent. Sir, speed you ; what's your wllll'
Edg. Do you hear aught, sir, of a battlo
toward?
KING LEAR. 849
Scene tu.]
Gent. Most sure and Tulear: every one hears
that,
Which can distinguish sound.
Edy. But, by your favor.
How near's the other army ?
Gent. Near and on speedy foot; the main
descry
Stands on the hourly thought.
Edg. I thaiilc you, sir : that's all.
Gent. Though that the queen on special cause
is here,
Her army is moved on.
Edg. I thank you, sir. 220
[Erit Gent.
Glou. You ever-gentle gods, take my breath
from me;
Let not my worser spirit tempt me again
To die before you please !
Edg. Well pray you, fatlier-
Glou. Now, good sir, what are you ?
Edg. A most poor man, made tame to for¬
tune's blows ;
Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows.
Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand,
I'll lead you to some biding.
Glou. Hearty thanks :
Tlie bounty and the benison of heaven
To boot, and boot!
Enter Oswald.
Osie. A proclaim'd prize ! Most happy !
That eyeless head of thine was first framed
nesli 21=1
To raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy
traitor.
Briefly thyself remember : the sword is ont
That must destroy thee.
Glou. Now let thy friendly hand
Put strength enough to't. [Edgar interposes.
Osm. Wherefore, bold peasant.
Barest thou support a pnblish'd traitor ?
Hence ;
Lest that the infection of his fortune take
Like hold on tliee. Let go his arm.
Edg. Chill not let go, zir, without vurther
'casion. 240
Osxo. Let go, slave, or thou dlest!
Edg. Good gentleman, go your gait, and
let poor Volk pass. An chud ha' bin zwaggered
out of my life, 'twould not ha' bin zo long as
'tis by a vortnight. Nay, come not near th'
old man ; keep out, che vor ye, or ise try
whether your costard or my ballow be the
harder : chill be plain with you.
Osw. Out, dunghill!
Edg. Chill pick your teeth, zir ; come ; no
matter vor your foins. 251
[They fight, and Edgar knocks him down.
Osw. Slave, thou hast slain me : villain,
take my purse :
If ever thou wilt thrive, bu^ my body ;
And give the letters which toou find st.about
me
To Edmund earl of Gloucester; seek him out
Upon the British party: O, untimely death !
[Dies.
Edg. I know thee well; a serviceable
villain ;
As dnteous to the vices of thy mistreat
As badness would desire.
Glou. What, is he dead 1
Edg. Sit you down, father ; rest you 260
Let's see these pockets : the letters that he
speaks of
May be my friends. He's dead ; I am only
sorry
He had no other death's-man. Let ns see:
Leave, gentle wax ; and, manners, blame us
not:
To know our enemies' minds, we'ld rip their
hearts ;
Their papers, is more lawful.
[f?ertds] ' I,et our reci|)rocal vows be remem¬
bered. You have ni.my opportunities to cut
him off ; if your will want not, time and place
will be fruitfully offered. There is nothing
done, if he return the conqueror; then am 1
tlie prisoner, and his bed my goal ; from the
loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and sup¬
ply the place for your labor.
' Your—wife, so 1 would say—
Affectionate servant,
' Goneril.'
O undistinguish'd space of woman's will!
A plot upon her virtuous husband's life ;
And the exchange my brother ! Here, in the
sands, 280
Tiiee I'll rake up, the post unsanctified
Of murderous lechers : and in the mature
time
With this ungracious paper strike the sight
Of the death practised duke : for him 'tis well
That of thy death and business I can tell.
Glou. 'the king is mad : how stiff is my
vile sense.
That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling
Of my huge sorrows 1 Better I were distract:
So should my thoughts be sever'd from my
griefs.
And woes by wrong imaginations lose 290
The knowledge of themselves.
Edg. Give me your h,and :
[Dmm afar off.
Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum :
Come, father, I'll bestow you with a friend.
[Exeunt.
Scene VH. A tent in the, French camp. Lear
on a bed asleep, soft music playing; Gentle¬
man, and others attending
Enter Cordelia, Kent, and Doctor,
Cor. O thou good Kent, how shall I live
and work.
To match thy goodness ? My life will be too
short.
And every measure fail me.
Kent. To be acknowledged, madam, is
' o'erpaid.
All my re^rts go with the modest truth ;
Nor more nor clipp'd, but so.
C'or Be better suit6»'
JU ''
850
KING
LEAR.
[Act iv.
These weeds are memories of those worser
hours :
I prithee, put them off.
Kent. Pardon me, dear madam;
Yet to be known shortens my made intent :
My boon I make it, that yoii know me not 10
Tili time and 1 tliink meet.
Cor. Then be't so, my good lord. [To the
Doctor] How does tlie king t
Doct. Madam, sleeps still.
Cor. O you kind gods,
Cure this great breach in bis abused nature !
Tlie untuned and jarring senses, O, wind up
01 this child-changed father 1
Doct. So please your majesty
That we may wake the king ; he hath slept
long.
Cor. Be govem'd hy your knowledge, and
proceed
I' the sway of your own will. Is he array'd ?
Gent. Ay, madam ; in the heaviness of his
sleep 21
■ We put fresli garments on him.
Doct. Be by, good madam, when we do
awake him ;
I doubt not of his temperance.
Cor. ' Very well.
Doct. Please you, draw near. Louder the
music there !
Cor. O my dear father ! Restoration hang
Thy medicine on ray lips ; and let this kiss
Repair tlio.se violent harms that my two sisters
Have in thy reverence made !
Kent. , ' Kind and dear piincess!
Cor. Had you not been their father, these
white flakes 30
Had challenged pity of them. Was this a
face
To be opposed against the warring winds ?
To stand against the deep dread-bolted thun¬
der ?.
In the most terrible and nimble stroke
Of quick, cross lightning 7 to watch—poor
peidu !—
With this thin helm ? Mine enemy's dog.
Though he had bit me, should have stood
that night
Against my lire ; and wast thou fain, poor
father,
To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn.
In short and musty straw ? Alack, alack ! 40
'Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once
Had not concluded all. He wakes ; speak to
him.
Doct. Madam, do you ; 'tis fittest.
Cor. How does ray royal lord 7 How fares
your majesty 7
Lecir. You do me wrong to take me out o'
the grave:
Thou art a soul in bliss ; but I am bound
U|>on a wheel of fire, that mine own tears
Do scald like molten lead.
Sir, dr> you know me 7
Lear, Yon are a spirit, I kiiow : when did
you die 7
•.p<>r. Still, still, far wide ! 50
Doct. He's scarce awake : let him alone
awhile.
Lear. Where have I been 7. Where am I?
Fair daylight 7 [pit.v,
I am raigiitily abused. I should e'en die with
To see another thus. I know nut what to say.
I will not swearthese are ray hands: let's see;
I feel this pin prick. Would I were assured
Of my condition !
Cor. 0, look upon me, sir.
And hold your bands in benediction o'er me :
No, sir, you must not kneel.
Lear. Pray, do not mock me :
I am a very foolish fond old man, 60
Fourscore and upward, not an hour bf
less ;
And, to deal plainly,
I fear I am not in my perfect mind.
Methiuks I should know you, and kuow this
man ;
Vet I am doubtful : for I am mainly imorant
What place this is ; and all the skill I nave
Remembers not these garments ; nor I know
not [at me ;
Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh
Fur, as I am a man, 1 think this lady
To be my child Cordelia.
Cor. And so I am, I am. 70
Lear. Be your tears wet 7 yes, 'faith. I
pray, weep not:
If you have poison for rae, I will drink it.
1 know you do not love me ; for your sisters
Have, as I do remember, done me wrong:
You have some cause, they have not..
Cor. No cause, no cause.
Lear. Am I in France 7
Kent. In your own kingdom, sir.
Lear. Do not abuse rae.
Doct Be comforted, good madam : the
great rage.
You see, is kill'd in him : and yet it is danger
To make him even o'er the time he has lost.
Desire hira to go in; trouble him no more 81
Till further settling.
Cor. Will't please your highness walk 7
Lear. You must bear with me :
Pray you now, forget and forgive : I am old
and foolish.
[Exetmt all but Kent and Gentleman.
Gent. Holds it true, sir, that the Duke ot
Cornwall was so slain 7
Kent. Most certain, sir.
Gent. Who i.< conductor of hij people 7
Kent. As 'tis said, the bastard son of
Gloucester. M
Gent. They say Edgar, his banished son, is
with the Eari of Kent in Germany.
Kent. Report is changeable. "'Tis time to
look about; the powers of the kingdom ap¬
proach apace.
Gent The arbitrement is like to be bloody.
Fare you well, sir. [Exit.
Kent. My point and period will be through¬
ly wrought.
Or well or ill, as tliis day's battle's fought.
[JEeit
Scene h.]
KING
LEAR
861
ACT V.
SdENE I. The British camp, near Dover.
Enter, with drum and, colors, Edmund,
. Regan, Geutlemen, and Soldiers.
Edm. Know of the duke if his last purpose
hold,
Or whether since he is advised by aught
To change the course: he's full of alteration
And self-reproving : bring his constant pleas¬
ure. [To a Gentleman, who ;/oes out.
Reg. Our sister's man is certainly mis¬
carried.
Edm. 'Tis to be doubted, madam.
Reg. Now, sweet lord;
You Know the goodness I intend upon yon:
Tell me—but truly—but then speaK the truth.
Do you not love my sister ?
Edm. In honor'd love.
Reg. But have you never found my
brother's way 10
To the forfended place 7
Edm. That thought abuses you.
Reg. I am doubtful tliat you have been con¬
junct
And bosom'd witli her, as far as we ciill hers.
Edm. No, by mine honor, madam.
Reg. I never shall endure her : dear my
lord.
Be not familiar with her.
Edm. Fear me not:
She and the duke her husband I
Enter, with drum and colors, Albany,
Goneril, and Soldiers.
Oon. [Aside"] I had rather lose the battle
than that sister
Should loosen him and me.
Alb. Our very loving sister, well be-met.
Sir, this I hear ; the Iting is come to his daugh¬
ter, 21
With others whom the rigor of our state
Forced to cry out. Where I could not be
honest,
I never yet was valiant: for this business.
It toucheth us, as France invades our land.
Not bolds the king, with othei-s, whom, I fear.
Most just and heavy causes make oppose.
Edm. Sir, you siieak nobly.
Reg. Why is this reason'd ?
Gon. Combiue together 'gaiust the enemy;
F ir these domestic and particular broils 30
Are not the question here.
Alb. Let's then determine
With the ancient of war on our proceedings.
Edm. I shall attend you presently at your
tent.
Reg. Sister, you'll go with us 7
Gon. No. [with us.
Reg. 'Tis most convenient; pray you, go
Gon. [Aside] O. ho, I k*ow the riddle.—I
will go.
As they are going out, enter Edgar disguised,
Edg. If e'er your grace had speech with
man so poor,
Hear me one word.
Alb. I'll overtake you. Speak.
[Exeunt allbat Albany and Edgar
Edg. Before you fight the battle, ope this
" letter. 4C
If you have victory, let the trumpet sound
For him that brought it: wretched though "
seem,
I can produce a champion that will prove
What is avouched there. If you miscarry.
Your business of tlie world hath so an end.
And machination ceases. Fortune love you I
Alb. Stay till I have read the letter.
Ecff/. I was forbid it.
When time shall serve, let but the herald cry.
And I'll appear again.
Alb. Why, fare thee well ; I will o'erlook
thy paper. [Exit Edgar. 50
Re-enter Edmund.
Edm. The enemy's in view; draw up your
powers.
Here is the guess of their true strength and
forces
By diligent discovery ; but your haste
Is now urged on you.
Alb. We will greet the time. [Exit.
Edm. To both these sisters have I sworn
my love ;
Each jealous of the other, as the stung
Are of the adder. Which of them shall I take?
Both 7 one 7 or neither 7 Neither can be
enjoy'd,
It both remain alive : to take the widow
E:;iasperates, makes mad her sister Goneril; GO
And hardly shall I ojirry out my side.
Her husband being alive. Now then we'll use
His countenance for the battle ; which being
done,
Let her who would be rid of him devise
His speedy taking off. As for the liiercy
Which he intends to Lear and to Cordelia,
The battle done, and they within our power.
Shall never see his pardon ; for my state
Stands on me to defend, not to debate. [Exit.
Scene II. A field betioeen the two camps.
Alarum within. Enter, with drum and colors,
Lear, Cordelia, and Soldiers, over the
stage ; and exeunt.
Enter EoisAn and Gloucester.
Edg. Here, father, take the shadow of this
tree
For your good host ; pray that the riglit may
thrive :
If ever I return to you again,
I'll bring yon comfort.
Glou. Grace go with you, sit f
[Exit Edgar.
Alarum and retreat within. Re-enter Edgau.
Edg. Away, old man ; give me thy hand ;
away !
King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter ta'efi;
Give me thy ht.ud I wme on,
«52
KING
LEAR.
(Aci Tr
Olou. No farther, sir ; a man may rot,even
here.
Edg. What, in ill thoughts again ? Men
must endure
Their going hence, even as their coming hither:
Hipeness is all: come on. 11
Glou. And that's true too. [Exeunt.
SoEMElII. The BrUith camp near Dover.'
Enter, in conquest, with drum and colors, Ed¬
mund : Lear and Ck>RUELiA, prisoners;
Captain, Soldiers, Ac.
Edm. Some officers take them away : good
guard.
Until their gimter pleasures first be known
That are to censure them.
Cor. We are not the first
Who, with best meaning, have incurr'd the
worst.
For thee, oppressed king, am I cast down ;
Myself could else out-frown false fortune's
frown.
Shall we not see these daughters and these
sisters ? [prison :
Lear. No, no, no, no ! Come, let's away to
We two alone will sing like birds i' the cage:
When tliou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel
down, 10
And ask of thee forgiveness : so we'll live.
And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and
laugh
At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues
Talk of court news ; and we'll talk with them
too.
Who loses and who wins ; who's in, who's out;
And take upon's the mystery of things.
As if we were God's spies : and we'll wear out.
In a wall'd prison, j^cks and sects of great
ones,
That ebb and flow by the moon.
Edm. Take them away.
Lear. Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, 20
The gods themselves throw incense. Have I
caught thee ?
He that parts us shall bring a brand from
heaven.
And fire us hence like foxes. Wipe thine eyes;
The good-years shall devour them,flesh and fell.
Ere they shall make us weep : we'll see 'em
starve first.
Come. [Exeunt Lear and Cordelia, guarded.
Edg. Come hither, captain ; hark.
Take thou this note [^fufng a paper] ; go follow
them to prison :
One step I have advanced thee ; if thou dost
As thic instructs thee, thon dost make thy way
To uol Ic fortunes : know thon this, that men
Are t... the dme is : to be tender-minded 31
Does not become a sword : thy great employ¬
ment
W ill not bear question ; either say thou'lt do't.
Or thrive by other means.
Capt. I'll do't, my lord.
Earn. About it; and write happy when
thon luurt done.
Mark, I say, instantly; and carry it so
As 1 have set it down.
CapU I cannot draw a cart, nor eat dried
oats;
If it be man's work, I'll do't [Exit.
Flourish. Enter Amant, Gonebii., Rbcan,
another Captain, and Soldiers.
Alb. Sir, you have shown to-day your va¬
liant strain, 40
And fortune led you well: yon have tb«
captives
That were the opposites of this day's strife :
We do require them of you, so to use tliem
As we shall find their merits and our safety
May equally determine.
Edm. Sir, I thought it fit
To send the old and miserable king
To some retention and appointed guard ;
Whose age has charms in it, whose title more,
ITo pluck the common bosom on his side.
Ana turn our impress'd lances in our eyes 50
Which do command them. With him I sent
the queen ;
My reason all the same ; and they are ready
To-morrow, or at further si>ace, to appear
Al^ere you shall hold your session. At this
time
We sweat and bleed : the friend hath lost his
friend ;
And the best quarrels, in the heat, are cursed
By those that feel their sharpness :
Tiie question of Cordelia and her father
Requires a fitter place.
Alh. Sir, by your patience,
1 hold yon but a subject of this war, 00
Not as a brother.
Reg. That's as we listto grace him.
Methinks our pleasure might have been de¬
manded.
Ere you had spoke so far. He led our powers ;
Bore the commission of my place and person ;
The which immediacy may well stand up.
And call itself your brother.
Oon. , Not so hot:
In his own grace he doth exhalt himself.
More than in your addition.
Reg. Ill my rights.
By me invested, he compeers the best.
Gon. That were the most, if he should hus¬
band you. 70
Reg. Jesters do oft prove prophets.
Gon. Holla, holla !
That eye that told you so look'd but a-sqiiint.
Reg. Lady, I am not well; else I should
answer
From a full-flowing stomach. General,
Take thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony ;
Dispose of them, of me ; the walls are thine:
Witness the world, that I create thee here
My lord and master.
Gon. Mean you to enjoy him ?
Alb. The let-alone lies not in your good
will.
Edm. Nor in thine, lord.
Mb. IMf-blooded Mow, yes. M
sceke iii.]
KINO
LEAR,
853
Beg. [7*0 Edmund] I/et the drum strike, and,
prove my titie thine. , '
Alb. Stay yet; hear reason. Edmund, I,
arrest thee
On capital treason ; and, iu thine attaint,
This gilded serpent [pointing to Qon.]. For
your claim, fair sister,
I bar it iu the interest of my wife :
'Tis she is ^ub-contracted to this lord,
And I, her husband, contradict your bans.
If you will marry, make your loves to me,
My lady is bespoke. •
Oon. An interlude ! '
Alh. Thou art arm'd, Gloucester ; let the
trumpet sound : 90 '
If none appear to prove upon thy head
Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons.
There is my pledge [throwing down a pioi'e] ;
I'll jwove it on thy heart.
Ere I tixste bread, thou art in nothing less
Than 1 have here proclaim'd thee. -
Beg. Sick, O, sick !
Gon. Msfde] If not, I'llne'er trust medicine.
Edm. There s my exchange [throwing down
a glwe] : what in the world lie is
That names me traitor, villain-like he lies :
Call by thy trumpet: he that dares approach.
On him, on you, who not ? I will maintain 100
My truth and honor firmly,
Alh. A herald, ho !
Edm. A herald, ho, a herald !
Alb. Trust to thy single virtue ; for thy
soldiers.
All levied in my name, have in my name .
Took their discharge.
Beg. My sickness grows upon me.
Alb. She is not well ; convey her to my tent.
[Exit Began, led.
£nfer d Herald.
Come hither, herald,—Let the trumpet sound.
And read out this.
Cctpt. Sound, trumpet! [A trumpet sounds.
Her. [Beads] ' If any man of qhality or
degree within the lists of the army will main¬
tain upon Edmund, supposed Earl of Glou¬
cester, that he is a manifold traitor, let him
appear by the third sound of the trumpethe
is bold in his defence,'
Edm. Sound !' [F'irsf trumpet.
Her. Again 1 [Second trumpet.
Her. Again I ^ [Third trumpet.
[Trumjkt answers within.
Enter edoar, at the third sound, armed, with
. a trumpet before him, ■ !
Alb. Ask him his purposes, why he appears
Upon this call o' the trumpet.
Her. What are you ? 119
Your name, your quality 1 and why you answer
"This pre.sent summons ?
Edg. Know, my name is lost;
By treason's tooth bare-gnawn and canker-bit:
Yet am I noble as the adversary
I come to cope.
' Mb, Which is that adversary ?
Edg. What's he that speaks for Edmund
Earl of Gloucester 7
Edm. Himself : what say'st thou to him ?
Edg. Draw thy sword.
That, if my speech offend a noble heart.
Thy arm may do thee justice : here is mine.
Behold, it is the priviiege of mine honors.
My oath, and my profession : I protest, 1"0
Maugre thy strength, youth, place, and emi¬
nence.
Despite thy victor sword and fire-new fortune.
Thy valor and thy heart, thou art a traitor ;
False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father;
Conspirant'g.ainst this high-illustrious prince ;
And, from the extremest upward of thy head
To the descent and dust below thy foot,
A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou ' No,'
This sword, this arm, and my best spirits, are
bent
,To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak, 140
Thou liest.
Edm. In wisdom I should ask thy name ;
But, since thy outside looks sO fair and warlike.
And that thy tongue some saj'^ of breeding
breathes.
What safe and nicely I might Well delay
By rule of knighthood, I drsdain and spurn :
Back do I toss these treasons to thy head ;
With the hell-hated lieo'erwhelm thy heart ;
Which, for they yet glance by and scarcely
bruise, '
This sword of mine shall give them instant
way.
Where they shall rest for ever. Trumpets,
speak !
[Alanims. They fight. Edmund falls.
Alb. Save him, save him !
Gon. This is practice, Gloucester: 151
By the lilw Of arms thou wast not bound to an¬
swer
An unknown opposite ; thou art not van-
quish'd.
But cozen'd and beguiled.
Alb. Shut your mouth, dame,
Or with this paper shall I stop it: Hold, sir:
"Thou worse than any name, read thine own
evil:
No tearing, lady ; perceive you know it.
[Ghucs the letter to Edmund.
Gon. Say, if I do, the laws are mine, not
thine:
Who can arraign me for't.
Alb. Most monstrous I oh! 159
Know'st thou this paper 7
Gon. Ask me not what I know. [Exit.
Alb. Go after her : she's desperate ; govern
her.
Edm. What vou have charged me with,
that have 1 done ;
And more, much more ; the time will bring it
out :
'Tis past, and so am I. But what art thou '
That hast this fortune on me 7 If thou|rt
noble, , '
I do forgive th ■>e.
Edg. Let's exchange charity.
854
KING
LEAK
[Act r.
I am no less in blood than thon art, Edmnnd;
If more, the more thou hast wrou^'d me.
My name is Edgar, and thy lathers son.
The gods are just, and of our pieasant vices
Make instruments to plague us : 171
The dark and vicious place where thee he got
Cost him his eyes.
Edm. Thou hast spoken right, 'tis true ;
The wheel is come full circle : I am here.
Alh. Methought thy very gait did prophesy
A royal nobleness : 1 must embrace thee :
Let sorrow split my heart, if ever I
Did hate thee or thy father 1
Edg. Worthy prince, I know't.
Alb. Wliere have you hid yourself 7
How have you known, the miseries of your
father ? 180
Edg. By nursing them, my lord. List a
brief tale ;
And when 'tis told, O, that my heart would
burst 1
The bloody proclamation to escape.
That foliow'd me so near,—0, our lives' sweet¬
ness 1
That we the pain of death would hourly die
Rather than die at once !—taught me to shift
Into a madman's r.a^s ; to assume a semblance
That very dogs disdain'd; and in this 'uibit
Met! my father with his bleeding rings.
Their precious stones new lost: became his
guide, 190
Led him, begg'd for him, saved him from de¬
spair ;
Never,—O fault!—reveal'd myself unto him.
Until some half-hour past, when 1 was arm'd:
Not sure, though hoping, of this good success,
I ask'd his ble.ssing, and from first to last
Told him my pilgrimage; but his llaw'd
heart.
Alack, too weak the conflict to support !
'Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief.
Burst smilingly.
Edm. This speech of yours hath moved
me, ■
And shall perchance do good : but speak you
on; 200
You look as you had something more to say.
Alb. If there be more, more woeful, hold
it in ;
For 1 am almost ready to dissolve.
Hearing of this.
Edg. This would have seem'd a period
To such as love not sorrow ; but another.
To amplify too much, would make much more.
And top extremity.
Whilst 1 was big in clamor came there in a
man,
Who, having seen me in my worst estate,
Shuim'd my abhorr'd society ; but then, find¬
ing 210
Who 'twas that so endured, with his strong
arms
He fastened on my neck, and bellow'd out
As he'id burst heaven ; threw him on my fa¬
ther ;■
Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him
That ever ear received: which in recounting
His grief grew puissant and the strings of life
Began to crack: twice then the trumpets
sounded.
And there I left him tranced.
Alb. But who was this 7_
Edg. Kent, sir, the banish'd Kent; who in
disguise
Foliow'd his enemy king, and did him ser¬
vice 220
Improper for a slave.
Enter a Gentleman, voith a bloody knife.
Gent. Help, help, O, help I
Edg. What kind of help ?
Alb. Speak, man.
Edg. What means that bloody knife ?
Gent. 'Tis hot, it smokes ;
It came even from the heart of—O, she's
dead :
Alb. Who dead ? speak, man.
Gent. Your lady, sir, your lady: and her
sister
By her is poisoned ; she hath confess'd it.
Edm. I was contracted to them both : .all
three
Now marry in an instant.
Edg. Here comes Kent
Alb. Produce their bodies, be they alive or
dead: 230
This judgment of the heavens, that makes us
tremble.
Touches us not with pity. [Exit Gentleman.
Enter Kent.
O, is this he ?
The time will not allow the compliment
Wliich very manners urges.
Kent. 1 am come
To bid my king and master aye good night:
Is he not here ?
Alh. Great thing of us forgot!
Speak, Edmund,, where's the king ? and
. Where's Cordelia 7
See'st thou this object, Kent ?
[The bodies of Goneril and Regan are brought
in.
Kent. Alack, why thus ?
Edm.. Yet Edmund was beloved:
The one the other poison'd for my sake, 240
And after slew herself.
Alb. Even so. Cover their faces.
Edm. 1 pant for life : some good I mean to
do.
Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send.
Be brief in it, to the castle ; for my writ
Is on the life of Lear and on Cordelia :
Nay, send in time.
Alb. Run, run, O, run !
Edg. To who, my lord ? Who hath the
office? send
Thy token of reprieve.
Edm. Well thought on: take my sword, 250
Give it the captain.
Alb. Haste thee, for thy life. [Exit Edgar.
Edm. He hath commission from thy wife
and me
iCENE III.]
KING
LEAR
S56
To hang C(»delia in the prison, and
To lay tlie blame upon her own despulr,
That she fordid herself.
Alh. The gods defend her 1 Bear him hence
awhile. [Edmund is home off.
Se-enter Leak, with Cobdeeia dead in his
arms; Edoab, Captain, and others fol¬
lowing.
Lear. Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are
men of stones :
Had I your tongues and eyes, I'ld use then! so
That heaven's vault should crack. She's gone
lor ever !
I know when one Is dead, and when one lives;
She's dead as earth. Lend me a looking-
glass ; 261
If that her breath will mist or stain the stone.
Why, then she lives.
Kent. Is this the promised end 7
Edg, Or image of that horror 7
Alb. Fall, and cease!
Lear. This feather stirs : she lives ! if it
he so.
It Is a chance which does redeem all sorrows
That ever I have felt.
Kent. [Kneeling'] O my good master !
Lear. Prithee, away.
Edg. "lis noble Kent, your friend.
Lear. A plague upon you, murderers, trai¬
tors all!
I might have saved her ; now she's gone for
ever! 270
Cordelia, Cordelia ! stay a little. Ha !
What is't thou say'st ? Her voice was ever
soft.
Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman.
I kill'd the slave that was a-hanging thee.
Capt. 'Tis true, my lords, he did.
Lear. Did I not, fellow 7
I have seen the day, with my good biting fal¬
chion
I would have made them skip : I am old now.
And these same crosses spoil me. Who are
you?
Mine eyes are not o' the best : I'll tell you
straight.
Kent, if fortune brag of two she loved and
hated, 280
One of them we behold.
Lear. This is a dull sight Are you not
Kent 7
Kent. The same.
Your servant Keut. Where Is your servant
Caius 7
Lear. He's a good fellow, I can tell you
that;
He'll strike, and quickly too : he's dead and
rotten. [man,—
Kent. No, my good lord ; I am the very
Lear. I'll see that straight.
Kent. That, from your fli^ of difference
and decay,
Have foUow'd your sad steps.
Lear. You are welcome hither.
> Kent. Nor no man else: all's cheerless,
' dark, and deadl}'. 290
Your eldest daughters have fordone them¬
selves.
And desperately are dead.
Lear. Ay, so I think.
Alh. He knows not what he says : and va:r.
it is
That we present us to him.
Edg. Very bootless.
Enter d Captain.
Capt, Edmund is dead, my lord.
Alb. ■ That's but a trifle here.
You lords and noble friends, know our intent.
What comfort to this great decav may come
Shall be applied : for us, we will resign.
During the life of this old majesty.
To him our absolute power: [To Edgar an&
Kent] you, to your rights : 300
With boot, and such addition as your honors
Have more than merited. All friends sliall
taste
The wages of their virtue, and all foes
The cup of their deservings. O, see, see !
Lear. And my poor fool is hang'd ! No,
no, no life !
Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life.
And thou no breath at all 7 Thou'lt come no
more.
Never, never, never, never, never !
Pray you, undo this button : thank you, sir.
Do you see this 7 Look on her, look, her li^rs.
Look there, look there ! [Dies. 311
Edg. He faints ! My lord, my lord !
Kent. Break, heart; I prithee, hreak !
Edg. Look up, my lord.
Kent. Vex not his gho.st: O, let him pass!
he hates him much
That would upon the rack of this tough
world
Stretch him out longer.
Edg. He is gone, indeed.
Kent. The wonder is, he hath endured so
long:
He but usurp'd his life.
Alb. Bear them from hence. Our present
business
Is general woe. [To Kent and Edgar] Friends
of my soul, yon twain 319
Rule in this realm, and the gored state sustain.
Kent. I have a journey, sir, shortly to go ;
My master calls me, I miist not say no.
Alb. The weight of this sad time we must
obey ;
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.
The oldest hath borne most: we that are
young
Shall never see so much, nor live so long.
[Exeunt, with a dead march.
MACBETH.
fWRITTElf ABOUT 1606.^
INTRODUCTION.
Macbeth was seen acted by Dr. Formaii—who gives a detailed sketch Of the play—on April J»,
1610; but the characteristics of versihcation forbid us to place it after Pericles and Antomy and
Cleopatra, or very near The Tempest. Upon the whole, the internal evidence supports the opinion
of Malone, that the play was written about 1606. The materials for his play Shakespeare found In
Holinshed's Chronicle, connecting the portion which treats of Diuican and Macbeth with Uolinshed's
account of the murder of ICiug Dnlle by Doivwald. The appearance of Bauquo's ghost and the sleep¬
walking of Lady Macbeth appeav to be inventions of the dramatist. The Cambndge editors, Messrs.
Clark aud'fright, are of opinion ihsA Macbeth was interpolated with passages by Middletoh, but'
this theory is in a high degree doubtful. While in Hamlet and others of Shakespeare's plays we feel
that Shakespeare rehiied upon or brooded over his thoughts, Macbeth seems as if struck out at a heat
and imagined from first to last with unabated fervor. It is like a sketch by a great master in which
every tblng is executed with rapidity and power, and a subtlety of workmanship which has become
instinctlTe. Tlie theme of the drama is the gradual ruin through yielding to evil within and evil
without, of a man, who, though from the first tainted by base and ambitious thoughts, yet possessed
elements in his nature of possible honor and loyalty. The contrast between Macbeth and Lady
Macbeth, united by their auecUons, their fortunes and their crime, is made to illustrate and light up
the character of each. Macbeth has physical courage, but moral weakness, and is subject to excited
imaginative fears. His faint and Intermittent loyalty embarrasses him—he would have the gains of
crime without its pains. But when once his hands are dyed with blood, he hardly cares to with¬
draw them, and the same fears which had tended to hold him back from murder now urge him on to
double and treble minders until slaughter, almost reckless, becomes the habit of his reign. At last
the gallant soldier of tlie opening of &e play fights for his life with a wild and brute-like force. His
whole existence has become joyless and loveless, and yet he clings to existence. Lady Macbeth is of
a finer and more delicate nature. Having teed her eye upon an end—the attainment for her hus¬
band of Duncan's crown—she accepts the inevitable means; she nerves herself for the terrible
night's work by artificial stimulants; yet she cannot strike the sleeping king who resembles her
father. Having sustained her weaker husband, her own strength gives way ; and in sleep, when her
will cannot control her thoughts, she is piteously afflicted by the memory of one stain of blood upon ,
her little band. At last her thread of life snaps suddenly. Macbeth, whose affection for her was
real, has smik too far in the apathy of joyless crime to feel deeply her loss. Banquo, the loyal
soldier, praying for restraint against evil thoughts which enter his mind as they had entered Mac-
beth's, but which work no evil there. Is sat over against Macbeth, as virtue is set over against dis¬
loyalty. The witches are the supernatural beings of terror, in harmony with Shakespeare's tragic
period, as the fairies of the Midsummer Night's Dream are the supernatural beings of his days of
fancy and frolic, and as Ariel Is the snpernatural genitis of his latest period. There is at once a
grossness, a horrible reality about the witifiies, and a mystery and grandeur of evil influence.
DRAMATIS
DtntCAit, king of Scotland.
Malcolm, T
Donalbain, )
Banqu™' } jfing's
Macdcfp, 1
Lennox, |
Menpeith, ["oblemenof ScoUand.
Angus,
Caithness, j
Fleance, sou to Banquo.
SnvABD, Earl of Northumberland, general of
the English forces.
Young SiWAKD, his son.
Seyton, an officer attending on Macbeth.
Boy, son to Macduff.
PERSON.®.
An English Doctor.
A Scotch Doctor.
A Soldier.
A Porter.
An Old Man
Lady Macbeth.
Ladt Macduff.
Gentlewoman attending on Lady Macbetti.
Hecate.
Three Witches.
Apparitions.
Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murdeze
ers, Attendants, and Messengers.'
Scene: Scotland; England.
SCEKE UI.]
MACBETH.
857
ACT I. ' -
SchSnb L ' A desert place.
Thunder and lightning. Enter three AjVitches.
First Witch. When shall we three meet
again '
In thunder, lightning, or in rain 7 ■'
jS'ec. Witch. When the hnrlyhurly's done.
When the battle's lost and won.
Third WUch. That will be ere the set of
sun.
First Witch. Where the place 7
Sec. Witch. Upon the heath.
TJiird Witch. There to meet with Macbeth.
First Witch. I come, Graymalkin !
Sec. Witch. Paddock calls.
Third Witch. Anon. 10
All. Fair is fonl, and fonl is fair :
Hover through the fog and filthy air.
[Eiteunt.
Scene II. A camp near Forres,
Alarum within. Enter Duncan, MAnconM,
Donalbain, Lennox, with Attendants,
meeting a bleeding Sergeant.
Dun. What bloody man is that 7 He can
report.
As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt
The newest state.
Mai. This is the sergeant
Who like a good and liai-dy soldier fought
'Gainst my captivity. Hail, brave friend !
Say to the king the knowledge of the broil
As thou didst leave it.
Ser. Doubtful it stood ;
As two spent swimmers, that do cling together
And choke their art. The merciless Macdon-
wald—
Worthy to be a rebel, for to that 10
The multiplying viLlanies of nature
Do swarm upon him—from the western isles
Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied ;
And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling,
Show'd like a rebel's whore : but all's too
weak ; r'
For brave Macbeth—well he deserves that
name—
Di.sdaining fortiine, with his brandlsh'd steel.
Which smoked With bloody execution.
Like valor's minion carved out his passage
Till he faced thie slave ; 20
tWhich ne'er s;hook hands, nor bade farewell-
to him.
Till he unseain'd him from, the nave to. tlie
chaps, i
And fix'd hhs head upon our battlements.
Dun. C^-aliant cousin! wortliy gentleman!
Ser. A g whence the sun 'gins his reflection
ShipmecUing storms and direful thunders
brehk.
So from/that spring whenc# comfort seem d,
to (OTme
Digcomfot't swells. Mark, king of Scotland,
maVrk:, ., , ,
No sooner justice had with valor'arm'd
Cotnpell'd these skipping kerns to' trust their
heels, 30
But the Norweyan lord surveying vantage.
With furbish'd arms and new supplies of men
Began a fresh assanlt.
puh. Dismay'd nm this , ,
Cur captains, Macbeth and BanquO 7
Ser. Yes;
, As sparrows eagles, ot the hare the lion.
' If I say sooth, 1 must reimrt they were
As cannons overcharged with double cracks,
so they
Doubly redoubled-strokes upon the foe:
Except tliey meant to bathe in reeking wounds,
Or memorize another Golgotha,' 40
I canuot tell.
But I am faint, my gashes cry for help.
Dun. So well thy words become thee ag
thy wounds;
They smack of honor both. Go get him sur¬
geons. lExit Sergeant, attended.
Who comes here ?
Enter Ross.
Mai. The worthy thane of RoSs,
Len. What a haste-looks through his eyes!
So should he look
That seems to speak things strange.
Ross. God save the king'l
, Dun. Whence earnest thou. Worthy thane 7
Ross. From Fife, great king
. Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky
And fan our people cold. Norway himself, 50
With terrible numbers.
Assisted by that most disloyal traitor
The thane of Cawdor, began a dismal.conflict;
Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof.
Confronted him with self-comparisons, '
Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm.
Curbing his lavish spirit : and, to conclude,'
The victory fell on ns.
Dun. Great happiness !
Ross. That now
Sweno, the Norway s' king, craves composition;
, Nor would we deign him burial of his men 60
Till he disbursed at Saint Colme's inch
Ten thousand dollars to our general use.
Dun. No more that thane of Cawdor shall
deceive •
Our bosom interest: go pronounce his present
death.
And with his fonuer title greet Macbeth.
Ross. I'll see it done.
Dun. What he hath lost noble Macbeth
hath won. ■, '[Exe\mt.
Scene III. A heath near Forres. .
Thunder. Enter the three Witches,
First Witch. Where hast thoi: been, sister 7
Sec. Witch. Killing swine.
Third Witch. Sister, where thou 7
First Wiich. A sailor's wife had chestnuts,
, in her lap,
' And mnnch'd, and munch'd, andmuhQh'd :—
'Give me,' quoth I:
868
MACBETH.
[Act f.
' Aroint thee, witch t' the rump-fed ronyon
cries.
Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' tho
Tiger:
Biit in a sieve I'll thither sail,
And, like a rat without a tail,
I'il do, I'il do, and I'll do. 10
See. Witch. I'll give thee a wind.
First Witch. Thou'rtkind.
Third Witch. And 1 another.
First Witch. 1 myself have ail the other.
And the very ports they blow.
All the (]^uarters that they know
r the shipman's card.
1 will drain him dry as hay :
Sieep shali neither night nor day
Hang upon his pent-house lid ; 20
He shall live & man forbid :
Weary se'nnights nine times nine
Shall he ±vindle, peak and pine :
Though his bark cannot be lost.
Yet it shali lie tempest-tost.
Look what 1 have.
Sec. Witch. Show me, show me.
First Witch. -Here 1 have a pilot's thumb,
Wreck'd as homeward he did come.
[Brum within.
Third Witch. A drum, a drum ! 30
Macbeth doth come.
All. The weird sisters, hand in hand,
Posters of the sea and land.
Thus do go about, about:
Thrice to thine and thrice to mine
And thrice again, to make up nine.
Peace ' the charm's wound up.
Enter Macbeth ami II vkquo.
Macb. So foul and fair a day 1 have not
seen.
Ban. How far is't call'd to Forres ? What
are these
So wither'd and so wild in their attire, 40
That look not like the inhabitants o' tiie eartli.
And yet are on't? Live you ? or are you aught
Tiiat man may question ? You seem to under¬
stand me.
By each at once her chappy Anger laying
Upon her skinny lips : you should be women.
And yet your beards forbid me to interpret
That you are so.
Mach. Speak, if you can : what are you ?
First Witch. All hail, Macbeth I hail to
thee, thane of Glamis !
Sec. Witch. All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee,
thane of Cawdor !
Third Witch. All hail, Macbeth, thou shalt
be king hereafter ! 60
Ban. sir, whv do vou start; and seem
That he seems rapt withal: to me you speak
not. ;
If you can look into the seeds of time.
And say which grain will grow and which will
not.
Speak tlieu to me, who neither beg nor fear 60
Your favors nor your hate.
First Witch. Hail!
Sec. Witch. Hail !
Third Witch. Hail!
First Witch. Lesser Qian Macbeth, and
greater.
Sec. Witch. Not so happy, yet much hap¬
pier.
Third Witch. Thnn alialt pt kings, though
thfTii hif yinilf •
So'Sn hail, Macbeth and Banquo !
First Wiich. Banquo and Macbeth, all hail!
Macb. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell
me more; 70
By Sinel's death I know 1 am thane of Glamis;
But how of Cawdor ? tiie thane of Cawdor
lives,
A prospei'ons gentleman ; and to be king
Stands not within tlie prospect of belief.
No more than to be Cawdo^. Say from whence
You owe this strange intelligence ? or why
Upon this blasted heath you stop our way
With such proplietic greeting ? Speak, 1 charge
yon. [ Witchi-s vanish.
Ban. The earth hatli bubbles, as the water
has.
And these are of them. Whither are they van-
ish'd ? ' 80
Macb. Into the air; and what seem'd cor¬
poral melted ;
As breath into the wind. Would they had
stay'd ! •
Ban. Wei-e such things jliere as we do speak
about ? I
Or have we eaten on the inWie root
That takes the reason prisoner ?
Macb. Your children shall be kings.
Ban. Yoii shall be king.
Macb. And thane of Cawdor too : went it
not so ? (
Ban. To the selfsame tulue and words.
Who's here ? I
. Enter Ross and ANffics.
Boss. The king hath happily! received, Mac¬
beth, I
The news of thy success ; and when he reads
Thy personal venture in the reWels' fight, 91
His wonders and his praises do A^ontend
Which should be thine or his: jsiienced with
thaL i
In viewing o'er the rest o' the self^me day.
He finds thee in the stout Norweya^ ranks.
Nothing afeard of what thyself didst t make.
Strange images of death. .\s thick s\s hail
Came post with post; and every one i did hear
Thy praises in his kingdom's great detfence.
And pour'd them down before him. o
Ang. We are' sent 100
To give thee from our royal master t:|4>anks ;
Scene iv.]
MACBETH.
869
Only to herald thee into his sight,
Not pay thee.
Boss. And, for an earnest of a greater
honor, ^
He bade me, from him, call thee thane of
Cawdor:
In which addition, hail, most worthy thane !
For it is thine.
Ban. What, can the devil speak true ?
Mueb. The thane of Cawdor lives : why do
you dress me
In borrow'd robes ?
Ang. Who was the thane lives yet;
But under heavy judgment bears that life 110
Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was
combined
With those of Norway, or did line the rebel
With hidden help and vantage, or that with
both
He labor'd in his cotmtry's wreck, I know not;
But treasons capital, confess'd and proved.
Have overthrown him.
3fac^ Glamis, and thane of Caw-
The greatest is behind. {To Ross and Angus\
Thanks for your pains.
[To Ban.] Do you not hope your children
shall be kings.
When those that gave the thane of Cawdor
to me
Promised no less to them ?
Ban. That trusted home 120
Might yet erkindle you ontoJ^ crown,
Besides the thane ofCawdor/But 'tis strange:
And oftentimes, to win us toVur harm,
TheTuiitn"'mms "tdm"
Win us wiflihonest tri
id
As happy prologues to the swelling act
Of th^mperial theme.—I thank you, gentle¬
men.
[Aiiide] This supernatural soliciting
Cannot be ill, cannot be good : if ill,
Why hath it given me earnest of success.
Commencing in a truth ? I am thane of Caw¬
dor ;
If good, wh^ do I yield to that suggestion
Whose horrid imt^e doth unfix my hair
And make my seated heart knock at my ribs,
.4gainst the use of nature ? Present fears
Are less than horrible imaginiugs :
My thought, whose murder yet is but fantas¬
tical.
Shakes so my single state of man that functicnr-
Is smuther'd in surmise, and nothing is 141
But what is not.
Ban. Look, how our partner's rapt.
Maob. [.Aiide] If chance will have me king,
l^wo truths are told.
why, chance may crown me! sF"
Witbant^ni^ -X
Ban. New honors come upon hinr,
lake our strange garments, cleave not to their
mould
But with the aid of use.
Macb. [Aside] Come wliat come may.
Time and the hour runs through the roughest
day.
Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your
leisure.
Macb. Give me your favor : my dull brain
was wrought
With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your
pains 150
Are register'd where every day I turn
The leaf to read them. Let us toward the
king.
Think upon what hath chanced, and, at more
time.
The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak
Our free hearts each to other.
Ban. Very gladly.
Macb. Till then, enough. Come, frfeuds.
[Exeunt.
Scene IV. Forres. The palace.
Flourish. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donal-
bain, Lennox, arid Attendants.
Dun. Is execution done on Cawdor ? Are
not
Those in commission yet return'd ?
Mai. My liege.
They are not yet come back. But 1 have spoke
With one tliat saw him die : who did report
That very frankly he confess'd his treasons.
Implored your highness' pardon and set forth
A deep repentance: nothing in his life
Became him like the leaving it; he died
As one that had been studied in his death
To throw away the dearest thing he owed, 10
As 'twere a careless trifle.
Dun. There's no art
To find the mind's construction in the face :
He was a gentleman on whom I built
An absolute trust.
Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Ross, and Angus.
■O worthiest cousin !
The sin of my ingratitude even now
Was heavy on me : thou art so far before
That swiftest wing of recompense is slow
To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less de¬
served,
That the proportion both of thanks and pay¬
ment 19
Might have been mine! only I have left to say.
More is thy due than more than all can pay.
Macb. 'fhe sendee and the loyalty I owe.
In doing it, pays itself. Tour highness' part
Is to receive our duties ; and our duties
Are to your throne and state children and
servants.
Which do but what they should, by doing
every thing
Safe toward your love and honor.
Dun. Welcome hither :
I have begun to plant thee, and will labor
To make thee full of growing. Noble Ban-
quo,
That hast no less deserved, nor must be
known Jl
860
MACBETH.
[Act*
No less tq hav;e done so, let me infold thee
And hold tliee to my heart.
Dan. There if I grow,
The harvest is your own.
Dun. My plenteous joys.
Wanton in fulness, seek to liide themselves
in drops of sorrow. Sons, kinsmen, thanes.
And you whose places are the nearest, know
We will establish our estate upon
Our eldest, Malcolm, whom we name here¬
after
The Prince of Cumberland ; which honor
must
Not unaccompanied invest him only, 40
But signs of uobleuess, like stars, shall shine
On all deservers. From hence to Inverness,
And bind us further to you.
ifocb. Tim rest is labor, which is not used
for you :
I'll be myself the harbinger and make joyful
The hearing of my wife with your approach ;
So humbly take my leave.
Dun. My worthy Cawdor !
Mach. [Aside] The Prince of Cumberland !
that is a step
On which I must fall <^vn, or else o'erleap.
For in ray way it lies. V^rs, hide your fires ; | '
Let not light see my bla® and deep desires ; 7
The eye wink at the hand ; yet let that be, ^ i
Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.
[Exit.
Dun. True, worthy Banquo ; he is full so
valiant.
And in his commendations I am fed ;
It is a banquet to me. Let's after him,
Wliose care is gone before to bid us welcome:
It is a peerless kinsman. [Flourish. Exeunt.
Scene V. Inverness. Macbeth's castle.'
Enter Ladv Macbeth, reading a letter..
Lady M. ' They met me hi the day of suc¬
cess : and I have learned by the perfectest re¬
port, they have more m them than mortal
knowledge. Wlien I burned in desire to ques¬
tion them further, they made themselves air,
into which they vanished. Whiles I stood
rapt in the wonder of it, came missives from
the king, who all-hailed me " Thane of Caw-
der ;" by which title, before, tlie.<ie weird sis¬
ters saluted me, and referred me to the com¬
ing on of time, with " Hail, king that shalt
be I" This have I thought good to deliver
thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that
thou mightst not lose the dues of rejoicing, by
being ignorant of what greatness is promised
thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell.'
Glamis thou art, and Cawdor ; and shalt be
What thou art promised : yetdo^JJeaxjUiy
C' Mature;
It is too fuir? the milk of human kindness
To catch the nearest way : thou wouldst be
great;
Art not without ambition, but without 20
l^e illness should attend it: what thou
wouldst highly/^
That wouldst thou.holily ; wouldst' not play
false.
And yet wouldst wrongly win; thou'ldst
have, great Glamis,
That which cries ' Thus thou mitst do, if thOii
have it;
And that which rather fiiOu dost fear to do
Than wishest should be undone;' Hie thee
hither, ■
That I may pour my spirits in thine ear ;l
And chastise with the valor of my tongue
All that impedes thee from the golden round.
Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem 30
To have thee crown'd withal.
Enter a Messenger;
What is your tidings ?
Mess. The king comes here to-night.
Lady M. Thou'rt mad to say it;
Is not thy master with him ? who, were't so,'
Would have inform'd for preparation.
Mess. So please you, it is true: our thane
is coming:
One of my fellows had the speed of him.
Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely
more
pTlmn would make up his message.
Lady M. Give him tending ;
He brings great news. [Exit Messenger.
The raven himself is hoarse
Thiit croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 40
Under my battlements. Come, you spirits
■That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex meherej
And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full
Of direst cruelty ! make thick my blood ;■
Stop up the access and passage to remorse.
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell puiwse, nor keep peace be¬
tween
The effect and it ! Come to my woman's
breiists.
And take my milk for gall, you murdering
ministers.
Wherever in your sightless substances 50
You wait ou Jiature's mischief ! Come, thick
night.
And xiall thee in tlie dunne.st smoke of hell.
That my keen knife see not the wound it
makes.
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of th«.
To cry ' Hold, hold !'
Enter MACBETir.
Great Glamis ! worthy Cawdor !
Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter 1
Thy letters have trausimrted me beyond
This ignorant ])resent, aud I feel now
Tlie future in the in.stant.
Mach. My dearest love,
Duncan comes here to-night.
Lady M. Aud when goes hence 7 60
Mach. To-inorrow, as he purposes.
Lady M. O, neVej
Shall sun that morrow see !
Your face, my thane, is as a book where menl
SCEMS Vll.]
MACBETH.
861
May read strange matters. To beguile the
time,
Look like the time ; bear welcome iu your
eye.
Your hand, your tongue : look like the inno-
' cent flower.
But be the serpent uiider't. He that's coming
Must be provided for : aud you shall put
This night's great business into my dispatch ;
Which shall to all our nights and days to
come , 70
Give solely sovereign sway aud masterdom.
Macb. We will speak further.
Lady M. Only look up clear ;
To alter favor ever is to fear :
Leave all the rest to me. [Exeant.
Scene VI. Before Mach^.th's castle.
Hautboys and torches. Enter Duncan, Mal-
coiM, Donalbain, Banquo, Lennox,
Macduff, Ross, Angus, and Attendants.
Dun. This castle hath a pleasant seat; the
air
Nimbly and swieetly recommends itself
Unto our gentle senses.
Ban. This guest of summer,
The temple-hauutii^; martlet, does approve,
By his loved mansionry, that the heaven's
breath
Smells wooingly here : no jutty, frieze, ■
Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird
Hath made his pendent bed aud procreaut
cradle:
Where they most breed aud haunt, I have
observed,
Tlie airis delicate.
Enter Ladv Macbeth.
Dun. See, see, our hoiior'd hostess ! 10
The love that follows us sometime is our
trouble.
Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach
you
How you shall bid God 'ild us for your pains.
And thank us for your trouble.
Lady M. All our service
In every point twice done and then done
double '
Were jroor and single business to contend
Against those honors deep and broad where¬
with
Your majesty loads our house; for those of
old,
And the late dignities heap'd up to them, '
We rest your hermits.
Dun. Where's the thane of Cawdor ? 20
We coursed him at the heels, and had a pur¬
pose
To be his purveyor: but he rides well ;
And his great love, sharp 4is his spur, h,ath
holp him
To his home before us. Fair and noble hos-
We are your guest to-night.
Lady M.
Your servants ever
Have tiieirs, themselves and what is theirs, in
compt.
To make their audit at your highness' pleas¬
ure,
Still to return your own.
Dun. Give me your hand ;
Conduct me to mine host; we love him
higlily,
And shall continue our graces towards him.
By your leiive, hostes.s. [Exeunt. ;il
Scene VII. Macbeth's castle.
Hautboys and torches. Enter a Sewer, and
divers Servants with dishes and service, and
pass over the staye. Then enter Macbeth.
Macb. If it were done when 'tis done, then
'twere well
It were done quicklv : if the assassination
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch
With his surcease success ; that but this blow
Might be the be-all and the end-all here.
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,
We'ld jump the life to come. But in these
cases
\Y^ still have judgment here that we but
teach
iBloody instructions, which, being taught, re-
turn
To plague the inventor : this, even-handed
justice 10
Commends the ingredients of our poison'd
chalice
To our own liiwj He's here in double trust;
First, as I am TTk kinsman and his subject.
Strong both against the deed ; then, as his
host,
AVho should against his murderer shut the
door, f—^
Not bear the knife myself.j Besides, this
Duncan
Hath borne his faculties so meek, liath been
So clear in his great officejithat his virtues
Will plead like angelsf7trumpet-tongued,
against /
The deep damnation of Ills'taking-off ; ' 20
And pity, like a naked new-born babe.
Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim,
horsed
Upon the sightless couriers of tlie air.
Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye,
That tears shall drown the wind. I have no
spur
To prick the sides of my intent, but only
Vaultiiyg ambition, which o'erleaps itself
And falls on the other.
Enter Lady Macbeth. >
How now ! what news t
Lady M. He has almost supp'd : why have
you left the ehara ber ?
Macb. Hath he ask'd for me ?
Lady M. Know you not he has ? 30
Macb. We will proceed no furtlier in thia
business :
He hath honor'd me bt late ; and I have
bought ' ' '■
662
MACBETH.
[Act n-
Golden opinions from all sorts of people,
Which would be worn now in tneir newest
Not cast aside so soon.
Lady M. Was the hope drunk
Wherein you dress'd yourself ? hath it slept
since ?
And wakes it now, to look so green and pale
At what it did so freely ? From this time
Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard
To be the same in thine own act and valor 40
As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have
that
' Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life.
And live a coward in thine own esteem.
Letting ' 1 dare not' wait uix>n ' 1 would,'
' Like the poor cat i' the adage ?
y Macb. Prithee, peace :
\ I dare do all that may become a man ;
Y^Vho dares do more is none.
Lady M. Wliat beast was't, then,
Tliat made you break this enterprise to me ?
When you durst do it, then you were a m.,u ;
And, to be more tliau what you were, you
would 50
Be so much more the man. Nor time nor
place
Did then adhere, and yet you would make
both :
They have made themselves, and ihat their
fitness now
Does unmake you. I have given suck, and
know
How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks
me :
I would, while it was smiling in my face.
Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless
gums,
And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as
you
Have done to this.
Macb, If we should fail 7
Lady M. We fail !
But screw your courage to the sticking-place.
And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep—
Whereto the rather shall his day's hard jour¬
ney
Soundly mvite him—his two chamberlains
Will I with wine and wassail so convince
That memory, the warder of the brain.
Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason
A limbeck only : when in swinish sleep
Their drenched natures lie as in a death.
What cannot you .and I perform upon
The unguarded Duncan ? what irot put upon 70
His spongy officers, who shall bear the guilt
Of our great quell ?
Macb. Bruig forth men-children only ;
For thy undaunted mettle should compose
Nothing but males. Will it not be received.
When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy
two
Of his own chamberand used tlreir very dag¬
gers,
That they have done't ?
Lady IL Who dares receive it other,
As we shall make our griefs and clamor roar
Upon his death ?
Macb. I am settled, and bend up
Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. 80
Away, and mock the time with fairest show :
False face must hide what the false heart doth
' know. [Exeurd.
ACTH.
Scene I. Court of Macbeth's caetle.
Enter Bamquo, and Fleance bearing a torch
before him.
Ban. How goes the night, boy ?
Fie. The moon is down ; I have not heard
the clock.*
Ban. And she goes down at twelve.
Fie. I take't, 'tis later, sir.
Ban. Hold, take my sword. There's hus¬
bandry in heaven ;
Their candles are all out. Take thee that too.
A heavy summons lies like lead uimn me.
And yet I would not sleep : merciful imwers,
Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature
Gives way to in repose!
Enter Macbeth, and a Servant with a torch.
Give me my sword.
Who's there ? 10
Macb. A friend.
Ban. What, sir, notyet at rest ? The king's
a-bed :
He hath been m unusual pleasure, and
Sent forth great largess to your offices.
This diamond he greets your wife withal.
By the name of most kind hostess ; and shut
up
In measureless content.
Macb. Being unprepared,
Our will became the servant to defect;
Which else should free have wrought
Ban. All's well.
I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters :
To you they have show'd some truth. 21
Macb. I tiiink not pf them :
Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve.
We would spend it in some words upon that
business.
If you would grant the time.
Ban. At your kind'st leisnre.
Macb. If you shall cleave to my consent,
when 'tis.
It shail make honor for you.
Ban. So I lose none
In seeking to augment it, but stili keep
My bosom francbised and allegiance clear,
I shall be counsell'd.
Macb. Good repose the wliile!
Ban. Thanks, sir : the like to you ! 30
\Exeunl Banquo and Fleance.
Macb. Go bid thy mistress, when my drink
is ready.
She strike upon the belL • Get thee to lied.
\,Exit BertnaU,
Scene ii.]
Is tbis a dagger trhich I see before me,
Tbe baudle toward my band ? Come, let me
clutcb thee.
1 have thee nut, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling as to sight ? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind, a false creation.
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain ?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable 40
As tills which now I draw.
Thou marshall'stme the way that I was going;
And such an instrument I was to use.
Mine eyes are made the fools o' tlie other
senses.
Or else worth all the rest; I see thee still.
And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood.
Which was not so before. There's no such
thing ;
It is the bloody business which informs
Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one half-
world >
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
The curtaiu'd sleep; witchcraft celebrates SI
Pale Hecate's offerings, and wither'd murder,
Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf.
Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy
^ce.
With 'Tar^uin's ravishing strides, towards his
design
Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set
earth.
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for
fear
Thy very stones prate of my whereabout.
And take the present horror from the time,
Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he
lives: 60
Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath
gives. [A bell rings.
1 go, and it is done ; the bell invites me.
Hear it not, Duncan ; for it is a knell
That summons thee to heaven or to hell.
[Exit.
Scene H. The same.
Enter Ladv Macbeth.
Lady M. That which hath made them
drunk hath made me bold ;
What hath quench'd them hath given me fire.
Hark ! Peace !
Itwastheowlthatshriek'd, the fatal bellman,
Which gives the stern'st good-night. He is
about it:
Tlie doors are open ; and the surfeited grooms
Do mock their charge with snores : I Iiave
drugg'd their possets.
That death and nature do contend about them.
Whether they live or die.
Macb. [Within\ Who's there ? what, ho! 9
Lady M. Alack, I atf afraid they have
awaked.
And 'tis not done. The attempt and not tbe
deed
Confounds ua Hark! I laid their daggers
ready;
86-8
He could not miss 'em. Had he not lesem-
bled
My father as he slept, I had done't.
Enter Macbeth.
My husband 1
Macb. I have done the deed. Didst thou
not hear a noise ?
Lady M. I heard the owl scream and the
crickets cry.
Did not you speak ?
Macb. When ?
Lady M. Now.
Macb. As I descended ?
Lady M. Ay.
Macb. Hark!
Who lies i' the second chamber ?
Lady M. Doualbaiu. 20
Macb. This is a sorry sight.
[Looking on his hands.
Lady M. A foolish thought, to say a sorry
sight.
Macb. There's one did laugh in's sleep, and
one cried ' Murder I'
That they did wake each othei : I stood and
heard them :
But they did say their prayers, and address'd
them
Again to sleep.
"Lady M. "There are two lodged together.
Macb. One cried ' God bless us !' and
'AmSn' the other ;
As they had seen oe with tliese hangman's
hands.
Listening their fear, I could not say ' Amen,'
When they did say ' God bless us !'
Lady M. Consider it not so deeply. 30
Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce
'Amen' ?
I had most need of blessing, and ' Amen'
Stuck in my throat.
Lady M. These deeds must not be thought
After these ways ; so, it will make us mad.
Macb. Methonght I heard a voice cry
' Sleep no more !
Macbeth does murder sleep', the innocent
sleep.
Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care.
The death of each day's life, sore labor's
bath.
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second
course.
Chief nourisher in life's feast,—
Lady M. What do you mean 7
Macb. Still it cried ' Sleep no more !' to all
the house : 41
' Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore
Cawdor [more.'
Shall sleep no more ; Macbeth shall sleep no
Lady M. Who was it that thus cried ? Why,
worthy thane.
Yon do unbend your noble strength, to think
So brainsickly of things. Go get some water.
And wash this filthy witness from your hand.
Why did you bring these daggers from the
place 7
MACBETH.
J'lii
They must lie tliere : go curry them ; and
smear
The sleepy grooms with blood. ' '
Macb. I'll go no.more : 50
I am afraid to think whatl have done ;
Look ou't again I dare not.
• Ladp if. Infirm of purpose !
tJive me the daggers : the sleeping and the
dead ^
Are but as pictures : 'tis the eye of childhood
That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed,
I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal;
For it must seem their guilt.
[Exit. Knocking within.
Macb. Whence is that knocking ?
How is't with me, when every noise appals
me ?
What hauds are here ? ha ! they pluck out
mine eyes.
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand ? No, this my hand will
rather 61
Tiie multitudinous seas incarnadine.
Making the green one red.
Re-enter Lady Macbeth.
Lady M. My hands are of your color ; but
I shame
To wear a heart so white. [Knocking within.']
I hear a knocking
At the south entry ; retire we to our chamber;
A little water clears us of this deed ;
How easy is it, tlien ! Your coustancy
Hath left you unattended. [Knocking within.]
Hark ! more knocking.
Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us.
And .show us to be watchers. Be not lost 71
So poorly in your tlioughts.
Macb. To know my deed, 'twere best not
know myself. [Knocking within.
Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would
thou oouldst! [Exeunt.
Scene III. The same.
Ktwcking within. Enter a Porter.
Porter. Here's a knocking indeed ! If a
man were porter of heli-gate, he should have
old turning the key. [Knocking within.]
Knock knock, knock ! Who's there, i' the
uarae ■ i Beelzebub? Here's a fanner, that
hange;. iianself on the expectation of plenty :
come in time ; have napkins enow about you;
here you'll sweat for't. [Knocking within.]
Knock, knock ! Who's there, in • tlie other
devil's name ? Faith, here's an equivocator,
tliat could swear in both the scales against
either scale ; who committed treason enough
for God's sake, yet could not equivocate to
heaven : O, come in, equivocator. [Knocking
within.] Knock, knock, knock ! Who's there?
Faith, here's an English tailor come hither, for
stealing out of a-French hose : come in, tailor;
here you may roast your goose. [Knocking
within.] Knock, knock ; never at quiet! What
are you ? But this place is too cold for hell
[Act ii.
I'll devil-porter it no further : I had thought
to have let In some of all professions that go
the primrose way to the everlasting bonfire.
[Knocking within.] Anon, anon ! I pray you,
remember the porter. [Opens the gate.
Enter Macditff and Lennox.
Macd. Was it so late, friend, ere you went
to bed.
That you do lie so late ?
Port. 'Faith sir, we were carousing till tJie
second cock ; and drink, sir, is a great provo¬
ker of three things.
Macd. What three things does drink es¬
pecially provoke ? 30
Port. Marry, sir, nose-paintmg, sleep, and
urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unpi-o-
vokes ; it provokes the desire, but it takes
away the performance : therefore, much drink
may be said to be an equivocator with lechery:
it makes him, audit mars him ; it sets him on,
and it takes him off ; it persuades him, and
disheartens him ; makes him stand to, and
not stand to ; in conclusion, equivocates him
in a sleep, and, giving him the fie, leaves him.
' Macd. 1 believe drink gave thee the lie last
night . 41
Port. That it did, sir, i' tiie very throat on
me : but I requited him for his lie ; and, I
think, being too strong for him, though he
took up my legs sometime, yet I made a shift
to cast him.
Macd. Is thy master stimng ? •
Enter Macbeth.
Our knqckiug .has awaked him ; here he
comes.
Len. Good morrcw, noble sir.
Macb. Good morrow, both.
Mncd. Is the king stirring, worthy tliaue ?
Macb. Not yet. 50
Macd. He did command me to call timely
on him:
I have almost slipp'd the hour.
Macb. m bring you to him.
Macd. I know this is a joyfui trouble to
you ;
But yet 'tis one. ,
Macb. The labor we delight in [diysics pain.
This is the door.
Macd. I'll make so bold to call.
For 'tis my limited service. [Exitv
Len. Goes the king hence to-day •?
Macb. He does : he did appoint so.
Len. The night has been uimuly ; where we
lay, [
Our chimneys were blown down ; and, as they
say, ■ 60
Lamentings heard i' the air ; strange screams
of death.
And proi)hesying with accents terrible
Of dire combustion and confused events
New hatch'd to the woeful time : tlie obscure
bird
Clamor'd the livelong night: some say, the
earth
MACBETH.
ScK^B in.]
Was feverous and did shake.
jVi.(c6. 'Twas a rough night
Len. My young remembrance cannot par¬
allel
A fellow to it
Re-enter Macduff.
Macd. 0 horror, horror, horror I Tongue
nor heart
C.anuot conceive nor name thee !
j What's the matter. 70
Mocd. Coufiisiun now hath made his master¬
piece !
Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope
The Lord's auoiuted temple, and stole thence
The life o' the building!
Maeb. What is't you say ? the life ?
i'en. Mean you his majesty 'i
Maed. Approach the chamber, and destroy
your sight
With a new Gorgon : do not bid me speak ;
See, and then speak yourselves.
[ExeuiU, Macbeth and Lennox.
Awake, awake!
Ring the alarum-bell. Murder aud treason !
Baiiquo and Doualbain! Malcolm ! awake !
Shake off this downy sleep, death's counter-'
felt, 81
And look on death itself ! up, up, and see
The great doom's image ! Malrxilm ! Banquo !
As from your graves rise up, and walk like
sprites.
To countenance this horror ! Ring the bell.
[Bell rings,
ErOer Ladt Macbeth.
■ Lady M. What's the business.
That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley
The sleepers of the house ? speak, speak !
Mocd. O gentle lady,
'Tis not for you to hear what I cau speak :
The repetition, in a woman's ear, 90
Would murder as it fell.
Enter Bahquo.
0 Banquo, Banquo,
Our royal master's murder'd !
Lady M. Woe, alas !
What, in our heuse ?
Bun. Too cruel any where. ■
Dear Duff, I prithee, contradict thyself.
And say it is not so.
Re-enter Macbeth and Leknox, with Ross.
Maeb. Had I but died an iiour before this
chance,
i had lived a blessed time; for, from this in¬
stant.
There's nothing serious in mortality :
All is but toys : renown and grace is dead ;
The wine of life is drawn,«nd the mere lees
's left this vault to brag of. 101
Enter Madcoxjc and Doxadbain. '
Don. Wbatisuniss?
* Yacb gov are, and do not know't .-
86&
The spring, the bead, tlie fountain of your
blood
Is stopp'd ; the very source of it is stopp'd.
Maed. Your royal father's murder a.
Mai. O, by whom 7
Len. Those of his chamber, as it seem'd,
had done't;
Their hands aud faces were all badged with
blood ;
So were their daggers, which unwiped we
found
Upon their plUows:
They stared, and were distracted ; no man's
life 110
Was to be trusted with them.
Maeb. O, yet I do repent me of my fury.
That I did kill them.
Maed. Wlierefore did you so ?
Maeb. Who can be wise, amazed, temperate
and furious,
Loyal and neutral, in a moment ? No man :
Tlie expedition of my violent love
Outrun the pauser, reason. Here lay Duncan,
His silver skin lac^ with his goldeu blood ;
And his gash'd stabs look'd like a brtoch in
nature
For ruin's wasteful entrance : there, the mur¬
derers, [daggers
Steep'd in the colors of their trade, their
Unmannerly breech'd with gore : who could
refrain,
Tliat had a heart to love, aud in that heart
Courage to make's love known ?
I^ly M. Help me hence, ho 1
Maed. lajok to the lady.
Mai. [Aside to Don.] Why do we hold our
tongues.
That most may claim this argument for ours ?
Don. [Aside to Mai.] What should be spokeu
here, where our fate.
Hid in an auger-hole, may rush, and seize us ?
Let's away ; 129
Our tears are not yet brew'd.
Mai. [Aside to Don.] Nor our strong sorrow
Upon the foot of motion.
Ban. Look to the lady :
[LadyMacbeth is earnedovt.
And when we have our naked frailties hid.
That suffer in exposure, let us meet.
And question this most bloody piece of work.
To know it further. Fears and scruples shake
us :
In the grrat hand of God I stand ; and thence
Agamst the unaivuigea pretence I fight
Of treasonous malice.
Maed. Aud so do I.
All. So all.
Maeb. Let's briefly put on manly readiness,
And meet i' the hall together.
All. Well contented. 140
[Exeunt all but Malcolm and Donalbain.
Mai. What will you do ? Let's not consort
with them :
To show an unfelt sorrow is an office
Which the false man does easy. I'll to Eng¬
land.
£5
MACBETH.
866
MACBETH.
' [Act iii.
Don. To Ireland, I; onr separated fortune
Shall keep us both the safer : where we are,
There's daggers in men's smiles : the near in
blood.
The nearer bloody.
MaX. ■ This murderous shaft thaf s shot
Hath not yet lighted, and our safest way
]s to avoid the aim. Therefore, to horse ;
And let us not be dainty of leave-taking, 150
But shift away: there's warrant in that theft
WMch steals itself, when there's no mercy
left. [ExmnU
ScEKB! IV. Outside Macbeth's castle.
Enter Ross and an old Man.
Old M. Threescore and ten I can remember
well:
Within the volume of which time I have seen
Hours dreadful and things strange ; but this
sore night
Hath trifled former knowings.
Boss. > Ah, good father.
Thou seest, the' heavens, as troubled with
man's act.
Threaten his bloody stage : by the clock, 'tis
day.
And yet dark night strangles the travelling
lamp :
Is't night's predominance, or the day's shame.
That darkness does the face of earth entomb,
When living light should kiss it ?
Old M. 'Tis unnatural, 10
Even like tl»e deed that's done. On Tuesday
last,
A falcon, towering in her pride of place.
Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd.
Ross. And Duncan's horses—a thing most
strange and certain—
Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race,
Tiirn'd wild in nature, broke their stiills,
flung out,
Contending 'gainst obedience, as tliey would
make
War with mankind.
Old M. 'Tis said they eat each other.
Ross. They did so, to the amazement of
mine eyes
That look'd upon't. Here comes the good
Macduff. 20
Enter Macduff.
How goes the world, sir, now ?
Macd. Why, see you not ?
Ross. Is't known who did this more than
bloody deed ?
Macd. Those that Macbeth hath slain.
Ross. Alas, the day!
What good could they pretend ?
Jifocd. They were suboru'd:
Malcolm and Donalbaiu, the king's two sons,
Are stol'u away and fled ; which puts upon
them
Suspicion of the deed.
Jfoss. 'Gaiust nature stfll!
Thriftless ambition, tliat wilt ravhi up
Thine own life's means ! Then 'tis most like
'The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth. 30
Macd. He is already named, and gone to
Scone
To be invested.
Ross. Where is Duncan's body ?
Macd. Carried to Colmekill,
The sacred storehouse of his predecessors.
And guardian of their bones.
Ross. Will you to Scone ?
Macd. No, cousin, I'll to Fife.
jjoss. Well, I will thither.
Macd. Well, may you see things well done
there: adieu !
Lest our old robes sit easier than our new !
Ross. ' Farewell, fatlier.
Old M. God's benison go with you ; and
with those ' 40
That would make good of bad, and friends of
foes! [E^evnt.
ACT III.
Scene I. Forres. The palace.
Enter Banquo.
Ban. Thou hast it now : king, Cawdor,
Glamis, all.
As the weird women promised, and, I fear.
Thou play'dst most foully for't: yet it was
said
It should not stand in thy posterity.
But that myself should be the root and father
Of many kings. If there come truth from
them—
As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine-
Why, by the verities on thee made good.
May they not be my oracles as well, 0
And set me up in hope 7 But hush ! no more.
Sennet sounded. Enter Macbeth, as king.
Lady Macbeth, as qaeen, Lennox, Ross,
Lords, Ladies, and, Attendants.
Macb. Here's our chief guest
Lady M. If he had been forgotten,
It had been as a gap in our great feast.
And all-thing unbecoming.
Macb. To-night we hold a solemn supper,
sir.
And I'll request your presence.
Ban. Let your highness
Command upon me ; to the which my duties
Are with a most indissoluble tie
For ever knit.
Macb. Ride you this afternoon ?
Ban. -\v, my good lord. 20
Macb. We should have else desired your
good advice.
Which still hath been both grave and prosper¬
ous.
In this day's council; but we'll take to-mor¬
row.
Is't far you ride 7
ScEtiE I.]
MACBETH.
867
Ban. As for, my lord, as will fill up the
time
'Twixt this aud sapper : go not my horse the
better,
t must become a borrower ot the night
For a dark hour or twain. i
Macb. Fail not oar feast
Ban. My lord, I will not.
Macb. We hear, oar bloody coasins are be-
stow'd 90
In England and in Ireland, not confessing
Their crael parricide, fiiling their hearers
With strange invention : bat of that to-mor¬
row.
When therewithal we shall have caase of state
Craving as jointly. Hie yon to horse : adien.
Till yon retnm at night. Goes Fleance with
yon 7
Ban. Ay, my good lord : oar time does cail
npon's.
Macb. I wish yonr horses swift and snre of
foot;
Aud so I do commend yon to their backs.
Farewell. Exit Banquo. 40
Let every man be master of liis time
Till seven at night: to make society
The sweeter wmcome, we will keep onrsell
Till sapper-time alone: while then, God be
with you !
[Exeunt all but Macbeth, and an attendant.
Sirrah, a word with yon : attend those men
Oar pleasure ?
Atten. They are, my lord, without the
palace gate.
Macb. Bring them before us.
^ [Exit Attendant.
\Po be thus is nothing ;
But to be safely thus.—Our fears in Banquo
Stick deep ; and in his royalty of uqture 60
Reigns that which would be fear'd : |tis much
Me dares; ^ /
And^^ that dauntless temper of his mind,
He h^ a wisdom that doth guide his valor ^
To act in safety.^There is none but lie
Whose being I do fear : and, under him,
My Genius is rebuked ; as, it is ssiid,
Mark Antony's was by Csesar. He chid the
sisters
When first tliey put fhe name of king upon
me.
And bade them speak to him ; then prophet-
~ like
They hail'd him father to a line of kings : 60
"Upon my head they placed a fruitier crown,|
And put a barren sceptre in my gripe, '<
Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal ha)
Ko son of mine succeeding. If't be so.
For Banquo's issue have I filed my mind ;
For them the nacious Duncan have I mur-
der'd ; )
Put rancors in the vessel of my peace
Onl}' fur them ; and rainvetermd jewel
Given to the common enemy of man.
To make them kings, the seed of Banquo
kings! 70
Bather than so, eome fate into the lis^
And champion me to the utterance .' Who's
there !
Re-enter Attendant, with two Murderers.
Now go to the door, and stay there till we cail,
[Exit Attendant.
Was it not yesterday we spoke together ?
First Mur. It was, so please your highness.
Macb. Well then, now
Have you consider'd of my speeches ? Know
That it was he in the times past wiiich held
you
So under fortune,which you thought had been
Our innocent self : this I made good to yon
In our last conference, pass'd in probation with
you, 80
How you were borne in hand, how cross'd, the
instruments.
Who wrought with them, and all things else
that might
To half a soul and to a notion crazed
Say ' Thus did Banquo.'
First Mur. You made it known to us.
Macb. I did so, aud went further, which is
now
Our point of second meetiug. Do you find
Your patience so predominant in yonr nature
That you can let this go 7 Are you so gos-
pell'd
To pray for this good man and for his issue.
Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the
grave
And beggar'd yours for ever 7
First Mur. We are mep, my liege. 91
Macb. Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men ;
As hounds and greyhound, mongrels, span
iels, curs,
Shoughs, water-rugs and demi-wolves, are
clept
All by tiie name of dogs : the valued file
Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle.
The housekeeper, the hunter, every one
According to the gift which bounteous nature
Hath in him closed ; whereby be does receive
Particular addition, from the bill 100
That writes them all alike : and so of men.
Now, if you have a station in the file.
Not i' the worst rank of manhood, say't;
And I will put that business in your bosoms.
Whose execution takes your enemy off.
Grapples you to the heart and love of us.
Who wear our health but sickly in his life,
Which in his death were perfect.
Sec. Mur. ' am one, my liege.
Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world
Have so incensed that I am reckless what 110
I do to spite the world.
First Mur. Ana I another
So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune.
That I would set my life on any chance.
To mend it, or be rid on't
Macb. Both of you
Know Banquo was your enemy.
Both Mur. True, my lord.
Mad>. So is he mine ; and in such bloody
distsmce,
308
MACBETH.
[Act hy
Thav every minute of his being, thrusts
Against my near'st of lifefand though I comd
With barefaced power sweep him from my
I ' sight
iMd bid my will avouch it, yet I must not, 120
<PSr certain friends that are both his and mine.
Whose loves I may not dr<^ but wail liis fall
Who f myself struck downvfynd thence it is.
That I to your assistance do luake love, .
Masking the business from the common ej'e .
For sundry weighty reasons.'
See. Mur, We shall my lord,
Perform what yon command ns
First Mur. Though our lives—
Meeh. Your spirits shme through you.
Within tills hour at most
I will advise you where to plant yourselves ;
Acquaint you with tlie perfect spy o' the time.
The moment on't; for't must be done to¬
night, 131
And something from the palace; always
thought
That I require a clearness : and with him
To leave no rubs nor botches in the work-
Fleance his son, that keeps him company.
Whose absence is no less material to me
Thau is his father's, must embrace the fate
Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart:
I'll come to you anon.
Both Mur. We are resolved, my lord,
Much. I'll call upon you straight: abide
within. [Exeunt Murderers. 140
It is concluded. Banquo, thy soul's flight.
If it find heaven, must find it out to-night, [Exit.
SCENB II. Thepalaee.
Enter Lady Macbeth and a Servant
Lady M. Is Banquo gone from court ?
Serv. Ay, madam, but returns again to¬
night.
Lady M. Say to the king, I would attend
his leisure
For a few words.
Se\ V. Madam, I will. [Exit.
Lady M. Nought's had, all's spent.
Where our desire is got without content:
'Tis safer to be that which we destroy
Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.
Enter Macbeth.
How now, my lord ! why do you keep alone.
Of sorriest fancies your companions making.
Using those thoughts which should indeed
have died , 10
With them they think on ? Things without
ail remedy
Should be without regard ; what's done is
done.
Maeh. We have scotch'd the snake, not
kill'd it:
She'll close and. be herself, whilst our poor
malice
Remains iu danger of her former tooth.
But let the franae of things disjoint, both the
worlds suffer,
ISre we will eat our meal iu fear and sleep
In the affliction of these terrible dreams
That shake us nightly: better be with the
dead,
Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to
peace, 20
Thau on the torture of the mind to lie
In restless ecstasy. Duncan is iu his grave ;
After life's fitful fever he sleeps well;
Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor
poison.
Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing.
Can touch him further.
Lady M. Come on ,
Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged loolc<,
Be bright and jovial among your guests to¬
night.
Mach. So shall I, love ; and so, I pray, be
you :
Let your remembrance apply to Banquo ; 80
Present him eminence, both with eye and
tongue :
tUnsafe Sie while, that we
Must lave our honors in these flattering
streams.
And make our faces vizards to our hearts,
Disguising what they are.
Lady M. You must leave this,
Mach. O, full of scorpions is my mind, deal
wife !
Thou kuow'st that Banquo, and his Fleance,
lives. [eterne.
Lady M. But in them nature's copy's not
Much. Tliere's comfort yet; they are as-
. sailable ;
Then be thou jocund : ere the bat hath flown
His cloister'd flight, ere to black Hecate's
summons 41
The shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hums
Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall
be done
A deed of dreadful note.
Lady M. What's to be done ?
i/aco. Be innocent of the knowledge, dear¬
est chuck.
Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling
night, '
Scarf up the tender eye ci pitiful day;
And with thy bloody and invisible band
Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond
Which keeps me pale ! Light thickens ;
the crow '
Makes wing to the rooky wood:
Good things of day begin to droop and drowse-
While night's black agents to their preys dr.
rouse.
Thou marvelTst at my words : but hold thee
still : [ill.
Things bad begun maae strong themselves by
So, prithee, go with me. [Exeunt.
Scene III. A park near the palace.
Enter three. Murderers. '
First MitJ But who did bid thee join wjth'-
us ?
Third Mur. Macbeth.
an(.
31
Wjtch£S. ** Doublet double toil and trowde :
# Fire bum and cauldron, bubblel'
Macbbth,
Scene ir.j
Sec. 3fur. He needs not our mistrust, since
he delivers
Our ofHces and what we have to do
To the direction just.
First Mvr. Then stand with us. >
The west yet glimmers with some streaks of
day:
Now spurs the lated traveller apace
To gain the timely inn ; and near approaches
The subject of our watch.
Third Mur. Hark ! I hear horses.
Ban. [ W'itAfn] Give us a light tlmre, lio !
Sec. Mur. Then 'tis he; the rest
That are within the note of expectation 10
Already are i' the court.
First Mur. His horses go about.
Third Mur. Almost a mile : but he does
usually,
So all men do, from hence to the palace gate
Make it their walk.
Sec. Mur. ■ A light, a light!
Enter Banqco, and Fleancb with a torch.
Third Mur. 'Tis he.
First Mur. Stivnd to't.
Pan. It will be rain to-night.
First Mur. Let it come down.
[Thei/set upon Ilanquo.
Ban. O, treachery! Fly, good Fleauce,
fly, fly, fly!
Thou mayst revenge. O slave !
[Dies. Fleance escapes.
Third Mur. Who did strike out the light ?
First Mur. Was't not the way ?
Third Mur. There's but one down ; the
son is fled.
Sec. Mur. We have lost 20
Best half of our affair.
First Mur.' Weil, let's away, and s^ how
much is done. [Exettnt.
Scene IV. The same. Hall in the palace.
A banquet prepared. Enter Macbeth, Lady
Macbeth, Ross, Lennox, Lords, and At¬
tendants.
Macb. You know your own degrees ; sit
down : at first
And last the hearty welcome.
Lords. Thanks to your majesty.
Macb. Ourself will mingle with society.
And play the humble host.
Our hostess keeps her state, but in best time
We will require her welcome.
Lady M. Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our
friends ;
For my heart speaks they aye welcome.
First Murderer appears at the door.
Macb.' See, they encounter thee with their
hearts' thanks. ^ 9
Both sides are even : herel'll sit i' the midst:
Be large in mirth ; anon we'll dnnk a measure
Tlie table round. [Ar'^roaching the door.]
There's blood upon thy face.
Mur. 'Tis Bauquo's then. -
869
Macb 'Tis better thee without than he
within.
Is he dispatch'd ?
Mur. My lord, his throat is cut; that I did
for him.
Macb. Thou art the best o' the cut-throats:
yet he's good
That did the like for Fleauce : if thou didst it,
Thou art the nonpareil.
- Mur. Most royal sir,
^Fieance is 'scaped. 2C
Macb. Then comes my fit again : I had else '
been perfect.
Whole as the marble, founded as the rock.
As broad and general as the casing air:
But now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, bound
in ^
To saucy doubts and fears, wut Bauquo's
safe? r
Mm-. Ay, my good lord ; safe in a ditch he
bides.
With twenty trenched gashes on his head ;
The least a death to nature.
Macb. Thanks for that:
There the grown serpent lies ; the worm that's
fled ,
Hath nature that in time will venom breed, 30
No teeth for the present. Get tliee gone: to¬
morrow
We'll hear, ourselves, again. [Exit Murderer.
Lady M. My royal lord,
You do not give the cheer; the feast is sold
That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a-making,
'Tis given with welcome : to feed were best at
home i
From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony ;
Meeting were bare without it
Macb. Sweet remembrancers
Now, good digestion wait on appetite.
And health on both !
Len. May't please your highne.ss sit
[The Ohost of Sanquo enters, and sits in
Macbeth's place.
Macb. Here had we now our country's honor
roof'd, 40
Were the graced person of our Banquo nresent;
Who may I rather challenge for unkindness
Than pity for mischance !
Ross. His absence, sir.
Lays blame upon his promise. Please't your
highness
To grace us with your royal company.
Macb. The table's full.
Len. Here is a place reserved, sir.
Macb. Where ?
Len. Here, my good lord. What is't that
moves your highness ?
Macb. Which of you have done this ?
Ijords. What, my good lord ?
Macb. Thou canst not say I did it: never
shake 50
Thy gory locks at me.
Boss. Gentlemen, rise : his highness is not
well.
Lady M. Sit, worthy friends : my lord is"
often thus,
MACBETH.
870
MACBETH.
. {Act hi.
And hatU been from his youth : pray you,
keep seat;
The fit is momentary ; upon a thought
He will again be well; if much you note him,
You shall offend him and extend ids passion :
Feed, and regard liim not. Are you a man ?
Mach. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look
on that
AYliich miglit appal the devil.
r~ Lady M. O proper stuff! CO
CJTiUs is the very painting of your fear :
This is the air-drawn dagger which, you said.
Led you to Duncan. 0, these flaws and starts.
Impostors to true fear, would well become
A woman's story at a winter's fire.
Authorized by her grandam. Shame itself !
Wliy do you make such faces ? When all's
done, .
Y on look but on a stool. /
Mach. Prithee, see ^ere I behold ! look !
lo! how say yoiu?
Wliy, what care I ? If thou canst nod, speak
too. 70
If charnel-houses and our graves must send
Those that we bury back, our monuments
^ Shall be the maws of kites. [Ghost vanishes.
Lady M. What, quite uumann'd in foiiy ?
Macik If I stand here, I saw him.
Lady M. Fie, for shame !
Mach. Blood hath beeuslied ere now, i' the
olden time,
Ere human statute purged the gentle weal;
Ay,and since too, murders have been perform'd
Too terrible for the ear ; the times have been.
That, when the brains were out, the man
would die,
And there an end ; but now they rise again, 80
With twenty mortal murders on their crowns.
And push us from our stools: this is more
strange
T'lan such a murder is.
Lady M. My worthy lord.
Your noble friends do lack you.
Mach. I do forget.
Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends ;
I Iiave a strange in&m'ity, wiiich is nothing
To those that know me. Come, love and health
to all;
Tlien I'll sit down. Give me some wine : fill
fulL
I drink to the general joy o' the whole table,
A nd to oiu; dear friend Banquo, whom we miss;
Would he were here ! to ali, and him,we thirst.
And ail to ail.
Lords. Our duties, and the pledge.
Re-enter Ghost
Mach. Avaunt! and quit my sight! let the
earth hide thee !
Tliy bones are luarrowless, thy blood is cold ;
Thou hast no siieculation in tliose eyes
Wiiich thou dost glare with!
iMdy M. Think of this, good peers.
But as a thing of custom : 'tis no other ;
Only it s^ils the pleasure of the time.
ATocd. rWhat man dare, 1 dare: 99
Approach thou like the ragged Russian bear.
The arm'd rliinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger ;
Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves
Sliall never tremble : or be alive again.
And dare me to tlie desert witii thy sword ;.
tif trembling I inhabit then, protest me
■The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow !
Unreal mockery, hence !') [Ghost vani^s.
Why, so : being gone,
I am a man again. Pray you, sit still.
Lady M. You have displaced the mirth,
broke the good meeting.
With most admii^ disorder.
Mach. Can such things be, 11*
And overcome us like a summer's cloud.
Without our special wonder ? You make me
strange
Even to the disposition that I owe.
When now I think you can behold such sights,
And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks,
When mine is blanch'd with fear.
Ross. What sights, my lord ?
Lady M. I pray you, speak not ;• he grows
worse and worse;
Question enrages him. At once, goM night:
Stand not upon the order of your going.
But go at once.
Len. Good night; and better health 120
Attend his majesty 1
Lady M. A kind good night to all!
[Exeunt all hut Macheth and Lady M.
Mach, It will have blood ; they say, blood
will have blood:
Stones have been known to move and trees to
Augurs and understood relations have
By magot-pies and choughs and rooks brought
forth
The secret'st man of blood. What is the
night?
Lady Si. Almost at odds with morning,
wiiich is which.
Mach. How say'st thou, that Macduff de¬
nies his person
At our great bidding ?
Lady M. Did yon send to him, sir ?
Mach. I hear it b.y the way ; but I will send:
There's not a one of them but in his house 131
1 keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow,
And betimes I will, to the weird sisters :
More shall they spieak ; for now I am bent to
loiow.
By the worst means, the worst. For mine own
good.
All causes shall give w.ay : I am in blood
Stepp'd in so far that, sliould I wade no more.
Returning were as tedious as go o'er:
Strange things I have in head, tlmt wiU to
hand ;
Wiiich must be acted ere tney may bescann'd.
Lady M. Y'ou lack the season of all natures,
sleep. 141
Slach. Come, we'll to sleep. My strange
and .self-abuse
Is the initiate fear that wants hard use:
We are yet but young in deed. [Exeu/nt.
Scene i.]
Scene V. A Healh.
Thunder. Enter the three Witches
meeting Hecate.
First Witch. Wliy, how now, Hecate ! you
look angerly.
Bee. Have 1 not reason, beldams as you are.
Saucy and overbold ? How did you dare
To trade and traffic with Macbeth
In riddles and affairs of death ;
And I, the mistress of your charms.
The close contriver of all harms.
Was never call'd to bear my part,
Or show the glory of our art ?
And, which is worse, all you have done 10
Hath been but for a wayward son.
Spiteful and wrathful, who, as others do.
Loves for his own ends, not for you.
But make amends now : get you gone.
And at the pit of Acheron
Meet me i' tlie morning : thither he
Will come to know his destiny :
Your vessels and your spells provide.
Your charms and every thing beside.
I am for the air ; this night I'll spend 20
Unto a dismal and a fatal end ;
Great business must be wrought ere noon:
Upon the corner of the moon
There hangs a vaporous drop profound ;
I'll catch it ere it come to ground :
And that distill'd hy magic sleights
Shall raise such artificial sprites
As by the strength of tlieir illusion
Shall draw him on to his confusiou :
He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear 30
He hopes hove wisdom, grace and fear :
And you all know, security
Is mortals' chiefest enemy.
[Music and a song within : ' Come away,
come away,' &c.
Hark ! I am call'd ; my little spirit, see.
Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. [Exit.
First Witch. Come, let's make haste : she'll
soon be back again. [Exeunt.
Scene VI. Forres. The palace.
Enter Lennox and another Lord.
Len. My former speeches have but hit your
thoughts,
Wliich can interpret further : only, I say.
Things liave been strangely borne. The gra¬
cious Duncan
Was pitied of Macbeth : marry, he was dead:
And the right-valiant Banquo walk'd too late ;
Whom, vou may say, if't please you, Fleance
kill'd.
For Fleance fled ; men must not walk too late.
Who cannot want the thought how monstrous
It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain . 9
To kill their gracious fath^? damned fact !
How itdid grieve Macbeth ! did he not .straight
In pious rage the two delinquents tear.
That were the slaves of drink and thralls of
sleep ?
Was not that nobly done ? Ay, and wisely too;
871
For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive
To hear the men deny't So that, I say,
He has borne all things well; and 1 do think
That had he Duncan's sons under his key-
As, an't please heaven, he shall not—they
should find
What 'twere to kill a father ; so should Fle¬
ance. 20
But, peace ! for from broad words and 'cause
he fail'd
His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear
Macduff lives in disgrace : sir, can you tell
Where he bestows himself ?
Lord. The son of Duncan,
.From whom this tyrant holiis tllH dull Al liirTh—^
, Lives in the EngilsITcourt^hd Is received
Of the moStplous Edward wljhFneh giaee-
Thatthe maleVoRhceofTdf&me nothing
Takes from his high respectf^^ither Siacdcff
Is gone to pray the holy tingVwpon his aid SO
To wake Northumberland and warlike Siward:
That, by the help of these—with Him above
To ratify the work—we may again
Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights,
Free from our feasts and banquets bloody
knives.
Do faithful homage and receive free honors :
All which we pine for now : and this report
Hath so exasiierate the king that be
Prepares for some attempt of war.
Len. Sent he to Macdufi ?
Lord. He did: and with an absolute ' Sir,
not I,' 40
. The cloudy messenger turns me his back.
And hums, as'Who should say ' You'll rue the
time
That clogs me with this answer.'
Len. And that well might
Advise him to a caution, to hold whatdistance
His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel
Fly to the court of England and unfold
His message ere he come, that a swift blessing
May soon return to this our suffering country
Under a hand accursed !
Lord, I'll send my prayers with him.
[Exeunt.
ACT IV.
Scene I. A cavern. In the middle, a boiling
cauldron.
Thunder. Enter the three Witches.
EHrst Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath
mew'd.
Sec. Witch. Thrice and once the hedge-pig
whined.
Third Witch. Harpier cries "Tis time, 'tis
time.
First Witch. Round about the cauldron go;
In the poison'd entrails throw.
tToad, that under cold stone
Days and nights has thirty-one
Swelter'd venom sleeping got.
Boil thou first i' the charmed pot.
MACBETH.
872
MACBETH.
[Act it.
AU. Double, doable toil and trouble ; 10
Fire bum, and cauldron bubble.
■ See. Witch. Fillet of a fenny snake.
In the cauldron boil and bake ;
Eye of newt and toe of frog.
Wool of bat and tongue of dog.
Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg and owlet's wing.
For a charm of powerful trouble.
Like a hell-brotn boil and bubble.
All. Double, double toil and trouble ; 20
Fire burn and cauldron babble. [wolf,
Third WUch. Scale of dragon, tooth of
Witches' mummy, maw and gulf
Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark.
Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark,
liver of blaspheming Jew,
Uall of goat, and slips of yew
Silver'd in the moon's eclipse.
Nose of Turk and Tartar's lips,
Fi^er of birth-strangled babe SO
Ditch-deliver'd by a drab,
Make the gruel thick and slab :
Add thereto a tiger's chaudron.
For the ingredients of our cauldron.
All. Double, double toil and trouble ;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Sec. Witch. Cool it with a baboon's blood,
Then the charm is firm and good.
Enter Hbcate to the other three Witches.
Uec. O well done ! I commend your x>ains;
And every one shall share i' the gains ; 40
And now abont the cauldron sing.
Live elves and fairies in a ring,
Enchanting all that you put in.
[Music and a song: ' Black spirits,' Ac.
[Hecate retires.
Sec. Witch. ' By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes.
Open, locks.
Whoever knocks !
Enter Macbeth.
Macb. How now, you secret, blaek, and
• midnight hags !
What is't you do ? ,
All. A deed without a name.
Macb. I conjure you, by that which you
profess, ' 50
Howe'er you come to know it, answer me :
'I'lio-.igh you untie the winds and let them fight
Against the churches; though the j'esty waves
Confound and swallow navigation up ;
Though bladed com be lodged and trees blown
down;
Though castles topple on their warders' heads;
Though palaces and pyramids do slope
Their'heads to their foundations ; though the
treasure
Of nature's germens tumble all together.
Even till destruction sicken ; answer me 60
To what I ask you.
First Witch. Speak.
Sec. Witch. Demand.
Third WUdi. We'll answer.
First Witch. Say, if thou'dst rather hear it
from our moutlis,
Or from our masters ?
Macb. Call 'em ; let me see 'em.
First WUch. Pour in sow's blood, that
hath eaten
Her nine farrow ; grease that's sweaten
From the murderer's gibbet throw
Into the flame.
All. Come, high or low j
Thyself and offlce deftly show!
Thunder. First Apparition ; an armed
Head.
Macb. Tell me, thou unknown power,—
First Wlt6h. He knows thy thought:
Hear his speech, but say thou nought. 70
First App. Macbeth 1 Macbeth J Macbeth!
beware Macduff:
Beware the thane of Fife. Dismiss me.
Enough. [Descends.
Macb. Whate'er thou art, for thy good
caution, thanks;
Thou hast harp'd my fear aright: but one
word more,—
First Witch. He will not be commanded !
here's another.
More potent than the first.
Thunder. Second Apparition : A bloody
Child.
Sec. App. Macbeth ! Macbeth ! Macbeth !
Macb. Ifod I three ears, Tld hear thee.
Sec. Be bloody, bold, and resolute ;
laugh ro scorn
Tlie power of man, for none of woman born •
Shall harm Macbeth. [Descends. 81
Macb. Then live, Macduff : with need I
fear of thee ?
But yet I'll make assurance double sure.
And take a bond of fate : thou shalt not live ;
That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies.
And sleep in spite of thunder.
Thunder. Third Apparition: a Child erouined,
with a tree in his hand.
AVbat is this
That rises like the issue of a king.
And wears upon his baby-brow the round
And top of sovereignly ?
All. J— Listen, but speak not to't.
Third App. [Be lion-mettled, proud ; and
take no care 90
Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers
are :
Macbeth shall never van^nish'd be until
Great Birnam wood to high Duusinaue hill
Shall come against him. -s [Descends.
Macb. Tlrat will never be
Who can impress the forest, bid the tree
Unfix his earth-bound root ? Sweet bode-
inents! good !
Rebellion's he^, rise never till the wood
Of Birnam rise, and our high-placed Macbeth
Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath
To time and mortal custom. Yet my heart
Throbs to know one thing : tell me, if your art
Scene ii.]
MACBETH.
873
Can tell bo much ; shall Banquo's issue ever
Reixn iu this kingdom 7
All. Seek to know no more.
Macb. I will be satisfied : deny me this,
And an eternal curse fall on you ! Let me
know.
Why sinks that cauldron 7 and what noise is
this 7 [Hautboys.
First Witch. Show !
Sec. Witch. Show!
Third Witch. Show I
All. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart;
Come like shadows, so depart! Ill
A show of Eight Kings, the last with a glass in
his hand, Banquo's Ghost following.
Macb. Thou art too like the spirit of Ban-
quo :down!
Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls. And
thy hair,
Tliou other gold-bound brow, is like the first.
A third is like the former. Filthy hags I
Why do you sltow me this 7 A fourth ! Start,
eyes !
What, will the line stretch out to the crack of
doom 7
Another yet! A seventh ! I'll see no more;
And yet tlie eiglitli appears, who beats a glass
Which shows me many more ; and some 1 see
That two-fold balls and treble scepters carry :
Horrible sight! Now, I see, 'tis true ;
For theblood-boiter'd Bauquo smiles upon me,
And points at them for his. [Apparitions van¬
ish.] What, is this so 7
First Witch. Ay, sir, all tliis is so : but why
Stands Macbeth thus amazedly 7
Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprites,
And show the best of our deliglits :
I'il charm the air to give a sound.
While you perform your antic round : 130
Tliat this great king may kindly say,
Our duties did his welcome pay.
[Music. The witches dance and then
vanish, with Henate.
Macb. Where are they 7 Gone 7 Let this
pernicious hour
Stand aye accursed in the calendar '
Come iu, without there !
Enter Lennox.
Len. What's your grace's will 7
Macb. Saw you the weird sisters 7
Len. No, my lord.
Macb. Came they not by you 7
Len. No, indeed, my lord.
Macb. Infected be the air whereon they
ride ;
And damn'd all those that trust them ! I did
hear
Tlie galloping of horse r who was't came by 7
Len. 'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring
you word • 111
Macduff is fled to Eugland.
. Macb. • Fled to England 1'
. Len. Ay, ray good lord.
Macb. 'Time, thou anticipatest my dread
exploits ; ' • '
The flighty purpose never is o'ertook
Unless the deed go with it; from this moment
The very firstlings of my heart shail be
^4ie fii-stiiugs of my hand. And even now.
To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought
and done ;
The castle of Macduff I will surprise ; 160
Seize upon Fife ; give to the edge o' the sword
His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls
That trace him in his line. No boasting like
a fool;
Tills deed I'll do before this purpose cool.
But no more sights!—Where are these gen¬
tlemen 7 "N
Come, bring me where they are. \ [Exeunt.
Scene H. Fife. Macduff's castle.
Enter Lady Macduff, her Son, and Ross,
L. Macd. What had he done, to make him
fly the land 7
Ross. You must have patience, madam.
L. Macd. - He had none ;
His flight was madness : when our actions do
not.
Our fears do make us traitors.
Ross. You know not
Whether it was his wisdom or his fear.
L. Macd. Wisdom ! to leave his wife, to
leave his babes,
His mansion and his titles in a place
From whence himself does fly 7 He loves us
not )
He wants the natural touch : for the poor
wren.
The most diminutive of birds, will fight, 10
Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.
All is the fear and nothing is the love ;
As little is the wisdom, where the flight
So runs against all reason.
Ross. My dearest coz,
I pray you, school yourself ; but for your hus¬
band.
He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows
The fits o' the season. I dare not speak much
further ;
But cruel are the times, when we are traitors
And do not know ourselves, when we hold
rumor '
From what we fear, yet know not what we
fear, 20
But float upon a wild and violent sea
Each way and move. I take my leave of you :
Shall not be long but I'll be here again :
Things at the worst will cease, or else climb
upward
To what they were before. My pretty cousin.
Blessing upon you I
L. Macd. Father'd he is, and yet he's fa¬
therless.
Ross. I am so much a fool, should I stay
longer.
It would be my disgrace and your discon)-
fort : . '
I take my leave at once. [Exit.
L. Macd. Sirrah, your father's dead ; 30
874
And what will you do now ? How will you
live ?
Son. As birds do, mother.
L. Macd. Wliat, with worms and flies ?
Son. With what I get, 1 mean ; and so do
they.
L. Macd. Poor bird ! thou'ldst never tear
the net nor lime,
The pitfall nor the gin.
Son. Why should I, mother ? Poor birds
they are not set for.
My father is not dead, for all your saying.
L. Macd. Yes, he is dead ; how wilt thou
do for a f.ither ?
Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband ?
L. Macd. Why, I can buy me twenty at
any market. 40
Son. Then you'll buy *em to sell again.
L. Macd. Thou speak'st with all thy wit :
and yet, i' faith.
With wit enough for thee.
Son. Was my father a traitor, mother?
X. Macd. Ay, that he was.
Son. What is a traitor?
X. Macd. Why, one that swears and lies.
Son. And be all traitors that do so ?
X. Macd. Every one that does so is a trai¬
tor, and must be hanged. 50
Son. And must they all be banged that
swear and lie ?
L. Macd. Every one.
Son. Who must hang them ?
L. Macd. Why, the honest men.
Son. Then the liars and swearers are fools,
for there are liars and swearers enow to beat
the honest men and hang up them.
L. Macd. Now, God help thee, poor mon¬
key I
But how wilt thou do for a father ? 60
Son. If he were dead, you'ld weep for him:
if you would not, it were a good sign tliat I
should quickly have a new father.
L. Macd. Poor prattler, how thou talk'st!
. Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Bless you, fair dame ! I am not to
you known.
Though in your state of honor I am perfect.
I doubt some danger does approach yon
nearly :
If you will take a homely man's adviee.
Be not found here ; hence, with your little
ones.
To fright you thus, methinks, I am too sav¬
age ; 70
To do worse to you were fell cruelty.
Which is too nigh your person. Heaven pre¬
serve you 1
I dare abide no longer. [Ex/f.
L. Macd. Whither should I fly ?
I have done no harm. But I remember now
1 am in this earthly world ; where to do harm
Is often liiudable, to do good sometime
Accounted dangerous folly : why then, alas.
Do I put up that womanly defence.
To say I have done no harm ?
[Act iv.
Enter Murderers.
What are these faces ?
First Mar. Where is your husband ? 80
L. Macd. I hope; in no place so unsanctified
Where such as thou mayst find him.
First Mar. He's a traitor.
Son. Thou liest, thou shag-hair'd villain I
First Mxir. What, you egg !
\Stahoing him.
Young fry of treachery !
Soiu He has kill'd me, mother :
Run aww, I pray you [Dies.
[Exit JMdtj Macdvff, crying 'Murder!'
Exeunt Murd^ers, following her.
Scene III. England. Before the King's
palace.
Enter Malcolm and Macdcff.
Mai. Let us seek out some desolate shade,
and there
Weep our sad bosoms empty. *
Macd. Let us rather
Hold fa.st the mortal sword, and like good
men
Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom : e.ach
new morn
New widows howl, new orphans ciy, new sor¬
rows
Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds
As if it felt with Scotland and yell'd out
Like .syllable of dolour.
Mai. What I believe I'll wail,
AVhat know believe, and what I can redress.
As I shall find the time to friend, I will. 10
What you have spoke, it may be so per-
p- ch.-ince.
This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our
tongues.
Was once thought honest: you have loved
him well.
He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young ;
but something
You may deserve of him through me, and
wisdom
To offer up a weak poor innocent lamb
To appease an angry god.^
Macd. I am.not treacherous.
Mai. But Macbeth ia
A good and virtuous nature may recoil
In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your
liardon; 20
That which you are my thoughts cannot
transpose :
Angels are bright still, though the brightest
fell ;
Though all things foul would wear tlie brows
of grace.
Yet grace must still look so.
Macd. I h.ave lost my hopes.
Mai. Perchance even there where I did
find my doubts.
Why in that rawness left you wife and child.
Those precious motives, those strong knota of
love.
Without leave-taking ? I pray you,
MACBETH.
SCEHE 111.]
MACBETH.
875
Let not my jealousies be your dishonors,
But mine own safeties. You may be rightly
just, ^
Whatever 1 slia}], think.
Maed. Bleed, bleed, poor country
Great tyrannyTtey thou thy b^is sure,
For goodness dare not check thee : wear thou'
. thy wrongs;
The title is affeer'd ! Fare thee well, lord :
I would not be the villaiu that thou think'st
' For the whole space tliat's in the tyrant's
grasp, <—f
And the rich East to boot.^^
Mai. ^not offended
I speak not as in absolute fear of you.
I think our country sinks beneath the yoke ;
It weeps, it bleeds ; and each new day a gash
Is added to her wounds : I think withal 41
There would be hands uplifted in my right;
And here from gracious England liave I offer
Of goodly thousands : but, for all this,
When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head.
Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor eountry
Shall have more vices than it had before.
More suffer and more sundry ways than ever.
By him that shall succeed.
Macd. What should he be ?
Mai. It is myself I mean : in whom I know
Ail the particulars of vice so grafted 51
That, when they shall be open'd, black Mac¬
beth
Will seem as pure as snow, and the poor state
Esteem him as a iamb, being compared
With my confiueless harms.
Macd. Not in the legions
Of horrid hell can come a devil more damu'd
' In. evils to top Macbeth.
Mai. I grant him bloody.
Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful.
Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin
That has a name : but there's no bottom,
none, 60
In my voluptuousness : your wives, youi
daughters.
Tour matrons and your maids, could not fill
up"
The cistern of my lust, and my desire
All continent impediments would o'erbear
That did oppose my will: better Macbeth
Than such an one to reign.
Macd. Boundless intemperance
In nature is a tyranny ; it hath been
The untimely emptying of the happy throne
And fail of many kings. But fear not yet
To take upon you what is yours : you may 70
Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty.
And yet seem cold, the time you may so
hookwink.
We have willing dames enough: there cannot
be
That vulture in yon, to devour so many
As will to greatness dedicUte themselves.
Finding it so inclined.
Mai. With this there ctows
In my most ill-composed affection such
A stauchiess avarice that, were I king,
I should cut off the nobles for their lands.
Desire his jewels and this other's house: 80
And my more-having would be as a sauce
To make me hunger more ; that I should
y. forge
'jr -Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal,
■ ' Destroying them for wealth.
Macd. This avarice
Sticks deeper, grows with more pernicious
root
Thau summer-seeming lust, aqd it hath been
The sword of our slain kings: yet do not fear;
Scotland hath foisons to fill up your will.
Of your mere own : all these are portable.
With other graces weigh'd. 90
jAfaf. But I have none : the king-becoming
I. graces,
As justice, verity, temperance, stabieness.
Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness.
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude,
I have no relish of them, but abound —I
In the division of each several crime, /
Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power,!
e should
LPour the sweet milk of concord into hell, .»
Uproar the universal peace, confound J
All unity on earth.—\
Macd. OScotland, Scotland I 106
Mai. If such a one be fit to govern, speak :
I am as I have spoken.
Macd. Fit to govern 1
No, not to live. O nation miserable.
With an untitled tyrant blbody-scepter'd.
When shalt thou see thy wholesome days
again.
Since that the truest issue of thy throne
By his own interdiction stands accursed.
And does blaspheme his breed ? Thy royal
father
Was a most sainted king : the queen tliat
bore thee,
Oftener upon her knees than on her feet, 110
.Died every day she lived. Fare thee well!
These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself
Have banisii'd me from Scotland. 0 my
breast.
Thy hope ends here I
Mai. Macduff, this noble passion.
Child of integrity, hath from my soul
Wiped the black scruples, reconciled my
thoughts [beu
To thy good truth and honor. Devilish Mac-
By many of these trains hath sought to win
me [me
Into his power, and modest wisdom plucks
From over-credulous haste : but God above
Deal between thee and me ! for even now 121
I put myself to thy direction, and
Unspeak mine own detraction, here abjure
The taints and blames I laid upon myself.
For strangers to my nature. I am yet
Unknown to woman, never was forsworn.
Scarcely have coveted what was mine own.
At no time broke my faith, would not betray
The devii to his fellow and delight [speaking
No less in truth than life : my ^t false
876
Was this nuoii myself : what I am troly, 131
Is thiue and my poor country's to command :
Wliither indeed, before thy here-approach,
Old Siward, with ten thousand warUkemen,
Already at a point, was setting forth.
Now we'll together ; and the chance of good¬
ness
Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you
silent ?
Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome
things at once
"Tis hard to reconcile.
Enter a Doctor.
Mai. WeU ; more anon.—Comes the king
forth, I pray you ? 140
Doct. Ay, sir; tliere are a crew of
wretched souls
That stay his cure : their malady convinces
The great assay of art; but at his toucli—
Such scanctity liath heaven given his hand—
They presently amend.
Mai. I thank you, doctor. [Exit Doctor.
Macd. What's the disuse he means ?
Mai. 'Tis cail'd tlie evii :
A most miraculous work in tliis good king ;
Which often, since my here-remain in Eng¬
land,
I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven.
Himself best knows : but strangely-visited
people, 150
All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye.
The mere despair of surgery, he cures,
Hanging a golden stamp about their necks.
Put on with hoiy prayers : and'tis spoken.
To the succeeding royalty he leaves •
The healing beiiMiction. With this strange
virtue.
He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy.
And sundry blessings liaug about his throne.
That speak him full of grace.
Enter Boss.
Macd. See, who comes here ?
Mai. My countryman ; but yet I know him
not. " 100
Macd. My ever-gentle cousin, welcome
hither.
Mai. I know him now. Good God, be¬
times remove
The means that makes us strangers !
Ross: Sir, amen.
Macd. Stands Scotland where it did ?
Ross. Alas, poor country 1
Almost afraid to know itself. It cannot
Be cail'd our mother, but our grave ; where
nothing.
But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile;
Where sighs and groans and shrieks th.at rend
the ail-
Are made, not mark'd ; where violent sorrow
seems
A modern ecsta.sy ; the deiid man's knell 170
Is there scarce asl^'d for who ;and good men's
lives I
Expire before the flowers in their caps,
[Act nr.
Dying or ere they 'sicken.
Macd. O, relation . i.
Too nice, and yet too true !
Mai. What's the newest grief f
Ross. That of an hour's ago doth hiss the
speaker:
Each minute teems a new one.
Macd. How does my wife ?
Moss. Why, well.
. facd. And aU my children ? ,
Ross. Weil too.' '
Macd. Tlie tyrant has not battePd at their
peace ?
Ross. No; they were well at pe.ace when
I did leave 'em.
Macd. But not a niggard of your speech ;>
how goes't ? 180
Ross. When I came hitherto transport the
tidings,
Whicli I ha#e heavily borne, there ran a ru¬
mor
Of many worthy fellows that were out; '
Which was to my belief witness'd the rather.
For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot :
Now is the time of help ; your ■ eye in Scot-'
land
Would create soldiGrs, make our women fight.
To doff their dire distresses.
Mai. Be't their comfoit
We are coming thither : gracious England
hath
Lent ns good Siward and ten thousand men ;
An older and a better soldier none 191
That Christendom gives out. .
Ross. Would I could answer
This comfort with the like ! Bat I hare
words ,
That would be howl'd out in the desert air.
Where hearing should not latch them. ,
Macd. What concern they ?
The general cause 1 or is it a fee-grief . . '
Due to some single breast ?
Ross. No mind that's honest
But in it shares some woe ; though the main
part
Pertains to you alone.
Macd. If it be mine,
Keep it not from me, quickly let me have ib
Ross. Let not your ears despise my tongue
for ever, 201
Which shall possess them with the heaviest
soimd
Tliat ever yet they heard.
Macd. Hum i I gness at it.
Ross. Your castle is surprised ; your wife
and babes
Savagely slaughtePd : to relate the manner.
Were, on the quarry of these murdePd deer.
To add the death of you.
Mai. Merciful heaven 1
■What, maw !> ne'er pull your hat upon your
brows ;
Give sorrow words : the grief that does not
• speak
Whisg^ers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it
brealr. ' . >
MACBETB.
scenis 1.]
Macd. My children too 7 210
Ross. Wife, children, servants, all
That cotdd be found.
Maed. » And I must be from thence !
'My wife kill'd too ?
Ross I have said.
Mai. Be comforted :
Let's make us medicines of our great re¬
venge.
To cure this deadly grief.
Macd. He has no children. AH my pretty
ones?
Did you say all 1 O hell-kite ! All 7
What, all my pmtty ohiokens and their dam
At one fell swoop 7 ■
Mai. Dispute it like a man.
Macd. i '1 shall do so •, 220
But I must also feel it as a man ;
1 cannot but remember such things were.
That were most precious to me. ■ Did heaven
. look on.
And would not take their part 7 Sinful Mac¬
duff, .
They were all struck for thee ! naught that I
am, >
Not for their own demerits, but for mine.
Fell slaughter on their souls. Heaven rest
them now !
Mai. Be this the vfhetstone of your sword :
. let grief
Convert to anger ; blunt not the heart, enrage
it.
Macd. O, I could play the woman with
mine eyes 230
And braggart with my tongue ! But, gentle
heavens,
Cut short all intermission ; front to front '
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself ;
Within my sword's length set him ; 'if he
'scai)e.
Heaven forgive him too !
■ Mat This tune goes manly.
Come, go we to the king ; our power is ready ;
Our lack is nothing but our leave ; Macbeth
Is ripe for shaking, and ttie powers above
Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer
you may :
The night is long that never finds the day. 240
[Eixunt.
, ACT Y.
Scene I. Runsinane. Ante-room in the castle.
EtUer a Doctor of Physic and a Waiting-
Gentlewoman.
Doct. T have two nights watched with you,
but can perceive no truth in your report.
When was it she last walked 7
Gent. Since his majesty went into the
field, I have seen her rise ^m her bed, throw
her night-gown upon her, unlock her closet,
take forth paper, fold it, write npon't, read it,
afterwards seal it, and again return to bed ;
yet aU this while in a most fast sleep. 9
877
Doct. A great perturbation in nature, to
rpceive at once tlie benefit of sleep, and do the
effects of watching! In this slumbery agita¬
tion, besides her walking and other actual
performances, wliat, at any time, have you
heard her say 7
Gent. That, sir, which I will not report
after her.
Doct. You may to me : and 'tis most meet
you should.
Gent. Neither to you nor. any one ; having
no witness to confirm my speech. 21
Enter Lady Macbeth, with a taper.
Lo you, here she comes ! This is her very
guise : and, upon my life, fast asleep. Ob¬
serve her; stand close.
Doct. How came she by that light?
Gent. Why, it stood by her : she has light
by her continually ; 'tis her command.
Doct. You see, her eyes are open.
Gent. Ay, but their sense is shut.
Doct. Wnat is it she does now7 Look,,how
she rubs her hands. 31
Gent. It is an accustomed action with her,
to seem thus washing her hands: I have
]known her continue in this a quarter of an
hour.
Lady M. Yet here's a spot.
Doct Hark I she speaks; 1 will set down
what comes from her, to satisfy my rememf
brance the more strongly.
Lady M. Out, damned spot I out, I say !—
One: two : why, then, 'tis time todo't.—Hell
is murky!—Fie, my lord, fie I a soldier, and
afeard 7 What need we fear who knows it,
when none can call our power to account?—
Yet who would have thought the old man to
have had so much blood in him.
Doct. Do you mark that 7
Lady M. The thane of Fife had a wife:
where is she now 7—What, will tliese hands
ne'er be clean 7—No more o' that, my lord,
no more o' tliat: you mar all with this start¬
ing. 50
Doct. Go to, go to ; you have known what
you should not.
Gemt. She has spoke what she should not,
I am sure of that: heaven knows what she
has known.
Lady M. Here's the smell of the blood
still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not
sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh !
Doct. What a sigh is there 1 The heart is
sorely charged. 60
Gent, I would not have such a heart in my
bosom for the dignity of the whole body.
Doct. Well, well, well,—
Gent. Pray God it be, sir.
Doct. This disease is beyond my practice :
yet I have known those which have walked in
their sleep who have died holily in their beds.
Ixidy M. Wash your hands, put on your
nightgown ; look not so pale.—I tell you yet
again, Banquo's buried ; he cannot come out
en's grave. 71
MACBETH.
878
Doct. Even so ?
Lady M. To bed, to bed ! there's knocking
at the gate: come, come, come, come, give
me your hand, 'i^at's done cannot be un¬
done.—^To bed, to bed, to bed ! [Exit.
Doct, Will she go now to bed ?
Oent. Directly.
Doct. Foul whisperings are abroad : un¬
natural deeds
Do breed unnatural troubles : infected minds
To their deaf pillows will discharge their se¬
crets : 81
More needs she the divine than the physician.
God, God forgive us all! Look after her;
Remove from her the means of all annoyance.
And still keep eyes upon her. So, good
night :
My mind she has mated, and amazed my
sight.
I think, but dare not ^ak.
Cfent. Good night, jiood doctor.
[Exeunt.
Scene II, The country near Dunsinane.
Drum and colors. Enter Menteith, Cajith-
ness, Angus, Lennox, and Soldiers.
Ment. The English power is near, led on
by Malcolm,
His uncle Siward and the good Macduff :
Revenges bum in them ; for their dear causes
Would to the bleeding and the grim alarm
Excite the mortified man.
Any. Near Bimam wood
Shall we well meet them ; that way are they
coming.
Caith. Who knows if Donalbain be with
his brother ?
Len. For certain, sir, he is not: I have a
file
Of ail the gentry : there is Siward's son.
And many nnrougli youths that even now 10
Protest their first of manhood.
Ment. What does the tryant ?
Caith. Great Dunsinane he strongly forti¬
fies :
Some say he's mad ; others that lesser hate
him
Do call it valiant fui^r : but, for certain.
He cannot buckle his distemper'd cause
Witliin the belt of rule.
Any. Now does he feel
His secret murders sticking on Iiis hands ;
Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-
breach ;
Those he commands move only in command.
Nothing in love : now does he feel his title 20
Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe
Upon a dwarfish thief.
Ment. Wlio then shall blame
His pester'd senses to recoil and start,
When all that is within him does condemn
Itself for being there 1
Caith. Well, march we on.
To give obedience where 'tis tnily owed :
Meet wo the medicine of tlie sickly weal,
[Act ▼.
And with him ponr we in onr country's purge
Each drop of us.
Len. Or so much as it needs,
To dew the sovereign flower and drown the
weeds. 30
Make we our march towards Bimam.
[ETteunt, marchiny.
Scene III. Dunsinane. A room in the castle.
Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants.
Mach. Bring me no more reports ; let them
fly all:
Tm Bimam wood remove to Dunsinane,
I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy
Malcolm ?
Was he not bom of woman 7 The spirits that
know
All mmrtal consequences have pronounced me
thus :
' Fear not, Macbeth ; no man that's bom of
■ woman
Shall e'er have power upon thee.' Then fly,
false thanes.
And mingle with the English epicures :
The mind I sway by and the heart I bear
Shall never sag with doubt nor shake with
fear. 10
Enter a Servant
The devil damn thee black, thou cieam-laced
loon !
Where got'st thou that goose look 7
tierv. There is ten thousand—
Macb. Geese, villain !
Serv. Soldiers, sir.
Macb. Go prick thy face, and over-red thy
fear.
Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch 7
Death of thy soul! those linen cheeks of thine
Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-
face 7
Serv. The English force, so please you.
Macb. Take thy face hence. [Exit Servant.
Se.yton !—1 am sick at heart.
When I behold—Seyton, I say !—Tiiis push 20
Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now.
I have lived long enough : my way of lifb
Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf ;
And that which should accompany old age.
As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends,
I must not look to have ; but, in their stead.
Curses, not loud but de^, mouth-honor,
breath,
Whicli the poor heart would fain deny, and
dare not
Seyton !
Enter Setton.
Sey. Wliat is your gracious pleasure 7
Macb. What news more 7 30
Sey. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was
reported.
Macb. I'll fight till from my bones my flesh
be hacU'd.
Give me my armor.
Sey. "Kb not needed yet
MACBETH.
SCBKE v.]
MACBETH.
879
Macb. I'll put it on.
Send out more horses ; sklrr the country
round :
Hang those that talk of fear. Give me mine
armor.
How does your patient, doctor 7
DocU Not so sick, my lord.
As she is troubled with thick comiug fancies.
That keep her from her rest.
Macb. Cure her of that.
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, 40
Pluck from tlie memory a rooted sorrow,
Raze out the written trebles of the brain
And witti some sweet oblivious antidote
Cleansethestuff'd bosom of that perilous stuS
Which weighs u^ton the heart 7
Hoof. Therein the patient
Must minister to himselC
Macb. Throw physic to the dogs I'll none
of it
Come, put mine armor on ; give me my staff.
Seyton, send out. Doctor, the thanes fly from
me.
Come, sir, dispatch. If thou couldst, doctor,
cast 60
The water of my land, find her disease,
And purge it to a sound and pristine health,
I would applaud thee to the very echo.
That should applaud again.—Pull't off, I say.—
What rhubarb, tcyme, or what purgative drug.
Would scour these English hence 7 Hear'st
thou of them 7
Doct. Ay, my good lord ; your royal pre¬
paration
Makes us hear something.
Macb. Bring it after me.
I will not be afraid of death and bane,
Till Bimam forest come to Dunsinaue. 60
Doct. [Aside.] Were I from Dunsinane away
and clear,
Profit again should hardly draw me here.
[Exeunt.
Scene IV. Country near Bimam wood.
Drum and colors. Enter Malcolm, old Si-
wabd and his Son, Macduff, Menteith,
Caithness, Angus, Lennox, Boss, and Sol¬
diers, marching.
Mai. Cousins, I hope the days are near at
hand
That chambers will be safe.
Ment. We doubt it nothing.
Siu>. What wood is this before us 7
Ment. The wood of Bimam,
Mai. , Let every soldier hew him down a
bough
And bear t before him : thereby shall we
shadow
The numbers of our host and make discovery
Err in report of us.
Soldiers. It shall^e done.
Siw. We leam no othn but the confident
tymnt
Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure
Our setting down before't.
' Mai. 'Tis his main hope : 10
For where there is advantage to be given,
Both more and less have mven him the revolt.
And none serve with him but constrained
things
.Whose hearts are absent too.
Macd. Let our just censures
Attend the true event, and put we on
Industrious soldiership.
Siw. The time approaches
That will with due decision make us know
What we shall say we have and what we owe.
Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate.
But certain issue strokes must arbitrate : 20
Towards which advance the war.
[Exeunt, marching.
Scene V. Dunsinane. Within the castle.
Enter Macbeth, Seyton, and Soldiers, with
^ dmm and colors.
j Macb. Hang out our banners on the out-
[f.—— ward walls ;
The cry is still ' They come :' our castle's
strength
Will laugh a siege to scom : here let them lie
Till famine and the ague eat them up:
Were they not forced with those that should
be ours,
We might have met them dareful, beard to
beard,
And beat them backward home. \
. [A cry of wonAn within.
What is that noise 7
Sey. It is tiie cry of women, my good lord.
[Exit.
Macb. I have almost forgot the taste of
fears ;
The time has been, my senses would have
cool'd 10
To hear a night-shriek ; and my fell of hair
Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir
As life were in't: I have supp'd full with hor¬
rors ;
Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts
Cannot once start me.
Re-enter Seyton.
Wherefore was that cry 7
Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead.
Macb. She should have died hereafter ;
There would have been a time for such a word.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow.
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day 20
To the last syllable of recorded time.
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief
candle !
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour u^n the stage
And then is heard no more : it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Enter a Messenger.
Thou coraest to use thy tongue ; thy story
quickly.
833
MACBETH.
[Act r.
Mess. Gracious ray lord, 30
I should report that which I say I saw.
But know not how to do it.
Mftch.' Well, say, sir.
Mess. As I did stand my watcii upon the
hill,
I look'd toward Biriuim, and anon, rnettiought.
The wood began to move.
Mach. Liar and slave !
Mess. Let me endure your wrath, if't be
not so :
Within this three mile may you see it coming;
I say, a moving grove.
Mach. ' If thou speak'st false.
Upon the next tree shalt tlion hang alive.
Till famine cling tliee : if thy speecli be sooth,
I care not i.f thou dost for me as much. 41
I pull in resolution, and begin
To doubt the equivocation of the fiend
That lies like truth : 'Fear not, till Birnam
wood
Do come to Dunsinane:' and now a wood
Comes toward Dunsinane. Arm, arm, and out!
If this which he avouches does api^r.
There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here.
I gin to be aweary of the sun.
And wish the estate o' the world were now un¬
done. 50
Ring the alarum-bell ! Blow, wind ! come,
wrack !
At least we'll die with harness on our back.
[Exeunt.
scenb VI. Dunsinane. Before the castle.
Drum and colors. Enter Malcolm, old Sr-
waud, Macdcfi', and their Army, with
botif/hs.
Mai, Now near enough : your leafy screens
throw down.
And show like those yon are. Tou, worthy
uncle.
Shall, with my cousin, your right-noble son.
Lead our first battle : worthy Macduff and we
Sliall take upon's what else remains to do.
According to our order.
Siio Fare you well.
Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night.
Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight.
Macd. Make all our trumpets speak ; give
them all breath.
Those clamorous harbingers Of blood and
death. [Exeunt. 10
Scene VII. Another part of the field.
Alarums. Enter Macbeth.
Mach. They have tied me to a stake ; I can¬
not fly.
But, bear-like, I must fight the course. What's
he
That was not bom of woman ? Such a one
Am I to fear, or none.
Enter young Siwakd.
To. S'^e. What is thv name ?
Mach. Thou*lt be afraid to hear it.
To. Siw. No ; though thou oall'st thyself a
hotter name
Tiiau any is in hell.
Mach. My name's Macbeth.
To. Siw. The devil himself could not pro¬
nounce a title .
More hateful to mine ear.
Mach. No, nor more fearful.
I'o. Siw. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with
my sword H
I'll prove the lie thou speak'st.
[Tltey fight and young Siward is slain,
Mach. Thou wast bom of woman
But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn,
Brandish'd by man that's of a woman bom.
. . [Exit.
Alarums. Enter Macduff.
Macd. That way the noise is. Tyrant, show
thy face !
If thou be'st slain and with no stroke of mine.
My wife aud children's ghosts wUl haunt )ne
still.
I cannot strike at wretched kems, whose ami^
Are hired to bear their staves: either thou,
Macbeth,
Or else my sword witli an unbatter'd edge
I sheathe again uudeeded. There thou shouldst
be; 20
By this great clatter, one of greatest note
Seems bruited. Let me find him, fortune !
And more 1 beg not. [Aril. Alarunw.
Enter Malcolm and old Siwakd.
Sbo. This way, my lord ; the castle's gently
render'd : - ■'
The tyrant's people on both sides do fight;
Tlie noble tiianes do bravely in the war ;
Tlie day .almost itself professes yours.
And little is to do. i '
Mai. We have met with foes
That strike beside us.
Siw. Enter, sir, the castle.
[Exeunt. Alarums.
Scene VIII. Another part of the field.
, Enter Macbeth. .;
Mach. Why should I play the Roman fool,
aud die
On mine ewu sword 7 whiles I see lives, tlie
gashes
Do better upon them. ,
Enter Macduff.
Macd. Turn, hell-hound, turn !
Mach. Of all men else I have avoided thee:
But get thee back ; my soul is too much
charged
With blood of thine already.
Macd. I have no words :
My voice is in my sword : thou bloodier vil¬
lain
Tlian terms can give thee out! [They fight.
Mach. Thou losest labor :
As easy mayst thou the iutrenchant air
With thy 'keen sword impress as make me
bleed: ■"
Scene viii.]
MACBETH.
881
Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests ; - 11
I bear 9 charmed life, wlii(^ must not yield, •
To one of woman born. ^ it 1 ' ^
Macd. Desi^air thy charm ;
And let tlie angel whom thou still hast served
Tell thee, Macduff was from his motfaei's womb '
Untimely ripp'd
Macb. Accursed be that tongue that tells
me so.
For it hath cow'd my better part of man f
And be these juggling fiends no more believed,
That palter'with us in a double sense ; 20
That keep tiie word of promise to our ear.
And break it to our hope. I'll not fight with
thee.
Hand. Then yield thee, coward,
And live to be the show and gaze o' the time :
We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are.
Painted upon a pole, and uuderwrit,
' Here may you see the tyrant.'
Macb. I will not yield.
To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's
feet.
And to be baited with the rabble's curse. 29
Tiiough Biriiam wood be come to Dunsinane,
And thou opposed, being of no woman bom.
Yet I will try the last. Before my body
1 tiirow my warlike shield. Lay on, Macduff,
And damn'd be him that first cries, ' Hold,
enough 1' [Exeuiit, fighting, filwnans.
Retreat. Flourish. Enter, with drum and
colors, Malcolm, old Siwabd, Ro.ss, the
other niaues, and Soldiers.
Mat.' I would the friends we miss were safe
arrived.
Siw. Some must go off : and yet, by these
I see,
So great a day as this is cheaply bought.
Mai. Macduff is missing, and your noble
sou.
Ros.%. Your son, my lord, has paid a. sol¬
dier's debt;
He only lived but till he was a man ; 40
The which no sooner had his prowess cou-
firm'd
In the unshrinking station where he fought.
But like a man he died.
Siw. Then he is dead ?
I Ross. Ay, and brought off the field,.: your
j »' cause of soirow 1 „
Must not be measured by his worth, for then
It hath no end.
She. Had he his hurts before ?
Ross. Ay, on the front.
Siw. Why then, God's soldier be he I
Had I as many sons as I have hairs,
I would not wish them to a fairer death :
And so, his knell is knoll'd.
Med. He's worth more sorrow, 50
And that I'll spend for him.
Siw. He's worth no more :
They say he parted well, and paid his score :
And so, God be with him ! Here comes newer
comfort.
Re-enter Macduff, with Macbeth's head.
Macd. HaU, king ! for so thou art: behold,
where stands
The usurper's cursed head : the time is free :
I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl,
Tliat speak my salutation in their minds ;
Whose voices I desire aloud with mine :
Hail. King of Scotland !
AU. Hail, King of Scotland ! . [Flourish.
Mai. We shall not spend a large expense of
time ' 60
Before we reckon with yoUr several loves, ■
And make us even with you. My thanes and'
kinsmen.
Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scot-
laud
In such an honor named. What's more to do.
Which would be planted newly with the time.
As calling home our exiled friends abroad
That fled the snares of watchful tyranny ;
Producing forth the cruel niinisters
Of this dead butcher and his fiend-like queen.
Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent
hands ' TO
Took off her life ; this, and what needful else
That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace,
We will perform in measure, time and place ;
Se, thanks to all at once and to each one.
Whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone.
' ' [Flourish. Exeunt,
66
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA
(written about 1607.)
INTRODUCTION.
This play, though hy the person of Antony it connects itself with JtUUu Ceesar, is a striking con¬
trast to It in subject and style, and is separated from it in the chronological order by a wide interval.
In May of the year 1608, Blount (afterwards one of the publishers of the First Folio) entered in the
Stationeie' register A Book called AnUmy and Cleopatra. This was probably Shakespeare's tragedy.
The source of the play is the life of Antonius in North's Plutarch, Shakespeare h^ found in Pla-
larch his Brutus almost ready made to his hand ; he deemed it necessary to transform and transfig¬
ure the Antony of history, stained as he is not only by crimes of voluptuousness but of cruelty. " Of
all Shakespeare's historical plays," says Coleridge, " Antony and Cleopatra is by far the most won¬
derful," and he calls attention to what he terms its " happy valiancy " of style, Shakespeare, in¬
deed, nowhere seems a greater master of a great dramatic theme. The moral ideals, the doctrines,
the stoical habits and stoical philosophy of Brutus and Portia, are as remote as possible from the
sensuous splendors of the life in Egypt, fram Antony's careless magnificence of strength, and the
beauty, the arts, and the endless variety of Cleopatra. Yet, though the tragedy has all the glow and
color of oriental magnificence, it remains true at heart to the moral laws which govern human life.
The worsh^ of pleasure by the Egyptian queen and her paramour is, after all, a failure, even from
the first, ^ere is no true confidence, no steadfast strength of love .possible between Antony and
his " serpent of old Nile." Each inspires the other with a mastering spirit of fascination, but A n-
tony knows not the moment when Cleopatra may be faithless to him, and Cleopatra weaves her end¬
less snares to retain her power over Antony. The great Itoman soldier gradually loses his energy,
his judgment, and even his joy in life; at last, the despair of spent forces settles down upon him,
and it is only out of despair that he snatches strength enough to fight fiercely when driven to bay.
He is the ruin of Cleopatra's magic. Upon Cleopatra herseU the genius of Shakespeare has been
lavished. She is the most wonderful of his creations of women, formed of the greatest number of
elements—apparently conflicting elements, yet united by the mystery of life. While creating, w ith
so much inu^native ardor, his Cleopatra, Shakespeare yet stands away from her, and, in a manner,
criticises her. Enobarbus, who sees through every wile and guile of the Queen, is, as it were, a
chorus to the play, a looker-on at the game; he stands clear of the golden haze which makes up the
atmosphere around Cleopatra ; and yet he is not a mere critic or commentator (Shakespeare never
permitting the presence of a person in his drama who is not a true portion of it). Enobarbus him¬
self is under the influence of the charm of Antony, and slays himself because he has wronged his
master. The figures of Antony and the Queen are ennobled and elevated by the strong power of
attraction, even of devotion, which they exert over those about them—Antony over Enobarbus,
Cleopatra over her attendants, Charmian and Iras.
DRAMATIS PERSONAJ.
Mark Antony, 1
OcTAvius Cassab, > triumvirs.
M. AImilius Lepidds, )
sbxtus pompei0s.
Domitius Enobarbus, '
Vbntidius,
Eros,
scarus,
Deroetas,
Demetrius,
Phiuo,
Mec^nas,
Agrippa,
Dolabel£a,
Proculeius,
Thyreus,
Gaueus,
Mbnas,
Menecrates,
Varrius,
(882)
friends to Antony.
friends to Csesar.
I friends to Pompey.
Taurus, lieutenant-general to Ctesar.
Canidius, lieutenant-general to Antony.
SiLius, an ofBcer in Ventidius's army.
Euphronius, an ambassador from Antony tn
Ctesar.
Auexas, *1
Mardxan, a Eunuch. I attendants on Clco-
Selbucus, [ patra.
Diomedes, J
A Soothsayer.
A Clown.
cueopatra, queen of Egypt.
octavia, sister to Ceesar and wife to Antony.
(^ARMiAN, I attendants on Cleopatra.
Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other At¬
tendants.
Scene ; In several parts of the Roman empire.
Scene ii.]
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
883
ACT I.
Scene I. Alexandria. A room in Cleopatra's
palace.
Enter Demetrics and Philo.
Phi. Nay, but this dotage of our general's
O'erAowsthe measure : those his goMly eyes,
Tliat o'er the Ales and musters of tlie war
Hare glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, now
turn,
Tlie office and devotion of their view
Upon a tawny front : his captain's heart,
W'liich in the scuffles of great Aghts hath burst
Tlie buckles on his breast, reneges all temper.
And is become the bellows and the fan ,
To cool a gipsy's lust.
Flourish. Enter Antoht, Cleopatra, her
Ladies, the Train, with Eunuchs fanniny her_
Look, where they come : 10
Take but good note, and you shall see in him.
The triple pillar of the world transform'd
Into a strumpet's fool : behold and see.
Cleo. If it be love indeed, tell me how much.
Ant. There's beggary in the love that can
be reckon'd.
Cleo. Pll set a bourn how far to be beloved.
Ant. Then must thou needs And out new
heaven, new earth.
Enter an Attendant.
Att. News, my good lord, from Rome.
Ant.. Grates me : the sum.
Cleo. Nay, hear them, Antony :
Fnlvia perchance is angry ; or, who knows 20
If the scarce-bearded Caesar have not sent
His powerful mandate to you, ' Do this, or
this ;
Take in that kingdom, and enfranchise that;
Perform't, or else we damn thee.'
Ant. How, my love !
Cleo. Perchance ! nay, and most like :
Ton must not stay here longer, your dismission
Is come from Caesar ; therefore hear it, Antony.
Where's Fulvia's process? Caesar's I would
say ? both ?
Call in the messengers. As I am Egypt's queen,
"Thou bliLshest, Antony ; and teat blood of
thine 30
Is Caesar's homager: else so thy cheek pays
shame
When shrill-tongued Fuivia scolds. The mes¬
sengers !
Ant. Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide
arch
Of the ranged empire fall! Here is my space,
^ugdoms are clay: our dungy earth mike
Feeds beast as man : the nobleness of life
Is to do thus ; when such a mutual pair
^Embraciny.
And such a twain can do't,^i which I bind.
On pain of punishment, the world to weet
We stand up peerless.
Cleo. Excellent falsehood ! 40
Why did he matry Fuivia, and not love her ?
m seem the fool I am not; Antony
Will be himself.
Ant. But stirr'd by Cleopatra.
Now, for the love of Love and her soft hours, .
Let's not confound the time with conference
harsh :
There's not a minute of our lives should
stretch
Without some pleasure now. What sport to¬
night ?
Cleo. Hear the ambas.sadors.
Ant. Fie, wrangling queen !
Whom every thing becomes, to chide, to laugh.
To weep ; whose every passion fully strives 50
To make itself, in thee, fair and admired !
No messenger, but thine ; and all alone
To-night we'll wander through the streets and
note
The qualities of people. Come, my queen ;
Last night you did desire it : speak not to us.
[Exeunt Ant. and Cleo. with their train.
Dem. Is Ceesar with Antonius prized so
slight ?
Phi. Sir, sometimes, when he is not Antony,
He comes too short of that great property
Which still should go with Autoiij-.
Dem. I am full sorry
That he approves the common liar, who 60
Thus speaks of him at Rome : but I will hope
Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy !
[Exeunt.
Scene H. The same. Another room.
Enter Charmian, Iras, Alexas, and a Sooth¬
sayer.
Char. Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most
any thing Alexas, almost most absolute Alexas,
Where's the soothsayer that you praised so to
the queen ? O, that I knew this husband,
which, you say, must charge his horns with
garlands!
Alex. Soothsayer 1
Sooth. Your will ?
Char. Is this the man 7 Is't you, sir, that
know things ?
Sooth. In nature's inAnite book of secrecy
A little I can read.
Alex. Show him your hand. 10
Enter Enobarbcs. •
Eno. Bring in the banquet quickly; wine
enough
Cleopatra's health to drink.
Char. Good sir, give ine good fortune.
Sooth. I make not, but foresee.
Char. Pray, then, foresee me one.
Sooth. You shall be yet far fairer than you
are.
Char. He means in Aesh.
Iras. No, you shall paint when you are old.
Char. Wrinkles forbid!
Alex. Vex not his prescience ; be attentive.
(Char. Hush ! 21
Sooth. Yon shall be more beloviiig than be¬
loved.
.44
Char. I h»d raCbar hsat ny ttver with
'iriakiflg.
SI'ay, bear Mm.
Char. @eod now, eome exreHeat-^ortane !
Let me be married to tlrree MagtMnwiforenoon,
and widow them all: let he ha«B a 'Cbild at
fifty, to whom Herod of Jdwryniay do hom¬
age : find me to marry me with Octavius
C^sar, and companion me with my mistress.
Sooth. You shall outlive the lady whom you
serve. ■ 31
Char. O excellent! I love long life better
■ than figs. [former fortune
Sooth. You have seen and proved a fairer
??h<au that which is to approach.
Char. Then belike my children shall have
no names: prithee, how many boys and
wenches must 1 have ?
Sooth. If every of your w Ishes had a womb.
And fertile every wish, a million.
Char. Out, fool ! I forgive thee for a witch.
Alex. You think none but your sheets are
privy to your wishes. 41
Char. Nay, come, tell Iras hers.
Alez. We'll know all our fortunes.
Eno. Mine, and most of our fortunes, to¬
night, shall be—drunk to bed.
Iras. There's a palm presages chastity, if
nothing else.
Char. E'en as the o'erflowing Nilus pre-
sageth famine. 50
Iras. Go, you wild bedfellow, you cannot
soothsay.
Char. Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruit¬
ful prognostication, I cannot scratch mine ear.
Prithee, tell her but a worky-day fortune.
Sooth. Your fortunes are alike.
Iras. But how, but how ? give me par¬
ticulars.
Sooth. I have said. <
Iras. Am I not an inch of fortune better than
she ? 60
Char. Well, if you were but an inch of for¬
tune better than I, where would you choose it ?
I-'os. Not in my husband's nose.
Char. Our worser thoughts heavens mend I
A;exas,—come, his fortune, his fortune! O,
let him marry a woman tliait cannot go, sweet
Isis, I beseech thee 1 and let her die too, and
give him a wprse ! and let worst follow worse,
till the wor.st of all follow him laughing to his
grave, fifty-fold a cuckold! Good Isis, hear
me this prayer, though thou deny me a matter
of more weight; good Isis, I beseech the©!
Iras. Amen. Dear goddessf^hear that
prayer of the people ! for, as it is a heart¬
breaking to see a handsome man loose-wived,
so it is a deadly sorrow to behold a foul Imave
nncuckolded : therefore, dear Isis, keep deco¬
rum, and fortune him accordingly !
Chasr. Amen. 79
Alez. Lo, now, if it lay in their hands to
make me a cuckold, they would make them-
';lyes wl-o.^o, butthey'ld do't!
Eno. Hash I her© comes Antoi y.
CAor Not he; tcs queen.
[Act t.
Enter Cleofatba.
Cleo. Saw you my lord 1
Eno. No, lady.
Cleo. Was he not here ?
Char. No, madam.
Cleo. He was disposed to mirth ; but on
the sudden
A Roman thought hath struck him. Enobarbus!
Eno. Madam ?
Cleo, Seek him, and bring him hither.
Where's Alexas ?
Alez. Here, at your service. My lord ap¬
proaches. 90
Cleo. We will not look upon him : ^ with
us. [Exeunt.
Enter Airroirr with a Messenger and Attend¬
ants.
Mess. Fulvia thy wife first came into the
field.
Ant. Against my brother Lucius ?
Mess. Ay:
But soon that war bad end, and the time's
state
Made friends of them, joining their force
'gainst Caesar ;
Whose better issue in the war, from Italy,
Upon the first encounter, drave them. ■
Ant. Well, what worst ?
Mess. The nature of bad news infects the
teller.
Ant. When it concerns the fool or coward.
On : 100
Things that are past are done with me. 'Tis
thus:
Who tells me true, though in his tale lie
death,
I hear him -.is he fiatter'd.
Mess. Labienus—
This is stiff news—^hath, with his Parthian
force.
Extended Asia from Euphrates ;
His conquering banner shook from Syria
To Lydia and to Ionia ;
Whilst—
Ant. Antony, thou wouldst say,—
Mess. O, my lord I
Ant. Speak to me home, mince not the
general tongue :
Name Cleopatra as she is call'd m Rome ; 110
Rail thou in Fulvia's phrase ; and taunt my
faults
With such fuU lir tnse as both truth and mai-
ice
Have power te utter. O, then we bnug forth
weeds.
When our quick minds lie still ; and our il'.
told ns
Is as our earing. Fare thee well awhile.
Mess. At your noble pleasure.
Ant. From Sicyon, ho, the news ! SpeaR
there 1
First Ait. The man from Sicyon,—is thoiO
such an one ?
See. Alt. He stays upon your will.
Ant. Let him appeu*'
ENTONl AND CLEOPATRA.
SCEMB 111.]
ANTONY AND CLEQPATRA,
These stroup; Egyptian fetters I most break,
Or lose myself in dotage. 121
Enter another Messenger.
What are yon ?
Sec, Meis. Fulvia thy wife is dead.
Ant. Where died she t
Sec. Mess. In Sicyon ;
Her length of sickness, with what else more
serious ■
Importeth thee to know, this bears.
{Gives a letter.
Ant.^ ' Forbear me.
{Exit Sec. Messenr/er.
There's a great spirit gone ! Thus did 1 de¬
sire it:
What our contempt doth often hurl from ns.
We wish it ours again ; the present pleasure,
Sr revolution lowering, does become
The opposite of itself ; she's good, being
gone; 130
The hand could plnck he: hack that shoved
her on.
I must from this enchanting queen break oil:
Ten thoiu-mid harms, more than the ills I
know.
My idleness doth hatch. How now I Enobar-
busl
' Re-enter Emobaqbus.
Eno. What's your pleasure, sir ?
Ant. I must with haste from hence.
Eno. Why, then, we kill all our women :
we see how mortal an unkindness is to tliera ;
if they suffer our departure, death's the word.
Ant. I must be gone. 140
Eno. Under a compelling occasion, let
women die ; it were pity to cast them away
for nothing; though, between them and a
great cause, they should be esteemed nothing.
Cleopatra, catching but the least noise of this,
dies instantly ; I nave seen her die twenty
times upon' far poorer moment: I do tliink
there is mettle iu death, wi:>b commits some
loving act upon her, she hath such a celerity
in dying.
Ant. She is cunning past man's thought. 150
Eno. Alack, sir, no ; her jiassions are made
of uothmg but the finest part of pure love: we
cannot aill her winds and waters sighs and
te.ars ; they are greater storms and tempests
than almanacs can report: this cannot be
canning in her ; if it lie, she makes a shower
of rain as well as Jove.
Ant. Would I had never seen her.
Eno. O, sir, yoU had then left unseen a
wonderful piece of work ; which not to have ,
been blest withal would have discredited your
travel.
Ant. Fulvia is dead.
Eno. Sir ?
Am. Fulvia is dead. ♦
Eno. Fulvia 1
Ant. De-id.
Eno. Why, sir, give the gods a thankful
'cacrifice. When it pleasetb their deities to
take the wife of a man from him, it shows tm
man the tailors of the earth ; comforting
therein, that when old robes are worn' out
there are members tO' make new. If theta
were no more women but Fulvia, then Ii^
yew indeed a cut, and the case to be lamented:
this grief is crowned with consolation ; your
old smock brings forth a new petticoat : and
indeed the tears live in an onion that should
water this sorrow. [state
Ant. The business she hath broached in the
Cannot endure my absence. 179
Eno. And the business you have broached
here cannot be without yor ; especially that
of Cleopatiu's, which wholly depends on your
abode.
Ant. No more light answers. Letouroffi*
cerE
Have notice what we purpose. I .shall break
The c,ause of our expedience to the queen.
And get her leave to t>art. For not alone
The death of Fulvia, with more urgenttouches,'
Do strongly speak to us ; but tlie letters too
Of many our contriving friends in Rome
Petition us at home : ^xtus Pompeius 190
Hath given the dare to Csesar, and commands
The empire of the sea : our slippery people,
Whose love is never Imk'd to the deserver
Till his deserts are past, begin to throw
Pompey the Great and all his dignities
Upon his son ; who, high in name and power.
Higher than both in blood and life, stands up
For the main soldier : whose quality, going
on.
The sides o' the world may danger : mnch is
breeding.
Which, like the coui-ser's hah, hath yet but
life, 200
And not a serpent's poison. Say, onr pleasure,
To such whose place is under us, requires
Our quick remove from hence.
Eno. I shall do't. .{ExeutU.
(
Scene IH. The same. Another room.
Enter Cleopatra, Chabhian, Iras, and
Alexas.
Cleo. Where is he ?
Char. ^ I did not see him sinc&
Cleo. See where he is, who's with him,
what he does :
I did not send you: if you find him sad, i
Say I am dancing ; if in mirth, report
That I am sudden sick., quick, and return.
{Exit Alexas.
Char. Madam, methinks, if you did love
him dearly.
You do not hold the method to enforce
The like from him.
Cleo. What should I do, I do not ?
Char. In each thing give him way, cross
him in nothing.
Cleo. Thou teachest like a fool; the way
to lose him. 10
Char. Tempt him not so too far; I wistb
forbear:
In time we hate tliat whleh we often lear.
But here comes Antony.
Enter ANTONy.
Cleo. I am sick and sullen.
Am. I am sorry to give breathing to my
purpose,—
Cle'j. Help me away, dear Charmiau ; I
shall (all :
(t cannot be thus long, the sides of nature
Will not sustain it.
Ant. Now, my dearest queen,—
Cleo. Pray you, stand further from me, ■
•• Ant. What's the matter ?
' Cleo. I know, by that same eye, there's
some good news.
What says the married woman ? You may
go: 20
Wonld she had never given you leave to
come !
Let her not say 'tis I that keep you here :
1 have no ix)wer iqwu you ; hers yon are.
Anl. The gods best know,—
Cleo. O, never was there queen
So mightily betray'd I yet at the first
1 saw tiie treasons planted.
Ant. Cleoi>atra,—
CleOi Why should I thiuk you can be mine
and true.
Though you in swearing- shake the throned
gods, [ness.
Who have been false to Fulvia ? Biotous mad-
To bo entangled with those inoutlvmade vows.
Which break themselves in swearing ! 31
Ant. Most sweet queen,—
Cleo. Nay, pray you, seek no color for
your going,
But bid farewell, and go ' when you sued
staying.
Then was the titue for words : no going then ;
Eternity was in our lips and eyes,
Biiss in our brows' bent; none our parts so
poor, •
But was a iace of heaven ; they are so still.
Or tliou, the greatest soldier of the world.
Art turn'd the greatest liar.
Ant. How now, lady !
Cleo. I would I had thy inches; thou saouidst
know 40
There were a-heart in Egypt.
Ant. Hear me, queen:
The strong necessity of time commands
0:ir services awhile ; but my lull heart
Kemains in use with you. Our Italy
Shines o'er with civil swords : Sextus Pom-
peius
Makes his approaches to the port of Rome :
ICquaiity of two domestic powers
Breed sorupulous faction : the hated, grown
to strength.
Are newly grown to love: the condemn'd
Pompey,
Rich in his father's honor, creeps apace, 50
Into tlie hearts of such as have not thrived
Uiwn tlie present state, whose uurober-s
threaten
AOT 1.
And quietness, grown,sick of rest, wouhi
purge
By any desperate change : my more partic
ular.
And that which most with you should safe my
going,
, fg Fulvia's death.
Cleo. Though age from folly could not give
me freedom.
It does froin chlldi.shness : can Fulvia die ?
Ant. Site's detid, my queeu: 59
Look here, and at thy sovereign leienre read
The garboils she awaked ; at the last, best ;
See when and where she died.
Cleo. O most false love I
Wliere be the sacred vials thou shouldst fill
With sorrowful water? Now I see, I see,
la Fulvia's death, how mine received sitall be.
Ant. Quarrel no more, but be prepared to
know
The purposes I bear ; which are, or cease.
As you shall give the advice.. By tlie fire
That quickens Nilus' slime, I go from hence
Thy soldier, servant; making peace or war 70
As thou affect'St.
Cleo. Cut my lace, Charmian, come ;
But let it be : I am quickly UL and well.
So Antony loves.
Ant. My precious queen, forbear ;
And give true evidence to his love, which
stands
An honorable trial.
Cleo. So Fulvia told me.
I prithee, turn aside and weep for her ;•
Then bid adieu to me, and say the tears
Belong to Egypt: good now, play one scene
Of excellent dissembling ; and let it look
Life perfect honor.
Ant. You'll hfc.tt my blood : no more. 80
Cleo. You can do better yet; but this is
meetiy.
Ant. Now, by my word,—
Cleo. And target Still he mends ;
But this is not the best. Look, prithee, Char¬
mian,
How this Herculean Roman does become
The carriage of his chafe.
Ant. I'll leave you, lady.
Cleo. Courteous lord, one word.
Sir, you and I ro.;:st part, but tliat's not it:
Sir, you and I hr'^e loved, but there's not it;
That you know well : something it is I would,
O, my oblivion is a very Antony, 90
And I am all forgotten.
Ant. But that your royalty
Holds idleness your subject, 1 should take you
.For idleness Itself.
Cleo. "Tis sweating labor
To bear such idleness so near the heart
As Cleopatra this. But, sir, forgive me ;
Since my becomings kill me, when they da
not
Eye well to you : your honor calls you hencei
Therefore be deaf to my unpitied foUj-.
And all the gods go with you! upon you»
sword
ANTOl^Y AND CLEOPATRA.
SCBNB IV.3
Sit laurel Tictory I and smooth success 100
Be strew'd before your feet!
Ant. Let us go. Come ;
Our separation so abides, and flies,
Tliat thou, residing here, go'st yet with me.
And I, hence fleeting, here remain witli thee.
Away! [Exeunt.
Scene IV. Some. Caesar'thouee.
Enter Octavius C.£sab, reading a letter,
Lepidcs, and their Train.
Cats. Ton may see, Lepidus, and hence¬
forth know.
It is not Ctesar's natural vice to hate
Our great competitor.: from Alexandria
This is the news: he fishes, drinks, and wastes
The lamps of night in revel; is not more man¬
like
Than Cleopatra ; nor the queen of Ptolemy
Mure womanly than he ; hardly gave au¬
dience, or
Vouchsafed to think he had partners : you
shall find there
A man who is the abstract of all faults
That all men follow.
Lep. . I must not think there are 10
Evils enow to darkto all his goodness :
His faults in him seem as the spots of heaven.
Morejfiery by night's blackness ; hereditary.
Bather than purchased ; what he cannot
change.
Than what he chooses. f
Caes. You are too indulgent Let us grant,
it is not
Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy ;
To give a kingdom for a mirth ; to sit
And keep the turn of tippling with a slave;
To reel the streets at noon, and stand the
buffet 20
With knaves that smell of sweat: say this be¬
comes him,-^
As his composure must be rare indeed
Whom these things cannot blemish,—yet
must Antony
No way excuse his soils, when we do bear
So great weight in his lightness. If he fill'd
His vacancy with his voluptuousness,
Fuirsurfeits, and the dryness of his bones.
Call on him for't: but to confound such time.
That drums him from his sport, and speaks as
loud
As his own state and ours,—'tis to be chid 30
As we rate boys, who, being mature in knowl¬
edge.
Pawn their experience-to their present pleas¬
ure.
And so rebel to judgment.
Enter a Messenger.
Lep. Here's more news. ■
Mess. Thv biddings have been done ; and
every hour.
Most noble Cmsar, shalt thou have report
How 'tis abroad. Pomney is strong at sea ;
And it appears he is beloved of those
887
That only have fear'd Csesar : to the ports
The discontents repair, and men's reports
Give him much wrong'd. '
Coes. I should have known no less. 40
It hath been taught us from the primal state,
That he which is was wish'd until he were 1
And the ebb'd man, ne'er loved till - ne'er
worth love, -
Comes dear'd'by being lack'd. This common
body.
Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream.
Goes to and back, lackeying the varying tide,
To rot itself with motion.
Mess. Cresar, I bring thee word,
Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates,.
Make the sea serve them, which they ear and
wound 49
With keels of every kind : many hot inroads
They make in Italy ; the borders maritime
Luck blood to think on't, and flush youth re¬
volt :
No vessel can peep forth, but 'tis as soon
Taken as seen; for Pompey's name strikes
more '
Than could his war resisted.
Caes. Antony,
Leave thy lascivious wassails. When thou
once
Wast beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st
Jlirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel
^id famine follow; whom thou fought'st
against, ' . ' u
Though daintily brought up. With patience
more 60
Than savages could suffer: -thou didst drink 1
The stale of horses, and the gilded puddle
Which beasts would cough at: thy palate
then did deign
The roughest ben-y on the rudest hedge ;
Yea, like the stag,- when snow the pasture
sheets, [Alps
The barks of ti-ees thou browsed'st; on the
It is reported thou didst eat strange flesh,
. Which some did die to look on: and all tins-
It wounds thine honor that 1 speak it now—'
Was borne so like a soldier, that tliy cheek 70
So much as ^nk'd not. '
Lep. 'Tis pity of him.
Caes. Let his shames quickly
Drive him to Rome : 'tis time we twain 1
Did show ourselves i' the field ; and to that
end
Assemble we immediate council: Pompey 1
Thrives in our idleness.
Lep. ' To-morrow, Ciesar,
I shall be furhish'd to inform you rightly
Both what by sea and laud I can be able -
To front this present time. ■ r
Cobs. Till which encounter,
It is my business too. Farewell. 80
Lep. Farewell, my lord : what you ^all
know meantime
Of stirs abroad, 1 shall beseech you, sir,
To let me be partaker. > ,
Cms. - Doubt not, sir,;
I knew it lor my bond. [Exeunt,
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
ScEMB V. Alexandria. Cleopatra'» pcdaee.
Enter Cleopatra, Charwan, Iras, and
>1 i . mardian.
Cfeo. Charmien I
Char, Mauam ?
Cleoi' Ha, baf
Gire me to drink mandragota. '
Char. Why, madam ?
Cleo. That I might sleep out this great gap
of time'
My Antony b away.
Char. You think of him too much.
Oleo. 0, 'tis treason !
Char Madam, I trust, not so.
Cleo. Thou, eunuch Mardlan !
Mar. What's your highness' pleasure ?
Cleot Not now to hear thee sing ; I take no
' pleasure
In angnt an eunuch has: 'tis well for thee, 10
That, being unseminar'd, thy freer thoughts
May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou aifee-
tions ?
Mar. Y s, gracious madam.
Cleo. Indeed !
Mar. Not in deed, madam ; tor I can do
nothing
Bat what indeed is honest to be done :
Yet have I fierce affections, and think
What Venus did with Mars. ■
' Cleoi O Charmian, ' •
where think'st thou he is now ? Stands he,
or sits he ?
Or does he walk ? or is he on his horse ? 20
O happy horse, to bear tlie weight of Antony!
Do braVely, horse! for wot'st thou whom
thou movest ?
The derai-Atlas of this earth, the arm
And burgonet of wen. He's speaking now.
Or murmuring ' Where's my serpent of old
Nile ? '
For so he calls me i now I feed myself
With most delicious poison. Think on me.
That am with Phoebus' amorous jMnches black.
And wrinkled deep hi time ? Broad-fronted
Ciesar,
When thou wast here ?bov« the ground, I
was 30
A morsel for a monarch: and great Pompey
Would stand and make his eyes grew in my
brow ;
There would he anchor his aspect and die
With looking on his life.
Enter AijBXAa,from Ojesar.
Alex. ■ Sovereign of Egypt, hail!
Cleo. How much unlike art thou Murk
Antony I
Yet, coming from Mm, that great medicine
hath
'With his tinct g> led thee.
How goes it with my brave Mar'? Antony ?
Alex. Last thing he did, dear queen.
He kiss'd,—the last of many 'loubled kisses,—
!^is orient pearl. His s^ech sticks in my
heart. 41
. [Act ll
Cleo. Mine ear must pluck it thence.
Alex. ' Good friend,' quoth he,
' Say, the firm Roman to great Egypt sends
This treasure of an oyster ; at whose foot,
To mend the petty present, I will piece
Her opulent throne with kingdoms ; all the
east,
Say thou, shall call her mistress.' So he
nodded,
tAnd soberly did mount an arm-gaunt steed.
Who neigh'd so high, that what! v|rould have
spoke
Was beastly dnrab'd by him.
Cleo. What, was he sad or men-y ? 50
Alex. Like to the time o' the year betweer
the extremes
Of hot and cold, he was nor sad nor merry.
Cleo. O well-divided disposition 1 Note
him.
Note him, TOod Charmian, 'tis the man ; but
note him i
He was not sad, for he would ^ine on those
That make their looks by his; he was not
merry, [lay
Which seem'd to tell them his remembrance
In Egypt with his joy ; but between both :
0 heavenly mingle 1 Be'st thou sad or merry.
The violence of e.ther thee becomes, (iO
So does it no man else. Met'st thou my posts?
Alex. Ay, madam, twenty several messen¬
gers :
Why do you send so tliick ?
Cleo. Who's born tliat day
When I forget to send to Antony,
Shall die a beggar. Ink and paper, Charmian.
Welcome, my good Alexas. Did I, Charmian,
Ever love Csesar so ?
Char. O that brave Ciesar 1
Cleo. Be choked with such another emph¬
asis I
Say, the brave Antcmy.
Char. The valiant Csesar !
Cleo. By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth.
If thou with Ciesar pardon again 71
My man of men.
Char. By .your most gracious pardon,
1 sing but after yon.
C7eo. My salad days.
When I was green in judgment: cold is
blood.
To say as I said then 1 But, come, away ;
Get me ink and paper:
He shall have every day a several greeting.
Or I'll unpeople Egypt. \EaeuiU
ACT n.
Scene I. Mestina. Pompey" s house.
Enter Pomtet, Menecrates, and Menas,
in warlike manner.
Pom. If the great g<^ ba jjLit. they dial
assist
The deed uf jnstest men.
Mene. Know, worthy Pompey.
ANTONY ANZ^ V.1.E0PATRA.
ScEKB II.]
That what they do delay, they not deny. ,
Pom. Whiles we are suitors to their throne^
decays
Tlie thing we sue for. , . ,
Mem. We, ignorant of ourselves,
Beg. often our own harms, which the wise
powers '
Deny us for our good ; so find we proiBt
By losing of our prayers.
Pom.. ) I shall do well :
The people love me, and the sea is mine ;
My powers are crescent, and n»y auguring
hope . 10
Says it will come to the full. Mark Antony
In Egypt sits at dinner, and will make , |
No yrfU's .without doors ; Csesai gets money
where ,
He loses hearts : Lepidus flatters both.
Of both is flatter'd ; but he neither loves.
Nor either cai;es for him.
1 Men. CsEsar and Lepidus
Are in the fleid : a mighty strength they
■ carry.
Pom, Where have you this ? 'tis false.
Men. Froui gilvius, sir.
Pom. He dreams : I know they are in
Borne together, .
Looking for Antony. But aH the charms of
, love, , 20
Salt Cleopatra, soften thy waned lip !
Let witchcraft join with beauty, lust with
both I
Tie up the libertine in a field of feasts,
Keep his brain fuming ; Epicurean cooks
Sharpen with cloyless sauce his appetite ;
That sleep and feeding may prorogue his
honor
Even tiil a Letlie'd dulpess !
Enter Varkius.
' How now, Varrius \
Var. This is most certain that I shall de¬
liver ; ,, >
Mark Antony is every hour in Rome
Expected: since he went from Egypt 'tis 30
A space for further travel.
Pom. 1 could have given less matter
A better ear. Menas, 1 did not think
This, amorous surfeiter would have donn'd
his helm
For such a petty war : his soldiership
Is twice the otlier twain : but let us rear
The higher our opinion, that our stirring
Can from the lap of Egypt's widow pluck
The ne'er-lust-wearied Antony.
Men. 1 cannot hope
C®sar and Antony shall well greet together :
His wife that's dead did trespasses to Csesar ;
His brother warr'd upon him; although, 1
think, 40
Not moved by Antony. ,
Pom. I Ihiow not, Menas,
teow lesser enmities may give way to greater.
Were't not that we stand up against them all,
"iSeere pregnant they ^should square between
themselves; , , ,
eso
For they have entertained cause enough
To draw their swords but how the lear of us
May cemeut their divisions and bind up
The petty difference, we yet not know.
Be'tas our gods will have't! It only stands 50
Our lives upon to use our strongest hands. ,
Come, Menas. [Exefint.
Scene 11. Rome. The house of Lepidus.
Enter Enobabbus and Lepidus.
Lep. Good Enobarbus, 'tis A worthy deed,
And shall become you well, to' entreat youi
captain .
To soft and gentle speech;
Eno. 1 shall entreat him
To answer like himself : if Caesar move him,,
Let .Antony look over Caesar's head
And speak as loud as Mars. Bv Jupiter,
Were 1 the wearer of Antonius beard,
1 would not shave't to-day.
Lep. 'Tis not a time
For private stomaching.
Pno, Every time ' '
Serves for the matter that is then bom in't. lb
Ijcp. But small to greater matters must
give way.
Eno. Not if the small come first.
Lep. Your speech is passion :
But, pray you, stir no embers up. Here
comes . ,
The noble Antony. ^
Enter Antony and Ventidius.
' Eno. And yonder, Cs^r.
Enter C/Esab, Meo^nas, end Agbippa
Ani. If we compose Well here, to Parthia i
Hark, Ventidius.
Cces. I do not know,,
Mecsenas ; ask Agrippa.
Lg). Noble friends,
That which combined us was most great, and
let not
A leaner acfion rend us. What's amiss.
May it be gently heard : when we debate 20
Our trivial difference loud, we do commit '
Murder in healing wounds : then, noble
partners.
The rather, for I eame.stly beseech,
Touch you the sourest points with sweetcid
, terms, , ' . '
Nor curstness grow to the matter.
Ant. 'Tis spoken well.
Were we before our armies, and to fight.
I should do thus. , \_Flourish.
Cces. Welcome to Rome.
Ant , Tliank you.
Cces. ' Sit. ,
Ant. Sit, sir.
Cces. Nay, then.
Ant. I leara, you take thin^ ill which are
not so, , , J
Or beiug, conem you not.
Cces. I must belaugh'dat, 30
If, or for nothing or a little, I . .
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA'
890
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
(Act It
Should say myself offended, and wKh you
Chiefly i' the world ; more langh'd at, that I
should
Once name you derogately, when to sound
your name
It not eoucem'd mC.
Aal. My being in Egypt, Oscsar,
What was't to yon 7
Cm. No more than my residing here at
Rome
Mi^ht be to you in Egypt: yet, if you there
Did practise on my stote, your being in Egypt
Might be my question.
Ant. How intend you, practised ? 40
Cm. You may be pleased to catch at mine
, intent
By what did here befal me. Your wife and
brother
Made wars upon me ; and their contestation
Was theme for you, you were the word of
war.
Ant. Yon do mistake your business | my
brotlier never
Did urge me in his act: I did inquire it;
Aud have my learning from some true re¬
ports,
That drew their swords with you. Did he not
rather '
Discredit my authority with yours ; 49
And make the wars alike against my stomach.
Having alike your cause? Of this my letters
Before did satisfy you. If you'll patch a
quarrel.
As matter whole you have not to make it with,
It must not be with this.
Cm. You praise yourself
By laying defects of judgment to me ; but
You patch'd up your excuses.
I Ant. ^ Not so, not so;
I know you could not lack, I am ceitain on't,
Very necessity of tliis thought, tliat I, ,
Your partner in the cause 'gainst which he
fought, '
Could not with graceful eyes attend those
wars ' 60
Which fronted mine own i>eace. As for my
wife,
I would you had her spirit in such another :
The third o' tiie world is youra ; which with a
snaffle ' ' ^
Yon may pace easy, but hot such a wife.
Eno. Would we had all sucli wives, that
the men might go to wars with tlie women !
Ant. So much imcurbable, her garboils,
Csesar', ' ' ' ^
Made out other impatience, which not wanted
Shrewdness of policy too, I grieving grant
Did you too much disquiet: for that you must
But say, I could not help it. 71
■ (Joes. I wrote to you
When rioting in Alexaudiia ; you
Did pocket up my letters, and with taunts
Did gibe my missive out of audience.
. Ant. ' Sir, ,
He fell upon me ere admitted : tlien
'Tlmee kings I had newly feasted, and did want
Of what I was i' the morning : but next day
I told him of myself ; which was as much
As to have ask'd him pardon. Let this fellow
Be nothing of our strife ; if we contend, 80
Out of our question wipe him.
Cm. You have broken
The article of your oath : which you shall
never
Have tongue to chatge me with.
Lq>. Soft, Caesar!
Ant. No,
Lepidus, let him speak :
The honor is sacrM which he talks on now.
Supposing that I lack'd H. But, on, Caesar ;
The article of my oath.
Cm. To lend me arms and aid when I
required them :
The which you both denied.
Ant. Neglected, rather;
And then when poison'd hours had bound me
up 90
From imne own knowledge. As nearly as I
may,
I'll play the penitent to you: but mine honesty
Shall not make poor my greatness, nor my
power
Work without it. Truth is, that Fulvia,
To have me out of Egypt, made wars here ;
For which myself, the ignorant motive, do
So far ask pardon as bents mine honor
To stoop in such a case.
Lep. 'Tis noble spoken.
Mec. If it might please you, to enforce ho
further
Tlie griefs between ye : to forget them quite
Were to remember that the preseut need 101
Spealcs to atone you.
Lep. Worthily spoken, Meceenas.
Eno. Or, if you borrow one another's love
for the instant, you may, when you hear no
more words of Pompey, return it again : you
shall have time to wrangle in when yon have
nothing else to' do.
, .Ant. Thou art a soldier only ; speak no
more.
Eno. That truth should be silent I had al¬
most forgot. 110
Ant. You wrong this presence ; therefore
speak no more.
Eno. Go to, then ; your considerate stone.
Cm. t do not much dislike tlie matter, but
The manner of his .speech ; for't cannot be
We shall remain in friendship our condi¬
tions
So differing in their acts. Yet, iff knew
What hoop should hold us standi, from edge
to edge
0' the world I would pursue it.
Atr. Give me leave, Caesar,—'.
Cm. Speak, Agrippa.
Agr. Thou hast a sister by the mother's
side, 120
Admired Octavia : great Mark Antony
Is now a widower.
Cm. Say not so, Agrippa
If Cleopatra heard irou, wour renroof
Scran II.]
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
831
Weic well deserved of rashness.
Ant. 1 am not married, Cmsar: let me
hear
Aglippa further speak.
Agr. To hold you in perpetual amity,
To make you brothers, and to knit your hearts
With an unslipphig knot, take Antony
Octavia to his wife ; whose beauty claims 130
No worse a husband than the best of men ;
Whose virtue and whose gencrai graces speak
That which none else can utter. By this mar-
riage,
All little jealousies, which now seem great,
And all great fears, which now import their
dangers.
Would then be nothing; truths would be tales.
Where now half tales be trutlis : her love to
both
Would, each to other and all loves to both,
Draw after her. Pardon what I have spoke ;
For 'tis a studied, not a present thought, 140
By duty ruminated.
Ant. Will Csesar speak ?
Cm. Not till he hears how Antony is
tonch'd
With what is spoke already.
Ant What power is in Agrippa,
If I would say, * Agrippa, be it so,'
To make this good ?
Cm. The power of Ciesar, and
His power nnto Octavia.
Ant. May I never
To this good purpose, that so fairly shows.
Dream of impediment! Let me have thy
hand:
Further this act of grace : and from this hour
The heart of brothers gowrn in our loves 150
And sway our great designs !
Cm. ■ There is my hand.
A sister I bequeath you, whom no brother
Did ever love so dearly : let her live
To join our kingdoms, and our hearts ; and
never .
Fly off our loves again !
Lqi, Happily, amen !
A)U. I did nut think tu draw my sword
'gainst Poinpey ;
For he hath laid strange courtesies and great
Of late upon me : I must thank him only.
Lest my remembrance suffer ill report;
At heel of that, defy him.
Lep- Time calls npon's ; 160
Of us must Pompey presently be sought.
Or else he seeks out us.
Ant. Where lies he ?
Cm. About the mount Misenura.
Ant. What is his stren^h by laud ?
Cm. Oreat and increasing: but by sea
He is au absolute master.
Ant. So is the fame.
Would we had spoke together I Haste we for
• it: •
Fet, ere we put ourselves in armsj dispatch
we
liie business we have talk'd of.
With most gladness :
And do invite von to my sister's view, 170
Whither straight I'll lead yon.
Ant. L^ us, Lepidus,
Not lack your company.
Lep. Noble Antony,
Not sickness should detain me.
[FlourUh. Exeunt Ccesar, Antony,
and Lepidus.
Mec. Welcome from Egypt, sir.
Eno. Half the heart of- Csesar, worthy
Mecmnas ! My honorable friend, Agrippa ! <
Afff. Good Euobarbus I
Mec. We have cause to be glad that matters
are so well digested. You stayed well by't in
Egypt 180
Eno. Ay, sir; we did sleep day out of
countenance, and made the ni^it light with
drinking.
Mec. Eight wild-boars roasted whole at a
breakfast, and but twelve persons there ; is
tliis true ?
Eno. This was but as a fly by an eagle :
We had much more monstrous matter of feast;
which worthily deserved' noting.
Mec. She's a most triuraphaiit lady, if re-
iwrt be square to her. 190
Eno. When she first metMark Antony, she
pursed up his heart, upon the river of Cydnus.
Agr. Tliere she appeared indeed ; or my
reirorter devised weli for her.
Em. I will tell you. ' *
Tlie barge slie .«at in, like a burnish'd throne,
Buru'd on the water : the poop was beaten
gold ;
Purple the safls, and so perfumed that *
The winds were love-sick with them ; the oars
were silver.
Which to the tune of fiutes kept stroke, and
m^e 200
The water which they beat to follow faster.
As amorous of tlieir strokes, For her own
person.
It beggar'd all description : she did lie
In her pavilion—cloth-of-gold of tissue— ■
O'er-picturing that Venus where we see
"The fancy outwork nature ; on each side her
Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids,
With divCrs-color'd fans, whose wind did
seem
To glow the delicate cheeks which they did
cool.
And what they undid did.
Arg. O, rare for Antony ! 210
Eiio. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides,
So many mermaids, tended her i' the eyes.
And made their bends adoniings : at the helm
A seeming mermaid steers : the silken tackle
Swell with the touches of those fiower-soft
hands.
That yarely frame the ofllce. From the brage
A strange invisible perfume hits the sense
Of the adjacent wharfs. The eity oast
Her people out upon her ; and Antony, 219
Enthroned i' the market-place, did sit alone,
Whistling to the air ; which, but for vacancy,
Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too
80S
And mad« a gap in nature.
A-ur. ' i Rare Egyptian!..
Em, Upon ber lauding, Antouy sent to her,
Invited Iier to supper : she re{died, t< >
It should be better he became Iter guest {
Whicli she entreated t; our courteous Antony,
Whom ne'er the word of ' No' woman heard
speak,'
Being barber'd ten times o^er, goes to the feast,
And for his ordinary pays his heart 230
For wliat his eyes eat only, ,
Agf. Royal wench !
She made great Ctesar lay his sword to bed :
He plougli'd her, and she cropp'd.
Em. I saw her once
Hop forty paces through the;public street;
And having lost her breath', she spoke, and
panted,
That she did make defect perfection.
And, breathless, power breathe fprtn.
Mac. Now Antony must leave her utterly.
Em, Never lie will not:
Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale 240
Her infinite variety : other woipen cloy
Tlte appetites they feed : but slie makes hun¬
gry
Where mast she satisfies ; for vilest things
Become themselves in her: that the holy
priests
Bless her when she is riggisb.
Mac. If beauty, wisdom, modesty, can set¬
tle
The heart of Antony, Octavia is
A blessed lottery to him.
Agr, • . . , . Let us go.
Go<)d Enobarbus, make yourself my guest
Whilst you abide here. 250
Em, Humbly, sir, I thank you. [Nrcunf.
ScEiTB III, Thasame. Caisar'sfiouse.
Enitet Antony, Cjssar, Octavia hetween
them, and Attendanhi.
Ant. The world and my great office will
sometimes
Divide me from your bosom.
Octa. " . All which time
Before the gods my knee shall bow my prayers
To them for you.
■ Ant. . . Good night, sir. My Octaviai
Read not my blemishes in the world's report:
I have not kept ray square ; but that to come
Shall all be done by the rule. Good night,
dear lady.
Good night, sir.
Cces. Good night .
[Exeunt Caaar and Octavia.
Enter Soothsayer.
< Ant. Now, sirrah ; you do wish yourself in
. Egypt ? I 10
Sootk. WouldIhad never come from thence,
nor you
Thither!
Ant. U you can, your reason ?
Sooth, Iseeitin
fAcT 16 .
Mj motion, have it not in my tongue: but ,vgt
Hie ycMi to Egypt again. ,
Ant. Say to me.
Whose fortunes shall rise higher, CsEsar*» at
mine t. ,
Sooth. Csesar's.
Therefore, O Antony, eta^ not by his side s
Thy demon, that's thy spirit, which keeps tbee^
is ,
Noble, courageous, high, nnmatchabl^ 20
Where Csesar's is notbut, near him,, thy
angel
Beqomes a fear, as being o'eipewer'd : there-
fore 1,1
Make space enough between you.
Atil. Speak this no more.
Sooth. To none but thee ; no more, but
when to thee.
If thou dost play with him at any game, . -•
Thou art sure to lo^e; and, of tlmt natural
luck, I
He beats thee 'gainst the odds: thy lastri|
thickens, i
When he shines by : I say again, fby spirit
Is all afraid to govern thee near him
But, he away, 'tis noble.
Ant. , Get the gone: 30
Say to Yentiuius 1 would spealc with him '•
[Exit Soothsayer.
He shall to Parthia. . Be it art or hap.
He hath spoken true : the yory dice obey himj
And in our sports m^ better cunning faints
Under his diance : if we draw lots, be speeds;
His cocks do win tlie battle still of mine.
When it is all to nought; and his quails ever
Beat mine, inhoop'd, at odds. I will to Egypt;
And though I make this marriage for my
peace,
I' the east my pleasure lies.
Enter YENTiDitrs,
^ O, come, Ventidius, 40
You must to Parthia: your commission's ready;
Follow me, and receive't ' [Exeimt,
Scene IV. The same. A street. i.
Enter LEpmus, Mec.£NAS, and Acbippa.
Lep. Trouble yourselves no further ; pray
you, hasten , T
Your generals after.
Agr. Sir, Mark Antony
Will e'en but kiss Octavia, and we'll follow.,
Lep. Till I shall see you in your soldier's
dress, i
Which will become you both, farewell.
Mee. We shall.
As I conceive the journey, be at the Mount •
Before you, Lepidus.
Lep. , Your way is shorter;
My purposes do draw me much about:
You 11 win two days upon me.
A^.\ Sir, good success I
liep. Farewell, {ETmnt. 10
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
ScBJm v.] ANTONY AND
■ ^axjUK Y.'" AUxttniria. Cleopatra's palate.
Enter Clbopatra, Chabmian, Ibas« and
I ' , Alexas.
Cleoi 'Give me some tamsic; music, moody
food
Of us that'trade in love.
Attend. ' Tite music, ho I
^nter Mabdiak the Eunmh.' '
deo. Let it alone ; let'sto UUiarda : come^
, Cbarmian.
Char. My arm is sore : best play with
I .J^rdiau.
Cleo. As well a woman with an eunuch
play'd
As with a woman. Come, you'll play with
I me, sir 7
Mar. As well as I can, madam.
Cieo. I And when good will is show'd,
tliough't come too short, i
The actor may plead pardon. I'll none now :
Give me mine angle ; we'll to the river : there.
My music playing far off, I will betray 11
Tawuy-finn'd fishes; my bended hook shall
. pierce
Their slimy jaws; and, as I draw them up,,
I'll think them every one an Antony, \
And gay'Ah, ha I your caught'
C'hari ■' 'Twas merry when
Yon wagsr'dl on your angling ; when your
diver , i
Did hang n salt-fish on his hook, which he
■With fervency drew up. , . . ,
Cleo. ' That time,—O times 1—
I laugh'd him out of patience ; and that night
I laugh'd him into patience ; and next morn,.
Ere the ninth hour, I drunk him to his bed ; ■
Then put my tires and mantles on him, whUst
1 wore his sword Philippan. .
Enter a Messenger.
O, from Italy!
Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears,
That long time have been barren.
Mess. Madam, madam,—
Cleo. Antonins dead !—If thou say so, vil¬
lain, . i I
Thou kill'st thy mistress ; but well and free.
If thou so yield him, there is gold, and here
My bluest veins to kiss.; a hand that kings
Have lipp'd, and trembled kissing. 30
Mess. First, madam, he is well.
Cleo. Why, there's more gold.'
Rut, sirrah, mark, we use
To say the dead are well: bring it to that.
The gold I mve thee will I melt and pour
Down thy ill-uttering throat.
Mess. Good madam, hear m?.
Cleo. 'Well, go to, I will;
But there's no gOoduesh in thy face; If Antony
Be free and healthful,—so tart a favor
To trumpet such good tidings ! If not well.
Thou shouldst come like a Fury crown'd with
snakes, ' ^
Hot like> a formal mn,
Mts*' lYill't please you hear me ?
CLEOPATRA, m
Cleo. I have a mind to strike thee ere tbota
speak st: <
Yet, If thor say Antony lives, is well.
Or friends with Oassar, or not captive to hin^
I'll set thee >u a-shower of gold, and hail
Rich pearls upon thee.
Mess. Madam, he's Well. ''
Cleo. Well sai^.-
Mess. And friends with Csesar.
Cleo. Thott'rt an honest mail.
■.Mess. 'Ctesar and he are greater friends
than ever.
Cleo. Make thee a fortune from mb. !
Mess. 'Birt yet, madam,-i
Cleo. I do not like ' But yet,' it does allay
The good precedence ; fie upon * But yet' 1 61
But yet' is as a gaoler to bring forth ' ,,
Some monstrous malefactor. Prithee, friend.
Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear.
The good ang bad together: he's friends with
Ctesar;
In state of health thou say'st; and thou say'st
free ' [report:
Free, mkdam'! no ; I made no such
He's bound unto Octavia.
Cleo. For what good turn 7
Mess. For the best turn i' the bed.
Cleo. i am pale, Cbarmian.
Mess. Madam, he's married to Octavia. 60
Cleo. The most infectious pestilence upon
thee ! [Strikes him doton.
Mess. Good madam, patience.
Cleo. What saj- you 7 Hence,
' [Stn'Jtes him again!
Horrible villain ! or I'll spurn thine eyes ,
Like balls before me ^ I'll unhair thy head
[S/ie hales him ■Up and down.
Thou shalt be whipp'd with wire, and stew'd
in brine, ,
Smarting hi lingering pickle.
Mess. , Gracious madam,
I that do bring the liews made not the match.
Cleo. Say Tis not so, a province I will give
thee, [hadst
And make thy fortunes proud: the blow thou,
Sliall make thy peace for moving me to rage ;
And I will boot thee with what gift beside . 71
Thy modes^ can beg.
Mess. He's married, madam-
Cleo. Rogue,'thon hast lived too long.
[Draws a knife.
Mess. Nay. then I'll run.
What mean yon, madam 7 I have made no
■ fault [Exit,.
Char. Good madam, keep yourself Within
yourself;
The man is innocent. ,
Clea. Some innocents 'scaiie not the thunder,
bolt , , '
Men Egypt into Nile ! and kindly creatures
>'um all to serpents 1 Call the slave again:
f hough 1 am mad, I will not bite him : call. 8Q
Char. Re Is afeard to come. ' ''
Cleo. Twill not hurl him.
' . ' [Exit Charmian.
These hands do laek nobility, that they strike
894
A meaner than myself v eince I myself
Have given myself the cause.
Be-eHter Cbabmixs and Messenger.
Come hither, sir.
Though it be honest, it is never good.
To bring liad news ; give to a gracious mes¬
sage.
An host of tongues ; but let ill tidings tell
Themselves when they be felt
Jtfess. I have done my duty.
Cleo. Is he married ?
I cannot hate thee worser than I do, 90
If thou again say '.Yes.'
Mess. ' He's married, madam.
Cleo. The gods confound thee ! dost thou
hold tliere still ?
Mess. Should 1 lie, madam ?
Cleo. . O, I would thou didst.
So half my Egypt were submerged and made
A cistern for scaled snakes ! Go, get thee
hence:
Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, lo me
Thou wouldst appear most ugly. He is mar¬
ried 1
Mess. I crave your highness' i^ardon^
Cleo. He is married ?
Mess. Take no offence that I would not
offend you:
To punish me fur what you make me do. 100
Seems much unequal. he's married to Octavia.
Cleo. O, that his fault should make a knave
of thee.
That art not wliat thou'rt sure of! Get thee
hence :
The merchandise which thou hast brought
from Rome
Are all too dear for me; lie they upon thy
hand.
And be undone by 'em ! [Exit Messenger.
Clvar. Good your highness, patience.
Cleo. In praising Antony, 1 have dispraised
Csesar.
Char. Many times, madam.
Cleo. I am paid for't now.
Lead me from hence:
I faint: O Iras, Charmian ! 'tis no matter. IfO
Go to the fellow, good Alexas ; bid him
Report the feature of Ocbivia, Iier years,
Her inclination, let him not leave out
The color of her hair ; bring me word quickly.
[Exit Alexas.
Let him for ever go:—^let him not—Charmian,
Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon,
The other way a a Mars. Bid you Alexas
[To Mardian.
Bring me word how tall she is. Pity me,
Charmian,
But do not speak to me. Lead me to my
chamber. [Exeunt.
ScENK VL Jfeor Misenum.
Flourish. Enter Totnpoy and Mbkas at one
door, with drum and trumpet : at another,
C^SAR, Antokv, Lepidus, Enobakbus,
MxCiENAS, with Soidiem marddng.
[Act tt.
Pom. Your hostages I havei, so have yon
mine ;
And we shall talk before we figlrt.
Caes Most meet
That first we come to words ; and therefore
have we
Our written purposes before us sent;
IVhich, if thou hast consider'd, let us know
If 'twill tie up thy discontented sword.
And carry back to Sicily much tall youth
That else mus^ perish here.
Pom. To you all three.
Hie senators alone of this great world.
Chief factors for the gods, I do not know 10
Wherefore my father should revengers want.
Having a son and friends ; since JuiiusCxsar,
Wlio at Philippi the good Brutus ghosted.
There saw you laboring for him. What was't
That moved pale Cassius to conspire ; and what
Made the all-honor'd, honest Roman, Brutus,
With the arm'd rest, courtiers and beauteous
freedom.
To drench the Capitol; but that they would
Have one man but a man ? And that is it 10
Hath made me rig my navy; at whose burthen
The anger'd ocean foams ; with which I meant
To scouige the ingratitude tliat despitefid
Rome
Cast on my noble father.
Cais. T.ake your time
Anf. "thou canst not fear us, Pomjiey, with
thy sails; [know'st
We'H speak with thee at sea: at land, thou
How much we do o'er-count thee.
Pom. At land, indeed.
Thou dost o'er-count me of my father's house:
But, since the cuckoo builds not for himself,
Remabi in't as thou mayst.
Lep. Be pleased to tell us—
For this is from the present—how you take 30
The offers we have sent you.
Cces. There's the point.
Ant. Wliich do not be entreated to, but
weigh
What it is worth embraced.
Cces. And what may follow.
To try a larger fortune.
Pom. You have made me offer
Of Sicily, Sardinia ; and I must
Rid all the sea of pirates ; then, to send
Measures of wheat to Rome ; this 'greed uix>i}
To part with unhack'd edges, and t^r back
Our targes undintcd.
Cces. Ant. Lep. That's ouroffer.
Pom. Know, then, 40
I came before you here a man prepared
To take this offer: but Mark Antony
Put me to some impatience: thongli I lose
The praise of it by telling, you must know,
When Csesar and your brother were at blows.
Your mother came to Sicily and did find
Her welcome friendly.
Anf. I have heard it, Pompey;
And am well studied for a liberal thanks
Which I do owe you. ,
Pom. Let B>e liwse voor hauA
ANTONY and CLFOPATRA.
SCBNB VII.]
t did not think, sir, to have met jrou here. SO
Ant. The beds i' the east are soft; and
thanks to j-ou,
Tliat cail'd me timeiier than my purpose hither;
For I have gain'd by't.
C(et. Since I saw you last,
■There is a change upon you.
Pom. Well, I know not
\fhat counts harsh fortune casts upon- my
face ;
But in my bosom'shaii she never come,
To make my heart her vassai.
icp. Well met here.
Ponu I hope BO, Lepidus. Tlius we are
agreed:
I crave our composition may be written,
And seai'd between us.
C<es'. That's the next to do. 60
Pom. We'll feast each other ere we part;
and let's
Draw lots who shall begin.
Ant. 'That will I, Pompey.
Pom. No, Antony, take the lot: but, first
Of last, your fine Egyptian cookery
Shall have the fame. I have heard that Julius
Ciesar
Grew fat with feasting there.
Ant. You have heard much.
Pom. I have fair meanings, sir. ■
Ant. And fair words to them.
Pom. Then so much h.ave I heard:
And I have heard, Apollodorns carried—
Em. No more of that: he did so.
Ponu What, I pray you ? TO
Eno. A certain queen to Csesar in a mat¬
tress. '
Pom. I know thee now: how farest thou,
soldier 7
■ Eno. Well ;
And welt am like to do ; for, 1 perceive,
Four feasts are toward.
Pom. ' Let me shake tliy hand ;
I never hated tliee : I have seen thee fight,
When I have envied thy behavior.
Eim Sir,
I never loved you, much} but I ha' praised ye,
Wlieii you have well deserved ten times as
much
As I have said you did.
Pom. Enjoy thy plainness, 80
It nothii^ ill becomes thee:
Aboard my galley I invite you all:
Will you lead, lords ?
Cces. Ant. Lep. Show us the way; sir.
Pom. Come.
[Exeuntall but Sfenas and Enobarbus.
- Men. [Aside] Thy father, Pompey, would
ne'er have mams tliis treaty.—^Youaud I have
known, sir.
Eno. At sea, I think
Men. Wo have, sir,
Eno. You have done well by water.
Men. And you by land. 90
Eno. I will praise any man that will praise
me; though it cannot be denied What I have
done by land..
896
Men. •Not what I liave done by water.
Eno. Yes, something you can deny for your
own safety : you liave been a great thief by
sea.
Men. And you by land.
Eno. There I deny my land service. But
give .roe yuim hand, Menas: if our eyes had
authority, here they might take two thieves
kissing. 101
Men. All men's faces are tru^ whatsome'er
their hands arc.
Eno. But there is never a fair woman has
a true face.
Men. No slander ; they steal hearts.
Eno. We came hither to fight witli you.
Men. For my part, 1 am sorry it is turned to
a drinking. Pompey doth this day laugh
away his fortune., 110
Eiio. If he do, sure, he cannot weep't back
again.
Men. You've said, sif. We looked not for
Mark Antony here : pray you, is he married
to Cleopatra 7 •
Eno.. 1 Cmsar's sister is called Octavia.
Men. True, sir ; she was tiie wife of Caius
Marcellus.
Eno. But she is now the wife of Marcus
Antouius.
Men. Pr.ay ye, sir 7 120
Eno. 'Tis true.
Men. Tiieu is Caesar and he for ever knit
together. ,
Eno. If I were bound to divine of this unity,
I would not propiiesy so. r
Men. I think the ix>licy of that purpose
made more iu the nuurriage than the love of
the parties.
Eno. Ithinksotoa But you shall find,
the band that seems to tie their friendship to¬
gether will bo ■ tlie very strangier of their
amity : Octavia is of a holy, cold, and still
conversation. 131
Men. Who would not have his wife so 7
Eno. Not he tiiat himself is not so; which
is Mark Antony. Ho will to his Egyptian dish
again : then shall the sighs of Octavia blow
the fire up in Caesar ; and, as I said before,
that which is the strengtii of their amity shall
jirovethe immediate author of their variance.
Antony will use his affection where it is : he
marri^ but his occasion here. 140
Men. And thus it may be. Come, sir, will
you aboard 7 I have a health for you.
Eno. I shall take it, sir : we have used our
throats in Egypt.
Men. Come, let's away. [Exetlnti
Scene VII. On board Pompey'* galley, of
Miaenum.
Music plays. Enter two or three Servants toff A
a banquet,
First Serv. Here they'll be, man. Some of
their plants are ill-rooted alieadr ; the least
wind i' the world will blow them aown.
Serv. Lepidns is high-eolMed.
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
'496
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
' (Act iti
First Seiv, They have made ' him driuk
«liiis-drlnk<
See^' Sere. As they piuch one another by
the disposition, he cries out ' No more ;' ree-
oiiciles them to his entreaty, and himself to
tiie drink. ' . ■ ' <
First Servi But it 'taises the greater war
between him and his discretion. . . 11
Sec. Sero. Why, this is to have a name in
great men's feiiowship ; I had as Uef have a
reed that will do me no service as a partisan I
could' not lieave.
First Sero. To be called into a huge sphere,
and not to be seen to move in't,: are the holes
where eyes should be, which pitifully disaster
the cheeks.
A sennet sounded. Enter C.'Esa.r, Antoxv,
Lepidus, Pompev, Agkippa, Mecasnas,
Ekobaubus, Menas, with other captains.
AnU [To Cassar'\ Thus do they, sir s they
take the flow o'the Nile 20
By certain scales i' the pyramid ; they know,
By the height, the lowness, or the mean, if
dearth
Or foison follow: the higher Nilus swells.
The more it promises: as it ebbs, the seedsman
U|)on the slime and ooze scatters his grain.
And shortly comes to harvest.
Lep. You've strange serpents there.
' Ant. Ay, Lepidus.
Lep. Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of
your mud by the operation of your sun : so is
your crocodile. 31
Ant. They are so.
Pom. Sit,—.and some wine ! A health to
Lepidus !
Lep I am not so well as I should be, but
I'll ne'er out.
Eno. Not till yon have slept; I fear me
you'll be in till then.
■Lep. Nay, certainly, I have heard the Pto¬
lemies' pyramlses are very goodly things ;
without contradiction, I have heard that. 41
Men. [Aside to Pom.] Porapey, a word.
■ Pom. • ■ [Aside to Men.] Say
in mine ear: what is't ?
Men. [Aside to Pom.] Forsake thy seal^ I
do beseech tliee, captain.
And hear me speak a word.
■ Pom. [Aside to JIfen.] Forbear me till anon.
This wine for Lepidus 1
Lep. What manner o' thing is your croco¬
dile ?
Ant. It is shaped, sir, like itself ; and it is
as broad as it hath breadth : it is just so high
as it is, and moves with its own organs: it
lives bytliat which nourisheth it; and the ele¬
ments once out of it, it transmigrates. 51
Lep,. J, What color is it of ?
Ant. ' Of it own color too.
Lep. 'Tis a strange serpent.
Ant. 'Tis so. > And the tears of it are wet
i-.Ccestt Will this description satisfy him ?
Ant. t;With the health that Pompey^ves
him, else he-is a re^ epicoM.
Pom. [Aside to Men.] Go hang, sir, hang'.
Tell me of that ? away I ,
Do as I bid you. Where's this cup 1 cali'd for?
Men. [Aside to Pom.] If for the sake of
merit thou wilt bear me, . . 61
Else fiom thy stool.
Pom. [Aside to Men.] I think thou'rt mad-
The matter 1 [Rises, and walks aside.
Men. I have ever held my cap off to thy
fortunes.
Pom. Thon hast served me wiflt much
faith. What's else to say ? ... i
Be Mly^ lords. . i
Ant. These quick-sands, Lepidus,
Keep off them, for you sink.
Men. Wilt thou be lord of all the world ?
Pom. .What say'st thou ?
Men Wilt thou be lord of the whole world ?
That's twice. j
Pom. How should that be? .
Men. But entertain iti
And, though thou think me poor, I am the ma A
Will give thee all the world. 71
Pom. Hast thou dnmk well ?
Men.. Now, Pompey, I have kept me from
the cup.
Thou art, if thou darest be, the earthly Jove:
Whate'er the ocean pales, or sky inclips,
Is thine, if thou wilt ha't. ..i i . '
, Pom. Show me which way.
Men. These three world-sharers, these com¬
petitors, ' •
Are in thy vessel: let me cut the cable :
And, when we are put off, fall to their throats.
All there is tliiue.
Pom. Ah, this thou shouldst .have done,
And not have spoke on't! In me 'tis villany;
In thee'.t had been good service. Thou must
know, 81
'Tis not my profit that does lead mine honor ;
Mine honor, it. Repent tliat e'er thy tongue
Hath so betray'd thine act: being done un¬
known,
I should have found it afterwards well done ;
But must condemn it now. Desist, and drink.
Men. [Aside] For this,
I'll never follow thy pall'd fortunes more.
Who seeks, and will not take when once 'tis
offer'd, i '
Shall never find it more.
Pom. This health to Lepidus ! DO
Ant. Bear him ashore. I'll pledge it for
him, Pompey.
Eno. Here's to thee, Menas !.
. Men. Enobarbus, welcome ?
Pom. Fill till the chp he hid.
Eno. There's a strong fellow, Menas.
' I IPointinff to the Attendant who carries
off L^idtts..
Men. Why ?
Eno. A' bears the third part of Qie wodd,
man; see'stnot ? i '
' Men. The third part, then,is drunk: would
it were aU, - ■
Thatit might goon wheels t •
Eno. Drink thou ; increase the reels. KN
scbke i.]
Men. Come. i
Pmn. This is not yet an Alexandrian feast.
Ant. It ripens towards it. Strike the ves¬
sels, ho ?
Here is to Csesar ?
C«s. I could well forbear't.
It's monstrous labor, when I wash my brain.
And it grows fouler.
Ant. Be a child o' the time.
Cees. Possess it, I'll make answer:
But 1 had rather hist from all lour days
Than drink so much in one. i
Eno. Ha, my brave emperor! [To Antony.
Shall we dance now the Egyptian Bacchanals,
And celebrate our drink ?
Pom,. Let's ha't, good soldier. Ill
Ant. Come, let's all take hands,
Till that the conquering wine hath steep'd our ,
sense
In soft and delicate Lethe.
Eno. All take bands.
MaUe battery to our ears with the loud
music ;
The while I'll ^ace yon : then the boy shall
sing;
The holding every man shall bear as loud
As his strong sides can volley.
[Mu$ic plays. E)U>barbiis places them
hand in hand.
The Sokg.
Come, thou monarch of the vine, 120
Plnmpy Bacchus with pink eyne !
In thy fats our cares be drown'd,
With thy grapes our hairs be crown'd:
Clip us, till the world go round,
Clip us, till the world go round!
C(Bs. What would you more ? Pompey,
good night- Good brother,
Let me request you off : our graver business
Frowns at this levity. Gentle lords, let's part;
You see we have burnt our cheeks: strong
Enobarb
Is weaker than the wine ; and mine own'
tongue 130
Splits what it speaks : the wild disguise hath
almost
Antick'd us all. 'What needs more words ?
Good night.
Good Antony, your hand.
Pom. I'll ti7 you on the shore.
Ant. And shall, sir; give s your hand.
.Pom. O Antony,
fou have my father's house,—But, what? we
are friends.
Come, down into tlie boat.
Eno, Take heed you fall not.
[Exeunt all but Enobarbus and Menas.
Menas, I'll not on shore.
Men. No, to my cabin.
These drums! these trun^ts, flutes ! what!
Let Neptune hear we bid a loud farewell
To these great fellows : sotmd and be hang'd,
sound out! [Sound aflourish,tcith drums.
Eno. Ho ! says a'. - There's my cap. 141
lu Men. Ho! Noble captain, come. [Exeunt.
rni
ACT IIL , 1 ^
Scene 1. A plain In Syria.
, Enter 'Ventidius as ii were in triumph, vilth
SiLins, and other Romans, Officers, and Sol¬
diers ; the dead body of Pacowjb borne be¬
fore him. " ,
Ven. Now, darting Parthia, art thou strucl;;
and now ,
Pleased fortune does of Marcus (irassus' death
Make me revenger. Bear tlie l^g's son's
body
Before our army. Tliy Pacorus, Orodes, \
Pays this for Marcus Crassns.
Sil. Noble Yentidiiis,
Whilst yet with Parthian blood thy sword is
warmi
The fugitive Fartliians follow; spur through
Media,
Mesopotamia, and the shelters whither
The routed fly; so thy grand captain Antony
Shall set thee on triumphant qhariots and 10
Put garlands on thy head.
Ven. O Silius, Silius,
1 have done enough ; a lower place, note well.
May make too great an act: for learn this,
Silius; I
Better to leave undone, than by our deed
Acquire too high a fame when him we serve's
away.
Csesar and Antony have ever won
More in their officer than person : Sossitis,
One of my place in Syria, his lieutenant.
For quick accumulation of renown, , , 19
Which he achieved by the minute, lost his
favor. [can
'Who does i' the wars more than his captain
Becomes his captain's captain: and ambition.
The soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of
loss, .
Than gain which darkens him.
1 could do more to do Antonius good.
But 'twould offend him ; aud in his offence
Should my performance perish.
Sil. ■ Thou hast,'V'entidius, that
Without the which a soldier, and his sword.
Grants scarce distinction. 'Thou wilt write to
Antony!, 29
Ven. I'll humbly signify what in his name.
That magical word of war, we have effected ;■
How, with his banners and his well-paid ranks.
The ue'er-yet-beaten hor,«e of Parthia
We have jaded out q' the field.
Sil. Where is lie now ?
Ven. He purposeth to Athens : whither,
with what haste
The weight we must convoy .with's will per¬
mit.
We shall appear before him. On there ; pass
along! [Exeunt.
Scene n. Nome. A ante-chamber biCcesar's
house.
Enter Agbippa at one door, Snobabbub
at another.
Aff tl;e brotbeis .parted 9
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
8B6
Sno. They have diepatch'd with Pompey,'
he is gone ;
The other three are sealing. Octavia we^
To. part from Some ; Caesar is sad ; and Lep-
idus,
Since Pompey's feast,as Meuas says, is troubled '
lyith the ^eeu sickness.
Agr. 'Tis a noble Lepidns.
Eno. A very fine one: O, how he loves
Caesar f
Agr. Kay, but how dearly he adores Mark
Antony !
Eiu>. Caesar? Why, he's the Jupiter of
men.
Agr, What's Antony ? The god of Jupiter.
Em. Spake you of Caesar ? How! the non¬
pareil ! 11
Agr. O Antony ! O thou Arabian bird !
Em. Would you praise Caesar, say ' Caesar:'
go no further.
Agr. Indeed, he plied them both with ex¬
cellent praises.
Em. But he loves Caesar best; yet he loves
Antony:
Hoi hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards,
poets, cannot
Think, speak, cast, write, sina number, ho !
His love to Antony. But as for Caesar,
Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder.
Agr. Both he loves.
Em. Tliey are his shards, and he their
beetle. [Trumpets within] So ; '20
This is to horse. Adieu, noble Agrippa.
Agr. Good fortune, worthy soldier ; and
ferewell.
Enter Cxsab, Antonv, Lefidus, and Octa¬
via.
Ant. Ko furtSier, sir.
C(BS. Vbu take from me a great part of my¬
self ;
Use me well in't. Sister, prove such a wife
As my thoughts make thee, and as my farthest
band
Shall pass on thy approof. Most noble
Antony,
Let not the piece of virtue, which is set
Betwixt us as the cement of our love,
To keep it builded, be the ram to batter 30
The fortress cf it; for better might we
Have loved without this mean, if on both parts
This be not cherish'd.
Ant. Make me not offended
In your distrust
Goes. I have said.
AnU Tou shall not fiud.
Though you be therein curious, the least
cause
For what you seem to fear; so, the gods keep
you, {ends.'
And make the hearts o£ Romans serve your
We will here part
Cast. Farewell, my dearest sister, fare thee
•well:
The elements be kind to thee, and make 40
Thy spiiHsnlltff comfort! fare tiiee weli.
[Act hi.
Oct My noble brother!
Ant. The April's in her eyes : it is love's
spring,
And these the showers to bring it on. Be
cheerfuL • [and—
Oct. Sir, look well to my husband's house ;
Coes. What,
Octavia ?
Oct. I'll tell yon in your ear.
Ant. Her tongue will not obey her heart,
nor can
Her heart inform her tongue,—the swan's
down-feather.
That stands uiion the swell at full of tide,
And neither way inclines. 50
Em. [Aside to Agr.] Will Csesar weep ?
Agr. [Aside to Em.] He has a cloud in's
face.
Em. [Aside to Ayr.] He were the worse for
that, were he a horse ;
So is he, being a man.
Agr. [Aside to Eno.] Why, Enobarbus,
When Antony found Julius Csesiir dead.
He cried almost to roaring ; and he wept
When at Philippi he found Brutus slain.
Em. [Aside to Agr.] That year, indeed, he
was troubled with a rheum ;
What willingly he did confound hewail'd.
Believe't, till I wept too.
Cass. No, sweet Octavia,
You shall hear from me still; the time shall
not I
Out-go my thinking on you.
Ant. Come, sir, come ; 60
I'll wrestle with you in my strength of love :
Look, here I have you ; thus I let you go.
And give you to the gods.
C(es. Adieu ; be happy !
Lep. Let all the number of tlie stars give
light
To thy fair way I
Cces. Farewell, farewell! [Kisses Octavia
Ant. F.nrewell!
[Trumpets sound. Exeunt
ScEint HI. Alexandria. Cleopatra's
palace. '
Enter Cleopatra, Charmiax, Iras, and
Alexas.
Cleo, Where is the fellow ?
Alex. Half afeard tc come
Cleo. Go to, go to.
Enter the Messenger as before.
Come hither, sir.
Alex. Good majesty,
Herod of Jewry dare not look upon you
But when you are well pleased.
Cleo. Tliat Herod's head
I'll have : but how, when Antony is gone
Through whom I might command it ? Come
thou near.
Mess.. Most gracious majesty,—
Cleo.' Didst thou behold OctaWa ?
Mess. Ay, dread oueen.
Cleo, Where? 10
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
ScUME v.]
Mesa. Madam, in Rome ;
1 look'd ber in the face, and saw her led
Between her brother and Mark Antony.
Cleo. Is she as tall as me ?
. Afess. She is not. madam.
Cteo. Didst hear her speak t is sne shrill-
tougued or low ?
Mess. Madam, I heard her speak ; she is
low-voiced.
Cleo. That's not so good : he cannot like
her long.
Char. Like her ! O Isis I 'tis impossible.
Cleo. 1 think so, Charmian : dull of tongue,
and dwar&ih !
What majesty is in her gait ? Remember, 20
If e'er thou look'dst on majesty.
Mess. She creeps :
Her motion and her station are as one ;
She shows a body rather than a life,
A statue than a breatlier.
Cleo. Is this certain ?
Mess. Or I have no observance.
Char. Three in Egypt
Cannot make betteif note.
Cleo. He's very knowing ;
I do perceive't: tliere's notiiiug in her yet :
riie lellow has good judgment.
Char. . . Exceilent
Cleo. Guess at her years, I prithee.
Mess. . Madam,
She was a widow,—
Cleo. Widow ! Charmian, hark. 30
Mess. And I do think she's thirty.
Cleo. Bear'st thou her face in mind? is't
long or round ?
Mess, ^und even to faultiness.
Cleo. For the most part, too, tliey are fool¬
ish that are so.
Her hair, what color?
Mess. Brown, madam: an4 her .forehead
As low as she would wish it.
Cleo. There's gold for thee.
Thou must not take my former sharpness ill :
I will employ thee back again ; I find thee
Most fit for business : go make tliee ready; 40
Our letters are prepare. [Exit Messenger.
Char. A proper man..
Cleo. Indeed, he is so : I repent me much
That so 1. harried him. Why, methinks, by
him.
This creature's no such thing.
Char. Nothing, madam.
Cleo. The man hath seen some majesty,
and should know. [fend.
Char. Hath he seen majesty ? Isis else de-
And serving you so long !
Cleo. I have one thing more to ask him yet,
good Charmian :
But tis no matter ; thou shalt bring him to me
Where I will write. All may be well enough.
Char. I warrant you, madam. [Exeunt. 51
Scene iv. Athens. A room in Antony's house.
Enter Anton? and Octavia.
Ant. Nay, nay, Octavia, not only that,—
899
That were excusable, that, and thousandsmore
Of sembiable import,—but he hath waged
New wars 'gainst Pomiiey ; made his will, and
read it
To public ear:
Spoke scantly of me: when perforce he could
not .,
But pay me terms of honor, cold and sickly
He vented them ; most narrow measure lent
me:
When the best hint was given huh, he not
took 't.
Or did it from his teeth.
Oct. 0 my good lord,, 10
Believe not all ; or, if you must believe.
Stomach not all. A more unhappy lady,
If this division chance, ne'er stood between.
Praying for both parts :
The good gods will mock me presently,-
Wheu I shall pray, ' 0, bless my lord and hus¬
band !'
Undo that prayer, by crying out as ioud,.\ ,
' 0, bless my brother! Husband win, win
brother.
Prays, and destroys the prayer; no midway
'Twixt these extremes at alL ... ,
Ant. Gentle Ocl^via, 20
Let your best love draw to that point, which
seeks- • .
Best to preserve it: if I lose mine honor,
I lose myself : better I were not yours
Than yours so branchless. But, as you re-
onested.
Yourself shall go between's : the mean time,
lady,
1 11 raise the preparation of a war j
Shall stain your brother : make your soonest
haste; ...
So your desires are yours.
Oct. Thanks to my lord.
The Jove of power make me most weak, most
weak.
Your reconciler ! Wars'twixfyou twain would
be 30
As if the world should cleave, and tliat slajn
men
Should solder up the rift
Ant. When it appears to you where this be¬
gins.
Turn your displeasure that way; for our
faults
Can never be so equal, that your love
Can equally move with them. Provide your
going; , ,
Choose your own company, and command
what cost
Your heart has miud to. [Exeunt.
Scene V. The same. Another rooMf ,,
Enter Enobabbus and Ebos, meeting^
Eno. How now, friend Eros!
Eros. There's strange news come, lui.
Eno. What, man ?
Eros. Csesar and Lepidus have -made war?
upon Pompey.
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
Wj
fta>. is old : what is the success ?
r9S, Csesar, having made use of him'in
Uie wars 'gainst Pompey, presently denied him
rlvality; would not let him partake in tlie
glory of the action: and not resting here,
accuses him of letters he had formerly wrote
to Pompey ; upon his own appeal, seizes him :
80 the poor third is up, till deatli enlarge his
contoe.
Eno. Then,. world, thou hast a pair of
chaps; no more ;
And throw between them all the food thou
hast.
They'll grind the one the other. Where's
Antony?
Eros. He s walking In the garden—^thus ;
and spunis
The rush that lies before him : cries, ' Fool
Lepldus!'
And threats the throat of that his officer
That murder'd Pompey.
Eno. , ' Our great navy's rigg'd. 20
Eros'. For Italy and Ciesar. More, Domi-
tins ,
My lord desires you presently : my news
I might have told hereafter.
Eno. 'Twill he naught :
But let it be. Bring me to Antony.
Eros. Come, sir \^Exeunt.
Scene VI. Eome. Ccesar's house.
Enter Cjesxr, Agrifpa, and Mec.£NAs.
Cces. Contemning Rome, he has done all
this, and more.
In Alexandria :' here's the manner of't:
I' the market-place; on a tribunal silverd,
Cleopatra and himself in chairs of gold
Were publicly enthroned : at the feet sat
C«sarion, whom they call ray father's son,
And all the unlawful issue that their lust
Since then hath made between them. Unto
her
He gave tlie stablishment of Egypt; ntade her
Of lower Syria, Cyprus, Lydia, 10
Absolute queen.
Mec. This in the public eye ?
Cces. r the common show-place, where they
exercise.
His Sons he there proclaim'd the kings of kings:
Great Media. Parthia, and Armenia,
He gave to Alexander ; to Ptolemy he lissigu'd
Syria, Cilicia, and Phoenicia : she
In the habiliments of the goddess Isls
That day appeaFd ; and oft before gave
audience, ,
As 'tis reported, so.
Mec. , , Let Rome be thus
Inform'd.
Agr. Who, queasy with his insolence 20
Already, will their good thoughts call from
him.
Cats. Tlie people know it; end have now
received
His accusations.
Arg. Who does he accuse ?
[Act hi.
Cces. Caisar : and that, having in Sicily
Sextus Ponipeins spoil'd, we had not rated him
His part o' the isle : then does he say, he lent
me
Some shipping nnrestored : lastly, he frets
That Lepldus of the triumvirate
Should be deposed ; and, being, that we detain
All his revenue.
A'jr. Sir, this should be answer'd. 30
Cces. 'Tis done already, and the messenger
gone.
I have told him, Lepldus was grown too cruel;
That he his high authority abused.
And did deserve his change : for what I have
conquer'd,
I grant him part; but then, in bis Armenia,
And other of his conquer'd kingdoms, I
Pemand the like.
ifeo. He'll never yield to that.
Cces. Nor must not then be yielded to in
this.
Enter Octavia with her train.
Oct. Hail, Ciesar, and my lord ! hail, most
dear Cmsar I
Cces. That ever I should call^thee cast¬
away 1 ' 40
Oct. You have not call'd me so, nor have
,you cause.
CceS. Why have you stol'n upon us thus !
You come not
Like Csesar's sister : the wife of Antony
Should have an army for an usher, and
The neiglis of horse to tell of her approach
Long ere she did appear ; the trees by the way
Should have borne men; and expectation
fainted.
Longing for what it had not; nay, the dust,
Should have ascended to the roof of heaven.
Raised by your populous troops : but you are
come 50
A market-maid to Rome ; and have prevented
The ostentation of our love, which, left un>
shown.
Is often left unloved ; we should have met you
By sea and land ; supplying every stage
With an augmented greeting.
Oct. Good my lord.
To come thus was I not constrain'd, but did
On my free will. My lord, Mark Antony,
Hearing that you prejjared for war, acquainted
My grieved ear withal; whereon, I begg'd
His pardon for return.
Cces. Which soon he granted, CO
Being an obstruct 'tween his lust and him.
Oct. Do not say so, ray lord.
Cces. I have eyes upon him.
And his affairs come to me on the wind.
Where is he now ?
Oct. My lord, in Athens,
Cces. No, my most wronged sister Cleo¬
patra fera^re
Hath nodded him to her. He hath given his
Up to a whore ; who now are levying '
The kings o' the earth for war ; he hath as¬
sembled
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA..
JJu VeiUh qf CUcfatra, f
Ahtony and Clbopatra,
ScfiHE vn.l
"J
Libya ; Archelaua,
Philadelphos, king 70
Of Paphlagoua ; the Thruciaii king, Adallas ;
King Malchus of Arabia ; King of Pout;
Herod of Jewry ; Mithridates, king
Of Comagene ; Polemon and Amyntas,
The kings of Mede and Lycaonia, ■
With a more larger list of sceptres.
Oct. Ay me, most wretched,
That liave my heart parted betwixt two friends
That do afflict each other !
Ctes. _ Welcome hither:
Tour letters did withhold onr breaking forth ;
Till we perceived, both how you were wrong
led, 80
And we in negligent danger. Cheer your
heart;
Be you not trouble with the time, which
drives
O'er your content these strong necessities ;
But let determined things to destiny
Hold unbewail'd their way. Welcome to Rome;
Notliing more dear to me. You are abused
Beyond the mark of thought: and the high
To do you justice, make them ministers
Of us and those that love you. Best of com¬
fort ;
And ever welcome to us. 90
Af/r. • Welcome, lady.
Mec. Welcome, dear madam.
Each heart in Rome does love and pity you :
Only the adulterous Antony, most large
In his abominations, turns you off ;
And gives his potent regiment to a trull,
Tiiat noises it against us.
Oct. Is it so, sir ? ,
Cces. Most certain. Sister, welcome : pray
you.
Be ever known to patience : my dear'st sister !
[JExeunt.
Scene VII. Near Actium. Antony's cam]}.
Enter Clbopatba and Enobaebus.
Cleo. I will be even with thee, doubt it not.
Eno. But why, why, why ?
Cleo. Thou hast forspoke my being in these
wars.
And say'st it is not fit.
■ Eno. Well, is it, is it?
Cleo. If not denounced against ns, why
should not we
Be there in person 7
^10. [Aside] Well, I could reply.
If we should serve with horse and mares to-
getlier.
The horse were merely lost; the mares would
bear
A soldier and his horse.
Cleo. What is't you say ? 10
Em. Your presence needs'must puzzle
Antony ;
Take from his heart, take from his brain,
from's time.
What should not then be spared. He is already
001
Traduced lor levity ; and 'tis said in Rome >
That Photinus an eunuch and your maids
Manage this war.
Cleo. Sink Rome, and their tongues rot
That sneak against us ! A charge we bear i'
tne war.
And, as the president of my kingdom, will
Appear there for a man. Speak not against It;
I will not stay behind.
Em. Kay, I have done. 20
Here comes the emperor. , ,
Antony and CANronrs. ' -
Ant. ' Is it not strange, Canidius,
That from Tareiitum and Brundusium, '
He could so quickly cut tlie Ionian sea.
And take in' Toryne ? You have heard on't,
sweet ?
Cleo. Celerity is nevfer mord admired
Than by the negligent.
Ant. A good rebuke.
Which might have well becomed me best of
men, '
To taunt at slackness. Canidius, we
Will fight with him by sea.
Cleo. By sea ! what else ?
Can. Yfhy will my lord do so ?
Ant. For that he dares us to't. 30
Eno. So hath my lord dared him to single
fight
Can. Ay, and tO wage this battle at Phar-
salia.
Where Caesar fought with Pompey but these
offei-s.
Which serve not for his vantage, he shakes off;
, And so should yon. '
Em. Your ships are not well mann'd ;
Your mariners are muleters, reapers, people
Ingross'd by swift impress ; in Caesar's fleet
Are those tliat often have 'gainst Pompey
fought:
Their ships are yare ; yours, heavy: no dis¬
grace '
Shall fall you for refusing him at sea, 40
Being prepared for land.
Ant. By sea, by sea.
Eno. Most worthy sir, you therein throw
away
Tlie absolute soldiership you have by land ;
Distract your army, which doth most consist
Of war-mark'd footmen ; leave unexecuted
Your own renowned knowledge ; quite forego
The way which promises assurance-; and
Give up yourself merely to chanceAod hazard.
From firm security. . >
Ant. I'll fight at sea. 49
Cleo. I have sixty sails, Csesar none better.
Ant. Ouroverplusof shipping will we bum ;
And, with the rest full-mann'd, from the head
at Actium ,
Beat the approaching Cassar. But if we fail.
We then can do't at land.
Enter a Messenger.
Thy business ?
Mess. The news is true, my lord; he is
descried;
■ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
902
ANTONY AND CLDOPATRA.
[Act nr.
Csesar hag taken Toryne.
Ant. Can he be there in person ? 'tis im¬
possible ;
Strange that his power should be. Cauidius,
Our nineteen legions thou ghalt hold by land,
And our twelve thousand horse. We'll to our
ship :
Away, my Thetis I
Enter a Soldier.
How now, worthy soldier ! 61
Sold. O noble emperor, do not fight by sea;
Trust not to rotten planks : do you misdoubt
This sword and these my wounds ? Let the
Egyptians
And the Phoenicians go a-ducking ; we
Have u.sed to conquer, standing on the earth.
And fighting loot to loot.
Am. Well, well: away !
[Exeunt Antonyt, Ctemati-a, and Enobarbus.
Sold. By. Hercules, I think I am i' the right.
Can. Soldier, thou art: but his whole ac¬
tion grows
Not in the power on't: so our leader's led, ^ 70
And we are women's men.
Sold. You keep by land
The legions and the horse whole, do you not ?
Can. Marcus Octavius, Marcus Justeius,
Publicola, and Cselius, are lor'sea :
But we keep whole by land. Thi? speed ol
Caesar's
Carries beyond beliel.
Sold. While he was yet in Rome,
His power went out in such distractions as
Beguiled all spies.
Can. Who's his lieutenant, hear you ?
Sold. They say, one Taurus.
Can. Well I know the man.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. The emperor calls Canidius. 80
Can. With news the time's with labor, and
throes lorth.
Each minute, some. [Exeum.
Scene VIII, A plain near Actium.
Emer C.ssa1c, and Taukcs, with his army,
mardiing.
Cues. Taurus !
Tauvi My lord 1
Goes. Strike not by land ; keep whole: pro-
volflb not battle.
Till we have done at sea. Do not exceed
The prescript of this scroll: our fortune lies
Upon this jump. ■ [Exeunt.
Scene IX. Another part of tlte plain.
Enter Antony and Enobarbcs.
Ant. Set we our squadrons on yond side o'
the hill,
In eye of Caesar's battle ; from which place
We may the number of the ships heboid,
And so proceed accordingly. {Exeunt.
Scene X. Another part of the plain.
CANtDics marcheth with his land army on
xeay over the stage ; and Taubcs, the lieu¬
tenant of CxsxR, the other way. After their
going in, is heard the noise of a sea-fight.
Alarum. Enter Enobabbus.
Eno. Naught, naught all, naught! I can
behold no loiter;
The Antoniad, tlie Egyptian admiral.
With all their sixty, fly and turn the rodder :
To see't mine eyes are blasted.
Enter Scabus.
Scar. Gods and goddesses.
All the whole synod of them I
Eno. What's thy passion ?
Scar. The greater cantle of the world is lost
With very ignorance ; we have kiss'd away
Kingdoms and provinces.
Eno. How appears the fight ?
Scar. On our side like the token'd pesti¬
lence.
Where death is sure. Yon ribaudred nag of
Egypt,— 10
Whom leprosy o'ertake !—i' the midst o' the
fight,
When vantage like a pair of twins appear'd.
Both as the same, or rather ours the elder.
The breese upon her, like a cow in June,
Hoists sails and flies.
Eno. That I beheld :
Mine eyes did sicken at the sight, and could
not
Endure a further view.
Scar. She once being loof'd.
The noble ruin of her magic, Antony,
Claps on ills sea-wing, and, like a doting mal¬
lard, !^0
Leaving the fight in height, flies after her :
I never saw an action of such shame ;
Experience, manhood, honor, ne'er before
Did violate so itself.
Eno. Alack, alack 1
Enter Canidius.
Can. Our fortime on the sea is out of
breath.
And sinks most lamentably. Had our gene¬
ral
Been what be knew himself, it had gone well:
O, he has given example for our flight.
Most grossly, by his own 1
Eno. Ay, are you thereabouts?
Why, then, good night inde^. 30
Can. Toward Peloponnesus are they fled.
Scar. 'Tis easy to't; and there I will at¬
tend
What further comes.
Can. To Caesar wUl I render
My legions and my horse ; six kings already
Show me the way of yielding.
Eno. I'll yet follow
The wounded chance of Antony, though my
reason
Sits in the wind against me. [Exmnt,
SclSNU xii.]
ScKNE Xr. Alemndfia. Cleopatra'»
palace.
Enter Antonx piiih Attendants.
Ant, Hark! ' the land bids me tread no
more upon't;
It is ashamra to bear me! Friends, come
hither:
1 am so lated in the world, that I
Have lost my way for ever -: I have a ship
Laden with gold ; take that, divide it; fly,
And make your peace with Cissar.
All. Fly! not we.
Ant. I have fled myself; and have in¬
structed cowards
To run and show their shoulders. Friends,
be gone ;
I have myself resolved upon a course
Which has no need of you ; be gone : ■ 10
My treasure's in the harbor, take it. O,
1 fotlow'd that I blush to look iqion:
My very hairs do mutiny ; for the white
Reprove the brown for rashness, and they
them
For fear and doting. Friends, be gone : yon
shall
Have letters from me to some* friends that
wili
Sweep your way for you. Pray you, look
not sad.
Nor make replies of loathnesstake the hint'
Which my despair proclaims ; let that be left
Which leaves itself : to the sea-side straight¬
way : , 20
I will possess you of that ship and treasure.
Leave me, I pray, a little ; pray you now :
Nay, do so ; for, indeed, I have lost com¬
mand.
Therefore I pray you : I'll see you by and by.
[6'Rs down.
Enter Cleopatra led by Oh armi ar and Iras ;
Eros following.
Eros. Nay, gentle madam, to him, com¬
fort him.
Iras. Do, most dear queen.
CAar. Do ! why : what else ?
Cleo. Let me »t down. O Juno I
Ant. No, no, no, no, no.
Eros. See you here, sir ? 30
Ant. O fie, fie, fie !
Char. Madam 1
Iras. Madam, O good empress t
Eros. Sir, sir,—
Ant. Yes, my lord, yes; he at Philippi
kept
His sword e'en like a dancer ; while I struck
The lean and wrinkled Cassias ; and 'twas I
That the mad Brutus ended; he alone
Dealt on lientenantry, and no practice had
In the brave squares of war: yet now—No
matter. • 40
Cleo. Ah, stand by.
Eros. The queen, my lord, the queen.
' Iras. Go to him, madam, speak to him;
He is unqualitied with very shame.
903
Cleo. WeU then, sustain him : 0 I
Eros. Most noble sir, arise ; the queen ap¬
proaches :
Her head's declined, and death will seize her,
but
Your comfort makes the rescue.
Ant. 1 have offended reputation,
A most unnoble swerving.
Eros. Sir, the queen. 60
Ant. O, whither hast thou led me, Egypt ?
See,
How I convey my shame out of thine eyes
IW'looking back what I have left beliind
'Stroy'd in dishonor.
Cleo. 0 my lord, my lord.
Forgive my fearful sails ! I little bought
You would have follow'd.
Ant. Egypt, thou knew'st too well.
My heart was to thy rudder tied by the
strings.
And thou shouldst tow me after: o'er my
spirit
Thy full supremacy thou knew'st, and that
Thy beck might from the bidding of the gods
Command me. 61
Cleo. O, my pardon!
Ant: Now 1 must
To the young man send humble treaties,
dodge
And palter in the shifts of lowness ; who
With half the bulk o' the world play'd as 1
pleased.
Making and marring fortunes. You did know
How much you were my Conqueror ; and that
My sword, made weak by my affection, would
Obey it on all cause.
Cleo. Pardon, pardon !
Ant. Fall not a tear, 1 say ; one of them
rates
All that is won and lost: give me a kiss ; 70
Even this repays me. We sent our school¬
master ;
Is he come back ? Love, 1 am full of lead.
Some wine, within there, and our viands I
Fortune knows
We scorn her most when most ^e offers
blows. [Exeunt.
ScBME XH. Egypt. Coesar's camp.
Enter Cmsar, Dolabella, Thyreus, with
others.
Cces. Let him appear tliat's come from
Antony.
Know you him ?
Dol. Caesar, 'tis his schoolmaster:
An argument that he is pluck'd, when hither
He sends so poor a pinion off his wing.
Which had superfluous kings for messengers '
Not many moons gone by.
Enter EnPHRONius, ambassador from'Antony.
Cobs. Approach, and speak.
Euph. Such as 1 am, 1 come from Antony:
1 was of late as petty to his ends
As is the mom-dew on the myrtle-leaf
To his grand sea.
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
904
Cobs. Be'tso: declare tliiue ofHee. 10
- Euphi Lord ol his lorbmes he salutes
thee, and
Bequires to live in Egypt: which not granted,
He lessens his requests ; and to thee sues
To let him breathe between the heavens and
earth,
A private man in Athens : this for him.
Next, Cleopatra does confess thy greatness ;
Submits her to thy might; aitd of thee craves
The circle of the Ptolemies for her heirs,
Now hazarded to thy grace.
Goes. For Antony,
I have no ears to his request. The qnewi 20
Of audience nor desire stoll fail, so she
From Egypt drive her all-disgraced fdend,
Or take his life there;' this if she perform.
She shall not sue unheard. So to them both.
Etiph. Fortune pursue thee !
Coes. Bring him through the b.ands.
(Exit Euphronms.
(To Tkyretis'] To try thy eloquence, now 'tis
time : dispatch ;
Fr6m Antony win Cleopatra : promise.
And in our name, what she i-equires; add
more.
From thine invention, oilers : women are not
In their best fortunes strong; but want will
perjure 30
Tlie ne'er toueh'd vestal: try thy ciimiing,
Thyreus ;
Make thine own edic^ for thy pains, which we
Will answer as a law.'
Thyr. Caesar, I go.
Coes. Observe how Antony becomes his
flaw.
And what thou think'st his very action speaks
In every power that inovesy
Thyr. Cae^r, I shall. [Exeunt.
Scene XIIL Alexandria. Cleopatra's
palace.
Enter Cleopatra, EnobakbuS, Charmian,
and Iras. '
Cleo. What shall wo do, Enobarbus ?
Eno. Think, and die.
Cleo. Is Antony or we in fault for this ?
Ena. Antony only, that would make his
will
Lord of his reason. What though you fled
From that great face of war, whose several
ranges
Frighted each other? why should he follow?
Tlie itch oi his affection should not then
Have pick'd his captainship ; at such a point.
When half to half the world opposed, he being
The tmeered question: 'twas a shame no les^
Than was his loss, to course your flying flags,
And leave his navy gazing
■ CleOi Prithee, peace.
Enter AuxoNt •with Ecphronius, the
Ambassador. ' '
Ant. Is thathis answer ? ..
Euph. Ay, my lord.
[Act ni.
Ant. ' Thp queen shall then have rauitesy,
so she
Will yield us up.
Euph. ■ He says so.
Ant. Let her know't
To the boy Caesar send this grizzled head.
And he will fill thy wishes ^ tlie brim
With principalities.
Cleo. That head, my lord ?
Ant. To him agam : tell him he wears the
rose 20
Of youth upon him ; from which the world
should note
Sometliiug particular : his coin, ships, legions.
May be a coward's ; whose ministers would
, prevail
Under the service of a child as soon
As i' the .command of Caesar ; I dare him
therefore
To lay his gay comparisons apart.
And answer me declined, sword .against
sword,
Ourselves alone. I'll write it: follow me.
[Exeunt Antony and Euphronius.
Eao. [Aside] Yes, like enough, high-
battled Cmsar will
Unstate his happiness, and be staged to the
show, ,, 30
Against a sworder I I see men's judgments
are
A parcel of their fortunes; and things out¬
ward
Do draw the inward quality after them, , ,
To suffer all alike. 'That he should dream.
Knowing all measures, the full Cmsar will
Answer his emptiness I Csesa^ thou hast
subdued
His judgment too.
Enter an Attendant.
Att. A messenger from Csesar.
Cleo. What, no more ceremony ? See,
- my women !
Against the blown rose may they stop their
nose 39
^ That kneel'd nnto the buds. Admit him, sir.
. I [Exit attendant.
Eno. [Aside] Mine honesty and I begin to
square.
The loyalty well held to fools does make
Our faith mere folly : yet he that can endure
To follow with allegiance a fall'n lord
Does conquer him that did his master conquer.
And earns a place i' the story.
Enter Thyrecs.
Cleo. Ctesar's will 7
Thyr. Hear it apart.
Cleo. None but friends : say boldly.
Thyr. So, haply, are they friends to An¬
tony.
Eno. He needs as many, sir, as Caesar
has I
Or needs not ua If Caesar please, our mas-
; ter 50
1 Will leap to.be his friend: for us, you.jcnow
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA^
Scene xiii.]
Wboee he is we are, and that is, Ctesar's,
Thyr. So.
Thus then, thou most ^nowu'd: Csesar ear'
treats,
Not to consider in what case.thou stand'st, ' '
Further than he is Caesar.
Cleo. Go on: right royal.
Thyr. He knows that you embrace not
I Antony i
As yon did love, but as yon lear'd him.
Cleo. O!
Thyr, 'The scars upon your honor, there-
lore, lie
Does inty, as constrained blemishes.
Not as deserved, . >, .
Cleo. He is a god, and knows 60
What is ihost right: mine honor was not
• yi^ed, i .
But conquer'd merely. , i,
. Eno, ' ' [An'de] To be sure of that,
I will ask Antony. Sir, sir, thou art so leaky.
That we must leave tluMito thy sinking, for
Thy dearest quit thee. [Exit.
Thyr. Shall L say to Caesar
What yon require of him ? for he partly begs
To be desired to give. It much would please
'« himv i 1 - i't ! ■., .
That qf his fortunes yon should mal;e a stafi
To lean upon : but it would warm his spirits,
To hear from me you had left Antony, 70
tAnd put yourself under his shrowd,
The universal landlord. '
. Cleo, ■- What's yqur name ?
Thyr. My name is Thyreus.
• Cleo. ' Most kind messenger.
Say to g^t Csesar this t in deputation
I. kiss his conquering hand ;.,teU him, I am
prompt
To lay my crowij, at 's feet, and there to
. , kneel: ' , i,
Tell him, from his all-obeying breath 1 hear
The doom of Egypt.
Thyr. 'Us your noblest qourse.
Wisdom and fortune combating together.
If that tlie former dare but what it can, 80
No chance may shake it Give m^ grace to
lay
My duty on yqur I^d.,
Cleo. Your Ctesar's father oft,.
When he hath mused of taking kingdoms in,
Bestow'd his,lips on that quwqrthy place.
As it iaiii'd kisses.
' Se-etiier Antony' qnld EnoSArbus.
Ant. Favors, by Jove'that thunders !
What afl; thou, fellow ?
-Thyr. . i.One that but performs
The bidding of the fullest man, and v^orthiest
To have command obey'd.
Enoj ■ I .{Aeide\ You will be wiiij)p'd.
Ani. Approach, there 1 Ah, you kite I Now,
gods and devils !' w ' ' ;
Authority melts from me: of late,"'Ivhed 1
>i/imied 'Hoi'.-■ , . . . • 4)0
L&e boys unto a muss, kings would start
forth, -u I tij.,'.., ■' - ,
905
And cry ' Your will t' Have you no ears ? I
am
Antony yet
Enter Attendants.
Take hence this Jack, Bpd whip him.
Eru>. ■ [Aside] 'Tie better playing with a
lion's whelp
Thau with an old one dying.
AnL Moon and stars !
Whip him. Were't twenty of the greatest
tributaries
That do acknowledge Csesar, should I find
J them
So saucy with the hand of she here,—what's
her name,
Since she was Cleopatra ? Whip him, fellows.
Till, like a boy, you see him crmge his face.
And whine aloud for mercy : take him hence.
Thyr,, Mark Antony! ,,
Ant. , , Tug him away : being whipp'd.
Bring him again : this Jack qf Csesar's shall
Bear us an errand, to him. .
[Exeunt Attendants with Thyreus^
You were half blasted ere f knew you : ha !
Have I my pillow left unpress'd in Rome,
Forborne the getting of a lawful race, ;
And by a gem of women, to be abused
By one that looks on feeders ?
, Cleo. Good my lord,—
Ant. You have been a boggier ever : 110
But when we in our viciousness grow hard—
O misery oji't I—the wise gods seel our eyes ;
In our own tilth drop our clear judgments ;
make us
Adore our errors ; laugh at's, whUe we strut
To our confusion. . ,
CSeo. O, is't come to this ?.
Aiit. I found you as a morsel cold upon
Dead Csesar's trencher ; nay, you were a
fragment .
Of Cneius Pompey's; besides what hotter
hours,
Unregister'd in vulgar fame, you have
Luxuriously pick'd out: for, I am sure, 1*20
Though you can guess what temperance
should be.
You kuow not what it is.
Cleo. ■, Wherefore is this ?
Ant. To let a fellow that will take rewards
And say ' God quit you !' be familiar with
My playfellow, your hand ; this kingly seal
And phghter of high hearts I O, that 1 were
Upon the hill of ^san, to outroar
The bosned herd ! for 1 have savage cause ;
And to proclaim it civilly, were like
A halter'd neck which doe- the hangman
thank
For being yare about him. '
Re-enter Attendants wUh Thyreus.
r •
•. . Is ha whipp'd ? X31
First Att. Soundly, my lord. ,
Ant. Cried he ? and begg'd a' pardon ?
First Att He did ask favor.
Ant. If that thy father live, let him repent
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
906
Thou <rast not mad-e Itis daughter'; aud be
thou sorry
To follow Caesar in his triumph, since
Tliou hast been whipp'd for following him :
henceforth
The white hand of a lady fever thee,
Shake thou to lo<dc on t Get thee back to
Caesar, 139
Tell him thy entertainment: look, thou say
He makes me angry with him ; for he seems
Proud and disdainful, harping on what I am,
Xot what he knew I was: he makes me angry;
And at this time most easy 'tis to do't.
When my good stars, that were my former
guides.
Have empty left their orbs, and shot their
fires
Into the abysm of hell. H he mislike
My speech and what is done, tell him he has
Hipparchus, my enfranched bondman, whom
He may at pleasure whip, or hang, or torture,
As he shall like, to quit me : urge it thou :
Hence with thy stripes, begone I
[Exit Thijreus.
Cleo. Have you done yet?
Ant. ' Alack, our terrene mooh
Is now eclipsedaud it portends alone
The fall of Antony !
Cleo. I must stay his time.
Ant. To flatter Caesar, would you mingle
eyes
With one that ties his x>oints ?
Cleo. Not know me yet ?
Ant. Cold-hearted toward me ?
Cleo. Ah, dear, if Ibeso.
From my cold heart let heaven engender hail,
Aud poison it in the source; aud the first
stone 160
Drop in my neck ; as it determines, so
Dissolve my life ! The next Caesarion smite !
Till by degrees the memory of my womb.
Together with my brave Egyjjtians all.
By the discandyiug of this pelleted storm.
Lie graveless, till the flies and gnats of Nile
Have buried them for prey !
Ant. I am satisfied.
Caesar sits down in Alexandria ; where
I will oppose his fate. Our force by land
Hath nobly held ; our sever'd navy too 170
Have knit again, and fleet, threatening most
sea-like.
Where hast thou been, my heart ? Dast thou
hear, lady ?
If from the field I shall return once more
To kiss these lips, I will appear in blood ;
I and miy sword will earn our chronicle :
' There's hope in't yet,
Cleo. That's my brave lord!
Ant. I will be treble-sinew'd, hearted,
breathed.
And fight maliciously : for when mine hours
Were nice aud lucky, men did ransom lives
Of me for jests : but now I'll set my teeth.
And send to darkness all that stop me. Come,
Let's have one other gaudy night: call to
me >
[Act it-
All my sad captains; fill oui - bowls onc»
more;
Let's mock the midnight bell.
Cleo. It is my birtii-day :
I had thought to hare held it poor : but, since
my lord
Is ABtony again, 1 will be Cleopatra.
Ant. We will yet do well.
Cleo. Call all his noble captains to my lord.
Ant. Do so, we'll speak to them ; to¬
night I'll force 190
The wine peep tlirough tiieii scats. Come ou,
my queen ;
There's sap in't yet. The next time I do fight,
I'll make death love me ; for I will contend
Even with his pestilent scythe.
I [Ex&mt all but Enobarbug.
Eno. Now he'll outstare the lightning. To
be furious.
Is to be flighted out of fear; and in that
mood
The dove will peck the estridge ; and I see
still,.
A diminution in our captain's brain
Kestores his heart: when valor preys on rea-.
son,
It eats the sword it fights with. I will seek 200
Some way to leave him. [EkU.
ACt IV. ■
Scene L Bgfore Alexandria. Cmar's camp.
Enter C.SSAB, Aorippa, and Mec.rna8, voith
hxg Army; C-esab reading a letter.
Cces. He calls me boy ; and chides, as he
had power
To beat me out of Egypt j my messenger
He hath whipp'd with rods ; dares me to per¬
sonal combat,
Csesar to Antony: let the old mfiian know
I have many other ways to die; meantime
Laugh at his challenge.
Mec. Ctesar must think, '
When one so great begins to rage, he's hunted
Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now
Make boot of his distraction : never anger
Made good guard for itself.
Cms. Let our best heads 16
Know, that to-morrow the last of many, bat¬
tles
We mean to fight; within our files there are,
Of those that served Mark Antony but late.
Enough to fetch him in. See it done :
Aud feast the army ; we have store to do't.
And they have eam'd the waste. Poor
Antony! [Exeunt.,
Scene 1L Alexandria. Cleopatra'g palace.
Enter Antont, Cleopatrai Enobarbos,
Cha^ian, Iras, Alexas, teith otkerg.
Ant. He will not fight with me, Domitius.
Eno. No.
Ant. Why should he not ?
AJVrOiVr AND CLEOPATRAi
SCBKE IV.]
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.'
907
Ei». He thinket being twenty timc.s of bet¬
ter fortune,
He is twenty men to one.
Ant, To-morrow, soldier,
By sea and land I'll fight: or I will live.
Or bathe my dying honor in the Mood
Shall make it live again. Woo't thon fight
well ?
J?no. I'll strike, and * Take all.'
Ant. Well said ; come on.
Call forth my honsehold servants: let's to¬
night
Be bounteous at our meal.
Enter three or four Servitors.
Give me thy hand, 10
Thou hast been rightly honest4o ha.«t
thou ;—
Thou,—and then,—and thou:—you have
served me w^l.
And kings have been your fellows.
Cleo. [Aside to hno.] What means this ?
Emo. [Atide to Cfeo.] *^8 one of those odd
tricks which sorrow shoots
Out of the mind.
Ant. And thou art honest too.
I wish I could be made so many men.
And Ml of you clapp'd up together in
An Antony, that 1 might do you service
So good as you have done.
All. The gods forbid 1
Ant. Well, my good fellows, wait on me
to-night : 20
Scant not my cups ; and make as much of me
As when mine empire was your fellow too,
And sttffer'd my command.
Cleo. [Aside to £no.l What does he mean ?
Eno. [Aside to Cleo.\ To make his followers
weep.
Ant. Tend me to-n%ht;
May be it is the period of your duty :
Haply you shall not see me more ; or if,
A mangled shadow : perchance to-morrow
You'll serve another master. I look on you
As one that takes his leave. Mine honest
friends,
I turn you not away ; but, like a master 30
MarriM to your good service, stay till death :
Tend me to-night two hours, I ask no more.
And file gods yield you for't!
Eno, What mean you, sir.
To give them this discomfort ? look, they
weep ;
And I, an ass, am onion-eyed: for shame,
Transform ns not to women.
Ant. Ho, ho, ho !
Mow the witch take me, if I meant it thus !
Grace grow where those drops fall 1 My
hearty friends.
Ton take me in too doloroim a sense ;
For I spake to you for your comfort; did
desire you f 40
To bum this night with torches: know, my
hearts,
I hope well of to-morrow ; and will lead you
F^ere rather I'll expect victorious life
Than death and honor. Let's to supper, come,
And drown consideration. [Exeunt.
Scene III. The same. Before the palace.
Enter two Soldiers to their guard.
First Sold. Brother, good night: to-mor-
low is ihe day.
Sec. Md. It will determine one way : fare
you well.
Heard you of nothing strange about the
First Sold. Nothing. What news ?
Sec. Sold. Belike 'tis but a rumor. Good
night to you.
First Sold. Well, sir, good night.
Enter two other Soldiers.
Sec. Sold. Soldiers, have careful watch.
Third Sold. And you. Good night, good
night
[They place themselves in every comer of
the stage.
Fotirth Sold. Here we: and if to-morrow
Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope 10
Our landmen will stand up.
Third Sold. 'Tis a brave army,
And full of purpose.
[Music of the hautboys as under the stage.
Fourth Sold. Peace ! what noise ?
First Sold. List, list 1
Sec. Sold. Hark 1
First Sold. Music P the air.
Third Sold. Under the earth.
Fourth Sold. It signs well, does it not 7
Third Sold. No.
First Sold. Peace, I say!
What should this mean 7
Sec. Sold. 'Tis the god Hercules, whom
Antony loved.
Now leaves him.
First Sold. Walk; let's see if other watch¬
men
Do hear what we do 7
[The^l advance to another post.
Sec. Sold. How now, masters !
All. [Speaking together] How now 1
How now 1 do you hear this 7
First Sold. Ay ; is't not strange 7 20
Third Sold. Do you hear, masters 7 do you
hear 7
First Sold. Follow the noise so far as we
have quarter ;
Let's see how it will give off.
All. Content. 'Tis strange. [Exeunt.
Scene IV. The same. A room in the palace.
Enter Antony and Cieopatka, Cuabmian,
and others attending. ,
Ant. Eros 1 mine armor, Eros 1
■Cleo. Sleep a little.
Ant. No, my chuck. Eros, come ; mine
armor, Eros 1
Enter Enos with armor.
Come, good fellow, put mine iron on
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
(Ac* Tt.
If fortune be not ours to-dny, it is '
Because we brave hers come.
Cleo. Nay, I'll help too.
What's this for ?
.ilnt. . All, let be, let be ! thou art
The armorer of my heart: false, false ; this,
this.'
Cleo. Sooth, la, I'll h^p't thus it must be.
Ant. Well, well;
We shall thrive now. Seest thou, my good
i ■ fellow 1
Go put ou thy defences.
Eros. ' Briefly, sir. 10
Cleo. Is not this buckled well ?
Ant. '' ■ Rarely, rarely :
He that unbuckles this, till we do please
To daff't for our repose, shaU hear a storm.
Thou fumblest, Eros ; and my queen's a squire
More tight at this than thou: dispatch. O love.
That thou coiildst see my wars to-day, and
knew'st
The royal occupation 1 thou shouldst see
A workman iu't. , j
I Enter an armed Soldier.
Good morrow to thee ; welcome :
Thou look'st like him that knows a warlike
charge :
To business that we love we rise betime, 20
And go to't with delight.
Sold. A thousand, sir.
Early though't be, have oji their riveted trim.
And at the port e^iect you.
Trumpets flourish.
Enter Captauis and Soldiers.
Capt. The mom is fair. Good morrow,
general.
All. Good morrow, general.
Ant. 'Tis well blo-wn, lads:
This morning, like the spirit of a youth
That means to be of note, begins betimes.
So, so ; come, give me that; this way ; well
said.
Fare thee well, d.ame, whate'er becomes of me:
Tills is a soldier's kiss : rebukeable 30
[JTisscs her.
And worthy shameful chock it were, to stand
On more mechanic compliment; I'll leave thee
Now, like a man of steel. You that will fight,
Follow me close ; I'll bring you to't. Adieu.
[Exeunt Antony, Eros, Captains, and
Soldhis-
Char. Please you, retire to your chamber.
Cleo. Lead me.
He goes forth gallantly. That he and Csesai
might
Petermine this great ■war in single fight!
Then Antony,—but now—WeU, on. [Exerint.
Scene V. Alexandria. Antnoy's camp.
Trumpets sound. ' Ent/:r Antont and Esos ;
a Soldier meeting them.
Sold. The gods make this a happy day to
Autouv !
Ant., Would thdu and those thy scars had
once prevail'd ■ i
To make me fight at land 1 '
Sold. Hadst thou donb so,
The kings that have revolted, and'the soldier
That has this morning left thee, would have
still ' '
Follow'd thy heels. ' ' '
Ant. Who's gone this moming ?
Sold. I < Who!
One ever near thee; call for Enobarbus,
He shall not hear thee ; or from Oa^ae's camp
Say ' I am none of thine.' o i
Ant. What say'st thou ?
Sold. " Sir,
He is ■vfith Csesar.
' Eros. Sir, his chests and treasure 10
He has not with him. '
Ant. Is he gone? ' J I
Sold. Host certain.
Ant. Go, EroSj send his treasure lifter ; do
it r
Detain no jot, I charge thCe: write to him—
I will subscribe—gentle adieus and greetings ;
Say that I wish he never find more cause
To change a master. O; nw fortunes have
Corrupted honest men ! Dispatch.—Enobaf-
bns! ' [Exeunt.
Scene VI. Alexandria., Ccesar's camp.
Flourish. Enter C^sak, Agrippa, with Enct
BARBCs, and others.
Cces. Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the
^ht;
Our will is Antony be took alive ;
Make it so known.'
Agr. , Csesar, i shall. [Exit.
Cces. The time of universal peace is near:
Prove this a prosperous day, the thiee-nook'd
^vorld
Shall bear the olive fredyi "
Enter a Messenger. /
Mess. Antony
Is come uito the field. ■ «
Cxs. Go charae A^ppa
Plant those that have revolted in the van.
That Antony may seem to spend his fury 10
Ui)on himself. [Exeunt all bttt Enobarbus.
Eno. Alexas did revolt; and went to- Je'wrv
• ' on I 'I , ■'
Affairs of Antony ; there did persuade
Great Herod to incUue himself to Cresar,
And leave his master Antony ; for riiis pafns
Csesar hath hahg'd him. 'Canidius and the
rest
That fell away have entertainment, but
No honorable trusts I have done ill; '
Of which I do accuse myself so scsrely,
That I wiB joy no more..
, , Entef. a Boldier qfC^ssAB's. :•
Sold. Enobarbus, Antony 20
Hath after thee sent .all thy treasure, ■with' '
His bounty overplus: the messenger f
SCESB IX.]
Came oa my guard ; and at thy teut is oovf /'
Unlmtdiug «{liis miues. '
lEno^' Igiveityou.
Sold. Mock not, Enobarbus.
I tell you tene c. best you safed tlie brlnger
Out of the host; I must attend mine office,
Or would have done't myself. ' Your emperor
Continues still a Jove. [Exit.
Eno. I am alone the villaiu of the earth, 30
And feel 1 am so most. O Antony,
Thou mine of bounty, bow woulcUt thou have
paid I' . ,
My better service, when my turpitude i i
Thou dost so crown with gold! This, blows
my heart :
If swift thought break it not, a swifter inean
Shall outstriue thought ,; but thought will do't,'
Ifeel. )
I fight against thee ! , No; I will go seek
Some ditch wherein to die ; the foul'st best fits
My latter part of life. ' [Exit.
Scene VIL Fidd of battle between the ecmps.
Alarum. Dritmi and IntmpeU. Enter
i Aobippa afid others.
Agr. Retire, tvte have engaged ourselves too
far: ' ' ' '
Csesar himself has work, and our oppression
^ceeds what we expected., [Exeunt.
Alarums. Enter Antont and Scarus
f wfnmded. i i
Scar. O my brave emperor, this is fought
indeed! -i' *
Had we done so at first, we had droven them
home 1 ' < ■'
With clouts about their heads. > '
Ant .1.1 . Thou bleed'st apacei
Scar. I had a wound here that was like a T,
But now'tis made an H. ' ' i
Ant They do retire.
Scar. We'll beat 'em into bench-holes : I
have yet . ■ . • '
Boom for six scotches more. 10
' ■ Enter Erg's. •'
Eros. Ihey are beaten, sir-;and our acir
vantage serves ' i
For a fair victory.
Scar. Let us score theii; backs,
A^d snatch 'em up, as we take liares, behind:
"Tis .sport to maul a rupner.
Aht ' ' - '■ ■ * I will.reward thee
Once for thy spritely comfort, and ten-fold .
For thy good -^or. Come thee on.'
Scar. ^'11 halt after. [.Exeunt.
Scene 'VIII. Under the walls of Alexandrig.
Alanine Enter Antony, in a march; Scarus, ,
with others.
Am. We have beat him to his camp: run
one before, ' • . • ''
And let the queen know of our gests. To-
1 morrow.
Before the sun shall see's, we'll spiU the blood '
That has to-day escaped, 1 thank you all)
909
' Foe doughty-handed are you, and have fought
Not as you served the cause, but as't had been
Each man's like mine ; you have shown all
' ' Hectors. ; "u
Enter the city, clip your wives, your friends, ■
Tell them your feats { whilst they with joj'-
" fttl t^rs '
Wash the congealmeut from your wounds,
> and kiss ' < , 10
The houor'd gashes whole. [To Scarus] Give
me thy hand;' '
Enter Cleopatra, attended.
To this great fairy I'll commend thy acts.
Make her tlianks bless thee. [Tq Cleo.] O
j thou day o' the world.
Chain mine arm'd neck ; leap thou, attire and
all, [there
Through proof of harness tq my heart, and
Ride on the pants triumphing ! ' ' i
, Cleo. Lord of lords 1
O infinite virtue, comest thou smiling .[torn
• The world's great snarp uncaught ?
Ant. My nightingale,
We have beat them to their beds. What, girl I
though grey |
Do something mingle with opr younger browiv
yet ha' we . ,20
A brain that nourishes our nerves, and cau'
Get goal for goal of youth. . Behold this man;
Commend unto his hps thy fnvoring hand ;
ICiss it, my warrior : he hath fought to-day
As if a god, in hate of mankind, had
Destroy d in'such a shape.
Cleo. I'll give thee,, friend.
An armor all of gold ; it was a,king's.
Ant. He lias deserved it, were it qarbuucled
Like holy Phoebus' car. Give me thy hand: .i
Through Alexandria make a jolly march ; 3d
Bear our hack'd.targets like the iuen tliat qwe|
them: ' ' '
Had our great palace the capacity ,,
To camp this host, we all would sup together,
And driiik carouses to the next day's fate,, ■
Which promises royal peril. Trumpeters,
Witli brazen din blast you the city's ear ;
Make mingle with our rattling bibourines ;
That heaven and earth may strike their sounds
togetlier,
Apxilaudmg our approach, [Exeunt, 39
Scene IX. Caesar's camp.
Sentinels, ai their post
First Sold. If we be not relieved within this
hour.
We must return to the court of guard : the
niglit
Is shiny ; and they say we shall embattle
By the second hour i' the morn.
Sec. Sold. This last day was'
A shrewd one to's. ,
Elnter Enobarbus.
Eno. O, bear me witness, night,—
Third Sold. What man is this ?
SoQ, Sol^ Stand close, and list biJS!
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
010
Eno. B« witnes3 to m«, O thou blessed
moon,.
When meu revolted shall upon record
Bear hateful memory, poor Enobarbus did
Before thy face repent!
First Sold. Euobarbus !
Third Sold. Peace ! 10
Hark further.
Em. O sovereign mistress of true melan¬
choly, [me,
The poisonous damp of night dispouge upon
That life, a very rebel to my will,
May haug.no longer on me : throw my heart
Against the flint and hardness of mv fault;
Which, being dried with grief, will break to
powder.
And finish all foul thoughts. O Antony,
Nobler tlian my revolt is infamous.
Forgive me in thine own particular ; 20
But let the world rank me in register
A master-leaver and a fugitive :
O Antony ! 0 Antony ! [Dies,
Sec. Sold. Let's speak
To him.
First Sold. Let's hear him, for the things
he speaks
Mw concern Cmsar.
Third Sold. Let's do so. But he sleeps.
First Sold. Swoons rather; for so l«id a
prayer as his .
Was never yet for sleep.
Sec. Sold. Go we to mm.
Third Sold. Awake, sir, awake ; speak to
us.
Sec. Sold. Hear .you, sir ?
First Sold. The hand of death hath raught
him. [D>'ums afar off.'] Hark ! the drums
Demurely wake the sleepers. Let us bear
him 31
To the court of guard ; he is of note: our
hour
Is fully out.
Third Sold. Come on, then ;
He may recover yet. [Exeunt loith the body.
Scene X. Between the two camps.
Enter Antony and Scakus, with their Army.
Ant. Their preparation is to-day by sea ;
We please them not by land.
Scar. For both, my lord.
Ant. I would they 'Id fight i' the fire or i'
the air ;
We'ld fi.ght there too. But this it is ; our
foot
Upon the hills adjoining to the city
Shall stay with us: order for sea is given ;
tThey have put forth the haven ....
Where thmr appointment we may best dis¬
cover,
And look oh their endeavor. Exeunt. 2
Scene XI. Another part of the same.
Enter Cmsavl, and his Army. ■
C(es. But being chained, wo will bo still by
l»nd,
[Act it:
WMch, as I take't, we shall; for his best foree
Is forth to man his galleys. To the rales,
And hold our best s^rantage. [ExemU.
Scene XIL Another part of the same.
Enter Antony and Scabus.
Ant. Yet they are not join'd ; where youd
pine does stand.
I shall discover all: 111 bring thee word
Straight, how 'tis like to go,' [Exit.
Scar. Swallows have built
In Cleopatra's sails their nests : the augurers
Say they know not, they cannot tell; look
gnmly.
And dare not speak their knowledge. Antony
Is valiant, and dejected ; and, by starts,
His fretted fortunes give him hope, and fear.
Of what he has, and has not.
[Alarum afar off, at at a sea-fiqht.
Re-enter Antony.
Ant. All is lost;
This foul Egyptian hath betrayed me: 10
My fieet hath yielded to tlie foe ; and yonder
They cast their caps up and carouse together
Like friends long lost. Triple-tum'd whore!
'tis thou
Hast sold me to this novice ; and my heart ,
Makes only wars on thee. Bid them ali fly ;
For when t am revenged upon my charm,
1 have done all. Bid them all fly ; begone.
[Exit Scarus.
O sun, thy uprise shall I see no more :
Fortune and Antony part here ; even here
Do we shake hands. All come to this ? The
hearts -0
That spwiel'd me at heels, to whom I gave
Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets
On blossoming Csesar; and this lane isbark'd.
That overtopp'd them all. Betray'd I am :
O this false soul of Egypt! this gravecharm.—
Whose eye beck'd forth my wars, and call'd
them home ;
Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end,—
Like a right gipsy, hath, at fast and loose.
Beguiled me to the very heart of loss.
What, Eros, Eros !
Enter Cleopatba.
Ah, thou spell! Avaunt! 30 -
Cleo. Why is my lord enraged against his
love ? ■
Ant. Vanish, or I shall give thee thy de- ,
serving.
And blemish Csesar's triumph. Let him take
thee.
And hoist thee Up to the shouting plebeians :
Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot
Of all thy sex ; most monster-like, be shown
For poorest diminutiyes, for doits : and let
Patient Octavia plough thy visage up
With her prepared nails. [Exit Cleopedra.
'Tis well thou'rt gone.
If it be well to live ; but better 'twere 40
Tbou M'st into fury, for one death
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA
scehb xlv.]
Might have prevented many. Eros, ho !
The shirt of Nessus is upon me ; teacli me,
Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage :
Let ine lodM Lichas on the horns o' the moon;
And with those hands, that grasp'd the heavi¬
est club,
Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall
die :
To the young Roman boy she hath sold roe,
and 1 fall
Under this jdotshe dies for't Eros, ho I
[Eztil.
ScEMB XIII. Alexandria. Cleopatra's
palace.
. Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and
Mardiak.
Cleo. Help me, my women ! O, he is more
mad
Than Telamon for his shield ; the hoar of
Thessaly
Was never so emboss'd.
Char. To tlie monument!
There lock yourself, and send him word you
are dead.
Tlte soul and body rive not more in parting
Than greatness going off.
Cleo, To the monument!
Mardian, go tell him I have slain myself ;
Say, Uiat the last I spoke was ' Antony,'
And word it, prithee, piteously : hence, Mar¬
dian,
And bring me how he takes my de.ath. . To
the mounmeut I [Exeunt. 10
Scene XIV, The same. Another room.
Enter Antony and Eros. ' '
Ant. Eros, thou yet behold'st me 7
Eros. Ay, noble lord.
Aid. Sometimes we see a cloud that's dra-
gonish ;
h. vapor .sometime like a bear or lion,
A tower'd citadel, a pendent rock,
A forked mountain, or blue promontory
With trees upon't, that nod unto the world,
And mock our eyes with air ; thou hast seen
these signs ;
They are black vesper's pageants.
Eros. Ay, my lord.
Ant. Tliat which is now a horse, even with
a thought
The rack dislimns, and makes it indistinct, 10
As water Is in water.
Eros. It does, my lord.
Ant. My good knave Eros, now thy captain
Is
Even such a body ; here I am Antony : '
Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave.
I raadethese wars for E^ypt: and thequeen,—
Whose heart I thought I had, for she had
mine; f
Which whilst it was mine had annex'd nnto't
A million more, now lost,—.she, Eros, has
.^k'd cards with Gsesar, and false-play'd my
glory
911
Unto an enemy's triumph. 20
Nay, weep not, gentle Eros ; there is left us
Ourselves to end ourselves.
t
Enter Mardian.
O, thy vile lady I
tShe bos robb'd me of my sword.
Mar. No, Antony ;
My mistress loved thee, and her fortunes
mingled
With thine entirely.
Ant.- Hence, saucy eunuch ; peace!
She hath betray'd me and shall die the oeath.
Mar. Death of one person can be paid but
once,
And that she has discharged : what thou
wouldst do
Is done unto thy hand ; the last she spake
Was * Antony I most noble Antony!' 30
Then in the midst a tearing groan did br^k
Tlie name of Antony ; it was divided
Between her heart and lips : she render'd
life.
Thy name so buried in her.
Ant. . Dead, then ?
Mar. Dead.
Ant. Unarm, Eros ; the long day's task is
done.
And we must sleep. [To ifor.] That thou
depart'st hence safe.
Does pay thy labor richly; go. [Exit Mardian.
Off, pluck off:
The seven-fold shield of Ajax cannot keep
The battery from my heart. O, cleave, my
sides !
Heart, once be .stronger than thy continent, 40
Crack thy frail case I Apace, Eros, apace.
No more a soldier : bruised pieces, go ;
You have been nobly borne. From me awhile.
[ExU Eros.
I will o'ertake thee, Cleopatra, and
Weep for my pardon. So it must be, for now
All length is torture : since the torch is out.
Lie down, and stray no farther: now all labor
Mars what it does ; yea, very force entangles
Itself with strength: seal then, and all is done.
Eros !—I come, my queenfEros!—Stay for
me: 50
Where souls do couch on flowers, we'll hand
in hand.
And with our sprightly port make the ghosts
gaze ;
Dido and her .Eneas shall want troops.
And all the haunt be ours. Come, Eros, Eros!
Re-enter Eros.
Eros. What would my lord 7
Ant. Since Cleopatra died,
I have lived in such dishonor, that the gods
Detest my ba.seness. I, that with my sword
Quarter'd the world, and o'er green Nepitune's
back
With ships made cities, condemn myself to
lack
Tlie courage of a woman ; less noble mind 60
Thau she which by her death our Csesar tells
ANTOm'^ AND CLEOPATBA.
612
' I am conqueror of myself.' Thou art sworn,
Eros, [now
That, when the exigent should come, which
Is come Indeed, when I should see behind me
The inevitable prosecution of
Disgrace and horror, that, on my command.
Thou then wouldst kill me : do t; the time is
come: ^
Thou atrikest not mt!,'tis Csesar thou defent'st.
Put color in thy cheek.
Eros. The gods withhold me !
Shall I do that Which all the Paithian darts,70
Though enemy, lost aim, and could not ? •"
Ant. •■II • 11 Eros,
Wouldst thou be window'd in gre.at Rome and
■ see I ■ . [down
Thy master thus with pleach'd arms, bending
His corrigible neck, his face subdued '
To penetrative shanie, wiiilst the wheel'd seat
Of fortunate Omsar, drawn before him, branded
His baseness that ensued 7
' Eros. • I I would not sCe'fe
Ant. Come, then ; for with a wound I must
becired. " [worn
Draw tliat thy honest sword, which thou hast
Mofit useful for thy country.
Eros. I O, sir, pardod me!' 80
Ant. When I did make thee free, sworest
thou not tlien .
To do this wlien I bade thee 7 Do it at once ;
Or thy precedent services are all
But accidents nnpurpo.sed. Draw, and come.
Erosi Turn from me, then, that noble coun¬
tenance.
Wherein the worship of the whole worid lies.
Ant. Lothee! [Turning J^om him.
Eros. My sword is drawn.
Ant. Tlien let it do at once
The thing why thou hast drawn it
Eros. My dear master.
My captain, and my emperor, let me sayj 90
Before I strike this bloody stroke, farewell.
Ant. 'Tis said, man ; and farewell.
Eros. Farewell, great chief.: Shall I strike
now 7
Ant. Notv, Eros.
Eros. Why, there then : thus I do escape
the sorrow
Of Antony's death. [Kills himself.
Ant. Thrice-nobler than myself !
Tliou teachest me, O valiant Eros, what
I should, and thou couldst not. My queen and
Eros
Havfe by their brave instruction got upon me
A nobleness in record : but I will be
A bridegroom in my death, and run into't 100
As to a lover's bed. Come, then ; and, Eros,
Thy master dies thy scholar ; to do thus
[Falling on his siaord.
I leam'd of thee. How! not dead 7 not dead 7
The guard, ho ! O, dispatch me! . • i
Enter Dercetas and Guard.
First Guard. What's the noise 7
Ant. I have done my work ill, friends : 0,
make an end
; . [Act IV.
Of w'hat I have begnn.'
S«a Guard. The >etar Is faH'm
First Guard. And time is at his period.
All Ala^ and woe !.
Ant. Let him thatiloves me strike me dead.
First Guard. I Not 1.
Sec. Guard. ' Nor I. ■ - , • lOit
Third Guard Nor any one. [ETseunt Guard.
Der'. Thy death / and iortaoes bid thy fol¬
lowers fly. . I [tidings.
This sword bnt shown to Csesary with tliis
Shall enter me with him.
Enter Diombdrs. ^
Dio. Wliere's Antoqy t ' ^
Dev. There, Diomed there
Eio. ' ' ' Lives he 7
Wilt thou not answer, man 7 [Exit Dercetas.
Ant. Art thou there, DiomM 7 ' Draw thy
sword, and give me '
Sufllcing strokes for death. I'
Dio. Most absolute lord.
My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee.
Ant. When did slie send thee 7
Dia. !■ Now, my lord.
Ant. Where is she 7
Dio. Lock'd in her monument. She had a
pirophesying fear i • 120
Of wlmt hath come to pass ; for when she
saw— f .'
Which never shall be found—you did suspect
She had disposed with Cmsar, and that your
rage
Would not be purged, slie sent you word she
was dead; [sent
But, fearing since how it might work, hath
Me to proclaim the truth; and I am come,
I dread, too late. ...
Ant. Too late, go^ Diomed: (^1 my guard,
1 Mithee. ' '
Dio. What; ho, the emperor's guard ! Tlie
guard, what, ho 1
Come, your lord calls ! , ' ' 130
Enter four or Jive of the Guard Antonv.
Ant. Bear me, good friends, where Cleo¬
patra bides ;
'Tis the last service that I shall command yon.
First Guard. Woe, woe are we, sir, you
may uot live to wear
All your true followers out.
Jul. Most heavy day !
Ant. Nay, good my fellows, do not please
sharp fate . * [come
To grace it with your sorrows: bid that wel-
Which comes to punish us, and we punish it
Seeming to bear it lightly. Take me up :
I have led you oft: carry me now, good friends.
And have my thanks for all. 140
[Exeunt, bearing Antony.
ScBNG XV. ■ The same. A monument, u
Enter Cleopatra and her maids aloft, xoith
Charmiar and Iras.
Cleo. O Charmian, 1 will never go from
hence. ,'
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
Scene xv.]
Ctiar. Be comforted, dear madam.
Cleo. No, I -will not:
All strange and terrible dvdnts are ■welcome,
But comforts we despise ; our size of sorrow,
Proportion'd to our cause, must be as great.
As that which makes it. . '
Enter, helmo, Diomedes.
How now! is he dead ?
DiOi His death's upon him, but not dead.
Look oat o' the other side your monument;
His guard have brought him thither.
Enter, helovo^ Antony,, borne by the Guard.
Cleo. 0 sun.
Burn the great sphere thon juovest in ! dark¬
ling stand 10
The varying siiore o' the world. 0 Antony,
Antony, Antony! Help, Charmiau, help, Iras,
help ;
Help, friends below; let's draw himliither. i
Ant. . , Pea,ce!
Not Csesar's valor hath o'erthrown Antony,
But Antony's bath triumpli'd o]i itself.
Cleo. ■ So it should be, that none but Antony
Should conquer Antony; but woe 'tis so!
Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying ; only
I here importune death awhile, until ,
Of many thousand kisses the poor last 20
I lay upon thy lips.
Cleo. I dare not, dear,—
Dear my lord, pardon,—I dare not.
Lest I be taken: not tlie imt)erious show
Of the full-fortuned Ctesar ever shall
Be brooch'd with me; if knife; drugs, serpents,
have
Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe :
Your wife Octavia, with her modest eyes
And stiii conclusion, shaii acquire no honor
Deniuring upon me. But come, come,. An¬
tony,—
Help me, my women,—we must draw tliee up:
Assist, good friends. . ql
Ant. O, quick, or I am gone. ,
Cleo. Here's sport indeed ! How heavy
weighs my lord !
Our .strength is ail gone into heaviness.
That makes the weight : had I great Juno's
power, [up,,
Thestrong-wing'd.Mercm-y should fetch thee.
And .set thee by'Jeve's side. Yet come a
little,— i
Wishes were ever fools,—O, come, come, come;
[They heave Antony aloft to Cleopatra.
And welcome, welcome ! die where thou hast
lived ;
Quicken with kissing; had my lips that power.
Thus would I wear them out.
All. A heavy sight! 401
Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying :
Give me some wine, and let me speak a little.
Cleo. No, let me speak ; mid let mb rail so
liigh.
That the false housewife Fortune break her
wheel.
Provoked by my offence. ' I
Ant. ' One word, sweet Ijuefeii:
813
Of Cmsar seek your honor,with your safety. 0!
Cleo. They do not go together.
Ant. Gentle, hear me :
None about Ctesar trust but Procnleius.
Cleo. My resolution and my hands I'll
trust;
None about Ctesar. 60
Ant. The miserable change now at my end
Lament nor sorrow at; but please your
thoughts
In feeding them with those my former for¬
tunes [world,
Whet^in I lived, the greatest prince o' the
The noblest ; and do now not ba.sely die,
Not cowardly put off my helmet to
My countryman,—a Roman by a Roman
Valiantly vanquish'd. Now my Spirit is going;
I can no more.' '
Cleo. Noblest of men, woo't die ?
Hast thou no care of me ? shall I abide 60
111 this dull World, which in thy absence is
No better than a sty 7 O, see, my women,
[Antony dies.
The crown o' the earth doth melt. My lord !
O, wither'd is tlie garland of the war,
The soldier's pole is fali'u 'r young boys and
girls
Are level now with men ; the odds is gone.
And there is nothing left remarkable
Beneath the visiting mooh.' [Edints.
Char. O, quietness, lady !
Iras. She is dead too, our sovereign.
Char. iSdy !
Iras. Madam!
Char. O madam, madam, madam!
Iras. Royal Egypt, 70
Empress ! ' '
' Char. Peace, peace, Iras !
Cleo. No more, but e'en a woman, and com¬
manded
By such poor pas.sibn as the maid that milks,
And does the meanest chares. It were for me
To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods ;
To tell them that this world did equal theii-s
Till they had stol^ our jewel. All's but
naught;
Patience is Scottish, and impatience does '
Become a dog that's mad : then is it sin 80
To rush into the secret house of death,
Ere death dare comq to us 7 How do yon, ■
women 7
Wh.at, what ! good cheer ! Why, how now,
Charmiau I
My noble giris I' Ah, women, Women, look.
Our lamp is spent, it's out f Good sirs, take
heart: v
We'll bury him; and then,what's brave,what's
noble.
Let's do it after the high Roman fashioh.
And make death proud to take us. Come,
away:' ' '
Tliis case of that huge spirit now is cold :
Ah,women,women ! come i we have no friend
But resolution, and the briefest end. 91
[Exeunt; those above bearing off
Antony's body.
68
ANTONt ANb CLEOPATRA.
914
ACT V.
Scene I. Alexandria. Caesar's camp.
Enter C^ar, Agrippa, Dolabella, Mec^>
NAS, GAiiLUS, Proccleius, and others, his
council of war.
Goes. Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield ;
Being so frustrate, tell him he mocks
The imtses that he makes.
Dol. Csesar, I sliall. \_Exit.
Enter Dercetas, with the sioord of Antony.
Cess. Wherefore is tliat 1 and whatart thou
that darest
Ajmear thus to us ?
Der. I am call'd Dercetas ;
Mark Antony I served, who best was worthy
Best to be served ; whilst he stood up and
spoke, •
He was my master ; and I wore my life
To spend upon his haters. If thou please j
To take me to thee, as 1 was to him 10
I'll be to Ciesar ; if thou pleasest not,
I yield thee up my life. .
Caes. What is't thou say'st ?
Der. I say, O Csesar, Antony is dead.
Caes. The breaking of so great a thing
should make
A greater crack; round world
Should have shook lions into civil streets.
And citizens to their dens; the death of Antony
Is not a single doom ; in the name lay
A moiety of the world.
Der. He is dead, Csesar;
Not by a public minister of justice, 20
Nor by anired knife ; but that self hand.
Which writ his honor in the acts it did,
Hath, witli the courage which .the heart did
lend it,
Splitted the heart. This is his sword ;
I robb'd his wound of it; behold it stain'd
With his most noble biood.
Caes. Look you sad, friends ?
The gods rebuke me,- but it is tidings
To wash the eyes of kings.
Affr. And strange it is,
That nature must compel us to lament
Our most persisted deeds.
Mec. His taints and honors ^
Waged equal with him.
Apr. A rarer spirit never
Did steer humanity.: but you, gods, will give
us
Some faults to make us men. Cmsar is tonch'd.
Mec. When such a spacious mirror's set
before him.
He needs must see himself,
Caes. 0 Antony!
1 have follow'd thee to this ; but we do lance
Diseases iu our bodies : I must perforce
Have shown to thee such a declining day.
Or look on tliine ; we could not stall together
In the whole world: but yet lot me lament, 40
With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts.
That thou, ray brother, my comiietitor
In top of all design, my mate iu empire,
IA!ct V.
Friend and companion in tlie front of war.
The arm of mine own body, and the heart
Where mine his thoughts did kindle,—^thatour
stars,
Unreconciliable, should divide
Our equalne.ss to this. Hear me, good friends,—
But 1 will tell you at some meeter season •
Enter an Egyptian.
The business of this man looks out of him ; 50
We'llhear him what he says. Whenceareyou?
Egyp. A poor ESFPtiRR ^he queen
mv mistress.
Confined in all she has, her mpnument.
Of thy intents desires instruction,
'That she preparedly may frame herself
To the way she's forced to.
Goes. Bid her have good heart:
She soon shall know of uSj by some of ours.
How honorable and how kindly we
Determine for her ; for Csesar cannot live
To be ungentle.
Egyp. So the TOds preserve thee ! [Exit. 60
Caes. Come hither, Proculeius. Go and say,
Wepnrpose her no shame: give her what
comforts
The quality of her passion shall require.
Lest, iu her greatness, by some mortal stroke
She do defeat us ; for her life in Rome
Would be eternal in our triumph: go.
And with your speediest bring us what she says.
And how you find of her.
Pro. . Caesar, I shall. [Exit.
Gees. Gallus. go yon along. [Exit Gallus.]
Where's Dolabella,
To second Procnleius ?
AH. Dolabella! 70
Goes. Let him alone, for I remember now
How he's employ'd: he shall in time be ready.
Go with me to my tent; where you- shall see
How hardly 1 was drawn into this war ;
How calm and gentle 1 proceeded still
In all my writings : go with me, and see
What I can show in this. [Exeunt.
Scene II. Alexandria. A room in the monu¬
ment.
Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, and Iras.
Cleo. My desolation does begin to make
A better life. 'Tis paltry to be Caesar ; '
Not being Fortune, he's but Fortune's knave
A minister of her will: and it is great
To do that thing that ends all other deeds ;
Which shackles accidents and bolts up change;
Which sleeps, and never palates more the dug.
The beggars nurse and CiesaPs.
Enter, to the gatis of the monument, Procu¬
leius, Gallus and Soldiers.
Pro. Caesar sends greeting to the Queen of
And bi(^ t^ee study on what fair demands 10
Thou mean'st to haye him grant thee.
Cleo. What's thy name ?
Pro. My name is Proculeius.
CUo. Antony
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
soenk ii.]
Did tsU me ot you, bade me trust yon j 'out
1 do uot greatly care to be deceived,
That liave uo u.se for trusting. If your masKer
'Would liave a queeu his beggar, you must tell
him.
That majesty, to keep decorum, must
No le.ss beg thau a kingdom : if he pleaee
To give me conquer'd Egypt for my son.
He gives ine so much of mine own, as I 20
Will kneel to him with thanks.
Pro. Be of good cheer ;
■V'ou're fall'u into a princely hand, fear notliing:
Make your full reference freely to my lord,
Wiio is so full of gi-ace, tliat it flows over
On all that need: let me report to him
Your sweet dependency ; and you shall find
A conqueror that will pray in aid for kindness,
Wliere he for grace is kneel'd to.
Cfeo. Pray you, tell him
I am his fortune's vassal, and 1 send him
The greatness he has got I hourly learn 30
A doctrine of obedience ; and would gladly
Look him i' the face.
Pro. "This I'll report, dear lady.
Have comfort, for I know your plight is pitied
Of Iiim that caused it. [prised:
Gal. You see how easily she may ^ sur'
yferc Proculeius and two of the Guard
ascend the monument hy a ladder placed
against a window, and, having descend¬
ed, come behind Cleopatra. Some of
the Guard unbar and open the gates.
[To Proculeius and the Guard] Guard her
till Csesar come, .
Iras. Royal queen!
Char. 0 Cleopatra ! thou art taken, queen.
Cleo. Quick, quick, good hands.
[Dratoing a dagger.
Pro. Hold, worthy lady, hold :
[Seizes and disarms her.
Do not yourself such wrong, who are in this
Relieved, but not betray'd. 41
Cleo. What, of death too.
That rids our dogs of languish ?
Pro. Cleopatra,
Do not abuse my master's bounty by
TIte undoing of yourself: let the world see
His nobleness well acted, wliich your death
Will never let come forth.
Cleo., * Where art thou, death ?
Come hitlier, come ! come, come, and take a
queeu
Worthy many babes and beggars !
Piv. O, temperance, lady !
Cleo. Sir, I will eat no meat, I'll not drink,
sir:
If idle talk will once be necessary, 50
I'll not sleep neither: this mortal house I'll
ruin,
Do Caesar what he can. Know, sir, that I
Will not wait pinion'd at your master's court;
Nor once be chastised with tlm sober eye
Of dull Octavia. Shall they hoist me up
And show me to the shouting varletry
Of censuring Rome ? Rather a ditch in Egypt
Be gentle grave unto me! father on NUue' mud
915
Lay me stark naked, and let tlie water-dies
Blow me into abhorring ! rather make 60
My country's high pyramides my gibbet.
And hang me up in chains !
Pro. You do extend
These thoughts of horror further Nian you
shall
Kind cause in Ciesar.
Snter Dolabella,
Dol. Pi"oculeins,
What thou hast done tliy master Cmsar knows.
And he hath sent for tiiee ; for the queeu,
I'll take her to my guard.
Pio. So, Doiabeiia,
It'shall content me best : be gentle to her.
[To Cleo.] To Cmsar I will speak what you
shall please.
If you'll employ me to him.
Cleg. Say, I would die. 70
[Exeunt Proculeius and Soldiers,
Dol. Most noble empress, you have heard
of me ?
Cleo. I cannot tell.
Dol. Assuredly you know me.
Cleo. No matter, sir, what I have heard or
known. [dreams;
You laugh when boys or women tell their
Is't not your trick ?
Dol. I understand uot, madam.
Cleo. I dream'd there was an Emperor
Antony:
O, such another sleep, that I might see
But such another man !
Dol. ' If it might please ye,—
Cleo. His face was as the heavens ; and
tlierein stuck
A sun and moon, which kept their course, and
lighted 80
The little O, the earth.
Dol. Most sovereign creature,—
Cleo. His legs bestrid the ocean : Iiis rear'd
arm
Crested the world : his voice was propertied
As all tiie tuned spheres, aud that to friends t
But when he meant to quail and sliake the orb,
He was as rattling tliunder. For his bounty,
There was no winter in't ; an autumn 'twas
That grew the more by reaping : his delights
Were dolphin-like ; they show'd his back
above
Tlie element they lived in: in his livery 90
Walk'd crowns and crownets ; realms and
islands were
As plates dropp'd from his pocket
Dol. Cleopatra!
Cleo. Think you there was, or might be,
such a man
As this I dream'd of ?
Dol. Gentle madam, no.
Cleo. You lie, up to the hearing of the gods.
But, if there be, or ever were, one such,
It's past the size of dreaming : nature wants
stuff [agine
To vie strange forms with fancy • yet, to im-
A» Autony, were nature's piece 'gainst fancy,
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
913
Coudemuiug sliadowg quite. i
I Dot. Hear me, good madam. 100
Your loss is as yourself, great; and you bear it
As answering to the weight: would I might
never
O'ertake pursued success, but I do feel, . ;
By the rebound of yours, a grief that smites
My very heart at root
C eo. I thank you, sir.
Know you what Csesar means to do with me ?
Dol. I am loath to tell you what I would
,1 you knew. i
Cleo, Nay, pray you, sir,—1
J>ol. Though he be honorable,—
Cleo. He'll lead me, then, in triumph ?
Doll Madam, he will ; 1 kuow't. 110
[Ffouris/i, and ^ut within,' Make wa.y there:
Osesar!'
lEriter Cjbsak, Galpus, PROCULEitrs, Mec:.E-
' nas, Seleucus, and others of his Train,.
Coes. Which is the Queen of Egypt 2
Dol. It is the emperor, madam.
[Cleopatra kneels.
.Cm, Arise, you shall not kneel:
1 pray you, rise ; rise, Egypt.
Cleo. Sir, the gods
Will have it thus \ my master and my lord
I must obey.
Cm. Take to you no hard thoughts:
The record of what injuries you did us.
Though written in our flesh, we shall remember
As things but done by chance.
Cleo. Sole sir o' the world, 120
I cannot project mine own cause so well
To make it mear ; but do confess I hare
Been laden with like frailties which before
Have often shamed our sex- i
Cm. Cleopatra, know.
We will extenuate rather than enforce ;
If rou apply yourself to our intents,
which towards you are most gentle, you shall
find
A benefit in this change ; but if you seek
To lay on me a cruelty, by taking 129
.Antony's course, you shall bereave yourself
Of my good purpo.ses, and put your cluldren
To that destruction which I'll guard them
from, ,
If thereon you rely. I'll take my leave.
Cleo. And may, through all the world : 'tis
yours ; and we, ,
Your scutcheons and your signs of conquest,,
shall
Hang in what place you please., Here, my
good lord. [patra.
Cm.. You shall advise me in all for Cleo-,
Cleo. This is the brief of money, plate, and
jewels,
I am possess'd of : 'tis exactly valued ;
Not petty things admitted. Where's Seleu*
cus ? 140 ■
Sel. Here, madam.
Cleo, This is my treasurer : let him speak,
my lord, , , ,
Upon his peril, that I have reserved / .
lAci V,
To myself nothing. Speak the t^rptb, Seleucns.
Sel, Madam, .
I had. rather seal my lips, than, to my peril,
Speak that which is not.
Cleo. What have I kept back 7
Sel. Enough to pqrchase what you have
miide known.
Cm. Nay, blush not, Cleopatra'; I approve
Your wisdom in the dera.
Cleo. See. Cresar ! O, behold, 150
How pomp is follow d ! mine will now be
, yours ;
And, should we shift estates, yours wouid be
mine.
The ingratitude of this Seleucus does
Even make me wild : O slave, of no more trust
Than love that's hired! 'What, goest tliou
back ? thou shalt
Go back, I warrant thee ; but I'll catch thme
eyes, , {lain, dog I
Though they had wrings : slave, soulless vil-
O rarely base!
Cm. Good queen, let us entreat you.
Cleo. O Caesar, what a wounding shame is
this.
That thon, vouchsafing here to visit me, 160
Doing the honor of thy lordliness .
To one so meek, that mine own servant should
Parcel the sura of ray dligraces by
Addition of his envy ! Skiy, good Caesar,
That I some lady trifles have reserved,
Immoment toys, things of such dignity
As we greet modern friends withm ; and say,
Some nobler token I have kept apart
For Livia and Octavia, to induce
Their mediation ; must I be unfolded 170
With one that I have bred ? The gods ! it
smites me
Beneath the fall I h?^ve. [To Seleucus] Prithee,
go hence;
Or I shall show the cinders of my spirits
Through the ashes of my chance : wert thou a
man, ,
Thou wouldst have mercy on me.
Cm. Forbear, Seleucus,
[Exit Seleucus.
Cleo. Be it known, tliat, we, fhe greatest,
are misthought •
For things that others do ; and, when we fall,
We answer others' merits in our name.
Are therefore to be pitied.
Cm. Cleopatra,
Not what you have reserved, nor what ac¬
knowledged, 180
Put we i' the roll of conquest: still be't yours,
Bestow it at your pleasure ; and believe,
Cesar's no merchant, to make prize with you
Of things that merchants sold. "Fherefore be
cbeer'd;
Make not your thoughts your prisons : no,
dear qneen ;
For we intend so to dispose yon as
Yourself shall give us counsel. Feed, and ,
sleep :
Our care and pity is so much upon you.
That w« remam youy friend; and so, adieu.
ANTONY AND CTEOPxlTRA.
Scene ii.]
Cko, My master, and my lord !
Coes. Not so. Adiea. 190
{Flourish. Exeunt Coesar and his train,
dec. He words me, girls, he words me,
that I should not
Be noble to myself: but, hark tliee, Charmiau.
[ Whispers Charmian.
Iras. Finish, good lady ; the bright day is
done.
And we are for the dark.
Cleo. Hie thee again :
I have spoke already, and it is provided ;
Go put It to tlie haste.
Char. ■ Madam, I will,
Re-enter Dolabella.
Del. Where is the queen ?
Char. Behold, sir. {Exit.
Cleo. Dolabella !
Dol. Madam, as thereto sworn by your com-
maud.
Which my love makes religion to obey,
I tell you this : Caesar through Syria 200
Intends hb journey ; and within three days
You with your children will he send before :
Make your best use of this : I have perform'd
Your pleasure and my promise.
Cleo. Dolabella,
I shall remain your debtor.
Dol. I your servaut.
Adieu, good queen ; I must attend on Caesar.
Cleo. Farewell, and thanks. {Exit Dolabella.
Now, Iras, what think'st thou ?
Thou, ail Egyjitian puppet, shalt be shown
In Rome, as well as I : mechanic slaves
AVith greasy aprons, rules, and hammers, shall
Uplift us to the view ; in their thick breaths.
Rank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded.
And forced to drink their vapor.
Iras. The gods forbid !
Cleo. Nay, 'tis most certain, Iras: saucy
Uctors
Will catch at us, like strumpets ; and scald
rhymers
Ballad us out o' tune : the quick comedians
Extemporally will stage us, and present
Our Alexandrian revels ; Antony
Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall
see
Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness
1' the posture of a whore. 220
Iras. O the good gods !
Cleo. Nay, that's certain.
Iras. I'll never see't; for, I am sure, my
nails
Are stronger than mine eves.
Cleo. Why, that's the way
'To fool their preparation, and to conquer
Their most absurd intents.
Re-enter Charmian.
Mow, Charmian !
Show me, my women, like a queen : go fetch
My best attires : I am again for Cyduus,
To meet Mark Antony : sirrah Iras, go.
Now, noble Charmian, we'll dbpatch indeed j
917
And, when thou bast done this chare, I'll give
thee leave 231
To play till doomsday. Bring our crown and
all.
Wherefore's thb noise ?
{Exit Iras. A notse within.
Enter a Guardsman.
Guard. Here is a rural fellow
That will not be denied your highness' pres¬
ence :
He brings you figs.
Cleo. Let him come in. {Exit Guardsman.
W'hat poor an instrument
May do a noble deed ! he brings me liberty.
My resolution's placed, and 1 have nothing
Of woman in me : now from head to foot
I am marble-constant; now the fleeting moon
No planet b of mine. 241
Re-enter Guardsman, with Clown bringing tn
a basket.
Guard. Thb is the man.
Cleo. Avoid, and leave him.
{Exit Guardsman.
Hast thou the pretty worm of Nilus there,
That kills and pains not ?
Clown. Truly, I have him ; but I would not
be the party that should desire you to touch
him, for his biting is immortal ; those that do
die of it do seldom or never recover.
Cleo. Rememberest thou any that have dieu
on't 1 249
Clown. \eTy many, men and women too.
I heard of one of them no longer than yester¬
day : a very honest woman, but something
given to lie ; as a woman should not do, but
in the way of honesty : how she died of the
biting of it, what pain she felt: truly, she
makes a very good report o' the worm ; but
he that will believe all that they say, shall
never be saved by half that they do : but tliis
is most fallible, the worm's an odd worm.
Cleo. Get thee hence ; farewelL 260
Clown. I wish you all joy of the worm.
{Setting down his basket.
Cleo. Farewell.
Clown. You must think this, look you, tiiat
the worm will do his kind.
Cleo. ■ Ay, ay ; farewell.
Clown. Look you, the worm is not to bo
trusted but in the keeping of wise people ; for,
indeed, there is no goodness in the worm.
deo. Take thou no care ; it shall be heeded.
Clown. ATerygood. Give it nothing, 1 pray
you, for it is not worth the feeding. 271
Cleo. Will it eat me ?
Clown. You must not think I am so simple
but I know the devil himself will not eat a
woman ; I know that a woman is a dish for
the gods, if the devil dress her not. But, truly,
these same whoreson devils do the gods great
harm in their women ; for in every ten that
they make, the devils mar five.
Cleo. Well, get thee gone ; farewell. 280
Clown. Yes, forsooth : I wish you joy o'
the worm, {Exit.
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
918
Re-enter Iras with a robe, crtnon, <tc.
Cleo. Give me my robe, put on my crown ;
I have ,
Immortal longings in me : now no more
The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip:
Yare, yare, good Iras ; quick. Methinks I
near
Antony call; 1 see him rouse himself
To praise my noble act; I hear him mock
The luck of C^sar, which the gods give men
To excuse their after wrath : husband, I come:
Now to that name my courage prove my title !
I am fire and air ; my other elements
I give to baser life. So ; have you done 7
Come then, and take the last warmth of my
lips.
Farewell, kind Charmian ; Iras, long farewell.
[Kisses them. Iras falls and dies.
Have I the aspic in my lips 7 Dost fall 7
If thou and nature can so gently part.
The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch.
Which hurts, and is desired. Dost thou lie
still 7
If thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world
It is not worth leave-taking. 301
Char. Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain ; that
I may say.
The gods themselves do weep !
Cleo. This proves me base ;
If she first meet the curled Antony,
He'll make demand of her, and spend that kiss
Which is my heaven to have. Come, thou
mortal wretch,
[To an asp, which she applies to her breast.
With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate
Of life at once untie ; poor venomous fool.
He angry, and dispatch. O, couldstthou speak.
That I might hear thee call great Caesar ass 310
UniX)licied I
Char. O eastern star !
Cleo. Peace, peace!
Dost thou not see my baby at my breast.
That sucks the nurse asleep 7
Char. O, break ! O, break!
Cleo. As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as
gentle,—
0 Antony !—Nay, I will take thee too .
[Applying another asp to her arm.
What should I stay— [Dies.
Char. In this vile world 7 So, fare thee
well.
Now boast thee, death, in thy possession lies
A lass unparalleTd. Downy windows, elose ;
And golden Phoebus never be beheld 320
Of eyes again so royal! Your crown's awry ;
I'll mend it, and then play.
Enter the Guard, rushing in.
First Guard. Where is the queen 7
Char. Speak softly, wake her not.
First Guard. Csesar hath sent—
Char. Too slow a messenger.
[.ipplies an asp.
0, come .apace, dispatch ! I partly feel thee.
First Gtiaril. Approach, ho ! All's not
well : Ciesar's beguiled.
[Act r.
Sec. Guand. There's Dolabella sent from
Caesar ; call him.
first Guard. Wh.at work is here! Char¬
mian, is this well done 7
Char. It is well done, and fitting for a
princess
Descended of so many royal kings. ^
Ah, soldier! [Dies
Re-enter DoiabeliiA.
Dol. How goes it here 7
Sec. Guard. All dead.
Dol. Caesar, thy thought?
Touch their effects in this : thyself art coming
To see perform'd the dreaded act which thou
So sought'st to hinder.
[ Within ' A way there, a way for Caesar !'
Re-enter CiESAB and all his ti'ain marching.
Dol. 0 sir, you are too sure an augurer ;
That you did fear is done.
Cces. Bravest at the last.
She levell'd at our purposes, and, being royal,
"Took her own way. The manner of their
deaths 7 340
I do not see them bleed.
Dol. Who was last with them 7
First Guard. A simple countryman, that
brought her figs :
This was his basket.
Cces. Poison'd, then.
first Guard. O Caesar,
This Charmian lived but now ; she stood and
spake:
I found her trimming up the diadem
On her dead mistress ; tremblingly she stood
And on the sudden dropp'd.
Cces. O noble w^kness I
If they had swallow'd poison, 'twould appear
By external swelling: but she looks like sleeir.
As she would catch another Antony 350
In her strong toil of grace.
Dol. Here, on her breast.
There is a vent of blood and something blown:
Tlie like is on her arm.
First Guard. This is an aspic's trail : and
these fig-leaves
Have slime upon them, such as the aspic
leaves
Upon the caves of Nile. ,
Cces. Most probable
That so she died ; for her physician tells me
She hatli pursued conclusions infinite
Of easy ways to die. Take up her bed ;
And bear her women from tlie monument:
She shall be buried by her Antony : 361
No grave upon the earth shall clip in it
A pair so famous. High events as these
Strike those that make them ; and their story •
is
No less in pity than his glory which
Brought them to he lamented. Our army
shall '
In solemn show attend this funeral;
And tlien to Rome. Come, Dolabella, see
High order in this great solemnity. [Exeunt,
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
CORIOLANUS.
(written about 1608.)
INTRODUCTION.
The metncal test places Coriolanm next after Antony and Cleopatra, and it is probable that
such is its actual place In the chronological order. Having rendered into art the history of the ruin
of a noble nature through voluptuous self-indulgence, Shakespeare went on to represent the ruin of
a noble nature through haughtiness and pride. Prom Kgypt, with its splendors, its glow, its revels,
its moral license, we pass back to austere republican Rome. But, although free from voluptuous¬
ness, the condition of Rome is not strong and sound ; there is political divisiou between the patri¬
cians and plebeians. Shakespeare regards the people as an overgrown child with good and kindly
instincts; owning a basis of untutored common-sense, but capable of being led astray by its leaders :
possessed of little judgment and no reasoning powers, and without capacity for self-restraint. It is not
i'or the people, however, that he reserves bis scorn, but for their tribunes, the demagogues, who mislead
and pervert them. Although nobler types of individual character are to be found among the patricians
than the plebeians, the dramatist is not blind to the patrician vices, and indeed the whole tragedy
tunisupon the existence and the influence of these. Coriolanus is bjr nature of a kindly and gener¬
ous disposition, but he inherits the aristocratical tradition, and his kindliness strictly limits itself to
the circle which includes those of his own rank and class. For his mother, he has a veneration
approaching to worship -, he is content to be subordinate under Cominius; for the old Menenius be
has an almost filial regard; but the people are " slaves," "curs," " minnows." His haughtiness
becomes towering, because his personal pride, which in itself is great, is built up over a solid and
high-reared pride of class. When he Is banished, his bitteimess arises not only from his sense of the
contemptible nature of the adversaries to whom he is forced to yield, but from the additional sense
that he has been deserted by his own class, " the dastard nobles." And it is in this spirit of revolt
against the bonds of societv and of nature, that he advances against his native city. But his haughti¬
ness cannot really place him above nature. In the presence of his wife, his boy, and his mother, the
strong man gives way and is restored once more to human love. And so his fate comes upon him.
To the last something of his pride remains, and the immediate occasion of his death, is an outbreak
of that sudden passion, springing from his self-esteem, which had already often and grievously
wronged him. The majestic figure of Volumnia is Shakespeare's ideal of the Roman matron. The
gentle Virgilia is the most beautiful and tenderly loyal of wives, and her friend Valeria is
The moon of Rome, chsste es the icicle
That's curdled by the frost from purest snow
And hangs on Dian's temple.
DRAMATIS
Caius Marcius, afterwards Caius Marcius
coriouanus.
Titus Lartius, j generals against tlie Vol-
CoMiNius, i sciaiis,
Menenius Agripua, friend to Coriolanus.
iszcsr*' I
Young Marcius, son to Coriolanus.
A Roman Herald. m
Tuluus Aupimus, general of the Volscians.
Lieutenant to Aufidius.
Conspirators with Aufidius.
A Citizen of Antium.
PERSON.®,
Two Volscian Guards.
Volumnia, mother to Coriolanuff,
Virgilia, wife to Coriolanus.
Valeria, friend to Virgilia.
Gentlewoman, attending on Virgilia.
Roman and Volscian Senators, Patricians,
JEdiles, Llctors, Soldiers, Citizens, Messen-
.gers. Servants to Aufidius, and other At¬
tendants.
Scene: Rome and the neighborhood; Corioli
and the neighborhood; Antinm.
(919)
920
ACT I.
Scene I. Rome. A street.
Enter a company of mutinous Citizens, with
staves, clubs, and other weapons.
First Cit. Before we proceed any further,
hear me speak.
All. Speak, speak.
First Cit. You are all resolved rather to
die than to famish 7
All. Resolved, resolved.
First Cit. First, you kuow Cains Marcius
is chief enemy to the people.-
All. We Imow't, we know't.
First Cit. Let us kill him, and we'll have
com at our own price. Is't a verdict? 11
AIL No more talking on't; let it be done ;
away, away 1
Sec. Cit. One word, good citizens.
First Cit. We are accounted poor citizens,
the patricians good. What authority surfeits
on would relieve us : if they would yield us
but the superfluity, while it were wholesome,
we might guess they relieved us humanely ;
butthi^ think we are too dear: the leanness
that afiUcts us, the object of our misery, is as
an inventory to particularize their abundance;
our sufferance is a gain to them. Let us re¬
venge this with our pikes, ere we become
rakes: for the gods know I speak this in
hunger for bread, not in thirst for revenge.
See. Cit. Would you proceed especially
against Cains Marcius 7
All. Against him first : he's a very dog to
the commonalty. 29
Sec. Cit. Consider you what serviceshehas
done for his country 7
First Cit. Very well; and could be con¬
tent to give him good report for't, but that
he pays himself with being proud.
Sec. Cit. Nay, but speak not maliciously.
First. Cit. I say unto you, what he hath
done famously, he did it to that end : though
soft-conscienced men can be content to say it
was for his country, he did it to please his
mother, and to be partly proud ; which he is,
even to the altitude of his virtue. 41
Sec. Cit. What he cannot help in his na¬
ture, you accomit a vice in him. You must
in no WOT say he is covetous.
First Cit. If I must not, I need not be
barren of accusations ; he hath faults, with
surplus, to tire in repetition. [Shouts within.]
What shouts are these 7 The other side o' the
city is risen: why stay we prating here? to the
Capitol!
All. Come, come. 50
First. Cit. Soft! who comes here 7
Enter Menbnics Agkippa.
Sec. Cit. Worthy Menenius Agrippa; one
that hath alwavs loved the people.
First Cit. He's one honest enough : would
all the rest were so I
Men. What work's, my countrymen, in
hand? where go you
[Act t
With bats and clubs? The matter7 speak, I
pray you.
First Cit. Our business is not unknown to
the senate ; they have had inkling this fort¬
night what we intend to do, which now -we'll
show 'em in deeds. They say poor suitors
have strong breaths: they shail know we have
strong arms too. ,
Men. Why, masters, my good friends,
mine honest neighbors,
Will you und^ourselves 7
First Cit. We cannot, sir, we are undone
already. [care
Men. I tell you, friends, most charitable
Have the patricians of you. For your wants.
Your suffering in this dearth, you may as
well
Strike at the heaven with your staves as lift
them 70
Against the Roman state, whose course will
on
The way it takes, cracking ten thousand
curbs
Of more strong link asunder than can ever
Appear in your impediment. For the dearth,
The gods, not the patricians, make it, and
Your knees to them, not arms, must help.
Alack,
You are transported by calamity
Thither where more attends you, and you
slander
The helms o' the state, who care for you like
fathers.
When you curse them as enemies'. 80
First Cit. Care for us 1 True, indeed I They
ne'er cared for us yet: suffer us to famish,
and their store-houses crammed with, grain ;
make edicts for usury, to support usurers ; re¬
peal daily anv wholesome act established
against the rich, and provide more piercing
sbitutes daily, to chain up and restrain the
poor. If the wars eat us not up, they will;
and there's all the love they bear us.
Men. Either you must 90
Confe.ss yourselves wondrous malicious.
Or be accused of folly. I shall tell you
A pretty tale : it may be you have heard it;
But, since it serves my purpose, I will venture
To stale't a little more.
First Cit. AVell, I'll hear it, sir : yet you
must not think to fob off our disgrace with a
tale : but, an't please you, deliver.
Men. There was a time when all the body's
members
Rebell'd against the belly,'thus accused it: 100
That only like a gulf it did remain
r the midst o' the body, idle and unactive.
Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing
Like labor with the rest, where the other in¬
struments
Did see and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel.
And, mutually participate, did minister
Unto the appetite and affection common
Of the whole body. The belly answer'd—
First Cit. Well, sir, what answer made the
belly 7 uo
CORIOLANUS.
SCEKE 1.]
Men. Sir, I shall tell you. With a kind of
smile,
Which ne'er came from the Imigs, but even
thus—
For, look you, I may make the belly smile
As well as speak—it tauntingly replied
To the discontented members, the mutinous
pi^rts
That eiMed his receipt; eveu so most fitly
As yon malign our senators for tliat
Tliey are not such as you. ■
First at. Your belly's answer ? What!
The kingly-crowned head, tlie vigilant eye,
Tlie counsellor heart, the arm our soldier, 120
Our steed the leg, the tongue our trumpeter,
'With other muniments and petty helps
In this our fabric, if that they—
Men. What then ?
'Fore me, this fellow speaks I What then ?
what then ?
First at. Should by the cormorant belly
be restrain'd.
Who is the sink o' the body,—
Men. ' Well, what then ?
First at. The former agents, if tliey did
complain.
What could the belly answer ? ■
Men. I will tell you ;
If you'll bestow a small—of what you have
little—
Patience awhile, you'll hear the belly's an¬
swer. 130
First at. Ye're long about it.
Men. Note me this, good friend ;
Your most grave belly was deliberate.
Not rash like his accnsei-s, and thus an-
swer'd :
' True is it, my incorporate friends,' quoth he,
'That I receive the general food at first.
Which you do live upon ; and fit it is.
Because I am the store-house and tlie shop
Of the whole body : but, if you do remember,
I send it through the rivers of your blood,
Even to the court, the heart, to the seat o' tlie
brain ; 140
And, through the cranks and offices of man,
Tlie strongest nerves and small inferior veins
From me receive that natural competency
Whereby they live; and though that all at
once.
Yon, my good friends,'—^this says the belly,
mark me,— ■
First at. Ay, sir ; well, well.
Men. ' Though all at once cannot
See what I do deliver out to each.
Yet I can make my audit up, that all
From me do back receive the flour of all.
And leave me but the bran.' What say you
to't? 150
First Cit. It was an answer: how apply
yon this ?
Men. The senators of RAne are this good
belly.
And you the mutinous members; for examine
"Their counsels and their cares, digest things
rightly
921
Touching the weal o' the common, yon shall
find
No public benefit which you receive
But it proceeds or comes from them to you
And no way from yourselves. What do yon
think.
You, the great toe of this assembly 1
First at. I the great toe ! why tiie great
toe 7 160
Men. For that, being one o' the lowest,
basest, poorest.
Of this most wise rebellion, thou go'st forei
most :
Thou rascal, that art worst in blood tq run,
Lead'st first to win some vantage.
But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs:
Rome and her rats are at the point of battle ;
The one side must have bale.
Fnter Caius Mabcius.
Hail, noble Marcius 1
Mar. Thanks. What's the matter, you dis-
sentious rogues,
That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion,
Make yourselves scabs 7
First Cit. We have ever your good word.
Mar. He that will give good wor^ to thee
will flatter lit
Beneath abhorring. What would you have,
you curs.
That like nor peace nor war 7 the one af¬
frights you.
The other makes you proud. He that trusts
to you.
Where he should find you lions, finds you
hares ;
Where foxes, geese: you are no surer, no.
Than is the coal of fire upon the ice,
Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is
To make him worthy whose offence subdues
him
And curse that justice did it. Who deserves
greatness 180
Deserves your hate ; and your affections are
A sick man's api>etite, who desires most that
Which would increase his evil. He that de¬
pends
Upon your favors swims with fins of lead
And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye !
Trust ye 7
With every minute you do change a mind.
And call him noble "that was now your hate.
Him vile that was your garland. What's the
matter.
That in these several places of the city
You cry against the noble senate, who, . 190
Under the gods, keep you in awe, which else
Would feed on one another 7 What's their
seeking ? '
Men. For corn at their own rates ; where¬
of, they say.
The city is well stored.
Mar. Hang 'em ! , They say !
They'll sit by the fire, and presume to tnow
What's done i' the Capitol; who's Uke to
rise,
COmOLANUS.
922
Who thrives and who declines ; side factions
and give ont
Conjectural marriages; makuig parties strong
And feebling such as stand not lu their liking
Below their cobbled shoes. They say there's
grain enough! " 200
Would the nobility lay aside their ruth,
And let me use my sword, I'll make a quarry
With thousands of these quarter'd slaves, as
high
As I could pick my lance.
Men. Nay, these are almost thoroughly
persuaded ;
For though abundantly they lack discretion.
Yet are they passing cowardly. But, I be¬
seech you.
What says the other troop ?
Mar. They are dissolved : hang 'em !
They said they were an-hungry ; sigh'd forth
proverbs.
That hunger broke stone walls, that dogs
must eat, 210
That meat was made for mouths, that the
gods sent not
Corn for the rich men only: with tliese
shreds
They vented their complainings ; which be¬
ing answer'd.
And a petition granted them, a strange one—
To break the heart of generosity.
And make bold power look pale—^they threw
their caps
As they would hang them on the horns o' the
moon.
Shouting their emulation.
Men. What is granted them ?
Mar. Five tribunes to defend their vulgar
wisdoms, 219
Of their own choice : one's Junius Bmtus,
Sicinius Velutus, and I know not—'Sdeath !
The rabble should have first unroof'd the city.
Ere so prevail'd with rae ; it will in time
Win upon power and throw forth greater
themes
For insurrection's arguing.
Men. This is strange.
Mar. Go, get you home, you fragments !
Enter a Messenger, hastily
Mess. Where's Caius Marcius ?
Mar. Here : what's the matter ?
Mess. The news is, sir, the Volsces are in
arms.
Mar. I am glad on't: then we shall ha'
means to vent
Our musty superfluity. See, our best elders.
Enter Cominius, Titus Lartius, and other
^nators; Junius Brutus and Sicinius
Velutus.
First Sen. Marcius, 'tis true that you have
lately told us ; 231
Tlie Volsces are in arms.
Mar. Tliey have a leader,
Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to't
I sin in envying his nobility,
[Act i.
And were I any thing but what I am,
I would wish rae only he.
Com. You have fought together.
Mar. Were half to half the world by the
ears and he
Uijon my party, I'ld revolt, to make
Only my wars with him : he is a lion
That I am proud to hunt.
First Sen. Then, worthy Marcius, 240
Attend upon Cominius to these wars.
Com. It is your former promise.
Mar. Sir, it is ;
And I am constant. Titus Lartius, thou
Shalt see me once more strike at Tullus' face.
What, art thou stiff ? stand'st out ?
Tit. No, Caius Marcius ;
I'll lean upon one crutch and fight with
t'other.
Ere stay behind this business.
Men. O, true-bred !
First Sen. Your comiiany to the Capitol;
where, I know,
Our greatest friends attend us.
Tit. {To Com.'] Lead you on.
{To Mar.] Follow Cominius ; we must follow
you; 250
Right worthy you priority.
Com. Noble Marcius!
First Sen. {To the Citizens] Hence to your
homes ; be gone !
Mar. Nay, let them follow :
The Volsces have much corn ; take these rats
thither
To gnaw their gamers. Worshipful mutiuers.
Your valor puts well forth : pray, follow.
{Citizens steal away. Exeunt all btU
Sicinius and Brutus.
Sic. Was ever man so proud as is this
Marcius ?
Bru. He has no equal.
Sic. When we were chosen tribunes for the
people,—
Bru. Mark'd you his lip and eyes 1
Sic. Nay, but his taunts.
Bru. Being moved, he will not spare to
gird the gods. 2(10
Sic. Be-mock the modest moon.
Bru. The present wars devour him ; he is
giown
Too proud to be so valiant
Sic. Such a nature.
Tickled with good success, disdains the
shadow
Which he treads on at noon : but I do won¬
der
His insolence can brook to be commanded
Under Cominius.
Bru. Fame, at the which he aims.
In whom already he's well graced, can not
Better be held nor more attain'd than by
A place below the first : for what miscarries
Shall be the general's fault, though he per¬
form 271
To the utmost of a man, and giddy censure
Will then cry out of Marcius ' O if he
Had borne the business I'
CORIOLANUS.
SOEME III.]
Sic. Besides, It things go well,
Dpinion that so sticks on Mai-ciiis sliaii
Oi his demerits rob Comiuius.
Bru. Come :
Haif all Comiuius' honors are to Marcius,
Though Marcius earned them not, and all his
faults
To Marcius shall be honors, though indeed
In aught he merit not 279
iSic. Let's hence, and hear
How the dispatch is made, and in what fashion,
More than his singularity, he goes
Upon this present action.
Bnu Let's along. [Exeunt,
Scene 11. Corioli. The Senate-house.
Enter Tullus Aufidics and certain Senators.
First Sen. So, your opiuion is, Aufidius,
That they of Romeare entered in our counsels
And know how we proceed.
Attf. Is it not yours ?
What ever have been tltought on in this state.
That could be brought to bodily act ere Rome
Had circumvention ? 'Tis not four days gone
Since I heard thence ; these are the words : I
think
I iiave the letter here ; yes, here it is.
[Reads] ' They have press'd a power, but it is
not known
Whether for east or west: the dearth is great;
The people mutinous ; and it is rumor'd, 11
Comiuius, Marcius your old enemy.
Who is of Rome worse hated than of you.
And Titus Lartius, a most valiant Roman,
These three lead on this preparation
Whither 'tis bent : most likely 'tis for you :
Consider of it'
First Sen. Our army's in the field :
We never yet made doubt but Rome was
ready
To answer us.
Auf. Nor did you think it folly
To keep your great psetenees veil'd till when
They ne^s must show themselves ; which in
the hatching, 21
It seein'd, appear'd to Rome. By the dis¬
covery
We shall be shorten'd in our aim, which was
To take in many towns ere almost Rome
Should know we were afoot.
Sec. Sen. Noble Aufidius,
Take your commission ; hie you to your bands:
I>et us aldue to guard Corioli:
If tliey set down before's, for the remove
Bring up your army ; but, I think, you'll find
They've not prepared for us.
Auf. 0, doubt not that ; 30
' I speak from certainties. Nay, more.
Some parcels of their power are forth already.
And only hitherward. I leave your honors.
If we and Caius Marcius chance to meet,
'Tis sworn between us we shall ever strike
Till one can do no more.
All. The gods assist you !
Axtf. And keep your honors safe
923
First Sen. Farewell.
Sec. Sen. Farewell.
All. Farewell, [Exemit.
Scene III. Borne. A room in Marcius' house.
Enter Voeumnia and Virgiwa : they set them
down on two low stools, and sew.
Vol. I pray you, daughter, sing ; or ex¬
press yourself in a more comfortable sort : if
my son were my husband, 1 should freelier re¬
joice in that absence wherein he won honor
than in the embracements of his bed wlierehe
would show most love. When yet he was but
tender-bodied and the only son of my womb,
when youth with comeliness plucked all gaze
his way, when for a day of kings' entreaties a
mother .siiould not sell him an hour from her
beholding, 1, considering how honor would
become such a person, that it was no better
than picture-like to hang by the wall, if re¬
nown made it not stir, was pleased to let him
seek danger where he was like to find fame.
To a cruel war I sent him ; from wiience he
returned, his brows bound with oak. I tell
thee, daughter, I sprang not more in joy at
first hearing he was a man-child than now in
first seeing he had proved himself a man. 19
Vir. But had he died in the business,
madam ; how then ?
Vol Then liis good report should have been
my son ; 1 therein would have found issue.
Hear me profess sincerely : iiad I a dozen
sons, each in my love alike and none less dear
than thine and my good Marcius, 1 had ratiier
had eleven die nobly for their country than
one voluptuously surfeit out of action.
Etiier a Gentlewoman.
Gerd. Madam, the Lady Valeria is come to
visit you
Vir. Beseech you, give me leave to retire
myself. 30
Vol. Indeed, you shall not.
Methinks 1 hear kither your husband's drum.
See him pluck Aufidius down by the hair,
As children from a bear, the Volsces shunning
him :
Methinks 1 see him stamp thus, and call thus :
'Come on, 30U cowards ! you were got in fear.
Though j'ou were born in Rome :' his bloody
brow
With his maii'd hand then wiping, forth he
goes.
Like to a harvest-man that's task'd to mow
Or all or lose his hire. 40
Vir. His bloody brow ! O Jupiter, no blood!
Vol. Away, j'ou fool I it more becomes a
man
Than gilt his trophy : the breasts of Heculia,
When she did suckle Hector, look'd not love¬
lier
Than Hector's forehead when it spit forth
blood
At Grecian sword, contemning. Tell Valeria,
] We are fit to bid her welcome. [Exit Gent.
CORIOLANUS.
924
CORIOLANUS.
[Act i.
Vir. Heavens, bless my lord from fell
Aufidius !
Vol. He'll beat Anfidius' head below his
knee
And tread upon his neck. 50
Enter Valebia, with an Usher and Gentle¬
woman.
Val. My ladies both, good day to you.
Vol. Sweet madam.
Vir. 1 am glad to see your ladyship.
Val. How do you both ? you are manifest
house-keepers. What are you sewing here ? A
fine t spot, in good faith. How does your
little sou ?
Vir. I thank your ladyship ; well, good
madam.,
Vol. He had rather see the swords, and
hear a drum, than look upon his school¬
master. G1
•Vol. O' my word, the father's son : I'll
swear, 'tis a very pretty boy. O' my troth, I
looked upon him o' Wednesday half an hour
together : has such a confirmed countenance.
I saw him run after a gilded butterfly ; and
when he caught it, he let it go again ; and
after it again ; and over and over he comes,
and up again ; catched it again ; or whether
his fall enraged him, or how 'twas, he did so
set his teeth and tear it ; O, I warrant it, how
he mammocked it! 71
Vol. One on's father's moods.
Val. Indeed, ,1a, 'Us a noble child.
Vir. A crack, madam.
Val. Come, lay aside your stitchery ; I
must have you play the idle huswife with me
this afternoon. [doors.
Vir. No, good madam ; I will not out of
Val. Not out of doors !
Vol. She shall, she shall. 80
Vir. Indeed, no, by your patience ; I'll not
over the threshold tiU my lord return from the
wars.
Val. Fie, you confine yourself most un¬
reasonably : come, you must go visit the good
lady that lies in.
Vir. I will wish her speedy strength, and
visit her with my prayers ; but I cannot go
thither.
Vol. Why, I pray you ?
Vir. 'Tis not to save labor, nor that I want
love. 91
Val. You would be another Penelope : yet,
they say, all the yarn she spun in Ulysses' ab¬
sence did but fill Ithaca full of moths. Come;
I would your cambric were sensible as your
finger, that you might leave pricking it for
pity. Come, you shall go with us.
Vir. No, good madam, pardon me ; indeed,
I will not forth.
Val. In truth, la, go with me ; and I'll tell
you excellent news of your husband. 101
Fir. O, good madam, there can be none
yet.
Val. Verily, I do not jest with you ; there
came news from him last night.
Vir.. Indeed, madam ?
Val. In earnest, it's true ; I heard a senator
speak it. Thus it is : the Volsces have an
array forth ; against whom Cominius the gen¬
eral is gone, with one part of our Roman
power : your lord and Titus Lartius are set
down before their city Corioli ; they nothing
doubt prevailing ani to make it brief wars.
Tliis is true, on mine honor ; and so, I pray,
go with us.
Vir. Give me excuse, good madam ; I will
obey you in every thing hereafter.
Vol. Let her alone, lady : as she is now,
she will but disease our better mirth.
Val. In troth, I think she would. Fare you
well, then. Come, good sweet ladj^ Prithee,
Virgilia, turn thy solemness out o' door, and
go along with us. _ 121
Vir. No, at a word, madam ; indeed, I
must not. I wish you much mirth.
Val. Well, then, farewell. [Exeunt.
Scene IV. Before Corioli.
Enter, with drum and colors, Makcius, Titvs
Labtius, Captains and Soldiers. To them a
Messenger.
Mar. Yonder comes news. A wager they
have met.
Lart. My horse to yours, no.
Mar. "Tis done.
Lart. Agreed.
Mar. Say, has our general met the enemy ?
Mess. They lie in view ; but have not spoke
as yet.
Lart. So, the good horse is mine.
Mar. I'll buy him of you.
Lart. No, I'll nor seU nor give him ; lend
you him I will
For half a hundred years. Summon the town.
Mar. How far off lie these armies ?
Mess. Within this mile and half.
Mar. Then shall we hear their 'larum, and
they ours.
Now, Mars, I prithee, make us quick in work.
That we with smoking swords may march
from hence, 11
To help our fielded friends ! Come, blow thy
blast.
They sound a parley. Enter two Senators with
others on the wcdls.
TuUns Aufidius, is he within your walls ?
First Sen. No, nor a man that fears you
less than he.
That's lesser than a little. [Drums afar off.]
Harlc ! our drums
Are bringing forth our youth. We'll break
our walls.
Rather than they shall pound us up: our gates.
Which yet seem shut, we have but pinn'd with
rushes ;
They'll open of themselves. [Alarum afar of.]
Hark you, far off !
There is Aufidius ; list, what work he makes
Amongst your cloven army. 21
Mar. O, they are at it!
SCESE v.]
CORIOLANUS.
925
lM.rt. Their noise be onr instruction. Lad¬
ders, ho !
Enter the army of the Volsces.
Mar. They fear us not, but issue forth
their city.
Now put your shields before your hearts, and
fight
With hearts more proof than shields. Advance,
brave Tituss :
Tliey do disdain us much beyond our thoughts.
Which makes me sweat with wrath. Ck>me on,
my fellows ?
He that retires I'll take him for a Volsce,
And he shall feel mine edge.
Alarum. The Romans are beat back to their
trenches. Re-enter Marcius, cursing.
Mar. All the contagion of the south liglit
on you, 30
You shames of Rome 1 you herd of—Boils and
plagues
Plaster you o'er, that you may Ire abliorr'd
Further than seen and one infect another
Against the wind a mile I You souls of geese.
That bear the shapes of men, how have you
run
From slaves that apes would beat! Pluto and
heU !
All hurt behind ; backs red, and faces pale
With flight and agued fear ! Mend and charge
home.
Or, by the fires of lieaven, I'll leave the foe
And make my wars on you : look to't: come
on ; ' 40
If you'll stand fast, we'll beat them to their
wives.
As they us to our trenches followed^
Another alarum. The Volscesand Mar¬
cius follows them to the gates.
So, now the gates are ope : now prove good
seconds :
'Tis for the followers fortune widens them,
Not for the fliers : mark me, and do the like.
[Enters the gates.
First Sol. Fool-hardiness ; not I.
Sec. Sol. Nor I.
[Marcius is shtit in.
First Sol. See, they have shut him in.
All. To the pot, I warrant him.
[Alarum continues.
Re-enter Titus Lartius.
Lart. What is become of Marcius ?
All. Slain, sir, doubtless.
First Sol. Following the fliers at tlie very
heels, 49
With them he enters ; who, upon the sudden,
Clapp'd to their gates : he is himself alone.
To answer all the city.
hart. O noole fellow !
Who sensibly outdares his senseless sword,
And, when it bows, stands up. Thou art left,
Marcius :
A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art,
Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a sol¬
dier
Even to Cato's wish, not fierce and terrible
Only in strokes ; but, with thy grim looks and
Tlie thunder-like percussion of thy sounds.
Thou madst thine enemies shake, as if the
world 60
Were feverous and did tremble.
Re-enter Marcius, bleeding, assaulted by the
enemy.
First Sol. Look, sir.
Lart. O, 'tis Marcius I
* Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike.
[They fight, and all enter the city.
Scene V. Corioli. A street.
Enter certain Romans, roith spoils.
■ First Rom. This will I carry to Rome.
Sec. Rom. And I this.
Third Rom. A murrain on't! I took this
for silver. [Alarum continues still afar off.
Enter Marcius and Tixus Lartius with a
trumpet.
Mar. See here these movers that do prize
their hours
At a crack'd drachm! Cushions, leaden
spoons.
Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would
Bury with those that wore them, these base
slaves,
Ere yet tlie fight be done, pack up : down wUh
them !
And liark, what noise the general makes I To
him ! 10
Tliere is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius,
Piercmg our Romans : then, valiant Titus,
take
Convenient numbers to make good the city ;
Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will
haste
To help Cominius.
Lart. Worthy sir, thou bleed'st;
Thy exercise hatli been too violent for
A second course of fight.
Mar. Sir, praise me not;
My work hath yet not warm'd me : fare you
well :
The blood I drop is rather physical
■nian dangerous to me : to Aufidius thus 20
f will appear, and fight.
iMrt. Now the fair goddess, Fortune,
Fall deep in love with thee ; and her great
charms
Misguide thy opposers' swords ! Bold gentle¬
man.
Prosperity be thy page !
Mar. Thy friend no less
Tlian those she iflaceth highest 1 So, farewell.
Lart. lliou worthiest Marcius !
[Exit Marcius.
Go, sound thy trumpet in the market-place ;
Call thither all the ofllcers o' the town.
Where they shall know our mind : away !
[Eiceunt.
020
CORIOfANUS.
[Act i.
Scene VI. JVjaj" the camp of Cominius.
Entev CoMiNius, as it were in retire, with sol¬
diers.
Com. Breathe yon, my friends : well fought;
we are come off
Like Romans, neither foolisii in our stands,
Nor cowardly in retire : ^lieve me, sirs.
We shall be charged again. Whiles we h<ave
struck.
By interims and conveying gusts we have heard
Tlie charges of our friends. Ye Roman gods !
Le,ad their successes as we wish our own,
Tliat both our powers, with smiling fronts en¬
countering,
May give you thankful sacrifice.
Enter a Messenger.
Thy news ? 9
Afess. The citizens of Corioli have issued.
And given to I^aitius and to Marcius battle :
I siiw our mrty to their trenches driven.
And then I came away.
Com. Though thou speak'st truth,
Methinks thou speak'st not well. How long
is't rince ?
Mess. Above an hour, my lord.
Com. 'Tis not a mile; briefly we heard their
drums ;
How couldstthou in a mile confound an hour.
And bring thy news so late ?
Mess. Spies of the Volsces
Held me in chase, that I was forced to wheel
Three or four miles about, else had 1, sir, 20
Half an hour since brought my repoit.
Com. " Who's yonder.
That does appear as he were flay'd ? O gods!
He has the stamp of Marcius ; and 1 have
Before-time seen him thus.
Mar. [Wif/iift] Come 1 too late?
Com. The shepherd knows not thunder
from a tabor
More than 1 know the sound of Marcius tongue
From every meaner man.
Enter Mabcius.
Mar. Come 1 too late 7
Com. Ay, if you come not in the blood of
others.
But mantled in your own.
Mar. O, let me clip ye
In arms as sound as when I woo'd, in heart 30
As merry as when our nuptial day was done.
And tapers burn'd to bedward !
Com. Flower of warriors.
How is it with Titus Lartius ?
Mar. As with a man busied about decrees :
Condemning some to death, and some to exile ;
Ransoming him, or pitying, threatening the
other ;
Holding Corioli in the name of Rome,
Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash.
To let him slip at will.
Com. Where is that slave
Which told me they liad beat you to your
trenches ? 40
Where is he ? call him hither.
Mar. Let him alone ;
He did inform the truth : but for our gentle¬
men.
The common file—a plague! tribunes fur
them!— [budge
The mouse ne'.er shunn'd the cat as they did
From i-ascals worse than they.
Com. But how prevail'd you ?
Mar. Will the time serve to tell ? 1 do not
think.
W here is the enemy ? are you lords o' the field?
Tf not, wliy cease you till yon are so ?
Com. Marcius,
We have at disadvantage fought and did
Retire to win our purpose. 50
Mar. How lies their battle ? know you on
which side
Tliey have placed their men of trust ?
Com. As 1 guess, Marcius,
Their bands i' the vaward are the Antiate.s,
Of their best trust; o'er them Aufidius,
Their very heart of hope.
Mar. I do beseech you.
By all the battles wherein we have fought,
By the blood we have shed togetlier, by the
vows
We have made to endure friends, tliat you
directly
Set me against Aufidius and his Antiates ;
And that you not delay the present, but, 60
Filling the air with swords advanced and
darts.
We prove this very hour.
Com. Though I could wish
You were conducted : ■ a gentle bath
And b<alms applied to you, yet dare 1 never
Deny your asking : take your choice of those
Th.at best can aid your action.
Mar. Those are they
That most are willing. If any such be here—
As it were sin to doubt—that love this painting
AVherein you see me smear'd ; If any fear
Lesser his person than an ill report; 70
If any think brave death outweighs bad life
And that his country's dearer than himself ;
Let him alone, or so many so minded.
Wave thus, to express his disposition.
And follow Marcius.
[77^ all shout and wave their swards, take
him up in their ai-ms, and cast up their
caps.
0, me alone I make you a sword of me ?
If these shows be not outward, which of yon
But is four Volsces ? none of you but is
Able to bear; gainst the great Aufidius
A shield as hard as his. A certain number, 80
Though thanks to all, must I select from all:
the rest
Shall bear the business in some other fight.
As cjiuse will be obey'd. Please yon to
march ;
tAnd four shall quickly draw out my com¬
mand,
Wliich men are best inclined.
Com, March on, my fellows :
Scene ix.]
Make good this ostentation, and you shall
Divide in ail with us. [Exeunt.
Scene VH. The gates of CorioU.
Titus Lartius, having set a guard upon Corl-
oli, going with drum and trumpet toward
CoMisius and Caius Marcius, enters leitha
Lieutenant, othei- Soldiers, and a Scout.
Lart. So, let the ports be guarded : keep
your duties,
As I hiive set them down. II I do send, des¬
patch
Those centuries to our aid : the rest will serve
For a sliort holding : if we lose the field.
We cannot keep the town.
Liesi Fear not our care, sir.
Lart. Hence, and sluit your gates upon's.
Our guider, come ; to the Roman cai^ con¬
duct us. [Exeunt.
Scene VIII. Afield of battle.
Alarum as in battle. Enter, from opposite
sides, Marcius and Aufidius.
Mar. IT fight with none but thee ; for I do
hate thee
Worse than a promise-breaker.
Auf. We Late alike :
Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor
More than tliy fame and envy. Fix thy foot.
Mar. Let the first bndger die the other's
slave.
And the gods doom him after !
Auf. If I fly, Marcius,
Holloa me like a hare.
Mar. Within these three hours, Tullus,
Alone I fought in your Corioli walls.
And made what work I pleased : 'tis not my
blood
Wherein thou seest me mask'd; for thy revenge
Wrench up tliy power to the highest
Auf. Wert thou the Hector 11
That"was the whip of your bragg'd progeny,
•Thou shouidst not scape me here.
[Theyfight, and certainVolsces come to the
aid of Avfidivs. Marcius fights till they
be driven in breathless.
Officious, and not valiant, you have shamed me
In your condemned seconds. [Exeunt.
Scene IX. The Roman camp.
Flourish. Alarum. A retreat is sounded.
Flourish. Enter, from one side, Comintus
with the Romans ; from the other side, Mar¬
cius, with his arm in a scarf.
Com. If I should tell thee o'er this thy day' a
work,
Thou'ldst not believe thy deeds : but I'll re¬
port it
Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles.
Where great patricians slmli attend and shrug,
r the end admire, where ladies shall be fright¬
ed,
Aod, gladly quaked, hear more; where the
dull tribunes,
927
That, witli the fusty plebeians, hate thine hon¬
ors, Igods
Shall say against their hearts ' We thank the
Our Rome liatli such r soldier.'
Yet earnest tliou to a morsel of this feast, 10
Having fully dined before.
Enter Titus Lartius, with his power, from
the pursuit.
Lart. O general.
Here is the steed, we the caparison :
Hadst thou beheld—
Mar. Pray now, no more: my mother.
Who has a charter to extol her blood,
When she does praise me grieves me. I have
done
As you have done ; that's what I can ; induced
As you have been ; that's for my country :
He that has but effected his good will
Hath overta'en mine act.
Com. You shall not be
The grave of your deserving; Rome must
know 20
The value of her own: 'twere a concealment
Worse than a theft, no less than a traduce-
ment,
To iiide your doings ; and to silence that,
Whicli, to the spire and top of praises vouch'd.
Would seem but modest: therefore, 1 beseech
you
In sign of what you are, not to reward
What you have done—before our army hear
me.
Mar. I have some wounds upon me, and
they smart
To hear themselves remember'd.
Com. Should they not,
Well might they fe.«ter 'gainst ingratitude, 30
And tent themselves with death. Of all the
horses,
Whereof we have ta'en good and good store,
of all
The treasure in this field achieved and city.
We render you the tenth, to be ta'en forth.
Before the common distribution, at
Your only choice.
Mar. I thank you, general;
But cannot make my heart consent to take
A bribe to pay my sword ; I do refuse it;
And stand upon my common part with those
That have beheld the doing. 40
[A long flourish. They all cry 'Marciusl
Marcius !' cost up their caps and lances:
Cominius and Lartius stand bare.
Mar. May these same instruments, which
you profane.
Never sound more ! when drums and trum¬
pets shall
I' the field prove flatterers, let courts and
cities be
Made all of false-faced soothing !
When steel grows soft as the parasite's silk.
Let him be made a coverture for the wars !
No more, I say ! For that I have not wash'd
My nose that bled, or foil'd some debile
wretch,—
CORIOLANUS.
928
CORTOLANUS.
[Act ii.
Which, without note, here's many else have
done,—
You shout me forth 50
In acclamations hyi^erbolical;
As if I loved my little should be dieted
In praises sauced with lies.
Com. Too mode.st are you ;
More cruel to your good report than grateful
To us that give you truly : by your patience.
If 'gainst yourself you be incensed, we'll put
you, [acles.
Like one that means his proper harm, in man-
Then reason safely with you. Therefore, be
it known.
As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius
Wears this war's garland : in token of tlie
which, " fiO
My noble steed, known to the camp, I give
him,
With all his trim belonging ; and from this
time.
For what he did before Corioli, call him.
With all the applause and clamor of the host,
Caius Marcius Cobiolanus ! Bear
The addition noblv ever !
[Flourish, trumpets sound, and drums.
All. Caius Marcius Coriolanus
Cor. I will go wash ;
And when my face is fair, you shall perceive
Whether I blush or no : howbeit, I thank you.
I mean to stride your steed, and at all times
To nudercrest your good addition
To the fairness of my iiower.
Com. So, to our tent;
Where, ere we do repose us, we will write
To Rome of our success. You, Titus Lartius,
Must to Corioli back : send us to Rome
The best, with whom we may articulate.
For their own good and ours'
iMrt. I shall, my lord.
Cor. The gods begin to mock me. I, that
now
Refused most princely gifts, am bound to beg
Of my lord general. 81
Com. Take't ; 'tis yours. AVhat is't ?
Cor. I sometime lay here in Corioli
At a poor man's house ; he used me kindly :
He cried to me ; I saw him prisoner ;
But then Aufidius was within my view.
And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity ; I request
you
To give my poor host freedom.
Com. 0, well begg'd !
Were he the butcher of my son, he should
Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus.
Xarf. Marcius, his name ?
Cor. By Jupiter ! forgot.
I am weary ; yea, my memory is tired. 91
Have we no wine here ?
Com. Go we to our tent .
The blood upon your visage dries ; 'tis time
It should be look'd to : come. [Exetmt.
Scene X. camp of the Volsces.
A flourish. Comets. Enter Tueeus Aufi¬
dius, bloodff, with two or three Soldiers.
Auf. The town is ta'en !
FirU Sol. 'Twill be deliver'd back on good
condition.
Auf. Condition 1
I would I were a Roman ; fori cannot.
Being a Volsce, be that I am. Condition t
What good condition can a treaty find
I' the part that is at mercy ? Five times, Mar¬
cius,
I have fought with thee: so often hast thou
beat me.
And wouldst do so, I think, should we en¬
counter
As often as we eat. By the elements, 10
If e'er again 1 meet him beard to beard.
He's mine, or I am his: mine emulation
Hath not that honor in't it had ; for where
I thought to crush him in an equal force,
True sword to sword, I'll potch at him some
way
Or wrath or craft may get him.
First Sol. He's the deviL
Auf- Bolder, though not so subtle. My
valor's poison'd
With only suSering stain by him ; for him
Shall fly out of itself : nor sleep nor sanctuary.
Being naked, sick, nor fane nor Capitol, 20 .
The prayers of priests nor times of sacrifice,
Erabarquements all of fury, shall lift up
Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst
My hate to Slarcius : where I find him, were it
At home, upon my brother's guard, even there.
Against the hospitable canon, would I
Wash my fierce hand in's heart. ^ you to
the city ;
Learn how 'tis held ; and what they are that
must
Be hostages for Rome.
First Sol. Will not you go ?
Auf. I am attended at the cypress grove: I
pray you— 30
'Tis south the city mills—bring mo word
thither
How the world goes, that to the pace of it
I may spur on my journey.
First Sol I shall, sir.
[Ezeunt.
ACT H.
Scene I. Rome. A public place.
Enter Menenius with the two Tribunes of the
people, SiciNius and Bruxus.
Men. The augurer tells me we shall have
news to-night
Bru. Good or bad 1
Men. Not according to the prayer of the
people, for tliey love not Marcius.
Sic. Nature teadies beasts to know their
friends.
Men. Pray you, who does the wolf love ?
Sic. Tlie lamb.
Men. Ay, to devour him ; as the hungry
plebeians would the noble Marcius. li
Scene i.]
CORIOLANUS.
9_U
Bru. He's a lamb im'eed, that baes like a
bear.
Men. He's a bear iudeed, that lives like a
lamb. You two are old men: tell me one tiling
that I shall ask yon.
Both. Well, sir.
Men. In what enormity is Marcius poor in,
that yon two have not in abundance ?
Bm. He's poor in no one fault, but stored
with all 21
Sic. Especially in pride.
Bru. And topping all others in boasting.
Men. This is strange now : do you two
know how yon are censured here in the city,
I mean of us o' the right-hand file ? do yon ?
Both. Why, how are we censured ?
Men. Because you talk of pride now,—^will
you not be angry ?
Both. Well, well, sir, well. 30
Men. Why, 'tis no gr^t matter ; for a very
little thief of occasion wiU rob you of a great
deal of'patience: give your dispositions tlie
reins, and be angry at your pleasures ; at the
least, if you take it as a pleasure to you in
being so. You blame Marcius for being
proud ?
Bru. We do it not alone, sir.
Men. I know you can do very little alone ;
for your helps are many, or else your actions
would grow wondrous single : your abilities
are too infant-like for doing m uch alone. Yon
talk of pride : O that you could turn your
eyes toward the napes of your necks, and
make but an interior survey of your good
selves! O that you could !
Bru. What then, sir ?
Men. Why, then you should discover a
brace of unmeritiug, proud, violent, testy
magistrates, alias fools, as any in Rome.
Sic. Meneuius, you are known well enough
too. 50
Men. I am known to be a humorous patri¬
cian, and one that loves a cup of hot wine
with not a drop of allaying Tiber in't; said to
be something imperfect in favoring the first
complaint; hasty and tinder-like upon too
trivial motion ; one that converses more with
the buttock of the night than with the fore¬
head of the morning : what I think I utter,
and spend my malice in my breath. Meeting
two such wealsmen as you are—I cannot call
you Lycurguses—if the drink you give me
touch my palate adversely, I make a crooked '
face at it. I can't say your worships have de¬
livered the matter weU, when I find the ass in
compoimd with the major part of your syl¬
lables : and though I must be content to bear
with those that say you are reverend grave
men, yet they lie deadly that tell you you
have good faces. If you see this in the map
of my microcosm, follows it that I am known
well enough too ? what ham can your bisson
conspectuities glean out of this character, if I
be known well enough too ?
Bru. Come, sir, come, we know you well
' enough.
Men. You know neither me, yourselves
nor any thing. You are ambitious for poor
knaves caps and legs : yon wear out a good
wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause be¬
tween an orange wife and a fosset-seller ; and
then rejourn the controversy of three pence to
a second day of audience. When you are
hearing a matter between party and party, if
you chance to be pinched with the colic, you
make faces like mummers ; set up the bloody
flag against all patience ; and, in roaring for
a chamber-pot, dismiss the controversy bleed¬
ing, the more entangled by your hearing: all
the peace yon make in their cause is, calling
both the parties knaves. Yon are a pair of
strange ones. 89
Bm. Come, come, you are well understood
to be a perfecter giber for the table than a
necessary bencher in the Capitol.
Men. Our very iiriests must become mock¬
ers, if they shall encounter such ridiculous
subjects as you are. When 3-ou speak best
unto the purpose, it is not worth the wagging
of your beards ; and your beards deserve not
so honorable a grave as to stuff a botcher's
cushion, or to be entombed in an ass's pack-
saddle. Yet ;^ou must be saying, Marcius is
proud ; who, in a cheap estimation, is worth
all your predecessors since Dedcalion, though
peradventure some of the best of 'em were
hereditary hangmen. God-den to your wor¬
ships : niore of your conversation would
infect my brain, being the herdsmen of tlie
beastly plebeians : I will be bold to take my
leave of you.
[Brutus and Sicinius go aside.
Enter VoLxmmA, Vikgilia, and Valekia.
How now, my as fair as noble ladies,—and the
moon, were she earthly, no nobler,—whither
do you follow your eyes so fast ? 109
Vol. Honorable Menenius, my boy Marcius
approaches ; for the love of Juno, let's go.
Men. Ha ! Marcius coming home !
Vol. Ay, worthy Menenius ; and with most
prosperous approbation.
Men. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank
thee. Hoo ! Marcius coming home !
Vol. Vir. Nay, 'tis true.
Vol. Look, here's a letter from him : the
state hath another, his wife anotlier ; and, I
think, there's one at home for you. 120
Men. I will make my very house reel to¬
night : a letter for me !
Vir. Yes, certain, there's a letter for you ;
I saw't.
Men. A letter for me ! it gives me an estate
of seven years' health ; in which time I will
make a lip at the physician : the most sover¬
eign prescription in Galen is but empiricutic,
and, to this preservative, of no better report
than a horse-drench. Is he not wounded ? he
was wont to come home wounded. 131
Vir, O, no, no, no.
Vol. O, he is wounded ; I thank the gods
for't.
59
930
CORIOLANUS.
[Act II.
Men. So do I too, W it be not too much :
brings a' victory in his jiocket ? the wounds
become him.
Vol. Oil's brows : Menenius, he comes the
third time home with the oalieu garlaud.
Men. Has he disciplined Aufidins soundly?
Vol. Titus La."tius writes, they fought to¬
gether, but Aufidius got off. 141
Men. And 'twas time for him too, I'll w.ar-
rant him that: an he had stayed by hirt, I
would not have been so fidiused for all the
chests in Corioli, and the gold that's in them.
Is the senate possessed of this ?
Vol. Good ladies, let's go. Yes, yes, yes ;
the senate has letters from the general, where¬
in he gives my son the whole name of the war:
he hath in this action ontdoue liis former deeds
doubly. 151
Val. In troth, there's wondrous things
^oke of him.
Men. Wondrous ! ay, I warrant you, and
r.ot without his true purchasing.
Fir. The gods grant them true !
Vol. True ! now, wow.
Men. True f I'll be sworn they are true.
Where is he wounded? [2b the Tribunes] God
save your good worships ! Marcius is coming
home : he has more cause to be proud. Where
is he wounded ?
Vol. r the shoulder and i' the left arm :
there will be large cicatrices to show the peo¬
ple, when he shall stand for his place. He re¬
ceived in the repulse of Tarquin seven hurts
i' the body.
Men. One i' the neck, and two i' the thigh,
—there's nine that I know.
Vol. He had, before this last expedition,
twenty-five wounds upon him. 170
Men. Now it's twenty-seven: every gash
was an enemy's grave. [A shout and flourish.]
Hark I the trumpets.
Vol. These are the ushers of Marcius : be¬
fore him he carries noise, and behind him he
leaves tears :
Death, that dark spirit, in's nervy arm doth
lie ;
Which, being advanced, declines, and then
men die.
A sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter Cominius
the general, and Titos Labtius ; between
them, C0B101.ANIJS, a'owned with an oaken
garland; with Captains and Soldiers, and a
Herald.
Her. Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius
did fight
Within Corioli gates : where he hath won, 180
With fame, a name to Cains Marcius ; these
In honor follows Coriolanus.
Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus !
[Flourish.
All. Welcome to Home, renowned Coriola¬
nus !
Cor. No more of this ; it does offend my
heart:
Vra.y now, no more.
Com. Look, sir, your mother 1
Cor. O,
You have, I know, petition'd all the gods
For my prosperity ! [Kneels.
Vol. Nay, my good soldier, up ;
My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and
By deed-achieving honor newly named,— 190
What is it ?—Coriolanus must I call thee ?—
But, O, thy wife !
Cor. My gracious silence, hail!
Wouldst thou have laugli'd had 1 come coffiii'd
home.
That weep'st to see ine triumph ? Ay, inj'
dear.
Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear.
And mothers that lack sons.
Men. Now, the gods crown thee I
Cor. And live you yet ? [2b Valeria] O my
sweet lady, pardon.
Vol, I know" not where to turn : O, wel¬
come home:
And welcome, general: and ye're welcome all.
Men. A hundred thousand welcomes. 1
could weep 200
And 1 could laugh, 1 am light and heavy. Wel¬
come.
A curse begin at very root on's heart.
That is not glad to see thee ! You are three
That Rome should dote on : yet, by the faith
of men.
We have some old crab-trees here at home
that will not
Be grafted to your relish. Yet welcome, war¬
riors :
We call a nettle but a nettle and
The faults of fools but folly.
Com. Ever right
Cor. Menenius ever, ever.
Herald. Give way there, and go on !
Cor. [To Volumnia and Virgilia] Your
hand, and yours : 210
Ere in our own house 1 do shade my head.
The good patricians must be visited ;
From whom 1 have received not only greet-
ings.
But with them change of honors.
Vol. I have lived
To see inherited my very wishes
And the buildings of my fancy : only
There's one thing wanting, which 1 doubt not
but
Our Rome will cast upon thee.
Cor. Know, good mother,
1 had rather be their servant in my way,
Thau sway with them in theirs.
Com. On, to the Capitol! 220
[Flourish. Comets. Exeunt in state, as
before. Brutus and Sicinius come for^
ward.
Bru. All tongues speak of him, and the
bleared sights
Are spectacled to see him: your prattling
nurse
Into a rapture lets her baby cry
While she chats him : the kitchen maiirin pijjg
Her richest lockiam 'bout her reechy neck.
Scene ii.]
Clambering the wall^ to eye him ; stalls, balks,
windows, >
Are smother'd up, leads fill'd, and ridges
horsed
With variable complexions, all agreeing
In earnestness to see him : seld-sliown fla-
mens
Bo press among the popular throngs and puff
To win a vulgar station : or veil'd dames 231
Commit the war of white and damask in
Tlieir nicely-gawded cheeks to the wanton
spoil
Of Phoebus' burning kisses : such a pother
As it that whatsoever god who leads him
Were silly crept into his human powers
Aud gave him graceful posture.
Sic. On the sudden,
I warrant him consul.
Bru. Then our office may.
During his power, go sleep.
Sic. He cannot temperately transiwrt his
honors 240
From where he should begin aud end, but will
Lo.se those he hath won.
Bru. In that there's comfort.
Sic. Doubt not
Tlie commoners, for whom we stand, but they
U()on their ancient malice will forget
With the least cause these his new honors,
which
Timt lie will give tliem make I as little ques¬
tion
A.s he is proud to do't
Bru. I heard him swear.
Were he to stand for consul, never would he
Appear i' the market-place nor on him put
The napless vesture of humility ; 250
Nor, showing, as the manner is, his wounds
To the people, beg their stinking breaths.
.S'l'c. Tis right.
Bru. It was his word : O, he would miss it
rather
Than carry it but by the suit of tlie gentry to
him
Aud the desire of the nobles.
Sic. I wish no better
Thau have him hold that purpose and to put
it
Li execution.
Bru. 'Tis most like he will.
Sic. It shall be to him then as our good
wills,
A sure destruction.
Bm. So it must fall out
To him or our authorities. For an end, 260
We must suggest the people in wliat hatred
He still hath held them; that to's irower he
would
Have made them mules, silenced their plead¬
ers and
Dispropertied their freedoms, holding them.
In human action and capacjty,
Of no more soul nor fitness Tor the world
Thau camels in the war, who have their pro-
vand
Only for bearing burdens, aud sore blows
931
For sinking under them.
Sic. This, as you say, suggested
At some time when his soaring insolence 270
Shall touch the people—which time shall not
want.
If he be put upon't; and that's as easy
As to set dogs on sheep—will be his fire
To kindle their dry stubble ; and their blaze
Shall darken him for ever.
Enter a Messenger.
Bru. What's the matter ?
Mess. You are sent for to the Capitol. 'Tis
thought
That Marcius shall be consul:
I have seen the dumb men throng to see him
and
The blind to hear him speak : matrons flung
gloves.
Ladies and maids their scarfs and handker-
' chers, 2M
Upon him as he pass'd : the nobles bended.
As to Jove's statue, and the commons made
A shower and thunder with their caps and
shouts:
I never saw the like.
Brti. Let's to the fjapitol •,
And carry with us ears and eyes for the time.
But hearts for the event.
Sic. Have with you. [Exeunt.
Scene II. The same. The Capitol.
Enter two Offlcers, to lay cushions.
First Off. Come, come, they are almost
here. How many stand for consulships ?
See. Off. Three, they say : but 'tis thought
of every one Coriolanus will carry it.
First Off. That's a brave fellow ; but he's
vengeance proud, and loves not the common
people.
Sec. Off. Faith, there had been man3' great
men that have flattered the people, who ne'er
loved them ; and there be many that they have
loved, they know not wherefore : so that, if
they love they know not why, they hate upon
no better a ground : therefore, for Coriolanus
neither to care whether they love or hate Inm
manifests the true knowledge he has in tl i'r
disposition ; and out of his noble carelesMH : s
lets them plainly see't.
First Off. If he did not care whether he IimI
their love or no, he waved indifferently 'tv ixt
doing them neither good nor harm :'bnt he
seeks their hate with greater devotion than
they can render it him ; and leaves nothing
undone that may fully discover him their op¬
posite. Now, to seem to affect the malice and
displeasure of the people is as bad as that
which he dislikes, to flatter them for their
love.
Sec. Of. He hath deserved worthily of his
counti-y : and his ascent is not by such easy
degrees as those who, having been supple and
courteous to the people, bonneted, without any
further deed to have them at all into their es-
CORIOLANUS.
932
CORIOLANUS.
[Act ii.
timation and report: but he hath so planted his
honors in their eyes, and liis actions in tlieir
hearts, tliat for their tongues to be silent, and
not confess so much, were a kind of ingrate-
ful injury : to report otherwise, were a ma¬
lice, that, nring itself tlie lie, would pluck
reproof and rebuke from every ear that heard
it.
First Off. No more of him ; he is a wor-
tiiy man ; make way, they are coming. 40
A sennet. Enter, with Lictors be/ore them,
CoMiNics the consul, Menenius, Corioi.a-
Nus, Senators, Sioinics and Brutus. The
Senators take their places; the Tribunes
take their places by themselves. Corio-
LAnus stands.
Men. Having .determined of the Volsces
and
To send for Titus Lartius, it remains.
As the main point of tliis our after-meeting.
To gratify his noble service tliat
Hiith thus stood for his coimtry ; therefore,
please you.
Most reverend and grave elders, to desire
The preset)tsconsiil, and last general
In our well-found successes, to report
.\ little of that worthy work perform'd
By Caius Marcius Coriolanus, whom 50
\Ve met here both to thank and to remember
With honors like himself.
First Sen. Speak, good Commius :
Leave nothing out for length, and make us
think
Uather our state's defective for requital
Than we to stretch it out. [To the Tribunes.']
Masters o' the people,
AVe do request your kindest ears, and after.
Tour loving motion toward the common
body.
To yield what passes here
Sic. We are convented
Upon a pleasing treaty, and have hearts
Inclinable to honor and advance 60
The theme of our assembly.
Bni. Which the rather
We shall be blest to do, if he remember
A kinder value of the people than
He hath hereto prized them at.
Men. That's off, that's off ;
I would you rather had been silent. Please
you
To hear Cominius speak ?
Bru. Most willingly ;
But yet my caution was more pertinent
Than the rebuke you give it.
Men. He loves your people
But tie him not to be their bedfellow.
Worthy Cominius, speak. [Coriolanus offers
to go away.] Nay, keep your place. 70
First Sen. Sit, Coriolanus ; never shame
to hear
What you have nobly done.
Cor. Your -onor's pardon ; ,
I had rather have my wounds to heal again
Thau hear say how I got them.
Bru. Sir, I hope
ily words disbench'd you not.
Cor. No, sir: yet oft,
AVhen blows have made me stay, I fled from
words.
You soothed not, tlierefore hurt not: but your
people,
I love them as they weigh.
Men. Pray now, sit down.
Cor. I had rather have one scratch my
head i' tlie sun
When the alarum were struck than idly sit 80
To hear my nothings monster'd. [Frit.
Men. Masters of the people.
Your multiplying spawn how can he flatter—
That's thousand to one good one—when you
now see
He had rather venture all his limbs for honor
Than one on's ears to hear it? Proceed,
Cominius.
Com. 1 shall lack voice : the deeds at Cor¬
iolanus
Should not be uttePd feebly. It is held
That valor is the chiefest virtue, and
Most dignifies the haver: if it be.
The man I speak of cannot in the world 90
Be singly counterpoised. At sixteen years,
When Tarquin made a head for Rome, he
fought
Beyond the mark of others : our then dictator,
Whom with all praise I point at, saw him
fight.
When with his Amazonian chin he drove
The bristled lips before him : he bestrid
An o'er-press'd Roman and i' the consul's
view
Slew three opposers ; Tarquin's self he met,
And struck nim on his knee: in that day's
feats.
When he miglit act the woman in the scene.
He proved best man i' the field, and for his
meed 701
Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age
Man-enter'd thus, he waxed like a sea.
And in the brimt of seventeen battles since
He lurch'd ail swords of the garland. For
this last.
Before and in Corioli, let me say,
1 cannot speak him home: he stopp'd the
fliers ;
And by his rare example made the coward
Turn terror into sport: as weeds before
A vessel under sail, somen obey'd 110'
And fell below his stem : his sword, death's
stamp,
AVhere it did mark, it took ; from face to foot
He was a thing of blood, whose eveiry mo'-
tioa
AVas timed with dying cries : alone he enter'd
Tlie mortal gate of the city, which he painted
AA'ith shunless destiny ; aidless came off.
And with a sudden re-inforcement struck
Corioli like a planet: now all's his :
When, by and by, the din of war gan pierce
His ready sense ; then straight his doubled
spirit 120
SCEME Ili.]
Re-qulcken'd what in flesh was fatigate,
And to the battle came he ; where he did
Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if
'Twere a perpetual spoil : and till we call'd
Both fleldand city ours, he never stood
To ease his breast with panting.
Men. Worthy man !
First Sen. He cannot but with measure fit
tire honors
Which we devise him.
Com. Our spoils he kick'd at,
Atrd look'd upon things precious as tliey were
The common muck of the world : he covets
less 130
Than misery itself would give ; rewards ■
His deeds with doing them, and is content
To spend the timef to end it '
Men. He's right noble:
Let him be calTd lor.
First Sen. Call Corlolanus.
He doth appear. '
Reenter Coriolaitos.
Men. The senate, Corlolanus are well
pleased
To make thee consul.
Cor. 1 do owe them still
My life and services.
Men. It then remairrs
That you do speak to the people.
Cor. I do beseech you,
Let me o'erleap that custom, for I canrrot 140
Put on the gown, starrd naked and entreat
them.
Per my wounds' sake, to give their suffrage :
please you
That I may pass this doirtg.
Sic. Sir, the people
Mirst have their voices ; neither will they bate
One jot of ceremony.
Men. Put them not to't :
Pray you, go fit you to the custom and
Take to you, as your predecessors have.
Your horror with your form.
Cor. It is apart
That I shall blush in acting, atrd might well
Betaken from the people.
Bm. Mark yorr that ? 150
Cor. To brag urito them, thus I did, and
thus ;
Show them the uirachitrg scai« which I should
hide.
As if I had received thern for the hire
Of their breath only !
Men. Do not stand upou't.
We recommend to you, tribrrnes of the peoi)le,
Our purpose to them: arrd to our noble con-
strl'
Wish we all joy and honor. »
Senators. To Corlolanus come all joy and
honor! [P'/oun'.tft oy comets. Exeunt all
but Sic0iius and Brutus.
Bru. Tor. see how he intends to use the
■people.
Sic. May they perceive's intent I He will
require them, 1(30
98fl
As if he did contemrr wlrat he requested
Should b-' in them to give.
Bni. Come, we'll inform them
Of our proceedings here : on tire market¬
place,
I krtow, they do attend us. [Exm.nt.
Scene III. The same. The Forum.
Enter seven or eight Citizens.
First at. Once, if he do require our voices,
we ought rrot to deny him.
Sec. Cit. We may, sir, if we will.
Third Cit. We have power in ourselves to
do it, but it is a power that we have no pow cr
to do; for if he show us his wounds and tell
us his deeds, we are to put our tongues into
those wounds and speak for them ; so, if l.e
tell us his noble deeds, we must also tell him
our noble acceptance of them.' Ingratitude is
monstrous, and for the multitude to be in-
grateful, were to make a monster of the mul¬
titude : of the which ' we being members,
should bring ourselves to be monstrous mem¬
bers.
First Cit. And to make us no bettor
thought of, a little help will serve ; for onc.e
we stood up about the com, he himself stuck
not to call us the many-headed multitude.
Third Cit. We have been called so of many;
not that our heads are some brown, some
black, some auburn, some bald, but that our
wits are so diversely colored : and truly l
think if all our wits were to issue out of one
skull, they would fly east, west, north, south,
and their consent of one direct way should be
at once to all the points o' the compass.
Sec. Cit. Think you so ? Which way do
you judge my wit would fly ?
Third Cit. Nay, yourwitwill not so soon out
as another man's will ; 'tis strongly wedged
up in a block-head, but if it were at liberty,
'twould, sure, soutliward.
Sec. Cit. Why that Way 1
Third Cit. To lose itself in a fog, where
being three parts melted away wim rotten
dews, the fourth would return for conscience
sake, to help to get thee a wife.
Sec. Cit. You are never without your tricks :
you may, you may. 39
Third Cit. Are you all resolved to give
your voices ? But that's no matter, the
greater part carries it. I say, if he would in¬
cline to the people, there was never a worthier
man.
Enter Cobioeanus in a gown of humility,
, with Menenhts.
Here he comes, and in the gown of humility :
mark his behavior. We are not to stay all
together, but to come by him where he stands,
by ones, by twos, and by threes. He's to make
his requests by particulars ; wherein every
one of us has a single honor, in giving him
our own voices with our own tongues : there¬
fore follow me, and I'll direct you how you
shall go by him.
CORWLANUS.
934
All. Content, content. [Exeunt Citizens.
Men. 0 sir, you are not right: have you
not known
The worthiest men have done't?
Cor. What must I say ?
1 pray, sir'—Plague upon't ! I cannot bring
My tongue to such a pace :—' Look, sir, my
wounds!
got them in my country's service, when
jome certain o£ your brethren roar'dandran
5'rom the noise of our own drums.' 60
Men. 0 me, the gods !
iou mu.st not speak ol that: you must de¬
sire them
Jo think upon you.
Cor. Think upon me! hang 'em !
Z would they would forget me, like the virtues
Which our divmes lose by 'em.
Men. You'll mar all :
I'll leave you: pray you, speak to 'em, I pray
you.
In wholesome manner. [Exit.
Cor. Bid them wash their faces
And keep their teeth clean. [Se-enter two of
' the Citizens.'] So, here comes a brace.
[Re-enter a third Citizen,']
You know the cause, sir, of my standing here.
Third at. AVe do, sir ; tell us what hath
brought you to't 70
Cor. Mine own desert.
Sec. Cit. Your own desert.
Cor. Ay, but not mine own desire.
Third Cit. How not your own desire ?
Cor. No, sir, 'twas never my desire yet to
trouble the poor witli begging.
Third Cit. You must tliink, if we give you
any thing, we hope to gain by you.
Cor. Well then, I pray, your price o' the
counsulsliip ? fiO
First Cit. The price is to ask it kindly.
Cor. Kindly ! Sir-, I pray, let me ha't: I
have wounds to show you, which shall be
yours in private. Your good voice, sir ; what
say you 7
Sec. at. You shall ha' it, worthy sir.
Cor. A match, sir. There's in all two
worthy voices begged. I have your alms:
adieu.
Third Cit. But this is something odd.
Sec. Cit. An 'twere to gi-'e again,—but 'tis
no matter. [Exeunt the three Citizens. 90
Re-enter two other Citizens.
Cor. Pray you now, if it may stand with
the tune of your voices that I may be consul,
I have here the custom.ary gown.
Fourth at. You have deserved nobly of
your country, and you have not deserved
nobly.
Cor. Your enigma 7
Fourth Cit. You have been a scourge to
her enemies, yui have been a rod to her
friends ; you have not indeed loved the com¬
mon people. 99
Cor, You should .account me the more vir¬
tuous that 1 have not been common'in my
[Act 11.
love. I will, sir, flatter my sworn brother,
the people, to earn a dearer estimation of
them ; tis a condition they account gentle:
and since the wisdom of their choice is rather
to have my hat than my heart, I will practise
the insinuating nod and be off to them most
coimterfeitly ; that is, sir, I will counterfeit
the bewitchment of some popular man and
give it bountiful to the desirers. Therefore,
beseech you, I may be consul.
Fifth at. We hope to find you our friend;
and therefore give you our voices heartily.
Fourth Cit. You have received many wounds
fo^our country.
Cor. I will not seal your knowledge with
showing them. I will make much of your
voices, and so trouble you no further.
Both at. The gods give you joy, sir, heart¬
ily ! 6 e V [Exeunt.
Cor. Most sweet voices !
Better it is to die, better to starve, 120
Than ciave the hire whicb first we do deserve.
Wby in this woolvish toge should I stand here.
To beg of Hob and Dick, that do ap^r.
Their needless vouches 7 Custom calls me to't:
What custom wills, in all things should we
do't.
The dust on antique time would lie unswept.
And mountainous error be too highly heapt
For truth to o'er-peer. Rather than fool it
so.
Let the high office and the honor go
To one that would do thus. I am half through ■
The one part suffer'd, the other will I do. 131
Re-enter three Citizens more.
Sere come moe voices.
Your voices: for your voices I have fought;
Watch'd for your voicei; for your voices
bear
Of wounds two dozen odd ; battles thrice six
I have seen and heard of; for your voices
have
Done many things, Jome less, some more:
your voices:
Indeed, I would be consul.
Sixth Cit. He has done nobly, and cannot
go without any honest man's voice. 140
Seventh Cit. Therefore let him be consul :
the gods give bim joy, and make him good
friend to the people !
All Cit. Amen. amen. God save thee,
noble "jonsull [Exeunt.
Cor. WrjTthy voices !
Re-enter Menenuis, with Brutus and
SiWhivs.
Men. You have stood your limitation ; and
the tribunes
Ffndue you with the people's voice : remains
That, in the official marks invested, you
Anon do meet the senate.
C>r. Is this done 7
Sic. The custom of request you have dis¬
charged : 150
The people do admit you, and are summou'd
CORIOLANUS.
Scene hi.]
To meet anon, upon your approbation.
Cor. Where ? at the senate-hoiuie ?
Sic. Tliere, Ooriolanus.
Cor. May I change these garments ?
Sic. Yon may, sir.
Cot. That ril straiglit do ; and, knowing
myself again,
Repair to the senate-house.
Men. I'll keep you company. Will you
along ?
Bru. We stay here for the people.
Sic. Fare you well.
[Exeunt Coriolanm and Menenius.
He has it now, and by his looks methink
"Pis warm at's heart. 160
Bru. With a proud heart he wore his
humble weeds.
Will you dismiss the people ?
Re-enter Citizens.
Sic. How now, my masters! have you
chose this man ?
First Cit. He has our voices, sir.
Bru. We pray the gods he may deserve
your loves.
Sec. Cit, Amen, sir : to my poor unworthy
notice.
He mock'd us when he begg'd our voices.
Third Cit. Certainly
He flouted us downright
First Cit. No, 'tis his kind of speech : he
did not mock us.
Sec. Cit. Not one amongst us, save your¬
self, but says 170
He used us scornfully: he should have show'd
us
His marks of merit, wounds received fur's
country.
Sic. Why, so he did, I am sure.
Citizens. No, no ; no man saw 'em.
Third Cit. He said lie had wounds, which
he could show in private ;
And with his hat, thus waving it in scorn,
' I would be consul,' says he : ' aged custom.
But by your voices, will not so permit me ;
Your voices therefore.' When we granted
that.
Here was ' I thank you for your voices: thank
you:
Your most sweet voices : now you have left
your voices, 180
I have no further with you.' Was not this
mockery ?
Sic. Why either were you ignorant to
see't.
Or, seeing it, of such childish friendliness
To yield your voices ?
Bru. Could you not have told him
As you werelesson'd, when he liad no ixiwer.
But was a petty servant to tlie state,
He was your enemy, ever smke against
Your liberties and the charters that you bear
r the body of the weal; and now, arri"ing
A place of potency and sway o' the state, 190
If he should still malignantly remain
Fast foe to the plebeii, your voices might
Be curses to yourselves? You should havesaid
That as his worthy deeds did.claim no less
Than what he stood for, so his gracious nature •
Would think upon you for your voices and
Translate his malice towards you into love.
Standing your friendly lord.
Sic. Thus to have said.
As you were fore-advised, had touch'd his
spirit 190
And tried his inclination ; from him pluck'd
Either his gracious promise, which you might,
As cause had call'd you up, have held him to;
Or else it would have galTd his suriy nature.
Which easily endures not article
Tying him to aught; so putting him to rage.
You should have ta'en the advantage of his
choler
And i>ass'd him unelected.
Bru. Did you perceive
He did solicit you in free contempt
When he did need your loves, and do you
think
That his contempt shall not be bruising to
you, 210
When he hath power to crush ? Why, had
your bodies
No heart among you ? or had you tongues to
cry
Against the rectorship of judgment ?
Sic. Have you
Ere now denied the asker ? and now again
Of him that did not ask, but mock, bestow
Your sued-for tongues ?
Third Cit. He's not confirm'd ; we may
deny him yet.
Sec. Cit. And wili deny him:
I'll have five hundred voices of that sound.
First Cit. I twice five hundred and their
friends to piece 'em. 220
Bru. Get you hence instantly, and tell
those friends.
They have chose a consul tliat will from them
take
Their liberties ; make them of no more voice
Tlian dogs that are as often beat for barking
As therefore kept to do so.
Sic. Let them assemble.
And on a safer judgment all revoke
Your ignorant election ; enforce his pride.
And his old hate unto you ; besides, forget
not
With what contempt he wore the humble
weed.
How in his suit he scom'd you ; but your
loves, 230
Thinking upon his services, took from you
The apprehension of his present portance.
Which most gibingly, nngravely, he did
fashion
After the inveterate hate he bears you.
Bru. Lay
A fault on us, your tribunes ; that we labor'd,
No impediment between, but that you must
Cast your election on him.
Sic. Say, you chose him
More alter our commandment than as guided
CORIOLANUS.
936
By your own true affections, and that yonr
iniuds,
Pre-occupied with what yon rather must do
Than what you should, made you agaiust the
grain 241
To voice him consul: lay the fault on us.
Bni. Ay, spare us not Say we read lec¬
tures to you.
How youngly he began to serve his country,
How long continued, and what stock he
springs of,
The noble house o' tiie Marcians, from whence
came
That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter's son.
Who, after great Hostilius, here was king ;
Of the same house Publius and Quiutns were.
That our best water brought by conduits
hither; 250
And [Oensorinus,! nobly named so.
Twice being [by the people chosen] censor.
Was his great ancestor.
Sic. One thus descended.
That hath beside well in his person wrought
To be set high in place, we did commend
To your remembrances : but you have found,
Scaling his present bearing with his past,
That he's your fixed enemy, and revoke
Your sudden approbation.
Bni. Say, you ne'er had done't—
Harp on that still—^but by our putting on ; 260
And presently, when yon have drawn your
number.
Repair to the Capitol.
All. We will so : almost all
Repent in their election. [Exeunt Citizens.
Bni. Let tiiem go on ;
This mutiny yrere better put in hazard,
Thau stay, past doubt, for greater:
If, as his nature is, he fall in rage
With their refusal, both observe arid answer
The vantage of his anger.
Sic. To the Capitol, come;
We will be there before the stream o' the
people; 269
And this shall seem, as partly 'tis, their own.
Which we have goaded ouwa'rd. [Exeunt.
ACT III.
Scene I. Home. A street.
Comets. Enter Coriolanus, MENENitrs, all
the Gentry, CoMiNius, Titus Labtius, and
other Senators.
Cor. Tullus Aufidius then had made new
head ?
Lart. He had, my lord ; and that it was
which caused
Our swifter composition.
Cor. So then the Volsces stand but as at
first,
Ready, when time shall prompt them, to make
road
L'pon's again.
Com. They are worn, lord consul, so,
[Act iii.
That we shall hardly in our ages see
Their banners wave again.
Cor. Saw you Aufidius 1
Lart. On safe-guard he came to me ; and
did curse
Against the Volsces, for they had so vilely 10
Yielded the town: he is retired to Antium.
Cor. Spoke he of me 1
Lart. He did, my lord.
Cor. How ? what ?
Lart. How often he had met you, sword to
sword ;
That of all things upon the earth he hated
Your person most, that he would pawn his
fortunes
To hopeless restitution, so he might
Be caU'd your vanquisher.
Cor. At Antium lives he ?
Lart. At Antium.
Cor. I wish I had a cause to seek him
there, 19.
To oppose his hatred fully. Welcome home.
Enter Sicinius and Brutus.
Behold, these are the tribunes of the people.
The tongues o' the common mouth : Ido de¬
spise them ;
For they do prank them in authority,
Agaiust all noble sufferance.
Sic. Pass no fnrther.
Cor. Ha ! what is that?
Bru. It will be dangerous to go on : no
further.
Cor. What makes this change ?
Men. The matter ?
Com. Hath he not pass'd the noble and the
common ?
Bru. Cominius, no.
Cor. Have I had children's voices 7 30
First Sen. Tribunes, give way ; he shaU to
the market-place.
Bru. The people are incensed against him.
Sic. Stop,
Or all will faU in broil.
Cor. Are these your herd ?
Must these have voices, tliat can yield them
now
.^nd straight disclaim their tongues 1 What
are your offices ?
You being their mouths, why rule you not
their teeth ?
Have you not set them on 7
Men. Be calm, be calm.
Cor. It is a purposed tiling, and grows by
plot.
To curb the will of the nobility :
Suffer't, and live with such ascannot rule 4f)
Nor ever will be ruled.
Bru. Cairt not a plot:
The people cry you mock'd them, and of late,
Wlien corn was given them gratis, you re¬
pined ;
Scandal'd the suppliants for the people, call'd
them
Time-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness.
Cor. Why, this was known before.
CORIOLANUS.
Scene i.]
Bru. Not to them all.
Cor. Have you inform'd them sithence ?
Bru. How ! I inform them !
Cor. You are like to do such business.
Bvu. Not unlike,
Each way, to better yours.
Cor. Why then should I be consul ? By
yond clouds, M
Let me deserve so ill as you, .and make me
Your fellow tribune.
Sic. You show too much of that
For which the people stir ; if you will pass
To where you are bound, you must inquire
your way.
Which you are out of, with a gentler spirit.
Or never be so noble as a consul.
Nor yoke with him for tribune.
Men. Let's be calm.
Com. The people are abused ; set on. This
paltering
Becomes not Borne, nor has Coriolauus
Deserved this so dishonor'd rub, laid falsely
r the plain way of his merit. 61
Cor. Tell me of corn !
This was my speech, and I will speak't again—
Men. Not now, not now.
First Sen. Not in this heat, sir, now.
Cor. Now, as I live, I will. My nobler
friends,
I crave their pardons :
For the mutable, rank-scented many, let them
Regard me as 1 do not flatter, and
Therein behold themselves : I say again.
In soothing them, we nourish'gainstour senate
The cockle of rebellion, insolence, sedition, 70
Which we ourselves have plough'd for, sow'd,
and scatter'd.
By mingling them with us, the honor'd num¬
ber.
Who lack not virtue, no, nor power, but that
Which tliey have given to beggars. .
Men. Well, no more.
First Sen. No more words, we beseech you.
Cor. How ! no more !
As for my country I have shed my blood,
Not fearing outward force, so shall my lungs
Coin words till their decay against those mea¬
sles.
Which we disdain should tetter us, yet sought,
The very way to catch them.
Bru. You speak o' the people, 80
As If you were a god to punish, not
A man of their infirmity.
Sic. 'Twere well
We let the people know't.
Men. What, what ? his choler ?
Cor. Choler !
Were I as patient as the midnight sleep,
By Jove, 'twould be my mind !
Sic. It is a mind
That shall remain a poison wl^re it is.
Not poison any further.
Cor. Shall remain !
Hear you this Triton of the minnows ? mark
you
Bis .absolute ' shall' ?
937
Com. 'Twas from the canon.
Cor. 'Shall'190
0 good but most unwise patricians ! why.
You grave but reckless senators, have yon thus
Given Hydra here to choose an officer.
That with his peremptory ' shall,' being but
The horn and noise o' the monster's, wants
not spirit
To s.ay he'll turn your current in a ditch.
And make your channel his ? If he have power
Then vail your ignorance ; if none, awake
Your dangerous lenity. If you are leam'd,
Be not as common fools ; if you are not, 100
Let them have cushions by you. You are ple¬
beians.
If tliey be senators ; and they are no less.
When, both your voices blended, tlie great'st
taste
Most i>alates theirs. They choose their mag¬
istrate.
And such a one as he, who puts his ' shall,'
His popular ' shall,' against a graver bench
Than ever frown'd in Greece. By Jove him¬
self !
It makes the consuls base : and my soul aches
To know, when two authorities are up.
Neither suiireine, how soon confusion 110
May enter 'twixt the gap of botli and take
The one by the other.
Com. Well, on to the market-place.
Cor. Whoever gave that counsel, to give
forth
The corn o' the storehouse gratis, as 'twas used
Sometime in Greece,—
Men. Well, well, no more of that.
Cer. Though there the people had more
absolute power,
1 say, they nourish'd disobedience, fed
The ruin of the state.
Bru. Why, shall the people give
One that speaks thus their voice ?
Cor. I'll give my reasons,
More worthier than their voices. They know
the corn 120
Was notour recomj^ense, resting well assured
That ne'er did service for't: being press'd to
the war.
Even when the navel of the state was touch'd.
They would not thread the gates. This kind
of service
Did not deserve corn gratis. Being i' the war.
Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they
show'd
Most valor, spoke not for them : the accusa¬
tion
Which they have often made against the sen¬
ate.
All cause unborn, could never be the motive
Of our so frank donation Well, what then?
How shall this bisson multitude digest
The senate's courtesy ? Let deeds express
What's like to be their words ; ' We did re¬
quest it ;
We are the greater poll, and in true fear
They gave us our demands.' Thus we debase
The nature of our seats and make the rabble
CORIOLANUS.
938
Call onr cares fears ; which will in time
Bi'eak ope the locks o" tlie senate and bring in
The crows to peck the eagles.
Men. Come, enough.
Bri(. Enough, with over-measure.
Gor. No, take more : 140
What may be sworn by, both diviue and
human,
Seal what I end withal ! This double worship.
Where one part does disdain with cause, tlie
other [wisdom.
Insult without all reason, where gentry, title,
Cannot conclude but by the yea and no
Of general ignorance,—it must omit
Real necessities, and give way the while
To unstable slightness : purpose so barr'd, it
follows.
Nothing is done to purpose. Therefore, be¬
seech you,—
You that will be less fearful than discreet, 150
That love the fundamental part of state
More than you doubt the change on't, that
prefer
A noble life before a long, and wish
tTo jump a body with a dangerous physic
That's sure of death without it, at once pluck
out
The multitudinous tongue ; let them not lick
Tlie sweet which is their poison : your dis¬
honor
Mangles true judgment and bereaves the state
Of that integrity wliich should become't.
Not having the power to do the good it would.
For the ill which doth control't.
Bru. Has said enough. 161
Sic. Has spoken like a traitor, and shall
answer
As traitors do.
Cor. Tliou wretch, de.spite o'erwhelm thee !
What should the people do with these bald
tribunes ?
On whom depending, their obedience fails
To the greater bench : in a rebellion.
When what's not meet, but what must be, was
law.
Then were they chosen : in a better hour.
Let what is meet be said it must be meet, 170
And throw their power i' the dust.
Bru. Manifest treason !
Sic. This a consul ? no.
Bru. The sediles, ho !
Enter an jEdile.
Let him be apprehended.
Sic, Go, call the people : [Exit jEdile] in
whose name myself
Attach thee as a traitorous innovator,
A foe to the public weal : obey, I charge thee.
And follow to thine answer.
Cor. Hence, old goat!
Senators, <fec. We'll surety him.
Com. Aged sir, hands off.
Cor. Hence, rotten thing! or I shall shake
thy bones
Oat of thy ganneuts.
Sic. Help, ye citizens I 18C.
[Act hi.
Enter a rabble of Citizens (Plebeians), with
the iGdiles.
Men. On both sides more respect
Sic. Here's he that would take from you
all your power.
Bru. Seize him, sediles !
Citizens. Down with him ! down with him !
Senators, <fcc. Weapons, weapons, weapons!
[They all hustle about Coriolanus, cryinr/
' Tribunes !' ' Patricians !' ' Citizens !'
' What, ho !'
' Sicinius !' ' Brutus !' ' Coriolanus !' ' Citi¬
zens !'
' Peace, peace, peace !' ' Stay, hold, peace ! '
Men. What is about to be ? I am out of
breath ;
Confusion's near ; I cannot speak. You, trib¬
unes 190
To the people ! Coriolanus, patience !
Speak, good Sicinius.
Sk. Hear me, people ; peace 1
Citizens. Let's hear our tribune : peace !
Speak, speak, speak.
Sic. You are at point to lose your liberties:
Marcius would have all from you ; Marcius,
Whom late you have named for consul.
Men. Fie, lie, fie !
This is the way to kindle, not to quench.
First Sen. To unbuild the city and to lay
all flat.
Sic. What is the city but the people ?
Ciiizen.s. True,
The people are the city. 200
Bru. By the consent of all, we were estab-
lish'd
The people's magistrates.
Citizens. You so remain.
Men. And so are like to do.
Com. That is the way to lay the city flat ;
To bring the roof to the'foundation.
And bury all, which yet distinctly ranges.
In heaps and piles of ruin.
Sic. This deserves death.
Bru. Or let us stand to our authority,
C»- let us lose it. We do here pronounce, 209
Upon the part o' the people, in whose power
We were elected theirs, Marcius is worthy
Of present death.
Sic. Tlierefore lay hold of him ;
Bear him to the rock Tarpeian, and from
thence
Into destruction cast him.
Bru. .®diles, seize him !
Citizens. Yield, Marcius, yield !
Men. Hear me one word ;
Beseech you, tribunes, hear me but a word.
Eld. Peace, peace !
Men. [To Brutus] Be that you seem, truly
your country's friend.
And temperately proceed to what you would
Thus violently redress.
Bru. Sir, those cold ways, 220
That seem like prudent helps, are very poi¬
sonous
Where the disease is violent. Lay hands
upon him,
CORIOLANUS.
SC;ene I.]
And bear him to the rock.
Cor. No, I'll die here.
[Vrawmy his sword.
There's some among you luive beheld me
fighting:
Come, try upon yourselves what you have
seen me.
Men. Down with that sword 1 Tribunes,
withdraw awhile.
Bru. Lay hands upon him.
Com. Help Marclus, help,
Tou that be noble ; help him, young and
old! ,
Citizens. Down with him, down with him !
[/n this mutiny, the Tribunes, the ^dilr.s,
and the People, are heat in.
Men. Go, get you to your house ; be gone,
away ! 230
All will be naught else.
Sec. Sen. Get you gone.
Com. Stand fast ;
We have as many friends as enemies.
Men. Shall It be put to that ?
First Sen. The gods forbid !
I prithee, noble friend, home to thy house ;
Leave us to cure this cause.
Men. For 'tis a sore upon us,
You cannot tent yourself : be gone, beseech
you.
Com, Come, sir, along with us.
Cor. I would they were barbarians—as
they are.
Though m Borne litter'd—not Romans—as
they are not.
Though calved 1' the porch o' tire Capitol—
Men. Be gone ; 240
Put not your worthy rage into your tongue ;
One time will owe another.
Cor. On fair ground
I could beat forty of them.
Com. 1 could myself
Take up a brace o' the best of them ; yea, the
two tribunes :
But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic ;
And manhood is call d foolery, when it stands
Against a falling fabric. Will you hence.
Before the tag return ? whose rage doth rend
Like interrupted waters and o'erbear
What they are used to bear.
Men. Pray you, be gone : 250
I'll try whether my old wit be in rejiuest
With those that have but little ; this must be
patch'd
With cloth of any color.
Com. Nay, come away.
J Exeunt Coriolanus, Cominius, and others.
Pati-ician. This man has marr'd his for¬
tune.
Men. His nature is too noble for the world:
He would not flatter Neptune for his trident,
OrJovefor's power to thunder. His heart's
his mouth ; *
What his breast forges, that his tongue must
vent;
And, being angry, does forget that ever 259
He heard the name of death. [A noise within.
939
Here's goodly work !
Sec. Pat. 1 would they were a-bed !
Men. 1 would they were in Tiber ! What
the vengeance !
Could he not speak 'em fair ?
Re-enter Brutus and Sicinius, with the
rabble.
Sic. Where Is this viper
That would depopulate the city and
Be every man him.sclf ?
Men. You worthy tribunes,—.
Sic. He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian
rock
With rigorous hands : he hath resisted law.
And therefore law shall scorn him further
trial
Than the-severity of the public power
Which he so sets at nought.
First at. He shall well know 270
The noble tribunes are the people's mouths.
And we their hands.
Citizens. He shall, sure on't.
Men. Sir, sir,—
Sic. Peace !
Men. Do not cry havoc, where you should
but hunt
With modest warrant.
Sic. Sir, how comes't that you
Have holp to make this rescue ?
Men. Hear me speak :
As 1 do know the consul's worthiness, '
So can 1 name his faults,—
Sic. ! Consul ! what consul ?
Men. The consul Coriolanus.
Bru. He consul 1 230
Citizens. No, no, no, no, no.
Men. If, by the tribunes leave, and yours,
good ijeople,
1 may be heard, 1 would crave a word or two;
The which shall turn you to no further harm
Than so much loss of time.
Sic. Speak briefly t])en ;
For we are peremptory to dispatch
This viperous traitor: to eject him hence
Were but one danger, and to keep him here
Our ceitain death : therefore it is decreed
He dies to-night.
Men. Now the good gods forbid 290
That our renowned Kome, whose gratitude
Towards her deserved children is euroll'd
In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam
Should now eat up her own !
Sic. He's a disease that must be cut away.
Men. O, he's a limb that has but a dis¬
ease ;
Mortal, to cut it off ; to cure it, easy.
What has he done to Rome that's worthy
death ?
Killing our enemies, the blood he hath lost—
Which, 1 dare vouch. Is more than that he
hath, 300
By many an ounce—he dropp'd It for his
country ;
And what is left, to lose it by his country,
Were to us all, that do'tand suffer It,
CORIOLANUS.
940
CORIOLANVS.
[ACT III.
A. brand to tlie end o' the world.
Hie. This is clean kam.
Bru. Merely awry : when he did love his
country,
It honor'd him.
Men. The service of the foot
Being once gairgrened, is not then respected
For what before it was.
Brn. We'll hear no more.
Pursue him to his house, and pluck him
thence ;
Lest his infection, being of catching nature.
Spread further. 311
Men. One word more, one word.
This tiger-footed rage, when it shall find
The harm of unscann'd swiftness, will too late
Tie leaden pounds to's heels. Proceed by pro¬
cess ;
Lest parties, as he is beloved, break out,
And sack great Borne with Romans.
Bru. If it were so,—
Hie. What do ye talk ?
Have we not had a taste of his obedience ?
Our sediles smote ? ourselves resisted ? Come.
Men. Consider this : he has been bred i'
the wars 320
Since he could draw a sword, and is ill
school'd
In bolted language ; meal and bran together
lie throws without distinction. Give me
leave,
I'll go to him, and undertake to bring him
Where he shall answer, by a lawful form.
In peace, to his utmost peril.
First Sen. Noble tribunes.
It is the humane way : the other course
Will prove too bhxxJy, and the end of it
Unknown to the beginning.
Sic. Noble Menenins,
Be you then as the people's officer. 330
Masters, lay down your weapons.
Bru. Go not home.
Sie. Meet on the m.arket-place. We'll .at¬
tend you there : [ceed
Where, if you bring not Marcius, we'll pro-
In our first way. ,
Men. I'll bring him to you.
[To the Senators'] Let me desire your com¬
pany : he must come.
Or what is worst will follow.
First Sen. Pray you, let's to him.
[Exeunt.
ScENB IT. A room in Coriolanus's house.
Enter Coriolakus with Patricians.
Cor. Let them imll all about mine ears,
present me
Heath on the wheel or at wild horses' heels.
Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock.
That the precipitation might down stretch
Below the beam of sight, yet will I still
Be thus to them.
A Patrician. You do the nobler.
Cor. I muse my mother
Does not approve me further, who was wont
To call them woollen vassals, things created
To buy and sell with groats, to show bare
heads 10
In congregations, to yawn, be still and won¬
der.
When one but of my ordinance stood np
To speak of peace or war.
Enter VonuMNiA.
I talk of you:
Why did you Wish me milder ? would y6u
have me
False to my nature ? Rather say I play
The man I am.
'Vol. O, sir, sir, sir,
I would have had you put your power well on.
Before you had worn it out.
Cor. Let go.
Vol. You might have been enough the man
you are.
With striving less to be so; lesser had been
The thwaitings of your dispositions, if 21
You had not show''d them how ye w ere dis¬
posed
Ere they lack'd power to cross you.
Cor. Let them hang.
A Patrician. Ay, and burn too.
Enter Mekexius and Senators.
Men. Come, come, yon hare been .too
rough, something too rough ;
You must return and mend it.
First Sen.' There's no remedy ;
Unless, hy not so doing, our good city
Cleave in the midst, and perish.
Vol. Proy, be counsell'd :
tl have a heart as little apt as yours.
But yet a brain that leads my use of anger 30
To better vantage.
Jl/sn. WeU said, noble woman ?
Before he should thus stoop to the herd, but
that
The violent fit o' the time craves it as physic
For the whole state, I would put mine armor
on.
Which I can scarcely bear.
Cor. Wliat must I do ?
Men. Return to the tribunes.
Cor. Well, what then ? what then ?
Men. Repent what you have spoke.
Cor. For them ! I cannot do it to the gods;
Must I then do t to them ?
Vol. You are too absolute ;
Tliough therein you can never be too noble.
But when extremities speak. I have heard
you say,
Honor and [iblic.v, like nnsevePd friends,
r the war do grow together: grant that, and
tell me,
In peace what each of them by the other lose,
That they combine not there.
Cor. Tush, tush !
Mm. A good demand.
Vol. If it be honor in your wars to seem
The same you are not, which, for your best
ends.
CORIOLANUS.
MX
Scene ii.]
Voa adopt your policy, how is it less or worse,
That it shall hold corapauionship in peace
With honor, as in war, since that to both 60
It stands in like request ?
Cor. ^ Why force yon this ?
Vol. Because that now it lies you on to
speak
To the people ; not by your own instruction.
Nor by tlie matter which your heart prompts
you,
But with such words that are but rooted in
Your tongue, though but bastards and syl¬
lables
Of no allowance to your bosom's truth.
Now, this no more dishonors yon at all
Than to take in a town with gentle Words,
Which else would put you to your fortune and
The hazard of much blood. 01
1 would dissemble with my nature where
My fortmies and my friends at stake required
I should do so in honor: I am in this.
Your wife, your son, these senators, the
nobles ;
And you will rather show our general louts
How you can frown than spend a fawn upon
'em.
For the inheritance of their loves and safe¬
guard
Of what that want might ruin.
Men. Noble lady I
Come, go with us ; speak fair : you may salve
so,
Not what is dangerous present, but the loss 71
Of what is past.
Vol. ' I prithee now, my son.
Go to them, with this bonnet in thy hand ;
And thus far having stretch'd it—here be with
them—
Thy knee bussing th^ stones—^for in such
business
Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the
ignorant
More learned thantlie ears—waving thy head.
Which often, thus, correcting thy stout hearti
Now humble as the ripest mulberry
That will not hold the handling : or say to
them, 80
Tlioii art their soldier, and being bred in broils
Hast not the soft way which, thou dost con¬
fess.
Were fit for thee to use as they to claim.
In asking their good loves, but thon wilt
frame
Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far
As thou hast power and person.
Men. This but done.
Even as she speaks, why, their hearts were
yours ;
For they have pardons, being ask'd, as free
As words to little purpose.
Vol. Prithee now.
Go, and be ruled : although ftnow thou had.st
rather SXt
Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf
Than flatter him in a bower. Here is Comin-
ios.
Enter Cominius.
Com. I have been i' the market-place ; and,
sir, 'tis fit
You make strong party, or defend yourself
By calmness or by absence : all's in anger.
Men. Only fair speech.
Com. 1 think 'twill serve, if he
Can thereto frame his spirit.
Vol. He mnst, and will.
Prithee now, say you will, and go about it.
Cor. Must I go show them my unbarbed
sconce ? 99
Must 1 with base tongue give my noble heart
A lie that it must bear 7 Well, I will do't;
Y'et, were there but this single plot to lose.
This mould of Marcius, they to dust should
grind it
And throw't against the wind. To the mar¬
ket-place ! [never
You have put me now to such a part which
1 shall discharge to the life.
Com. Come, come, we'll prompt you.
Vol. I prithee now, sweet son, as thou hast
said
My praises made thee first a soldier, so.
To have my praise for this, perform a part
Thou hast not done before^
Cor. Well, I must do't:
Away, my disposition, and possess me 111
Some harlot's spirit! my throat of war be
turn'd.
Which quired with my drum, into a pipe
Small as an eunuch, or the virgin voice
That babies lulls asleep ! the smiles of knaves
Tout in my cheeks, and schoolboys' tears t<ike
up
The glasses of my sight! a beggar's tongue
Make motion throu^ my lips, and my arm'd
knees.
Who bow'd but in my stirrup, bend like his
That hath received an alms ! I will not do't.
Lest 1 surcease to honor mine own truth 121
And by my body's action teach my mind
A most inherent baseness.
Vol. At thy choice, then :
To beg of thee, it is my more dishonor
Than thou of them. Come all to ruin ; let
Thy mother rather feel thy pride Uian fear
Thy dangerous stoutness, for 1 mock at death
With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list.
Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck'dst it
from me.
But owe thy pride thyself.
Cor. Pray, be content: 130
Mother, I am going to the market-place ;
Chide me no more. I'll mountebank their
loves.
Cog their hearts from tliem, and come home
beloved
Of all the trades in Rome, Look, I am going:
Commend me to my wife. I'll return consul;
Or never trust to what my tongue can do
r the way of flattery further.
Vol. Do your will. [Exit.
Com. Away ! the tribunes do attend you:
arm yourself
942
To answer mildly ; tor tbey are prepared
With accusations, as 1 hear, more strong 140
Thau are upon you yet.
Cor. The word is ' mildly.' Pray you, let
us go :
Let them accuse me by invention, I
Will answer in mine honor.
Men. Ay, but mildly.
Cor. Weil, mildly be it then. Mildlv-1
\Etmnt.
Scene III. The same. The Forum.
Enter Sicinius and Brutus.
Bru. In this point charge him home, that
he affects
Tyrannical power : if he evade us there.
Enforce him with his envy to the people.
And that tlie spoil got on the Antiates
Was ne'er distributed.
Enter an .Edile.
What, will he come ?
yEd. He's coming.
Bru. How accompanied ?
jEd. With old Menenius, and those sena¬
tors
That always favor'd him.
Sic. Have you a catalogue
Of all tlie voices that we have procured
Set down by tlie poll ?
jEd. I have ; 'tis ready. 10
Sic. Have yon collected them by tribes ?
yEd. , I have.
Sic. Assemble presently tlie people hither;
And when they hear me say ' It shall be so
r the right arid strength o' tlie commons,' be
it eitlier
For death, for fine, or banishment, then let
them
If I say fine, cry' Fine ;' if death, cry' Death.'
Insisting on the oid prerogative
And power i' the truth o' tlie cause.
.lEi. I sliail inform them.
Bru. And when such time they have begun
to cry.
Let them not cease, but with a din confused 20
Enforce the present execution
Of what we chance to sentence.
jEd. Very well.
Sic. Make them be strong and ready for
this hint.
When we shall hap to give 'tthem.
Bni. Go about it. [Exit xEdile.
Put him to choler straight : he hath been used
tEver to conquer, and to have his worth
Of contradiction : being once chafed, he can¬
not
Be rein'd again to temperance ; then bespeaks
Wliat's in his heart; and that is there which
looks
With us to break his neck
Sic. Well, here he comes. 30
Enter CoRiot.tNUs, Menenius, and Comi.n-
lus, with Senators and Patricians.
Men. Calmly, I do beseech you.
fACT IIT,
Cor. Ay, as an ostler, that for the poorest
piece
Will bear the knave by the volume. The
honor'd gods
Keep Rome in safety, and the chairs of justice
Supplied with worthy men! plant love
among's 1
Throng our large temples with the shows of
peace.
And not our streets with war !
First Sen. Amen, amen.
Men. A noble wish.
Re-enter .Edile, with Citizens.
Sic. Draw near, ye people.
Aid. List to your tribunes. Audience I
peace, I say I 40
Cor. First, hear me speak.
Both Tri. Well, say. Peace, ho 1
Coi\ Shall I be charged no further than
this present ?
Must all determine here ?
Sic. I do demand,
If you submit you to tlie people's voices,
Allow their officers and are content
To suffer lawful censure for such faults
As shall be proved upon you ?
Cor. I am content.
Men. Lo, citizens, he. says he is content;
The warlike service he has done, consider;
think
Upon the wounds his body bears, which show
Like graves i' the holy churchyard. 61 .
Cor. Scratches with briers,
Scars to move laughter only.
JIfcn. Consider further,
That when he speaks not like a citizen.
You find him like a soldier : do not take
His rougher accents for malicious sounds.
But, as I say, such as become a soldier.
Rather than envy you.
Com. Well, well, no more.
Cor. What is the matter
That being pass'd for consul with full voice,
I am so dishonor'd that the very hour 60
You take it ofi again ?
Sic. Answer to us.
Cor. Say, then : 'tis true, I ought so.
Sic. We charge yon, that you have con¬
trived to take
From Rome all season'd office and to wind
Yourself into a power tyraimical;
For which you are a traitor to the people.
Cor. How ! traitor 1
Men. Nay, temi>erately ; your promise.
Cor. The fires i' the lowest hell fold-in the
people !
Call nie their tniitor! Tliou injurious tribune!
Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths.
In thy hand clutch'd as many millions, in 71
Tl»y lying tongue both numbers, I would say
' Tiiou liest' unto thee with a voice as free
As I do pray the gods.
Sic. Mark you this, i)eople ?
Citizens. To the rock, to the rock with him!
Sk. Peace I
CORIOLANUS.
scexk i.]
We need not pat new matter to his charge ;
What you have seen him do and heard him
speak,
Beating your officei-s, cursing yourselves,
Opposing laws with strokes and here defying
Those whose great power must try liim ; even
this, 80
So criminal and in such cayutal kind,
Deserves the extremest death.
Bru. But since he hatli
Served well for Rome,—
Cor. What do you prate of service ?
Bru. I talk of that, that know it.
Cor. Ton ?
Afen. Is this the promise Qiat you made
your mother ?
Com. Knew, I pray you,—
Cor. I know no further :
Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death.
Vagabond exile, flaying, pent to linger
But with a grain a day, 1 would not buy 90
Their mercy at the price of one fair word ;
Nor check my courage for what tliey can give.
To have'twith saying ' Good morrow.'
Sic. ' For that he has.
As much as in him lies, from time to time
Envied against tlie i>eople, seeking means
To pluck away their power, as now at last
Given hostile strokes, and that not iu the pres¬
ence
Of dreaded justice, but on the mmisters
That do distribute it; in the name o' the
people
And in the power of us the tribunes, we, 100
Even from tliis instant, banish him our city.
In peril of precipitation
From off the rock Tarpeian never more
To enter our Rome gates: i' the people's name,
1 s^ it sliall be so.
Citizens. It shall be so, it shall be so ■ let
him away:
He's banish'd, and it shall be so.
Com. Hear me, my masters, and my com¬
mon friends,—
Sic. He's sentenced ; no more hearing.
Com. Let me speak :
I have been consul, and can show for Rome
Her enemies' marlm u|x>n me. I do love 111
My country's good with a respect more ten¬
der.
More holy and profound, than mine own life.
My dear wife's estimate, her womb's increase.
And treasure of my loins ; then if 1 would
Speak that,—
Sic. We know your drift: .speak what ?
Bru. There's no more to be said, but he is
banish'd.
As enemy to the people and his country:
It shall be 80.
Citizens. It shall be so, it shall be so.
Cor. You common cry of curs! whose
breath I hate * 120
As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize
As the dead carcasses of unburied men
That do corrupt my air, I banish you ;
And here remain with your uncertainty I
943
Let every feeble rumor shake your hearts !
Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes.
Fan you into despair .' Ehive the power still
To banish your defenders ; till at length
Your ignorance, which finds not tiU it feels.
Making not reservation of yourselves, ISO
Still your own foes, deliver you as most
Abated captives to some nation
Tliat won you without blows ! Despising,
For you, the city, thus I turn my back :
There is a world elsewhere.
[Exeunt Coriolanus, Cominius, Mene-
nius. Senators, and Patricians.
zEd. The j^ple's enemy is gone, is gone I
Citizens. Our enemy is iKinish'd ! lie is
gone! Hoo ! hoo !
[Shouting, and throwing up their caps.
Sic. Go, see him out at gates, and follow
him.
As he hath followed you, with all despite ;
Give him deserved vexation. Let a guard HO
Attend us through the city.
Citizens, Cktme, come ; let's see him out at
gates; come.
The gods preserve our noble tribunes ! Come.
[Exeunt.
ACT IV.
Scene I. Rome. Before a gate of the city.
Enter CoBioi-itNUS,VoLnMNiA,ViitaiuA, Me-
NENius,COMiNiiTS, wUh the young Kobility of
Rome.
Cor. Come, leave your tears : a brief fare¬
well : the beast
With m.my heads butts me away., Nay,
mother,,
Where is your ancient courage 7 you were
used
To say extremity was the trier of spirits ;
That common chances common men could
bear ;
That when the sea was calm all boats alike
Show'd mastership in floating; fortune's
blows.
When most struck home, being gentle wound¬
ed, craves
A noble cunning ; you were used to load me
With precepts that would make invincible IC
The heart that conn'd them.
O heavens 1 O heavens !
Cor. Nay, I prithee, woman,—
Vol. Now the red pestilence strike all trades
iu Rome,
And occupations perish !
Cor. What, what, what!
I shall be loved when I am lack d. Nay,
mother,
Resume that spirit, when you were wont to
say.
It you had been the wife of Hercules,
Six of his labors you'ld have done, and saved
Your husband so much sweat Cominius,
CORIOLANUS.
944
CORIOLANUS.
[Act it.'
Droop not; adieu. Farewell, my wife, my
mother: 20
I'll do well yet Thou old and true Menenius,
Thy tears are salter thau a youu^er man's,
And veuomous to thine eyes. " My sometime
general,
I have seen thee stem, and thou hast oft be¬
held
Heart-hardening spectacles ; tell these sad
women
'Tis fond to wail inevitable strokes,
As tis to laugh at 'em. My mother, you wot
well
My hazards still have been your solace : and
Believe't not lightly—though I go alone,
Like to a lonely dragon, that iiis feu 30
Makes fear'd and talk'd of more tiiau seen—
your son
Will or exceed the common or be caught
Witii cautelons baits and practice.
Vol. My first son.
Whither wilt thou go ? Take good Cominins
With thee awhile : determine on some course,
More than a wild exposture to each chance
Tliat starts 1' the way before thee.
Cor. O tiie gods '.
Com. I'll follow thee a month, devise with
thee
Wliere thou shalt rest, tliat thou mayst hear
of us
And we of thee : so if the time thrust forth 40
.4 cause for tliy repeal, we siiall not .send
O'er the vast world to seek a single man,
And lose ad%'antage, which doth ever cool
I' the absence of the needer.
Cor. Fare ye well :
Tliou hast years upon thee ; and thou art too
full
Of the wars' surfeits, to go rove with one
That's yet unbruised : bring me but out at
gate.
Come, my sweet wife, mv dearest mother, and
My friends of noble touch, when I am fortli,
Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you, oom&
While 1 remain above the ground, you shall
Hear from me still, and never of me auglit
But what is like me formerly.
Men. Th.at's worthily
As any ear can hear. Come, let's not weep.
If I could shake off but one seven years
From these old arms and legs, by the good
gods,
rid with thee every foot.
Cor. Give me thy hand :
•Come. [Exeunt.
Scene II. 27»e same. A street near t/jc gate.
Enter SiciNitrs, Brutus, and an Aldile.
Sic. Bid them all home ; he's gone, and
we'll no further.
The nobility are vex'd, whom we see have
sided
In his behalf.
Bru. Now we have shown our power.
Let us seem humbler alter it is dons
Than when it was a-dmng.
Sic. Bid them home :
Say their great enemy is gone, and they
Stand in their ancient strength.
Brit. Dismiss them home. [Exit ^dile.
Here comes his mother.
Sic. Let's not meet her.
Bru. Wliy ?
Sic. They say she's mad.
Bru. They have ta'en note of us : keep on
your way. ID
Enter Volumnia, Virgilia, and Menenius.
Vol. O, ye're well met: the hoarded plague
o' the gods
Requite your love !
Men. Peace, peace ; be not so loud.
Vol. If that I could for weeping, you should
hear,—
Nay, and you shall hear some. [To Brutus']
Will you be gone ?
Vir. [To Sitnnius] Tou shall stay too: I
would I had the i)Ower
To say so to my husband.
Sic. ' Are you mankind ?
Vol. Ay, fool; is that a shame 7 Note but
this'fool.
Was not a man my lather ? Hadst thou lox-
ship
To banish him that struck more blows lor
Rome
Than thou hast spoken words ?
Sic. O blessed heavens !
Vol. More noble blows than ever thou wise
words; 21
And lor Rome's good. I'll tell thee what;
yet go t
Nay, but thou shalt stay too : I would my son
Were in Arabia, and thy tribe before him.
His good sword in his hand.
Sic. What then ?
Vir. What tlien !
He'ld make an end of thy posterity.
Vol. Bastards and all.
Good man, the wounds that he does bear lor
Rome !
Men. Come, come, peace.
Sic. I would he had continued to his coun¬
try 30
.4s he began, and not unknit himself
The noble knot he made.
Bru. I would he had.
Vol. ' I would he had ' I 'Twas yon in¬
censed the rabble :
Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth
.4s 1 can of those mysteries which heaven
Will not have earth to know.
Eru. Pray, let ns go.
Vol. Now, pray, sir, get you gone :
Tou have done a brave deed. Ere you go,
hear this:— 39
As far .as doth the Capitol exceed
The meanest house in Rome, so far my son—>
This lady's husband here, this, do you see—
Whom vou have banish'd, does exceed yo»
all.
Scene v.]
Bru, Well, well, we'll leave yoii.
Sic. Why stay we to be baited
With one that wants her wits ?
Vol. Take my prayers with you.
^E'xettnt Tribunes.
I would the gods had nothing else to do
But to confirm my curses ! Could 1 meet 'em
But once a-day, it would unclog my heart
Of what lies heavy to't.
Men. You have told them home ;
And, by my troth, you have cause. You'll sup
with me ?
Vol. Anger's my meat; I sup upon my¬
self, 80
And so shall starve with feeding. Come, let's
go:
Leave this faint puling and lament as I do.
In anger, Juno-like. Come, come, come.
Men. Fie, fie, fie ! [^Exeunt.
Scene III. A highway between Borne and
Antium.
Enter a Roman and a Volsce, meeting.
Rom. I know yon well, sir, and you know
me : your name, I think, is Adrian. '
Fbfs. It is so, sir; truly, I have forgot you.
Rom. I am a Roman ; and my serviees'are,
as you are, against 'em: know you me yet ?
Vols. Nicanor ? no.
Rom. The same, sir.'
Vols'. You had more beatd when I last saw
you ; but your favor is well ajmroved by your
tongue. 'What's the news in Rome ? I have
a note from the'Yolscian state, to find you out
there : you have well saved me a day's jour-
Rom. There hath been in Rome strange in¬
surrections ; the people against tlie senators,
patricians, and nobles.
Vols. Hath been ! is it ended, then ? Our
state thinks not so; they are iu a most warlike
preparation, and hope to come upon them in
the heat of their division. 19
Rom. The main blaze of it is past, but a
small thing would make it flame again; for
the nobles receive so to heart tlie banishment
of that worthy Coriolanus, that they are in a
ripe aptness to take all power from the people
and to pluck from them their tribunes for ever.
This lies glowing, I can tell you, and is almost
mature for the violent breaking out.
Vols. Coriolanus banished !
Rom. Banished, sir. 29
Vols. You will be welcome with this intel¬
ligence, Nicanor.
Rom. The day serves well for them now.
I have heard it said, the fittest time to corrupt,
a man's 'wife is when she's fallen out with lier
husband. Your noble Tullus Aufidius will
appear well in these wars, his great opposer,
Coriolanus, being now in no request of his
country. ♦
Fbfs. He cannot choose. I am most fortu¬
nate, thus accidentally to encounter you ; you
have ended my business, and I will merrily
accompany you home.
946
Rom. I shall, between this and supper, tell
you most strange things from Rome ; all tend¬
ing to. the good of their adversaries.' Have you
an army ready, say you ?
Vols. A most rojral one; the centurions
and their chatges, distinctly billeted, already
iu the entertainment, and to be on foot at an
hour's warning. 50
Rom. I am joyful to hear of their readiness,
and am the man, I thiuk, that shall set them
in present action. So, sir, heartily well met,
and most glad of your company.
Vols. Tfou take my part from me, sir ; I
have the most cause to be glad of yours.
Rom. lYell, let us go together. [Exeunt.
Scene I'V. Antium. Before Aufidius's house.
Enter Coriolanus in mean apparel, disguised
and muffled.
Cor. A goodly city is this Antium. City,
'Tis I that made thy widows ; many an heir
Of these fair edifices "fore my wars
Have I heard groan and drop; then know me
not.
Lest that thy wives with spits and boys with
stones
In puny battle slay me.
Enter a Citizen.
Save you, sir.
Git. And you.
Cor. Direct me, if it be your will,
'Where great Aufidius lies ; is he in Antium ?
Cit. He is, aud feasts the nobles of the
state
At his house this night.
Cor. Which is his house, beseech you 7 10
Cit. This, here before you.
Cor. Thank you, sir : farewell.
\,Exit Citizen.
O world, thy slippery turns 1 Friends now
fast sworn,
Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heait.
Whose house, whose bed, whose meal, and
exercise.
Are still together, who twin, as 'twere, in love
Unseparable, shall within this hour.
On a dissension of a doit, break out
To bitterest enmity ; so, fellest foes.
Whose passions and whose plots have broke
their sleep.
To take the one the other, by some chance, 20
Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear
friends
And interjoin their issues. So with me :
My birth-place hate I, and my love's upon
This enemy town. I'll enter ; if he slay me.
He does fair justice; .if he give me way,
I'll do his cxmntry service. [Exit.
Scene V. The same. A hall in Aufidius's
house.
Musk zeithin. Enter a Servingman.
First Serv. 'Wine, wine, wine ! What ser¬
vice is here ! I think our fellows are asleep.
[Exit,
CORIOLANUS.
946
Enter a second Servingman.
Sec. Sen. Wliere's Cotus ? my master calls
for him. Cotus ! [Exit.
Enter Coriolanus.
Cor. A goodly house : the feast smells well;
but I
Appear not like a guest.
Re-enter the first Servingman.
First Sen. What would yoa liave, friend ?
•whence are you 1 Here's no place for you :
pray, go to the door. [Exit.
Cor. I have deserved no better entertain¬
ment,
lu being Coriolanus. 11
Re-enter second Servingman.
Sec. Sen. Whence are you, sir? Has the
porter his eyes in his headj^ that lie gives en¬
trance to such companions ? I'ray, get you
out.
Cor. Away !
Sec. Serv. Away ! get you away.
Cor. Now thou'rt troublesome.
Sec. Serv. Are you so brave ? I'll have you
talked with anon.
Enter a third Servingman. 3Ae first meets
him.
Third Serv. What fellow's this? 20
First Sen. A strange one as ever I looked
on : I cannot get him out of tlie house : pri¬
thee, call ray master to him. [Retires.
Third Sen. What have you to do here,
fellow ? Pray you, avoid the house.
Cor. Let me but stand ; 1 will not hurt
your health.
Third Sen. What are you ?
Cor. A gentleman.
Third Serv. A marvellous poor one. 30
Cor. "True, so I am.
Third Sen. Pray you, poor gentleman,
take up some other station ; here's no place
for you ; pray you, avoid : come.
Cor. Follow your function, go, and batten
on cold bits. [Puslies him aiocty.
Third Sen. IVliat, you will not ? Prithee,
tell my master what a strange guest he has
here.
Sec. Sen. And I sliall. [Exit.
Third Sen. Where dwellest thou ? 40
Cor. Under the canopy.
Viird Sen. Under the canopy !
Cor. Ay.
Third Sen. Where's that ?
Cor. r the city of kites and crows.
Third Sen. I' the city of kites and crows !
What an ass it is ! Tlien thou dwellest with
daws too ?
Cor. No, I serve not thy master.
Third Sen. How, sir ! do yon meddle with
my master ? 61
Co". Ay ; 'tis an honester service than to
neddlo with thy mistress.
[Act ir.
Thou pratest, and pratest ; serve with thy
trencher, hence !
[Beats him away. Exit third Servingman.
Enter Aufidius with the second Servingman.
A iif. Wliere is this fellow ?
Sec. Sen. Here, sir: I'ld have beaten him
like a dog, but for disturbing the lords within.
[Retires.
Auf, Whence eomest thou ? what wouldst
thou ? thy name ?
Why speak'St not ? speak, man ; what's thy
name?
Cor. If, Tullns, [Unmuffiing. 60
Not yet thou knowest me, and, seeing me,
dost not
Think me for the man I am, necessity
Commands me name myselL
Avf. What is thy name 7
Cor. A name unmusical to the Volscians'
ears.
And harsh in sound to thine.
Auf. Say, what's thy name 7
Thou hast a grim appearance, and tliy face
Bears a command in't; though thy tackle's
torn, [name 7
Thou show'st a noble vessel: what's thy
Cor. Prepare thy brow to frown : know'st
thou me yet 7
All/. I know thee not: thy name 7 70
Cor. My name is Caius Marcius, who hath
done
To thee i>articularly and to all the Volsces
Great huit and mischief ; thereto witness
may
My surname, Coriolanus : the minful service,
The extreme dangers and tlie drops of blood
Shed for my tliankless country are requited
But with that surname ; a good memory,
Aud witness of the malice and displeasure
Which thou shouldst bear me: only that name
remains ;
The cruelty and envy of the people, 80
Permitted by our dastard nobles, who
Have all forsook me, hath devour'd the rest;
And suffer'd me by the voice of slaves to be
Wlioop'd out of Home. Now this extremity
Hath brought me to thy hearth ; not out of
hope—
Mistake me not—to save my life, for if
1 had fear'd death, of all the men i' the world
I would have 'voided thee, but in mere spite.
To be full quit of those my banLshers,
Stand I before thee here. Then if thou hast 90
A heart of wreak iu thee, that wilt revenge
Thine own particular -wrongs and stop these
maims
Of shame seen through thy country, speed
thee straight.
And make my misery seri-e thy turn : so use is
That my revengeful services may prove
As benefits to thee, for I will fight
Again.xt my canker'd country with the spleen
Of all the under fiends. But if so be
Thou darest not this and that to prove more
fortunes
CORIOLANUS.
SciiNi; v.]
Tliou'rt tired, tben, in a word, I also am ICO
Longer to live most wetiry, and j^reseut
My throat to tltee and to thy ancient malice ;
Which not to cut would show thee but a fool.
Since I have ever follow'd thee with hate,
Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country's
breast, ■
And cannot live but to thy shame, unless
It be to do thee service.
All/. O Marcins, Marcius !
Eacli word thou hast spoke hath weeded from
my heart
A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter
Should from yond cloud speak divine things.
And .say "Tis true,' I'ld not believe tiiem
more 111
Than thee, all noble Marcius. Let me twine
Mine arms about that body, where against
ily grained ash an hundred times hatli broke
And scarr'd tlie moon with splinters : here I
clip
The anvil of my sword, and do contest
As hotly and as nobly with thy love
As ever in ambitious strength I did
Contend against tliy valor. Know thou first,
I loved the maid I married : never man 120
Sigh'd truer breath ; but tliat I see thee here,
Tliou noble thing! more dances my rapt Iieart
Tliau when I first my wedded mistress saw
Bestnde my tiireshold. Why, thou Mars ! I
tell tliee.
We have a power on foot; and I had purpose
Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn.
Or lose mine arm for't: tliou hast beat me out
Twelve several times, and I have nightly
since
Dreamt of encounters 'twixt thyself and me ;
We have been down together in my sleep, 130
Unbuckling helms, fisting each other's throat.
And waked half dead with nothing. Worthy
Marcins,
Had we no quarrel else to Rome, but that
Tliou art thence bauish'd, we would muster all
From twelve to seventy, and pouring war
Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome,
Like a bold flood o'er-bear. O, come, go in.
And take our friendly senators by the hands ;
Who now are here, taking their leaves of me,
Wiio am prepared against your territories.
Though not for Rome itself. 141
Cor. Yon bless me, gods !
All/. Therefore, most absolute sir, if thou
wilt have
Tiie leading of thine own revenges, take
The one half of my commission ; and set
down—
As best thou art experienced, since thou
know'St
■Ihy country's strength and weakness,—thine
own ways;
Wliether to knock against the gates of Rome,
Or rudely visit them in part* remote.
To friglit them, ere destroy. But come in I
Let me commend thee first to those that shall
Say yea to thy desires. A thousand wet-
comes .'
947
And more a friend than e'er an enemy ;
Yet, Marcius, that was much. Your hand :
most welcome !
[Eteunl Coriolanus and Aufidivs. The
two Servinf/men come /orward.
First Serv. Here's a strange alteration !
Sec. Serv. By my hand, I had thought to
have strucken liim with a cudgel; and yet my
mind gave me his clothes made a false report
of him.
First Serv. What an arm he has! he
turned me about with his finger and his
thumb, as one would set up a top. 161
Sec. Serv. Nay, I knew by his face that
there was something in him : he had, sir, <a
kind of face, methought,—I cannot tell how to
term it
First Serv. He had so; looking as it
were—would I were hanged, but 1 thought
there was more in him than I could think.
Sec. Serv. So did I, I'll be sworn : he is
simply the rarest man i' the world.
first Serv. I think he is : but a greater sol¬
dier than he you wot on. 171
Sec. Serv. Who, my master ?
First Serv. Nay, it's no matter for that.
Sec. Serv. Worth six on him.
First Serv. Nay, not so neither: but I take
him to be the greater .soldier.
Sec. Seiv. Faith, look you, one cannot tell
how to say that : for the defence of a town,
our general is excellent.
First Serv. Ay, and for an assault too. 180
Re-enter third Servingraan.
Third Serv. O slaves, I can tell you news,—
news, you rascals !
First and Sec. Serv. What, what, what?
let's partake.
Third Serv. I would not be .a Roman, of all
nations ; I had as lieve be a condemned man.
First and Sec. Serv. Wherefore? where¬
fore ?
Third Serv. Why, here's he that was wont
to thwack our general, Cains Marcius.
First Serv. Why do you say ' thwack our
general' ? 1!)1
Third Seiv. I do not say ' thwack our gen¬
eral ;' but he was alwaj's good enough for
him.
Sec. Serv. Come, we are fellows and friends;
he was ever too hard for him ; I have heard
him say so himself.
First Sen'. He was too hard for . him di¬
rectly, to say the troth on't; before Corioli he
scotched him and notched him like a carbon¬
ado.
Sec. Serv. An hehad been cannibally given,
he might have broiled and eaten him too. 201
First Serv. But, more of thy news ?
Third Serv. Why, he is so made on here
within, as if he were son and heir to Mars ;
set at upper end o' the table ; no question
asked him by any of the senators, but they
stand bald before him: our general himself
makes a mistress of him ; sanctifies himself
COIUOLASUS.
948
with'g band and turns up the white o' the eye
to his discourse. But the bottom of the news
is, our general is cut i' the middle and but one
half of what he was yesterday ; for the other
has half, by the entreaty and grant of the whole
table. He'll go, he says, and sowl the porter
of Rome gates by the ears : he will mow all
down before him, and leave his passage
polled.
Sec. Serv. And he's as like to do't as any
man I can imagine.
Third Serv. Do't! he will do't; for, look
you, sir, he has as many friends as enemies ;
which friends, sir, as it were, durst not, look
you, sir, show themselves, as we term it, his
friends whilst he's in directitude.
First Serv. Directitude! what's that ?
Third Serv. But when they shall see, sir,
his crest Up again, and the man in blood, they
will out of their burrows, like conies after rain,
and revel all with him.
First Serv. But when goes this forward ?
Third Serv. To-morrow; to-day; presently;
you shall have the drum struck up this after¬
noon : 'tis, as it were, a parcel of their feast,
and to be executed ere they wipe their lips.
Sec. Serv. Why, then we shall have a stir¬
ring world again. This peace is nothing, but
to rust iron, increase tailors, and breed ballad-
makers.
First Serv. Let me have war, say I ; it ex¬
ceeds peace as far as day does night ; it's
spritely, waking, audible, and full of vent.
Peace is a very apoplexy, lethargy ; mulled,
deaf, sleepy, insensible ; a getter of more
bastard children than war's a destroyer of
men. 241
Sec. Serv. 'Tis so : and as war, in some
sort, may be said to be a ravisher, so it cannot
be denied but peace is a great maker of cuck¬
olds.
First Serv. Ay, and it makes men hate one
another.
Third Serv. Reason ; because they then less
need one another. The wars for my money.
I hope to see Romans as cheap as Volscians.
They are rising, they are rising. ^0
All. In, in, in, in"! [Exeunt.
Scene VI. Borne. A public place.
Enter SioiNius and Brutus.
Sic. We hear not of him, neither need we
fear him r,
His remedies are tame i' the present peace
And quietness of the people, which before
Were in wild hurry. Here do we make his
friends
Blush that the world goes well, who rather
had.
Though they themselves did suffer by't, be¬
hold
Dissentious numbers pestering streets than
see
Our tradesmen singing in their shops and
going
[Act iv.
About their functions friendly.
Bru. We stood to't in goim time. [Enter
Afenenttes.] Is this Menenius ? 10
Sic. 'Tis he, 'tis he : O, he is grown most
kind of late.
Both Tri. Hail, sir!
Men. Hail to yon both !
Sic. Your Coriolanus
Is not much miss'd, but with his friends :
The commonwealth doth stand, and so would
do.
Were he more angry at it
Men. All's well; and might have been
much better, if
He could have temporized. .
Sic. Where is he, hear you ?
Men. Kay, I hear nothing : his mother and
his wife
Hear nothing from him.
Enter three or four Citizens.
Citizens. The gods preserve you both !
Sic. God-den, our neighbors. 20
Bru. God-den to you all, god-den to you
all.
First at. Ourselves, our wives, and chil¬
dren, on our knees.
Are bound to pray for you both.
Sic. Live, and thrive !
Bru. Farewell, kind neighbors: we wish'd
Coriolanus
Had loved you as we did.
atizens. Now the gods keep you I
Both Tri. Farewell, farewell.
[Exeunt Citizens.
Sic. This is a happier and more comely
time
Than when these fellows ran about the streets.
Crying confusion.
Bru. Cains Marcius was
A worthy officer i' the war ; but insolent, 30
O'ercome with pride, ambitious past all think-
iug.
Self-loving,—
Sic. And affecting one sole throne.
Without assistance.
Men. I think not so.
Sic. We should by this, to all our lamen¬
tation.
If he had gone forth consul, found it so.
Bru. The gods have well prevented it, and
Rome
Sits safe and still without him.
Enter an .£dile.
AEd. Worthy tribunes,
There is a slave, whom we have put in prison.
Reports, the Volsces with two several powers
Are entePd in the Roman territories, 40
And with the deepest malice of the war
Destroy what lies before 'em.
Men. 'Tis Anfidius,
Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment,
Tlirusts forth his horns again into the world :
Which were inshell'd when Marcius stood for
Rome,
CORIOLANUS.
Scene vi.]
And dnrst not once peep out
Sic. Come, what talk you
01 Marcius ?
Bru. Go see this rumorer whipp'd. It
cannot be
The Volsces dare brealf with us.
Jl/en. Cannot be!
We have record that very well it can,
And three examples of the like have been 50
Within my age. But reason with the fellow.
Before you punish him, where he heard this,
Lest you shall chance to whip your infor¬
mation
And beat the messenger who bids beware
Of what is to be dreaded.
Sic. ' Teli not me :
I know this cannot be.
Bru. Not possible.
Enter a Messenger.
Jtfess. The nobles in great earnestness are
going
All to tlie senate-house : some news is come.
That turns their countenances.
Sic. 'Tis this slave
Go whip him, 'fore the people's eyes :—his
raising; 60
Nothing but his report:
if ess. Yes, worthy sir,
The slave's report is seconded ; and more.
More fearful, is deliver'd.
' Sic. What more fearful ?
Mess. It is spoke freely out -of many
mouths—
How probable I do not know—that Marcius,
Join'd with Aufldius, leads a x>ower 'gainst
Borne,
And vows revenge as spacious as between
The young'st and oldest thing.
Sic. This is most likely !
Bru. Baised only, that the weaker sort
may wish
Good Mamus home again.
Sic. The very trick on't. 70
Men. This is unlikely :
He and Aufldius can no more atone
Thau violentest contrariety.
Enter a second Messenger.
Sec. Mess. You are sent for to the senate:
A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius
Associated with Aufldius, rages
Upon our territories ; and have already
0 erbome their way, consumed with flre, and
took
What lay before them.
Enter Cominius.
Com. O, you have made good work !
Men. What news V what news ? 80
Com. You have holp to ravish your own
daughters and #
To melt the city leads upon your pates,
To see your wives dishonor d to your noses,—
Men. What's the news ? what's the news?
Com. Your temples burned ra their cement,
and
94d
Your franchises, whereon yon stood, confined
Into an auger's bore.
Men. Pray now, your news 7
You have made fair work, I fear me.—^Pray,
your news ?—
If Marcius should be join'd with Yolsciaus,—
Com. If!
He is their god : he leads them like a thing 91
Made by some other deily than nature.
That shapes man better; and they follow him,
Against us brats, with no less confidence
Than boys pursuing summer butterflies,
Or butchers killing flies.
Men. You have made good work.
You and your apron-men ; you that stood so
much
Gpon the voice of bccupation and. t '
The breath of garlic-eaters ! ,
Com, He will shake
Your Bome about your ears.
Men. As Hercules
Did shake down mellow fruit You have made
fair work! lOO
Bru. But is this true, sir ?
Com. Ay ; and you'll look pale
Before you find it other. All uie regions
Do smilingly revolt; and who resist
Are mock d for valiant ignorance.
And perish constant fools. Who is't can blame
him?
Your enemies and his find something in him
Men. We are all undone, unless .
Tlie noble man have mercy.
Com. Whd shall ask it ?
The tribunes cannot do't for shame; tlie peo¬
ple
Deserve such pity of him as the wolf 110
Does of the shepherds: for his best friends, if
they [him even
Should say ' Be good to Borne,' they charged
As those should do that had deserved his hate.
And therein show'd like enemies.
Men. 'Tis true;
If he were putting to my house the brand
Tliat should consume it, I have not the face
To say' Beseech you, cease.' Yon have made
fair hands.
You and your crafts.! you have crafted fair !
Com. You have brouglit
A trembiing upon Bome, such as was never
So iucapabfe of heip.
Both Tri. Say not we brought it. 120
Men. How! Was it we ? we loved him ;
but, Uke beasts
And cowardiy nobles, gave way unto your
clusters.
Who did hoot him out o' the city.
Com. But I fear
They'll roar him in again. Tulius Aufldius,
Tlie second name of men, obeys his points
As if he were his ofScer : desperation
Is all the policy, strength and defence,
Tliat Bome can make against them.
Enter a troc^ o/Citizens.
Men, Here come the clusters.
CORIOLAXUS.
950
And is Aufldius trith him ? You are they
That made the air unwholesome, when you
cast 130
Your stinking CTeasy caps in hooting at ,
Coriolanus' exile. Now he's coming ;
And not a hair upon a soldier's head
•Which will not prove a whip : as many cox-
.combs
As you threw caps up will he tumble down,
And pay you for your voices. 'Tis no matter;
If he could burn us all into one coal.
We have deserved it.
Citizens. Faith, we hear fearful news. ,
First at. • For mine own part.
When I said, banish him, I said 'twas pity.
Sec. Cit. And so did I. 141
Third Cit. Ami so did I; and, to say the
truth, so did very many of us : that we did,
we did for the b«t; and though we willingly
consented to his banishment, yet it was against
our will, <
Com. Ye'r« goodly things, you voices!
• Men. You have made
Good work, you and your cry 1 Sludl's to the
Capitol ?
Com, O, ay, what else ?
, \Exeimt Cominms and Menenius,
Sic. Go, masters, get you home ; be not
dismayed! 150
These are a side that would be glad to have
'This true which they so seem to fear. Gp
home.
And show no sign of fear.
First Cu. The gods be good to us! Come,
masters, let's home. 1 ever said we were i' the
wrong when we banished him.
Sec. Cit. So did we all. But, come, let's
home. [Exeunt Citizens.
Bru. I do not like this news.
. Sic. Nor I. ,
Bru. Let's to the CapitoL Would half my
wealth 1^
Would buy this for a lie I
Sic. Pray, let us go.
[Exeunt.
SCENB VIL A camp, at a small distance
from Rome.
Enter Aurroros and his Lieutenant
Auf. Do they still fly to the Roman ?
Lieu. I do not know what witchcraft's in
him, but
Your soldiers use him as the grace 'fore meat,
'Their talk at table, and their tlianks at end ;
And yon are darken'd in this action, sir,
Even by your own.
Auf. I cannot help it now.
Unless, by using means, I lame the foot
Of OUT design. He bears himself more
proudlier.
Even to my person, than I thought he would
When first I did embrace him : yet his nature
In that's no changeling ; and I must excuse
What cannot be amended.
Lieu. Yet I ■wirfi, sir,—
I mean for your particniar,—you had not
«
[Act v.
Join'd in commission with him ; but either
Had borne the action of yourself, or else
To him had left it solely.
Auf. I understand thee well; and be thou
sure.
When he shall come to his account, he knows
not
What I can urge against him. Although it
seems.
And so he thinks, and is no less apparent 20
To the vulgar eye, that he bears all things
fairly.
And shows good husbandry for the Volscian
state.
Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon
As draw his sword ; yet he hath left undone
Tliat which shall break his neck or hazard
mine.
Whene'er we come to our account.
Lieu. Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll
carry Rome ?
Auf. All places yield to him ere he sits
down;
And the nobility at Rome are his : '
The senators and patricians love him too : 80
The tribunes are no soldiers ; and their people
Will be as rash in the repeal, as hasty
To expel him thence. I think he'll be to Rome
As is the osprey to the fish, wlio takes it
By sovereignty of nature. First he was
A noble servant to them ; but he could not
Carry his honors even : whether 'twas pride.
Which out of daily fortune ever taints
The happy man ; whether defect of judgment.
To fail in the disposing of those chances 40
Which he was lord of ; or whether nature.
Not to be other than one thing, not moving
From the casque to the cushion, but command¬
ing peace
Even with tlie same austerity and garb
As he controll'd the war ; but one of these—
As he hath spices of them all, not all.
For I dare so far free liim—made him fear'd,
So hated, and so bauish'd: but he has a merit.
To choke it in the utterance. So our virtues
Lie in the interpretation of the time : 50
And power, unto itself most commendable,
tHath not a tomb so evident as a chair
To extol what it hath done.
One ftre drives out one fire ; one nail, one
nail;
Rights by rights falter, strengths by strengths
do fail.
Come, let's a'rvay. When, Caius, Rome is
thine,
Thou art poo:-'st of all; then shorfiy art thou
mine. [Exeunt.
ACT V.
Scene I. Rome. A public place.
Enter MENENips, Cominhts, Sicinius, Bbu-
TFS, and others.
Men. No, FU not go : you hear what ho
hath said
CORIOLANUS.
StESE II.)
CORIOLANUS.
951
Which was sometime his general; who loved
him
In a most dear particular. He call'd me father:
But what o* that ? Go, yon that banish'd him;
A mile before his tent fall down, and knee'
Tlie way into his mercy : nay, if lie coy'd
To hear Commins speak, FU keep at home.
Com. He would not seem to know me.
Men. Do you hear ?
Com. Yet one time he did call me by my
name :
I urged our old acquaintance, and the drox>s 10
That we have bled together. Coriolanus
He would not answer to : forbad all names ;
He was a kind of nothing, titleless.
Till he had forged himself a name o' the fire
Of burning Rome.
Men. why, so : you have made good work!
A pair of tribunes that have rack'a for Rome,
To make coals cheap,—a noble memory!
Com. I minded him how royal 'twas to par¬
don
When It was less expected : he replied.
It was a bare petition of a state ' 20
To one whom they had punish'd.
Men. Very well :
Could he say less ?
Com. I offer'd to awaken his, regard
For's private friends : his answer to me wis.
He could not stay to pick them in a pile
Of noisome musty chaff; he said 'twas fcAly;
For one poor gram or two, to leave unburnt.
And still to nose the offence.
Men. For one poor grain or two !
I am one of those ; his mother, wife, his
child, 29
And this brave fellow too, we are the grains :
You are the musty chaff; and you are smelt
Above the moon: we must be burnt for 3'ou.
Hie. Nay, pray, be patient: if you refuse
your aid'
In this so never-needed help, yet do not
I^braid's with our distress. But, sure, if you
Would be your country's pleader, your good
tongue.
More than the instant army we can make.
Might stop our countryman.
Men No, I'll not meddle.
Sic. Pray you, go to him.
Men. What should I do ? '
Bru. Only make trial what your love can
do 40
For Rome, towards Marcius.
Men. Well, and say that Marcius
Return me, as Cominius is retum'd,
Unheard ; what then ?
But as a discontented friend, grief-shot
With his, unldndness ? say't he so ?
Sic. Yet your good will
Must have that thanks from Rome, after the
measure ^
As you intended well. *
Men. I'll undertake't:
I think he'll hear me. Yet, to bite his lip
And hum at good Cominius, much unhearts
me.
He was not taken well; he had not dined: 60
The veins imfill'd, our blood is coldi and then
We pout upon the morning, are imapt
To give or to forgive; but when we have Stuffd
These pipes and these conveyances of our
blood
With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls
Than in our priest-like fasts: themore FU
watch him
Till he be dieted to my request, ' '
And then I'll set upon him.
Bru. You know the very road into' his
kindness.
And cannot lose your way.
Men. Good faith, I'll prove him, '60
Speed how it will. I shall ere long have knowl¬
edge ■
Of my success. ' ' [Exit,
Com. He'll never hear him.
Sic. ' Not?
Com. I tell yon, he does sit in gold, his eye
Red as 'twould bum Rome ; and his injury
Tlie gaoler to his pity. I kneel'd before him :
'Twas very faintly he said ' Rise ;' dismiss'd
me ' ' '
Thus, with his speechless hand: what hd
would do, ' ' I •
He sent in writing after me J what he wbnld
not.
Bound with an oath to yield to his hobditions:
So that all hope is vain, ' 70
Unless his noble mother, and his wife ;
Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him '
For mercy to his country. Therefore, let's
hence.
And with our fair entreaties haste tiiem on.
[Exeunt.
Scene II. Entrance of the Volsdaneamp
before Rome. Two Sentinels on guard.
Enter to them, Menenius.
First Sen. Stay : whence are you ?
See. Sen. Stand, and go back.
Men. You guard like men ; 'tis well: but,'
by your leave,
I am an officer of state, and come
To speak with Coriolanus.
First Sen. From whence ?
Men. From Rome.
First Sen. You may not pass, you must re¬
turn : our general
Will no more hear from thence.
Sec. Sen.. You'll see your Rome embraced
with fire before
You'll speak with Coriolanus.
Men. Good m^ friendh,
If you have heard your general talk of Rome,
And of his friends there, it is lots to blanks, '
My name hath touch'd your ears : it is Me¬
nenius. 11,
First Sen. Be it so ; go back : the virtue
of your name
Is not here passable.
Men. I tell thee, fellow.
The general is my lover : I have been
952
COmOLANUS,
[Act t.
{The bookol his good acts, whence men have
lead.
His name unparalld'd, haply amplified ;
For 1 have ever t verified my friends,
01 whom he's chief, with all the size that
verity
' Would wiwout lapsing suffer : nay, some¬
times,
Like to a bowl upon a subtle ground, 20
I have tumbled past the tlirow ; and in his
praise
Have almost stamp'd the leasing : therefore,
fellow,
I must have leave to pass.
First Sen. Faith, sir, if yon had told as
manv lies in his behalf as you have uttered
words in your own, you should not pass here;
no, though it were as virtuous to lie as to live
chastely. Therefore, go back.
Men. Prithee, fellow, remember my name
is Meneniu8,always factiouary on the i)arty of
your general. 31
Sec. Sen. Howsoever you have been his liar,
as you say you have, I am one tlvat, telling
true under him, must say, you cannot pass.
Therefore, go back.
Men. Has he dined, canst thou tell ? for I
would uot speak with him till after dinner.
First Sen. You are a Roman, are you ?
Men. 1 am, as thy general is. 39
First Sen. Then you should hate Rome, as
he does. Can you, when you have pushed
out your gates the very defender of them, and,
in a violent popular ignorance, given your
enemy your shield, think to front his revenges
with the easy groans of old women, the vir¬
ginal palms of your daughters, or with the
palsied intercession of such a decayed dotant
as you seem to be? Can you think to blow
out the intended fire your city is ready to
flame in, with such weak breath as this ? No,
you are deceived ; therefore, back to Rome,
and prepare for your execution : you are con¬
demned, our general has sworn you out of re¬
prieve and pardon.
Men. Sirrah, if thy captain knew I were
here, he would use me with estimation.
Sec. Sen. Come, my captain knows you not.
Mm. I mean, thy general.
First Sen. My general cares not for you.
Back, I say, go ; lest I let forth your half-pint
of blood; back,—^that's, the utmost of your
having: back.
Men. Nay, but, fellow, fellow,—
Enter Coriolanus and AtrFiDics.
Oor. What's the matter ?
Men. Now, you companion,' I'll say an
errand for you : you shall know now that I am
in estimation ; you shall perceive that a Jack
guardant cannot office me from my son Corio-
lanus : guess, but by my entertainment with
him, if thoustaudest not i the state of hanging,
or of some death more long in spectatorship,
and crueller in suffering; behold now pres¬
ently, and swoon for what's to come- upon
thee. [To Cor.] The glorious gods sit in
hourly synod about thy particular prosperity,
and love thee no worse than thy old father
Meneuius does I O my son, my son ! thou art
preparing fire for us ; look thee, here's water
to quench it. I was hardly moved to come to
thee ; but being assured none but myself could
move thee, I havq been blown out of your
gates with sighs ; and conjure thee to pardon
Rome, and tl>y petitionary countrymen,- The
food gods assuage thy wrath, and turn the
regs of it upon this varlet here,—this, who,
like a block, hath denied my access to thee.
Cor. Away !
Men. How ! away!
Cor. Wife, mother, chiid, I know not. My
affairs
Are servanted to others: though I owe
My revenge properly, my remission lies 90
In Yolscian breasts. That we have been famil¬
iar,
Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison, rather
Tlmn pity note how much. Therefore, be gone.
Mine ears against your suits are stronger than
Your gates against my force. Yet, for I loved
thee.
Take this along ; I writ it for tlw s£^e,
(Gives a letter.
And would have sent it. .Mother word,
Menenius,
I will not hear thee ^eak. This man, Aufldius,
Was my beloved in Rome : yet thou behold'st!
An/. You keep a constant temper. 100
\Exeunt Coriolanus and Aufidius.
First Sen. Now, sir, is your name Mene¬
nius ?
Sec. Sen. 'Tis a spell, you see, of much
power: you know the way home again.
First Sen. Do j'ou hear how we are shent
for keeping your greatness back ?
Sec. Sen. What cause, do you think, I have
to swoon ?
Men. I neither care for tlie world nor your
geneml: for such things as you, I can scarce
think there's any, ye're so siight. He that
hath a will to die by himself fears it not from
another: let your general do his worst. For
you, be that you are, long ; and your misery
increase with your age ! I say to you, as I was
said to. Away I \^Exit.
First Sen. A noble fellow, I warrant him.
Sec. Sen. The worthy feilow is our general:
he's the rock, the oak not to be wind-shaken.
[Exeunt.
SCEKE HI. The tent of Coriolanus
Enter CoRiOLAmrs, Austdius, and others.
Cor. We will before the walls of Rome to¬
morrow
Set down our host. My partner in this action.
You must report to the Yolscian lords, how
plainly
I have borne this business.
Auf. Only their ends
You have respected ; stopp'd your ears a^inst
Scene iit.]
COmOLANUS.
m
The ^netal suit oi Rome ; never admitted
A private whisper, no, not with such friends
That thought them sure of you.
Cor. This last old man,
Whom with a crack'd heart I have sent to Rome,
Loved me above the measure of a father ; 10
Nay, godded me, indeed. Their latest refuge
Was to send him ; for whose old love I have.
Though I show'd sourly to hiin, once more
offer'd
The first conditions, which they did refuse
And cannot now accept; to grace him only
That thought he could do more, a very little
I have yielded to : fresh embassies and suits.
Nor from the state not private friends, here¬
after
Will 1 lend ear to. Ha ! what shout is this ?
[Shout within.
Shall I be tempted to infringe mjr vow 20
In the same time 'tis made ? I will not
Enter in mourning Mils, Vikgilia, To-
eummia, leading young Marcics, Vaeeria,
and Attendants.
Hy wife comes foremost; then the honor'd
' mould
Wherein this trunk was framed, and in her
hand
The grandchild to her blood. But, out, affec¬
tion !
All bond and privilege of nature, break !
Let it be virtuous to be obstinate.
What is that curt'sy worth ? or tliose doves'
eyes.
Which can make gods forsworn ? I melt, and
am not
Of stronger earth than others. My mother
bows ;
As if Olympus to a molehill should 80
In supplication nod : and my youn^ boy
Hath an aspect of intercession, which
Great nature cries ' Deny not' Let the Yolsces
Plough Rome, and harrow Italy : I'll never
Be such a gosling to obey instinct, but stand.
As it a man were author of himself
And knew no other kin.
Vir. My lord and husband !
Cor. These eyes are not the same I wore
in Rome, ^
rir. The sorrow that delivers us tlius
changed
Makes you think so
Cor. Like a dull actor now, 40
I liave forgot my part, and I am out.
Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh.
Forgive my tyranny ; but do not say
Fur that' Forgive our Romans.' O, a kiss
Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge !
Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that
kiss
I carried from thee, dear ; and my true lip
Hath virgin'd it e'er since. You gods ! I prate.
And the most noble mother of the world
Leave unsaluted : sink, my knee, i' the earth;
[Kneels.
Of thy deep duty more impression show 51
Than that of common sons.
Vol. O, stand Up Uest I
Whilst, with no softer cushion than the flin^
I kneel before thee ; and unproperly
Show duty, as mistaken all this while
Between the child and pai-ent. [KneeU.
Cor. What is this ?
Your knees to me 7 to your corrected son ?
Then let the pebbles on the hungir beach
Fillip the stars ; then let the mutinous winds
Strike the proud cedars 'against the fiery sun:
Murdering impossibility, to make 61
What cannot be, slight work.
Vol. Thou art my warrior
1 holp to frame thee. Do yon know this lady?
Cor. The noble sister of Publicola,
The moon of Rome, chaste as the icicle
That's curdled by the frost from purest snow
And hangs on Dian's temple : dear Valeria I
Vol. This is a poor epitome of yours.
Which by the interpretation of fnU time
May show like all yourself.
Cor. The god of soldiers, . 70
With the consent of supreme Jove, inform
Thy thoughts with nobleness ; that thou mayst
prove
To shame uiivulnerable, and stick i' the wars
Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw.
And saving those that eye thee I
Vol. Your knee, sirrah.
Cor. That's my brave boy I
Vol. Even he, your wife, tliis lady, and
myself.
Are suitors to you. ,
Cor. I beseech you, peace :
Or, if you'ld ask, remember this before :
The thing I have forsworn to grant may nevet
Be held by you denials. Do not bid me 81
Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate
Amin with Rome's mechanics : tell me not
Wherein I seem unnatural: desire not
To ally my rages and revenges with
Your colder reasons.
Vol. O, no more, no more !
You have said you will not grant us any thing;
For we have nothing else to ask, but that
Wliich you deny already : yet we will ask ;
That, if you fail in our request, the blame 90
May hang u[x>n your hardness: therefore hear
us.
Cor. Anfidins, and you Volsces, mark ; for
we'll
Hear nought from Rome in private. Your
request ?
Vol. Should we be sileut and not ^leuk, our
raiment
And state of bodies would bewray what life
We have led since thy exile. Think with thy¬
self
How more unfortunate than all living women
Are we come hither: silice that thy sight,
which should
Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance
with comforts.
Constrains them weep and shake with fear tmd
sorrow; 100
Hakiiig the mother, wife and child to see
The eon, the husband and the father tearing
His country's bowels out And to poor we
Thine enmity's most capital: thou barr'st us
Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort
That all but we enjoy ; for how can we,
Alas, how can we for our country pray,
Whereto we are bound, together with thy
victory.
Whereto we are bound ? alack, or we must lose
The country, our dear nurse, or else thy per¬
son, 110
Our comfort in the country. We must find
An evident calamity, though we had
Our wish, which side should win : for either
thou
/ Must, as a foreimi recreant, be led
With manacles thorough our streets, or else
Triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin.
And bear the palm for having bravely shed
Thy wife and children's blood. For myself,
son,
I purpose not to wait on fortune till
These wars determine: if I cannot persuade
thee 120
Rather to show a noble grace to both parts
Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner
March to assault thy country than to tread—
Trust to't, thou shalt not—on thy mother's
womb,
That brought thee to this world.
Vir. Ay, and mine,
That brought you forth this boy, to keep your
name
Living to time.
Young Mar. A' shall not tread on me ;
ril runaway till I am bigger, but then I'll fight.
Cor. Not of a woman's tenderness to be.
Requires nor child nor woman's face to see.
I have sat too long. [Rising. 131
Vol. Nay, go not from us thus.
If it were so that our request did tend
To save the Romans, thereby to destroy
The Volsces whom you serve, you might con¬
demn us,
As poisonous of your honor : no ; our suit
Is, that you reconcile them: while the Volsces
May s^ ' This mercy we have show'd ;' the
Romans,
' This we received ;' and each in either side
Give the all-hail to thee, and cry ' Be blest
For making up this peace !' Thou know'st,
great son, 140
The end of war's uncertain, but tWs certain,
That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit
Which thou shalt thereby reap is such a name,
Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses ;
Whose chronicle thus writ: "The man was
noble.
But with his last attempt he wiped it out;
Destroy'd his country, and his name remains
To the ensuing age abhorr'd.' Speak to me,
son :
Thou hast affected the fine strains of honor.
To imitate the graces of tlie gods ; 150
To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' the air,
[Act v.
And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt
That should but rive an oak. Why dost not
speak ?
Think'st thou it honorable for a noble man
Still to remember wrongs 1 Daughter, speak
you :
He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou,
boy:
Perhaps thy childishness will move him more
Than can our reasons. There's no man in the
world
More bound to's mother ; yet here he lets me
prate
Like one i' the stocks. Thou hast never in thy
life 160
Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy.
When she. poor hen, fond of no second brood,
Has cluck d thee to the wars and safely home,
Loaden with honor. Say my request's unjust.
And spurn me back: but if it be not so.
Thou art not honest; and the gods will plague
thee.
That thou restrain'st from me the duty which
To a mother's part belong He turns away:
Down, ladies ; let ns shame him with our
knees. 169
To his surname Coriolanus 'longs more pride '
Than pity to our prayers. Down : an end ;
This is the last: so we will home to Rome,
And die among our neighbors. Nay, be¬
hold 's :
This boy, that cannot tell what he would have,
But kneels and holds up hands for fellowship.
Does reason our petition with more strength
Than thou hast to deny't. Come, let us go :
This fellow had a Volscian to his mother ;
His wife is in Corioli and his child
Like him by chance. Yet give ns onr dis¬
patch ; 180
I am hush'd until onr city be a-fire.
And then I'll speak a little.
[He holds her hy the hand, silent.
Cor. O motlier, mother f
What have you done ? Behold, the heavens
do ope,
The gods look down, and this unnatural scene
They laugh at. O my mother, mother ! O !
Yon have won a happy victory to Rome ;
But, for your son,—believe it, O, believe it.
Most dangerously you have with him pre-
vailM,
If not most mortal to him. But, let it come.
Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars, 190
I'll frame convenient peace. Now, good Au¬
fidius,
Were you in mj stead, would you have heard
A mother less ? or granted less, Aufidius ?
Auf. I was moved withaL
Cor. I dare be sworn yon were;
And, sir, it is no little thing to make
Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good
sir,
What peace you'll make, advise me : for my
I'll not' to Rome, Til back witn you ; and pray
you,
COitlOLAMV^.
Scene vi.]
Stand to me in this cause. O mother ! wife !
Auf. [Asule.\ I am glad thon hast set thy
mercy imd thy honor 200
At difference in thee ; out of that I'll work
Mysdf a former fortune.
\The LadU*make signs to Coriolanus,
Cor. Ay, by and by ;
[To Volumnia, Virgilia, 4ce.
But we will drink' together; and you shall
bear
A better witness back than words, which we,
Ou like conditions, will have couuter-seal'd.
Come, enter with ns. Ladies, you deserve
To have a temple built you : aU the swords
In Italy, and her confederate arms,
Gould not have made this peace. [Exeunt. 209
Scene rv. Borne. A public place.
Enter Menenics and Sicinius.
Men. See you yond coign o' the Capitol,
yond comer-stone ?
Sic. Why, what of that ?
Men. If It be possible for you to displace it
with yonr little finger, there is some hope the
ladies of Rome, esp^ially his motlier, may
gievajl with him. But I say there is no hoiie
I't; our throats are sentenced and stay upon
execution.
Sic. Is't possible that so short a time can
alter the condition of a man ! 10
Men. There is differency between a grub
and a butterfly ; yet your butterfly was a grub.
This Marcius is grown from man to dragon :
he has wings *, he's more than a creeping
thing.
Sic. He loved his mother dearly.
Metu So did he me : and he no more re¬
members his mother now than an eight-year-
old horse. The tartness of his face sours ripe
grapes: when he walks, he moves like an en-
^ne, and the ground shrinks before his tread¬
ing : he is able to pierce a corslet with his
eye; talks like a knell, and his hum is a bat¬
tery. He sits in his state, as a thing made for
Alexander. What he bids be done is finished
with bis bidding. He wants nothing of a god
but eternity and a heaven to throne m.
Sic. Yes, mercy, if you report him truly.
Men. I paint hud in the character. Mark
what mercy his mother shall bring from him :
there is no more mercy in him than there is
milk in a male tiger ; that shall our poor city
find : and all this is long of you.
Sic. The gods be good unto us !
Men. No, in such a case the gods will not
be good unto us. When we banished him, we
respected not them ; and, he returning to break
onr nedrs, they respect not us. '
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Sir, if you'ld save 4your life, fly to
your house :
The plebeians have got your fellow-tribune
And hale him up and down, all swearing, if 40
'Fhe Roman ladies bring not comfort home,
Tliey'll give him death by Inches.
965
Enter a second Messenger. '
Sic. What's the news t
Sec. Mess. Good news, good news ; the la¬
dies have prevail'd.
The YolEchans are dislodged, and Marcius
gone :
A merrier day did never yet greet Rome,
N<x not the expulsion of the Tarquins.
Sic. Friend,
Art thou certain this is true'/ is it ipost cer¬
tain 7
Sec. Mess. As ceytain as I know the sun is
fire :
Where have you Inrk'd, that you makd doubt
of it ?
Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown
tide, 60
As the recomforted through the gates. Why,,
hark you! [Trumpets ; hautboys; drums
beat; all together.
The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries and fifes.
Tabors and cymbals and the shouting Romans,
Make the sun dance. Hark you !
[A shout U!ith»i.
Men. This is good news :
1 will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia
Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians,
A city full ; of tribunes, such as you,
A sea and land fuU. You have pray'd weU
to-day :
This morning for ten thousand of your throats
I'd not have given a doit. Hark, how they
jOT I [Music still, with shouts. 60
Sic. First, the gods bless you for your tid¬
ings ; next, . '
Accept my thankfulness.
Sec. Mess. Sir, we have all ' '
Great cause to give great thanks.
Sec. Tliey are near the city ?
Sec. Mess. Almost at point to enter.
Sic. We will meet them.
And help the Joy. [Exeunt.
Scene V. The same. A street near the gatei
Enter two Senators with Volumnia, Vibgilia,
Val-eria, &c. passing over the stage, fol¬
lowed by Patricians a/nd others. ,
First Sen. Behold onr patroness, the life of
Rome!
Call all your tribes together, praise the gods.
And make triumphant fires; strew flowms b^
fore them : '
Unshout the noise that banish'd Marcius,
Repeal him with the welcome of his mother ;
Cry ' Welcome, ladies, welcome !'
All. Welcome, ladies,
Welcome! [A flourish with drums and trum¬
pets. Exeunt-
Scene VI. Antium. A public place.
Enter Tullus Acfidius, with Attendants.'
Auf. Go tell the lords o' the city I am here:
Deliver them this paper : having read it.
Bid them repair to the market-place; where I,
CORIOLANUS.
956
COmOLANUS.
[Act V,
Even in theirs and in tiie commons' ears,
Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse
Tlie citj ports by this hath euter'd and
Intends to appear before the people, hoxnng
To purge himself with words : dispatch.
[J^xeunf Attendants.
"Enter three or four Conspirators of AufidiuS'
faction.
Most welcome !
First Con. How is it with our general ?
AOif. Eveu so 10
As with a man by his own alms empoison'd,
And with his charity slain.
Sec. Con. Most noble sir,
If you do hold the same intent whereiu
You wish'd us parties, we'll deliver you
Of your great danger.
Ai^f. Sir, I caunot tell:
We mustjiroceed'as we do fiud the people
Third Con, The people will remain uncer¬
tain whilst
'Twixt you there's difference ; but the fall of
either •'
Makes the survivoy heir of all.
At^f. I know it;
And my pretext to strike at him admits 20
A good construction. I raised him, and I
pawn'd
Mine honor for his truth : who being so
beigliten'd, [tery.
He water'd his new plants with dews of flat-
Seducing so my friends ; and, to this end.
He bow^ his nature, never known before
But to be rough, unswayakle and free.
Third Con. Sir, his stoutness
When he did stand for consul, which he lost
By lack of stomiing,—
Avf. Tliat I would have spoke of : 29
Being banish'd for't, he came unto my hearth;
Present^ to my knife his throat: I took him;
Made him joint-servant with me ; gave him
way
In ail his own desires ; nay, let him choose
Out of my files, his projects to accomxilish,
My best and freshest men ; served his design-
ments
In mine own person ; holp to reap the fame
Wliich he did end all his ; and took some pride
To do myself this wrong : till, at the last,
I seem'd his follower, not paituer, and
He waged me with his countenance, as if 40
1 had been mercenary.
First Con. So he did, my lord :
The army marvell'd at it, and, in tlie last,
When he had carried Rome and that we louk'd
For no less spoil than glory,—
Aiif. There was it:
For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon
him. ,
At a few drops of women's rheum, which are
As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labor
Of our great action : therefore shall he die,
And I'll renew me in his fall. But, hark !
ttnd trumpets sonnd, toith great
shouts of the Feople,
First Con. Your native town you euter'd
like a post, 50
And bad no welcomes home : but he returns,
Splitting the air wkh noise.
<S'ec. Co 71. And patient fools.
Whose children he hath slam, their base
throats tear
With giving him glory.
Third Con. Therefore, at your vantage,
Ere he express himself, or move the people
With what he would say,Jet him feel your
sword.
Which we wili second. When he lies along.
After your way his tale pronounced shall bury
His reasons with his body.
Avf. Say no more :
Here come the lords. 60
Enter (he.Lords of the city.
All the Lords. Ton are most welcome home.
Avf. I have not deserved it.
But, worthy lords, have you with heed perused
What I have written to you ?
Lords. We have.
First Lord. And grieve to hear't
What faults he made before the last, I think
Might have found easy fines : but there to end
Where he was to begin and give away
The benefit of our levies, answering us
With our own charge, making a treaty where
There was a yielding,—^this admits no excuse.
Avf. He approaches : you shall bear him. 70
Enter Cobiolamus, marching with drum and
colors; commmvers being ipith Aim,
Cor. Haii, lords! I am retum'd your sol¬
dier.
No more infected with my country's love
Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting
Under your great command. You are to know
That prosperously I have attempted and
With bloodypassage led your wars even to
The gates of ^me. Our spoils we have brought
home
Do more than counterpoise a full third part
The charges of the action. We have made
peace
With no less honor to the Antiates ' 80
Thau shame to the Romans : and we here de¬
liver,
Subscribed by the consuls and patricians.
Together with the seal o' the senate, what
We have compounded on.
Aiif. Read it not, noble lords *,
But tell the traitor, in the high'st degp'ee
He hath abused your powers.
Cor. Traitor f how now ! ■
Avf. ^ Ay, traitor, Marcius!
Cor. Marcius!
Avf. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius: dost thou
think
I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stoTu
name
Coriolanns in Corioli ? 90
You lords and beads o' the state, perfidiously
He has betray'd your business, and given up,
Scene VI.]
l or certain drops of salt, your city Rome.
1 say ' your city,' to his wife and mother ;
breaking his oath and resolution like
A twist of rotten silk, never admitting
Counsel o' the war, but at his nurse's tears "
He whined and roar'd away your victory.
That pages blush'd at him and men of lieart
look'd wondering each at other.
Cor. Hear'st thou. Mars 7 100
Auf. Name not the god, thou boy of tears!
Cor. Ha I
Avf. No more.
Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made my
heart
Too great for what contains it. Boy ! 0 slave!
Pardon me, lords, 'tis the first time that ever
1 was forced to scold. Your judgments, my
grave lords.
Must give this cur the lie : and his own no¬
tion—
Who wears my stripes impress'd uixra him ;
that
Must bear my beating to his grave—shall join
To thrust the lie unto him. 110
First Lord. Peace, both, and hear me
speak.
Cor. Cnt me to pieces, Volsces ; men and
lads.
Stain all your edges on me. Boy ! false
hound !
If you have writ your annals true, 'tis tliere,
That, like an eagle in a dove-cote, I
Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli:
Alone I did it. Boy !
Auf. Why, noble lords.
Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune.
Which was your shame, by this unholy brag¬
gart,
'Fore your own eyes and ears ?
All Consp. Let him die for't. 120
All the people. ' Tear him to pieces.' ' Do
it presently. 'He killed my son.' 'My
daughter.' 'He killed my cousin Marcus.'
' He killed my father.'
Sec. Lord. Peace, ho ! no outrage : peace!
The man is noble and his fame folds-in
es7
This orb o' the earth. His last offences to us
Shall have judicious hearing. Stand, Aufid-
ius.
And trouble not the peace.
Cor. O that I had him,
Witli six Aufidinses, or more, his tribe, 130
To use my lawful sword 1 ,
Auf. Insolent villain!
All Consp. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him t
[The Conspirators draw, and kill Corio-
lanus: Aufidius stands on his body.
Lords. Hold, hold, hold, hold !
Auf. My noble masters, hear me sp^k.
First Lord. O "rullus,—
Sec. Lord. Thou hast done a deed whereat
valor will weep.
Third Lord. Tread not upon him. Masters
all, be quiet;
Put up your swords.
■ Avf. My lords, when you shall know—as
in this rs^e.
Provoked by him, you cannot—the great dan¬
ger
Which this man's life did owe yon, you'll re¬
joice
That he is thus cnt off. Please it your honors
To call me to your senate, I'll deliver 141
Myself your loyal servant, or endure
Your heaviest censure.
First Lord. Bear from hence his body ;
And mourn you for him ; let him be regarded
As the most noble corse that ever herald
Did follow to his urn.
Sec. Lord. His own impatience
Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame.
Let's make the best of it.
Avf. My rage is gone ;
And I am struck with sorrow. Take him up.
Help, three o' the chiefest soldiers ; I'll be one.
Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully:
Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he
Hath widow'd and unchilded many a one.
Which to this hour bewail the injury.
Yet he shall have a noble memory.
Assist. [Exeunt, bearing the body of Corio-
lanus, A dead march sounded.
COmOLANUS.
TTMON OF ATHENS.
(written about 1607-1608.)
INTRODUCTION.
This play is, beyond reasonable doubt, only in part the work of Shakespeare. Whether Shake¬
speare worked upon materials furnished by an older play, or whether he left his play a fragment to
be completed by another hand, is uncertain : the former supposition is perhaps the correct one, and
the older writer may possibly have been George Wilkins. There is a substantial agreement among
the best critics as to what portions of the piay are .Shakespeare's and what are not. The following
may be distinguished, with some confidence, as the non-Shakespearian parts : Act I., Sc. t., L. ISO—
240, 258 -213 (or? from entrance of Apemantus to end of scene),l[. (certainly) ; Act II., Sc. Ii., L.
45—124 -, all Act 111., except Sc. vi., L .98—115; Act I\'., Sc. ti., L. 30—50, (?) iii., L. 292—362, 390—
413,454-—543; Act V. (?) Sc. i., L. i.—59, ii., iii. There is no external evidence which helps to deter¬
mine the date at which Shakespeare wrote his part of the play, but it was probably laterthan Macbeth
and earlier than Pericles. The year 1607 is a date which cannot be very far astray. The sources of
the play were Paynter's Palace of Pleasure, a passage in Plutarch's Life of Mark Antony, and in
particular, a dialogue of Lucian. But if Shakespeare worked upon an older play, it may have been
tiirough it that he obtained the materials which appear to come through Lucian. Although only a
fragment, Shakespeai-e's part of Timon is written with the highest dramatic ener^. Nothing is more
intense than the conception and rendering of T4mon'8 feelings when he turns in hatred from the evil
world. The rich Ix>rd Timon has lived in a rose-colored mist of pleasant delusions. The conferring
of favors has been with him a mode of kindly self-indulgence, and he has assumed that every one
is as liberal-hearted and of as easy generosity as himself. Out of his pleasant dream he wakes to find
the baseness, the selfishness, the ingratitude of the world ; and he passes violently over from his
former htx philanthropy to a fierce natred of mankind. The practical Alcibiades sets at once about
righting the wrongs which he has suffered; but Timon can only rage and then die. His rage implies
the elements of a possible nobleness in him ; he cannot acclimatize himself, as Alcibiades can, to
the harsh and polluted air of the world; yet the rage also proceeds from a weakness of nature. The
dog-like Apemantus accepts, well-contented, the evil which Alcibiades would punish, and from
which Timon fiies: he barks and snarls, but does not really suffer. The play is a painful one, un¬
relieved by the presence of beauty or human worth.
DRAMATIS PERSON.®.
Timon, of Athens.
Lucius, 1
Lucullus, [- flattering lords.
Sempronius, )
Ventidius, one of Timon's false friends.
Alcibiades, an Athenian captain.
Apemantus, a churlish philosopher.
Flavius, steward to Timon.
Poet, Painter, Jeweller, and Merchant.
An old Athenian
Flaminius, )
Lucilius, > servants to Timon.
Sebyilius, )
(958)
servants to Timon's creditors.
Caphis,
Philotus,
Titus,
Lucius,
Hortensius,
And others,
A Page. A Fool. Three Strangers.
Phrynia, )
Timandra, ) mistresses to Alcibiades.
Cupid and Amazons in the mask.
Other Lords, Senators, OflScers, Soldiers, Ban¬
ditti, and Attendants.
Scene ; Athens, and the neighboring woods.
Scene i.]
ACT I.
Scene I. Atftens. A hall in Titnon's Imise.
Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Mercliant, and
others, at several doors-
Poet. Good day, sir.
Pain. ' I am glad you're well.
Poet. I have not seen you longhow goes
the world ?
Pain. It wears, sir, as It grows.
Poet. Ay, tliat's well known:
But what particular rarity ? what strange, •
Which manifold record not matches ? See,
Mamcof bounty ! all these sfdrlts thy power
Haw conjured to attend. I know the mer¬
chant
. Pain. I know them both ; th' other's a
jeweller.
Mer. O, 'tis a Worthy lord.
Jem. Nay, that's most flx'd.
Mer. A most Incomparable man, bieathed,
as It were, 10
To an uhtlrable and eontinnate goodness :
He passes.
Jew. I have a jewel here—
Mer. O, pray, let's see't: for the Lord
Hmon, sir ?
Jew. It be will touch the estimate: but,
for that—
Poet. [Eecitinff to himself] ' When we for
-recompense have praised the vile.
It stains the glory in that happy verse
Which aptly sings the good.
Mer. 'Tls a good form.
[Looking at the jewel.
Jew. And rich : here is a water, look ye.
Pain. You are rapt, sir, in some work,
some dedication
To the great lord.
Poet. A thing slipp'd idly from me. '20
Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes
From whence 'tis nourish'd: the fire i' tlie
flint
Shows not till it be struck ; our gentle flame
ftovokes itself and like the current flies
Each bound it chafes. What have you there ?
Pain. A picture, sir. When comes your
book forth 9
Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment,
sir.
Let's see your piece.
Paint. 'Tis a good piece.
Poet So 'tis : this comes off well and ex¬
cellent.
Pain. Indifferent
Poet. Admirable ; how this grace 30
Speaks his own standing! what a mental
power
Tills eye shoots forth ! how big imagination
Moves in this lip! to the dumbness of the ges¬
ture H
Oue might interpret. ^
Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life.
Here is a touch ; is't good ?
Poet I will say of it,
' 969
It tutors nature : artificial strife
Lives in these touches, livelier than life.
Enter certain Senators, and pass over.
Pain. How this lord is follow'd !
Poet. The senators of Athens: happy man!
Pain. Look, more ! 41
Poet. You see this confluence, this great
flood of visitors. -
I have, in this rough work, shaped out a tnan.
Whom tliis beneath world dom embrace and
hug
With amplest entertainment: my free drift
Halts not particularly, but moves itself
lu a wide sea of wax : no levelTd malice
Infects one comma in the course I hold ;
But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on.
Leaving no ti-act behind. 50
Pain. How shall I understand you 7
Poet. I will unbolt to you.
You see how all conditions, how all minds.
As well of glib and slippery creatures as
Of grave and austere quality, tender down
Their services to Lord Timon : his large for-
tune
Upon his good and gracious nature hanging'
Subdues and properties to his love and tend¬
ance
All sorts of hearts ; yea, from the glass-faced
flatterer
To Apemantus, that few things loves better
Thau to abhor himself : even he drops down
The knee before him and returns in peace 61
Mo.st rich in Timon's nod.
Pain. I saw them speak together.
Poet. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant
hill
Feign'd Fortune to be throned : the base o'
the mount
Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures.
That labor on the bosom of this sphere
To propagate their states : amongst them all.
Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady flx'd.
One do I'personate of Lord Timon's frame,
Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to
her; 70
Whose present grace to present slaves and
servants
Translates his rivals.
Pain. 'Tis conceived to scope.
This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, me-
thinks.
With one man beckon'd from the rest below,
Bowing his head against the steepy mount
To climb his happiness would be well ex-
press'd
In our condition.
Poet. Nay, sir, but hear me on.
All those which were his fellows but of late.
Some better than his value, on the moment
Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tend¬
ance, 80
Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear.
Make sacred even his stirrup, and through
him
Drink the free air.-
TIMON OF ATHENS.
960
TIMON OF ATHENS.
[Act i.
Pain. Ay, marry, what of these ?
Poet. Wheu Fortune in her shift and
change of mood
Spurns down her late beloved, all his depend¬
ants
Which labor'd aftmr him to the mountain's top
Even on tlieir knees and hands, let him slip
down,
Kot one accompanying his declining foot.
Pain. 'Tiscommon:
A thousand moral paintings I can show 90
That shall demonstrate these quick blows of
Fortune's
More pr^nantly than words. Yet you do
To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen
Tlie foot above the head.
'Tnimpeti sound. Enter Lord Timon, address¬
ing himself courteously to every suitor; a
Messenger from Ventidius talking with
him; Lvciuxss and other servants following.
Tim. Imprison'd is he, say you ?
. Ifess. Ay, my good lord: five talents is
his debt.
His means most short, his creditors most
strait:
Your honorable letter he desires
To those have shut him up ; wliich failing.
Periods his comfort.
Tim. Noble Ventidius ! Well;
I am not of that feather to shake off 100
My friend when he must need me. I do know
him
A gentleman that well deserves a help :
Which he shall have : I'll pay the debt, and
free him
• Mess. Your lordship ever binds him.
Tim. Gk>mmend me to him : I will send his
ransom;
And being enfranchised, bid him come to me.
'Tis not enough to help the feeble up.
But to support him after. Fare you weU.
Mess. All happiness to your honor ! [Exit.
Enter an old Athenian.
Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak.
Tim. Freely, good father. 110
Old Ath. Thou hast a servant named Lii-
■ cilius.
- Tim. I have so : what of him ?
Old Ath. Most noble Timon, call the man
before thee.
Tim. Attends he here, or no ? LnciliusI
• Luc. Here, at your lordship's service.
Old Ath. This fellow here. Lord Timon,
this thy creature.
By night frequents my house. I am a man
That from my first have been inclined to
thrift;
And my estate deserves an heir more raised
Than one which holds a trencher.
Tim. WeU ; what further ? 120
Old Ath. One only daughter have I, no
kin else.
On whom I may confer what I have got:
Tiie maid is fair, o' the youngest for a bride.
And I have bred her at my dearest cost _
In qualities of the best, 'rliis man of thine
Attempts her love : 1 prithee, noble lord.
Join with me to forbid him her resort;
Myself have spoke in vain.
'Tim. The man is honest.
Old Ath. Therefore he wUl be, Timon :
His honesty rewards him in itself ; 130
It must not bear my daughter.
Tim. • Does she love him ?
Old Ath. She is young and apt:
Our own precedent passions do instruct us
What levity's in youth.
Tim. [To Lueilius] Love you the maid ?
Luc. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of
it.
Old Ath. If in her marriage my consent bei
missing,
I caU the gods to witness, I will choose
Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world,
And dispossess her all.
Tim. How shall she be endow'd.
If she be mated with an equal husband ? 140
Old Ath. Three talents on the present; in
future, all.
Tim. This gentleman of mine hath served
me long :
To build lus fortune I will strain a Uttle,
For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daugh¬
ter:
What you bestow, in himl'U counterpoise.
And make him weigh with her.
Old Ath. Most noble lord.
Pawn me to this your honor, she is his.
Tim. My hand to thee ; mine honor on
my promise.
Luc. Humbly I thank your lordship:
never may
The state or fortune fall into my keeping, 150
Which is not owed to yon !
[Exeunt Lueilius and Old Athenian.
Poet. Vouchsafe my labor, and long live
your lordship !
Tim. I thank yon ; you shall hear from
me anon:
Go not away. What have you there, my
friend ?
Pain. A piece of painting, which 1 do be¬
seech
Your lordship to accept.
Tim. Fainting is welcome.
The painting is almost the natural man ; '
For since dishonor traffics with man's nature.
He is but outside : tliese pencill'd figures are
Even such as they give out I like your work;
And you shall find I like it: wait attend¬
ance
Till you hear further from me.
Pain. The gods preserve ye!
Tim. Well fare you, gentleman : give me
your hand j
We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel
Hath suffer'd under praise.
Jew. what, my lord ! dispraise?
Tim. • A mere satiety of eommendatieiia.
SC£KB 1.]
1£ [ should pay j'ou for't as 'tis extoU'd,
it would uuclew me quite.
Jew. My lord, 'tis rated
As those which sell would give: but you well
kuow,
Things of like value differing in the owners
Are prized by their masters : believe't, dear
lord, 171
You mend the jewel by the wearing it.
Tim. Well mock'd.
Mer, No, my good lord ; he speaks the com¬
mon tongue,
Which all men sp^k with him.
Tim. Look, who comes here : will you be
chid?
Enter Apemanttts.
Jew. We'll bear, wifli your lordship.
Mer. He'll spare none.
Tiln. Good morrow to thee, gentle Ape-
mautus 1
Apem. Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy
good morrow ;
When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves
honest 180
Tim. Wliy dost thou call them knaves?
thou know'st them not.
.^em. Axe they not Athenians ?
Tim. Yes.
Apem. Then I repent not
Jew. You know me, Apemantus ?
Apem. Thou know'st I do : I call'd thee by
thy name.
Tim. Thou art proud, Apemantus.
Apem. 01 nothing so much as that I am
not like Timon. 100
Tim. Whither art going ?
Apem. To knock out an honest Athenian's
brains. ' 199
Tim. That's a deed thou'lt die for.
Apem. Right, if doing nothing be death by
tlie law.
Tim. How likest thou this picture, Apeman¬
tus ? 199
Apem. The best, for the innocence.
Tim. Wrought he not well that painted it?
Apem. He wrought better that made the
painter; and yet he's but a filthy piece of
work.
Pain. You're a dog.
Apem. Thy mother's of my generation :
what's she, if I be a dog ?
Tim. Wiit dine with me, Apemantus?
Apem. No ; I eat not loras.
Tim. An thou shouldst, tiiou 'Idst anger
ladies.
Apem. O, they eat lords ; so they come by
great bellies. 210
Tim. That's a lascivious apprehension.
Apem. So thou apprehendest it: take it for
thy labor.
Tim. How dost thou liro this jewel, Ape¬
mantus ?
Apem. ■ Not so well as plain-dealing, which
will not cost a man a doit
Tim. What dost thou think 'tis worth ?
961
Apem. Not worth my thinking. How now,
poet I 220
Poet. How now, philosopher I
Apem. Thou 11^
Poet. Art not one?
Apem. Yes.
Poet. . Then I lie not
Apem. Art not a poet 7
Poet. Yes.
Apem. Then thou Rest: look in thy last
work, where thou hast feigned him a wortby
fellow.
Poet. That's not feigned ; he is so. 230
- Apem. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to
pay thee for thy labor ; he that ioves to be
nattered is worthy o' the flatterer. Heavens,
that I were a lord 1
Tim. What wouldst do thmi, Apemantus ?
Apem. E'en as Apemantus does now ; bate
a lord with my heart.
Tim. What, thyself?
Apem. Ay.
Tim. Wherefore ? 240
Apem. tThat 1 had no angry wit to be a
lord.
Art not thou a merchant ?
Mer. A^ Apemantus.
Apem. Traffic confound thee, if tiie gods
will not!
Mer. If traffic do it, the gods do it.
Apem. Traffic's thygod ; and Ihy god con¬
found thee 1
Trumpet sounds. Enter a Messenger.
Tim. What trumpet's that?
Mess. 'Tis 'Alcibiades, and some twenty
horse, . 250
All of companionship.
Tim. Pray, entertain them; give them guide
to us. [Exettnt some AttenaaMs.
You must needs dine with roe: go not you
hence
Till I have thank'd you : when dinner's done.
Show me this piece. I am joyful of your
sights.
' Enter Axoibiades, wilh the rest.
Most welcome, sir 1
Apem. So, so, there 1
Aches contract and starve your supple joints I
That there should be smaii love 'mongst these
sweet knaves, [bred out
And all this courtesy! The strain of man's
Into baboon and monkey. 260
Alcib. Sir, you have saved my longing, and
I feed
Most hungerly on your si^t.
Tim. ^ Right welcome, sir!
Ere we depart, we'll share a bounteous time
In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in.
[Exeunt all except Apemaraus.
Enter two Lords.
First Lord. What time o' day is't, Apeman¬
tus?
Apem. Time to be honest,
<I
TIMON OF ATHENS.
962
THrit Lbrd.' That time serves still.
Apem. The more accursed thou, that still
omitt'st it. I '
Sec. Lord. Thou art going to Lord Timou's
feast ? ■ 1 270
Apem. Ay, to see meat fill knaves and wine
heat fools.
Sec. Lard. Fare thee well, fare thee well.
Apem. Thou art a fool to bid me farewell
twice.
Seo. Lord. Why, Apemantus ?
Apem. Shouldst have kept one to thyself,
for I mean to give thee none.
' FirH Lard. Hang thyself !
' Apem. No, I will do nothing at thy bidding:
make thy requests to thy friend.
Sec. Lord. Away, nnpeaceable dog, or I'll
Spurn thee hence ! 281
• Apem. I will fly, like a dog, the heels o' the
ass. [Exit.
First Lord. He's opposite to humanity.
Come, shall we in.
And taste Lord Timon's bounty 7 he outgoes
The'veiw heart of kindness..
Sec. Lord. He pours it out; Plutus, the god
of gold.
Is but his steward: no meed, but he repaj-s
Sevenfold above itself ; no gift to him.
But breeds the giver a return exceeding 290
All use of quittance.
First Lord. The noblest mind he carries
That ever govem'd man.
Sec. Lam. Long may he live in fortunes !
' Shall we in ?
First Lord. I'll keep vou company.
[Exeunt.
Scene H. A hanqueting-roam in Timon's
hov.se.
Hautboys playing loud music. A great ban¬
quet served in; Flavtus and others attend¬
ing ; then enter Lord Timon, Alcibiades,
Lords, Senators, and Ventiditjs. Lfien
. comes, dropping, after all, Apemantus, dis¬
contentedly, likie himself.
Ven. Most honor'd Timon,
It hath pleased the gods to remember my
father's age, '
And call him to long peace.
He is gone happy, and luas left me rich :
Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound
To your free heart, I do return those htients.
Doubled with thanks and service, from whose
help
I derived liberty.
Tim. O, by no means.
Honest Yentidius ; you mistake my love:
I gave it freely ever ; and there's none 10
Can truly say he gives, if he receives :
If oar betters play at tlrat game, we must not
dare
To imitate them ; faults that are rich are fair.
Ven. A noble spirit I
ZVm. Nay, my lords,. ^
[Thsy all stand ceremoniously looking
on Timon.
■ [Act i.
Ceremony was but devised at first
To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow wel¬
comes.
Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown ;
But where there is true friendship, there iice !s
none.
Pray, sit; more welcome are ye to my for-
tunes
'Than my fortunes to me. [They sit. 'Ai
First Lord. My lord, we always have con-
fess'd it
Apem. Ho, ho, confess'd it i hang'd it, have
you not 7
Tim. O, Apemantus, you are welcome.
Apem. No;
You shall not make me welcome :
1 come to have thee thrust me out of doors.
Tim. Fie, thou'rt a churl; ye've got a
humor there
Does not become a man ; 'tis much to blame.
They say, my lords,' ira furor brevis est; * but
yond man is ever angry. Go, let him have a
table by himself, for he does neither aSect
company, nor is he fit for't, indeed. 31
Apem. Let me stay at thine apperii, Timon :
i come to observe ; I give thee warning on't.
Tim. I take no heed of thee ; thou'rt an
Athenian, therefore welcome : I myself would
have no power ; prithee, let my meat make
thee silent.
Apem. I scorn thy meat; 'twould choke me,
for I should ne'er flatter thee. O you gods,
what a number of men eat Timon, and he sees
'em not! It grieves me to see so many dip
their meat in one man's blood; and all the
madness is, he cheers them up too.
1 wonder men dare tru.st themselves with men:
Methinks they should invite them without
knives;
Good for their meat, and safer for their lives.
There's much example for't; the fellow that
sits next him now, parts bread with him,
pledges the breath of lum in a divided draught,
13 the readiest man ^o kill him :'t has been
proved. If I were a huge man, I should fear
to drink at meals ; 51
Lest they should spy my windpipe's danger¬
ous notes:
Great men should drink with harness on their
throats.
, Tim. My lord, in heart; and let the health
go round. [lord.
Sec. Lord. Let it flow this way, my good
Apem. Flow this way ! A brave fellow !
he keeps his tides well. Those healths will
make thee and thy state look iU, Timon.
Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner,
honest water, which ne'er left man i' the
mire: TO
This and my food are equals; there's no odds:
Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the
gods.
Apemantus' grace.
Immortal gods, I crave no pelf ;
I pray for no man but myself t
TIMON OF ATHENS.
SCKMB II.]
TIMON OF ATHENS.
968
Grant I may never prove bo tond,
To trust man on his oath or bond ;
Or a harlot, Jor her weeping j
Or a dog, that seems a-sleeping:
Or a kee^r with my freedom ;
Or my friends, if I should need 'em. 70
Amen, So fall to't:
Rich men sin, and I eat root.
[FkiU and, drinks.
Much good tdich thy good heart, Apemantus!
Tim. Captain Alcibiades, your neart's in
the field now. [lord.
Alcih. My heart is ever at your service, ray
Tim. You had rather be at a breakfast of
enemies than a dinner of friends. ' 79
Alcih. So they were bleeding-new, ray lord,
there's no meat like 'era : I could wish ray'
best friend at such a feast.
Apem. Would all those flatterers were
thine enemies then, that then thou mightst
kill 'em and bid me to 'era !
First Lord. Might we but have that happi¬
ness, my lord, that you would once use our
hearts, whereby we might express some part
of our zeals, we should think ourselves for
ever perfect 90
TVm. O, no doubt, my good friends, bnt
the gods themselves have provided that I shall
li.ave much help from you ; how had yon been
niy friends else? why have you that chari¬
table title from thousands, did not you chiefly
belong to ray heart ? I have told more of yon
to myself than you can with modesty speak iu
your own behalf ; and thus far I confirm you.
0 you gods, think I, what need we have any
friends, if we should ne'er have need of 'em ?
they were the most needless creatures living,
should we ne'er have use for 'em, and would
most resemble sweet instruments hung up in
c.a.se8 that keep their sounds to themselves.
Why, I have often wished myself poorer, that
1 might come nearer to you. We are bom to
do benefits: and what better or properer cain
we call our own than the riches of our
friends ? 0, wh.at a precious comfort 'tis, to
have so many, like brothers, commanding one
another's fortunes ! O joy, e'en made away
ore't can be bom ! Mine eyes cannot hold out
water, methinks : to forget their faults, I
drink to you. f
Apem. Tliou weepest to make them drink,
Timon.
See Lord. Joy had the like conception in
our eyes
And at that instant like a babe sprung up.
Apem. Ho, ho ! I laugh to think that babe
a ba.stard
TTlird Lord. I promise you, my lord, you
moved me much.
Apem. Much ! [Tucket, ubtthin.
Tim. What means that trump 7
Enter a ServAt.
How now 7 120
Serv. Please you, my lord, there are cer¬
tain ladies most desirous of admittance.
Tim. Ladies 1 what are their wills 7 •
Serv. There comes with them a forerunner,
my lord, which bears that office, to signify
their pleasures.
Tim. I pray, let them be admitted. *
Enter COPID.
Cup. Hail to thee, worthy Timon, and to ail
That of his bounties taste t The five best
senses
Acknowledge thee their patron ; and come
freely ■ 130
To gratulate thy plenteous bosom : th' ear.
Taste, touch and smell, pleased from thy
table rise ;
They only now Come but to feast thine eyes.
Tim. They're welcome allj let'em have
kind admittance :
Music, make their welcome ! ' [Exit Cupid.
First Lord. You see, my lord, how ample
you're beloved. ^
Music. Re-enter Ccpm with a mask of
Ladies as Amazons, with lutes in their
hands, dancing and playing.
Apem. Hoy-day, what a sweep of vanity
. comes this way 1
They dance 1 they are mad wommi. -i
Like madness is the glory of this life,
As this pomp shows to a little oil and root. 140
We make ourselves fools, to disport ourselves f
And spend our flatteries, to drink those men
Upon whose age we void it up again,
With poisonous spite and envy.
Who lives that's not depraved or depraves 7
Who dies, that bears not one spurn to their
graves
Of their friends' gift ?
I should fear those that dance before me now
Would one day stamp upon me : 'thas been
done ; • ''
Men shut their doors against a setting sun. 160
The Lords rise from table, with much adoring
of Timon ; and to show their loves,' each
singles out an Amazon, and all dance, men
with women, a lofty strain or two to the haut¬
boys, and cease.
Tim. You have done our pleasures much
grace, fair ladies.
Set a fair fashion on our entertainment.
Which was not half so beautiful and kind
You have added worth unto't and lustre,
And entertain'd me with mine own device ;
I am to thank you for't.
First Lady. My lord, you take- us even at
the b^t. , ,
Apem. Taith, for the worst is filthy ; and
would'nothold taking, I doubt me.
Tim. Ladies, there is an. idle banquet at¬
tends you : 160
Please you to dispose yourselves. . .
All Ladies. Most thankfully, my lord.
[Exeunt Cupid and Eoidies,
Tim. Flavius.
Flav. My lord ?
964
TIMON OF ATHENS.
[Acri.
Tim. The little caaket bring me hither.
Fkm. Tea, my lord. Morejewelayet I
There is no ctosaing him in's hummr;
[Aiide
Else I anoold tell him,—well, i' faith, I should,
When all's sMnt, he 'Id be cross'd then, an
he could.
'Tia pity bounty had not eyes behind.
That man might ne'er be wretched for his.
mind. [Exit.
Firtl Lord. Where be our men ? 171
8erv. Here, my lord, in readiness.
Sea, Lord. Our horses t.
Be-enter Flavius, with the casket.
Tim. O my friends,
I have one word to say to you : look you, my
good lord,
I must entreat you, honor me so much
As to advance this jewel; accept it and wear it.
Kind my lord.
First Lord. I am so far already in your
gifts,—
All. So are we all.
Enter a Servant
Serv. My lord, there are certain nobles of
the senate 180
Newly alighted, and come to visit you.
Tim. They are fairly welcome.
Flav. I beseech your honor.
Vouchsafe- me a word ; it does concern you
near. [bear thee :
Tim. Near! why then, anotlier time I'll
1 prithee, let's- be provided to show them
entertaiment
Hav. [Aside] I scarce know how.
Enter a second Servant.
See. Serv. May it please your honor. Lord
Lurius,
Out of his free love, hath presented to you
Four milk-white horses, trapp'd in silver.
TVm. I shall accept them fairly ; let the
Be worthily entertain'd.
Enter a third Servant.
How now ! what news 7 191
Jhird Serv. Please you, my lord, that
honorable gentleman. Lord Luciulus, entreats
your company to-morrow to hunt vnth hira,
and has sent your honor two brace of grey¬
hounds.
Tim. I'll hunt with him ; and let them be
received.
Not without fair reward.
Flav. [Aside] What will this come to?
He commands us to provide, and give great
gifts.
And all out of an empty coffer:
Nor will he know his purse, or yield me this.
To show him what a beggar his heart is, 201
Being of no power to make bis wishes good :
His promises fly so beyond his state
what he speaks h ail in debt; he owes
For every word ; he is so kind that he now
Pays interest for't: his land's put to their
books.
Well, would I were gently put out of office
Before 1 were forced out I
Happier is he that lias no friend to feed
Than such tliat do e'en enemies exceed. 210
I bleed inwardly for my lord. [Exit.
Tim. You do yourselves
Much wrong, yon bate too much of your own
meriii :
Here, my lord, a trifle of our love.
Sea Lord. With more than common tliauks
I will receive it
Third Lord. 0, he's the very soul of
bounty! [gave
Tim. And now 1 remember, my lord, you
Good words the other day of a bay courser
I rode on : it is yours, because you liked it
Sec. Lord. 0, I beseech you, pardon me,
my lord, in that
Tim. You may take my word, my lord ; I
know, no man 220
Can justly praise but what he does affect;
I weigh my friend's affection with mine own ;
ril tell you true. I'll call to you.
All Lords. O, none so welcome.
Tim. I take ail and your several visita¬
tions
So kind to heart, 'tis not enough to give ;
Methinks, I could deal kingdoms to my
friends.
And ne'er be weary. Alcibiades,
Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich ;
It comes in charity to thee : for all thy living
Is 'mongst the dead, and all the lands thou
bast
Lie in a pitch'd field.
Aldb. defiled land, my lord. 231
First Lord. We are so virtuously bound—
Tim. And so
Am I to you.
S^. Lord. So infinitely endeaPd—
Tim. All to you. Lights, more lights !
First Lord. Tlie best of Imppiness,
Honor and fortunes, keep with you, Lord
Timon 1
2Vm. Ready for his friends.
[Exeunt all but Apemantus and Timon.
Apem. What a coil's here 1
Serving of becks and jutting-out of bums I
I doubt whether their legs be worth the sonss
That are given lor 'em. Friendship's full of
dregs :
Methinks, false hearts should never have
sound le^.
Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on
court'sies.
Tim. Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not
sullen, I would be good to thee.
Apem. No, I'll nothing : for if I should be
bribed too, there would be none left to rail
upon thee, and then thou wouldst sin the
faster. Thou givcst so long, Timon, I fear me
thou wilt give away thyself in paper shortly ;
what need these feasts, pomps and vain¬
glories 7 219
11.]
Tim. Nay, an yon begin to taU on society
once, I am sworn not to give re^rd to you.
Farewell; and come with better mnsia [£xit.
Apem. So;
Thou wilt not hear me now : thou shalt not
then :
I'll lock thy heaven Irmu thee.
O, that men's ears should be
To counsel deaf, but not to flattery ! [Mit.
ACT IL
ScstTE I. A Senator's house.
Enter Senator, leith papers in his hand.
Sen. And late, five thousand : to Varro
and to Isidore
He owes nine thousand ; besides my former
sum,
Which makes it five and twenty. Still in
motion
Of raging waste ? It cannot hold ; it will not.
If I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog,
And give it Timon. why, the dog coins gold.
If I would sell my horse, and buy twenty more
Better than he, why, give my horse to 'Timon,
Ask nothing, give it hnn, it foals me, straight.
And able horses. No porter at his e^te, 10
But rather one that smiles and still invites
All that pass by. It cannot hold : no reason
Can found his state in safety. Caphis, ho !
Caphis, I say 1
Enter Caphis.
C<g>h. Here, sir ; what is your pleasure ?
Sen. Get on your cloak, and haste you to
Lord Timon ;
Importune him for my moneys.; be not ceased
With slight denial, nor then silenced when—
' Commend me to your master'—and the cap
Plays in the right hand, thus: but tell him.
My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn 20
Out(^ mine own ; bis days and times are past
And my reliances on his fracted dates
Have smit my credit i I love and honor him,
But must not break my back to heal his
finger;
Immediate are my needs, and my relief
Must not be toss'd Mid tum'd to me in words.
But find supply immediate. Get you gone ;
Put on a most importunate aspect,
A visage of demand ; for, I do fear.
When every feather sticlm in his own wing,
Lord Timon will be left a naked gull, 31
Which flashes now a phmnix. Get you gone.
Caph. I go, sir.
Sen. ' I goy sir !'—Take the bonds along
with you,
And have the dates in compt
Caph. I will, sir.
Sen. # Go. [Exeunt.
ScENF, II. The same. A hall in Timon's
house.
Enter Flavius, with many bills in his hand.
m
Etasiius, No care, no stop I so senseless of
expense,
That he will neither know how to maintain
it,
Nor cease his flow of riot: takes no hccount
How things go from him, nor resumes no
care
Of what is to continue: never mind
Was to" be so unwise, to be so kind.
What shall be done ? he will not hear, till
feel:
I must be round with him, now he comes
from hunting.
Fie, fie, fie, fie 1
Enter Caphis, and the Servants o/Isidokk
and Vabro.
Caph. Good even, Varro ; what.
You come for money 7
Var. Serv. Is't not your business too ? 10
Caph, It is: and yours too, Isidore 7
Isid. S«rv. It is so.
Caph. Would we were all discharged I
Var. Serv, I fear it.
Caph. Here comes the lord.
Enter Timon, Alcibiades, and Lords, Ac.
Tim. So soon as dinner's done, we'll forth
again.
My Alcibiades. With me 7 what is your wili 7
Caph. My lord, here is a note of cei-tain
dues.
Tim. Dues ! Whence are you 7
Caph. Of Athens here, my lord.
Tim. Go to my steward.
Caph. Please it your lordship, he hath put
me off
To the succession of new days this month ; 20
My master is awaked by great occasion
To call upon his own, and humbly prays you
That with your other noble parts you'll suit
In giving him his right.
7Vm. Mine honest friend,
I prithee, but repair to me next morning.
Caph. Nay, good my lord,—
Tim. Contain thyself, good friend.
Var. Serv. One Varro's servant, my good
lord,—
Isid. Serv. From Isidore ;'
He humbiy prays your speedy payment.
Caph. If you did know, my lord, my mas¬
ter's wants—
Far. Serv. 'Twas due on forfeiture, my
lord, six weeks 30
And mst >
Isid. Serv. Your steward puts me off, my
And I am sent expressly to your lordship.
Tim. Give me breath.
• I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on ;
I'll wait upon you instantly.
[Exeunt Alcibiades and Lords.
[To Flav.'] Come hither : pray you.
How goes the world, that I am thus encoun-
ter'd
With clamorous demands of date-broke
bonds.
TIMOU OF ATHENS.
966
TIMON OF ATHENS.
[Act 11.
And th« detention of long-siuoe-dne debts;
Against my honor ?
Flao. Please you, gentiemen, 40
The time is unagreeable to this business ;
Vour Importunacy cease till after dinner,
That I may make his lordship understand
Wherefore you are not paid.
Tim. Do so, my friends.' See them well
entertain'd. ' [Exit.
Flav. Pray, draw near. [Exit.
Enter Apemaktcs and Fool.
Caph. Stay, stay, here comes the fool with
Apemantus : let's ha' some sport with 'em.
Var. Serv. Hang him, he'll abuse us.
Jsid. Serv. A pl^ue upon him, dog ! 50
Var. Serv. How dost, fool ?
4pem. Dost dialogue with thy shadow ?
Var. Serv. I speak not to thee.
Apem. No, 'tis to thyselt [To the Fool]
Come away.
Isid. Serv. There's the fool hangs on your
back already.
Apem. No, thou stand'st single, tliou'rt not
on him yet.
Caph. Where's the fool now ?
Apem. He last asked the question. Poor
rogues, and usurers' men! bawds between
gold and want!
All Serv. What are we, Apemantus ?
Apem. Asses.
All Serv. Why ?
Apem. That you ask me what yon are, and
do not know yourselves. Speak to 'em, fool.
Fool. How do yon, gentlemen ?
All Serv. Gramercies, good fool : how docs
your mistress ? 70
Fool. She's e'en setting on water to scald
such chickens as you are. Would we could
see you at Corinth I
Apem. Good .' gramercy.
Enter Page.
Fool. Look you, here comes my mistress'
page.
Page. [To the Fool] Why, how now, ca])-
tain 1 what do you in this wise company ?
How dost thou, Apemantus ? '
Apem. Would I had a rod in my month,
that I might answer thee profitably. 80
Page. Prithee, Apemantus, read me the
superscription of these letters: I know not
which is which.
Apem. Canst not read ?
Page. No.
Apem. There will little learning die then,
that day thou art hanged. This is to Lord
Timon ; this to Alcibi^es. Go ; thou wast
born a bastard, and thou't die a bawd. 89
Page. Thou wast whelped a dog, and thou
shalt famish a dog's death. Answer not; I
am gone. [Exit.
Apem. E'en so thod ontrnnnest grace.
Fool, I will go with you to Lord Timon's.
Fool. Will yon leave me there ?
Apem. If Timon sta" a/t home. You three
serve three usurers ?
All Sen.'. Ay ; would they served us 1
Apem. So would I,---a8 good a trick as
ever hangman served thief. 100
Fool. Are you three usurers' men ?
All Serv. Ay, tool.
Fool. I think no usurer but has a fool to
his servant ■ my mistress is one, and I am
her fool. When men come to borrow of your
masters, they approach sadly, and go away
merry; but they enter my mistress' house
merrily, and go away sadly: the reason of
this ?
Var. Serv. I could render one. 109
Apem. Do it then, that we may account
thee a whoreraaster and a knave ; which
notwithstanding, thou shalt be no less es¬
teemed.
Var. Serv. What is a whoremaster, fool ?
Fool. A fool in good clothes, and something
like thee. 'Tis a spirit: sometime't appears
like a lord ; sometime like a lawyer ; some¬
time like a philosopher, with two stones moe
than's artificial one : he is very often like a
kniglit; and, generally, in all shapes that
man goes up and down in from fourscore to
thirteen, this spirit walks in. 121
Var. Serv. Thou art not altogether a
fool.
Fool, Nor thou altogether a wise man : as
much foolery as 1 have, so. much wit thou
lackest.
Apem. That answer might have become
Apemantus.
All Serv. Aside, aside ; here comes Lord
Timon.
Be-enter Tmos and Fi.avius.
Apem. Come with me, fool, coftie.
■ Fool. I do not always follow lover, elder
brother and woman ; sometime the philoso¬
pher. [Exeunt Apemantus and Fool. 131
Flav. Pray you, walk near ; I'll speak with
you anon. [Exeunt Servants.
Tim. You make me marvel: wherefore ere
this time
Had you not fully laid my state before me.
That I miglit so have ratM my expense,
As I had leave of means ?
Flav. You would not hear me.
At many leisures I proposed.
Tim. Go to :
Perchance some single vantages you took,
When my indisposition put you back :
And that unaptness made your minister, 140
Ihus to excuse yourself. '
Flav. O my good lord.
At many times I brought in my accounts,
^ Laid them before yon ; you would throw
them off.
And say, yon found them in mine honesty.
When, fonsome trifling present, you have bid
me '
Betum so much, I have shook my head and
wept;
Yea, 'gainst the authority of manners, pray'd
yon
iiCEXE II.]
To hold your hand more close : I did endure
Not seldom, nor no slight checks, when 1 have
Prcmpted you in the ebb ol your estate 150
And your great flow ol debts. My loved lord,
fXhough you hear now, too late—yet uow's a
time—
The greatest of your having lacks a hall -
Toj»y your present debts.
Tim. Let all my land be sold.
Flcm. 'Tis all engaged, some lorleited and
gone ;
And what remains will hardly stop the mouth
01 present dues : the luture comes apace :
What shall deleud the interim ? and at length
How goes our redioniug ?
ZVm. To Lacedieinou did my laud extend.
Flaeot 0 my good lord, the world is hut a
word: 161
Were it all yours to give it in a breath.
How quickly were it gone !
Tim. You tell me true.
Flao. If you suspect my husbandry or false-
< hood,
Call me before the exactest auditors
And set me on the proof. So tiie gods bless
me,
When all oUr offices have been oppress'd
With riotous feeders, when our vaults have
wept
With drunken spilth of wine, when every
room
Hath blazed with lights and bray'd with min¬
strelsy, 170
I have retired me to a wasteful cock.
And set mine eyes at flow.
Tim. Pritliee, no more.
Flav. Heavens, have I said, the bounty of
this lord! [ants
How many prodigal bits have slaves and peas-
Tliis night englutted ! Who is not Timon's ?
What heart, head, sword, force, means, but
is Lord Timon's ?
Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon !
All, when the means are gone that buy this
praise,
The breath is gone whereof this praise is
made:
Feast-won, fast-lost; one cloud of winter
showers.
These flies are coucB'd.
Tim. Come, sermon me no further :
No villanous ^unty yet hath pass'd my
heart;
Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given.
Why dost thou weep ? Canst thou the con-
sci^ncQ l&ck
To think I shall 'lack friends ? Secure thy
heart;
If I would broach the vessels of my love.
And try the argument ol hearts by borrow-
iDg>
Men and men's fortunes couldH frankly use
As I can bid thee speak.
Fiav. Assurance bless your thoughts !
Tim. And, in some sort, these wants of
mine are crown'd, 190
967
That I account them blessings ; for by these
Shall 1 try friends : you shall perceive how
you
Mistake my fortunes; I am wealthy in my
friends.
Witliin there I Flaminius '. Servilins !
Enter Flaminius, Sekvilius, and Oliver
Servants.
&rvanls. My lord ? my lord ?
Tim. I will dispatch you sevetally ; yon to
Lord Lucius ; to Lord Lucullus you : I hunt¬
ed with his honor to-day: you, to Sempro-
nius: commend me to their loves, and, 1 am
proud, say, that my occasions have found
time to use 'em toward a supply of money :
let tlie request be fifty talents.
Flam. As you have said, my lord.
Flam. [Aside] Lord Lucius and Lucullus 2
hum !
Tim. Go you, sir, to the senators—
Of whom, even to the state's best health, 1
have
Deserved this hearing—bid 'em send o' the
instant
A thousand talents to me.
Flam. I have been bold—
For that I knew it the most general way—
To them to use your signet and your name :
But they do shake their heads, and I am here
No richer in return.
Tim. Is't true ? can't be 7
Flav. Thoy answer, in a joint and corpor¬
ate voice.
That now they are at fall, want treasure, can¬
not
Do what they would ; are sorry—^you arehon-
■ orable,—
But yet they could have wish'd—they know
not—
Something hath been amiss—^a noble nature
May catch a wrench—would all were well—
'tis pity
And so, intending other serious matters, 220
After distasteful looks and these hard frac¬
tions.
With certain half-caps and cold-moving nods
They froze me into silence.
Tim. You gods, reward them!
Prithee, man, look cheerly. These old fellows
Have'their ingratitude in them hereditary :
Their blood is caked, 'tis cold, it seldom flows ;
"Tis lack of kindly warmth they are not kind;
And nature, as it grows again toward earth,
Is fashion'd for the journey, dull and heavy.
[7*0 a Serv.] Go to 'Ventidius. [To Flav.] Pri¬
thee, be not sad, 229
Thou art true and honest; ingeniously I speak.
No blame belongs to thee. [To Nere.] Ventid-,
ins lately
Buried his father ; by whose death he's stepp'd
Into a great estate : when he was poor,
Imprison'd and in scarcity of friends,
I clear'd him with five talents : greet him
from me ;
Bid him suppose some good necessity
TIMON OF ATHENS.
968
Touches his friend, which craves to be remem-
ber'd
With those five talents [ExUSe.r.'] [To FlavJ]
That had, give't these fellows
To whom 'tis instant due. Ne'er speak, or
think.
That Timou's fortunes 'mong his friends' can
sink. 240
Fl(m. I would I could not tliink it : tliat
thought is bounty's foe ;
Being free itself, it thinks all others so.
[Exeunt.
ACT III.
Scene 1. A room in Lumllus' house.
FijAMiNirs loaitinij. Enter a Servant to Mm.
Serv. I have told my lord of you ; he is
coming down to you.
Flam. I thank you, sir.
Enter LtrcOT,i.us.
Serv. Here's my lord.
Lucul. [Aside] One of Lord Timon's men?
a gift, I warrant. Why, this hits right i I
dreamt of a silver basin and ewer to-night
Flamiuius, honest Flaminius ; you are very
respectively welcome, sir. Fill me some wine.
[Exit Servant,'\ And how does that honorable,
complete, free-hearted gentleman of Athens,
thy very bountiful good lord and master ? 11
Flam. His health is well sir.
Lucul. I am right glad that his health is
well, sir : and what hast thou there under thy
cloak, pretty Flaminius ?
Flam. 'Faitli, nothing but an empty box,
sir; which, in my lord's behalf, I come to
entreat your honor to supply ; who, having
great and instant occasion to use fifty talents,
hath sent to your lordship to furnish him,
nothing doubting your present assistance
therein. 21
Lucul. La, la, la, la ! ' nothing doubting,'
says he ? Alas, good lord ! a noble gentleman
'tis, if he would not keep so good a house.
Many a time and often I lia' dined with him,
and told him on't, and come again to supper to
him, of purpose to have him spend less, and
yet he would embrace no counsel, take no
warning by my coming. Every man has his
fault, and honesty is his : I ha' told him on't,
but I could ne-er get him frora't. 31
Re-enter Servant, with wine.
Serv. Please your lordship, here is the wine.
Lucul. Flaniinius, I have noted tliee always
wise. Here's to thee.
Flam. Your lordship speaks your pleasure.
Lucul. I have observed thee always for a
towardly prompt spirit—give thee thy due—
and one that mows what belongs to reason ;
and canst use the time well, if the time use
thee well: good parts in thee. [To Serv.1 Get
you gone, sinah [ExitServ.\ Draw nearer,
[Act hi.
honest Flaminius. Thy lord's a bountiful gen¬
tleman ! but thou art wise ; and thou knowest
well enough, although thou comest to me,
that this is no time to lend money, especially
uixm bare friendship, without security. Here's
three soiidares for thee : good boy, wink at
me, and say thou sawest me not. Fare thee
well.
Flam. Is't Msslble the world should so
much differ.
And we alive that lived ? Fly, damned base¬
ness, '
To him that worships thee! 51
[Throwing the money hack.
Lucul. Ha ! now I see thou art a fool, and
fit for thy master. [Exit.
ETam. May these add to the number that
may scald thee!
Let molten coin be thy damnation.
Thou disease of a friend, and not himself !
Has friendship such a faint and milky heart.
It turns in less than two nights ? O you gods,
I feel my master's passion ! this slave, 69
Unto his honor, has my lord's meat in him :
'Why should it thrive and turn to nutriment, .
When he is tum'd to poison ?
0, may diseases only work upon't I
And, when he's siek to death, let not that part
of nature
Which my lord paid for, be of any power
To expel sickness, but prolong his hour 1 [Extt.
Scene 11. A public place.
Enter Lccirrs, icith three Strangers.
Luc. Who, the Lord Timon? he is my very
good friend, and an honorable gentlemam
First Stran. We know him for no less,
though we are but strangers to him. But I
can tell you one thing, my lord, and which I
bear from common rumors : now Lord Hmon's
happy hours are done and past, and his estate
shrinks from him.
Luc. Fie, no, do not believe it; he cannot
want for money. 10
Sec. Stran. But believe you this, my
lord, that, not long ago, one of his men was
with the Lord Lucullus to borrow so many
talents, nay, urged extremely for't and showed
what necessity belonged to't, and yet was de¬
nied.
Luc. How !
Sec. Stran. I tell you, denied, my lord.
Luc. 'Wliat a strange case was that 1 now,
before the gods, I am ashamed on't. Denied
that honorable man 1 there was very little hon¬
or showed iu't. For my own part, I must needs
confess, I have received some small kindnesses
from him, as money, plat^ jewels and such¬
like trifles, nothing comparing to his ; yet, had
he mistook him and sent to me, I should ne'er
have denied his occasiau so many talents.
Enter Serviijus.
Ser. See, by good hap, yonder's my lord :
I have sweat to see bis honor. My honored
lord,— [To Lucius.
TIM ON OF ATHENS.
SC£N£ III.]
TIMON OF ATHENS,
969
Im«. Serrilius ! yon are kindly met, sir.
Fare thee well: commend me to thy honor¬
able virtuous lord, my very exquisite iriend.
Ser. May it please your nonor, my lord hath
sent—
Luc. Ha! what hashesent ? lamso much
endeared to that lord ; he's ever sending : how
shall I thank him, thinkest thou ? And what
has he sent now ?
Set. Has only sent his present occasion now,
my lord ; requesting your lordship to supply
his instant use with so many talents. 41
Xuc. I know his lordship is but merry with
me ;
fHe cannot want fiity five hundred talents.
Set. But in the mean time he wants less,
my lord.
If his occasion were not virtuous,
I should not urge it half so ^thfnlly.
Luc, Dost thou speak seriously, servilius?
Ser. Upon my soul, 'tis true. sir.
Luc. What a wicked beast was I to disf um-
ish myself against such a good time, when I
might ha' shown mvself honorable ! how un¬
luckily it happened, that I should purchase
the day before fur a little mrt, and undo a
great deal of honor 1 Servilius, now, before
me gods, I am not able to do,—^the more beast,
I say I was sending to use Lord Timon my¬
self, these gentlemen can witness ! but I would
not, for the wealth of Athens, I had done't
now. Commend me bountifully to his good
lordship ; and I hoiie his honor will conceive
the fairest of me, because I have no power to
be kind; and tell him this from me, I count
it one of my greatest afflictions, say, that I
cannot pleasure such an honorable gentleman.
Good Servilius, will you befriend me so far,
as to use mine own words to him ?
Ser. Yes, sir, I shall.
iuc. I'll look you out a good turn, Servil¬
ius. [Exit Servilius.
True, as you said, Timon is shrunk indeed ;
And he that's once denied will hardly speed.
[Exit.
First Stran. Do you observe this, Hostil-
ius ?
Sec. Stran. Ay, too well. 70
First Stran. ■ Why, this is the world's soul;
and just of the same^ece
Is every flatterer's spirit. Who can call him
His friend that dips in the same dish ? for, in
My knowing, Timon has been this lord's father.
And kept his credit with his purse,
Supported his estate ; nay, 'Timon's money
Has paid his men their wages : he ne'er
drinks.
But Timon's silver treads upon his lip ;
And yet—O, see the monstrousness of man
When he looks out in an ungrateful shape !—
He does deny him, in respect of his, 81
What diaritable men afford t* beggars.
Third Stran. Religion groans at it.
First Stran. For mine own part,
I never tasted Timon in my life, .
Mm came any of bis bounties over me,
To mark me for his friend : yetj I protest.
For his right noble mind, illustrious virtue
And honorable carriage.
Had his necessity made use of me,
1 woidd have put my wealth into donation, 90
And the best half should have retum'd to him.
So much I love his heart: but, I perceive.
Men must learn now with pity to dispense ;
For policy sits above conscience. [Exeunt,
ScENB in. A room in Semproniu^ house.
Enter Semfbonius, and o Servant o/Timon's.
/Stem. Must he needs trouble me in't.—
hum !—'bove all others ?
He might have tried Lord Lucius or Lucullus;
And now Ventidins is wealthy too.
Whom he redeem'd from prison ; all these
Owe their estates unto him.
Serv. My lord.
They have all been touch'd and found base
metal, for
They have all denied him.
/Stem. How 1 have they denied him ?
Has Ventidins and Lucullus denied him ?
And does he send to me ? Three ? hum ! 9
It shows but little love or judgment in him :
Must I be his last refuge ! His friends, like
physicians,
tThrive, give him over : must I take the cure
upon me ?
Has much disgraced me in't; I'm angry at
him.
That might have known my place : I see no
sense for't.
But his occasion might have woo'd me first;
For, in my conscience, I was the first man
That e'er received gift from him :
And does he think so backwardly of me now,
That I'll requite its last ? Ko :
So it may prove an argument of laughter 20
To the rest, and 'mongst lords I be thought a
fool.
I'ld rather than the worth of thrice the sum.
Had sent to me first, but for my mind's sake ;
I'd such a courage to do him good. But now
return.
And with their faint reply this answer join ;
Who bates mine honor shall not know my
coin. [Exit.
Serv. Excellent! Tour lordship's a goodly
villain. - The devil knew not what he did
when he made man politic ; he crossed him¬
self by't: and I cannot think but, in the end,
the villanies of man will set him clear. How
fairly this lord strives to appear foul ! takes
Aurtuous copies to be wicked, like those that
under hot ardent zeal would set whole realms
on fire :
Of such a nature is his politic love.
This was my lord's best hope ; now all are
fled.
Save only the gods : now his friends are dead.
Doors, that were ne'er acquainted with theiz
wards
Many a bounteous year must be employ'd
970
Now to guard sure tiieir master. 40
'And this is all a liberal course allows ;
Who cannot keep bis wealth must keep his
house. ' [_ExU.
ScENK ly. The mme. A hall in Timon's
house.
Enter two Servants o/Vakro, and the Servant
of Lucius, meetina Titus, Hortensius, and
other Servants o/Timon's creditors, waitiwj
his coming out.
First Var. Serv. Well met ; good morrow,
Titus and Hortensius.
Tit. The like to you kind Varro.
• Ifor. Lucius !
What, do we meet together ?
Luc. Serv. Ay, and I tltink
One business does command us all: for mine
Is money.
Tit. So is theirs and ours.
E)tter Phiix)tus.
Luc. Serv. And Sir Philotus too !
Phi. Good day at once.
Luc. Serv. Welcome, good brother.
What do you think the hour ?
Phi. Laboring for nine.
Imc. Serv. So much ?
Phi. Is not my lord seen yet ?
Luc. Serv. Not yet.
Phi. I wonder on't; he was wont to shine
at seven. 10
Luc. Serv. Ay, but the days are wax'd
shorter with him :
You must consider that a prodigal course
Is like the sun's ; but not, like his, recover-
abie.
I fear 'tis deepest winter in Lord Timon's
purse ;
That is, one may reach deexJ enough, and yet
Find little.
Phi. I am of your fear for that.
Tit. I'll show you how to observe a strange
event
Your lord sends now for money.
Hor. Most true, he does.
Tit. And he wears jewels now of Timon's
gift,
For which I wait for money. 20
Hor. It is against my heart.
Luc. Serv. Mark, how strange it shows,
Timon in this should ^y more tlian he owes :
And e'en as if your lord should wear rich
jewels,
And send for money for 'em.
Hor. I'm weary of this charge, the gods
can witness :
I know my lord hath spent of Timon's wealth.
And now ingratitude makes it worse than
stealth.
First Var. Serv. Yes, mine's three thousand
crowns : what's yours ?
Luc. Serv. Five thousand mine.
First Var. Serv. 'Tis much deep : and it
should seem by the son, 30
[Act iii.
Your master's confidence was above mine ;
Else, surely, his had equall'd.
Enter Fuaminius.
Tit. One of Lord Timon's men.
Luc. Serv. Flamiuius ! Sir, a word : pray,
is my lord ready to come forth ?
Flam. No, indeed, he is not.
Tit. We attend his lordship ; pray, signify
so much.
Flam. I need not tell him that; he knows
you are too diligent. \_Exit. 40
Enter Flavius in a cloak, mujiled.
Luc. Sen. Ha! is not that his steward
muffled so?
He goes away in a cloud ; call him, call him.
Tit. Do you hear, sir ?
Sec. Var. Serv. By your leave, sir,—
Flav. What do ye ask of me, my friend ?
Tit. We wait for certain money here, sir.
Flem. Ay,
If money were as certain as your waiting,
'Twere sure enough.
Why then prefen'd you not your sums and
bills.
When your false masters eat of my lord's
meat? 50
Then they could smile and fawn upon his
debts
And take down the interest into their glutton-
ons maws.
You do yourselves but wrong to stir me up ;
Let me pass quietly :
Believe't, my lord and I have made an end ;
I have no more to reckon, he to spend.
Luc, Serv. Ay, but tliis answer will not
serve.
Flav. If 'twill not serve, 'tis not so base as
you ;
For you serve knaves. [Exit.
First Var. Serv. How ! what does his cash¬
iered worship mutter ? 61
Sec. Var. I^rv. No matter what; he's poor,
and that's revenge enough. Who can speak
broader than he that has no house to put his
head in ? such may rail against great build¬
ings.
Enter Sebviuus.
Tit. 0, here's Servilius; now we shall know
some answer.
Ser. If I might beseech you, gentlemen, to
repair some other hour, I should derive much
frora't; for, take't of my soul, my lord leans
wondrously to discontent: his comfortable
temper has forsook him ; he's much out of
liealth, and keep his chamber.
Luc. Sen. Many do keep their chambers
are not sick :
And, if it be so far beyond his health,
Metliinks be should the sooner pay his debts.
And make a clear way to the gods.
Ser. Good gods !
Tit. We cannot take this for answer, sir.
Flam. [TTitAm] Servilius, help! My lord !
my lord !
TIMON OF ATHENS.
Scene v.]
TIMOM OP ATHENS.
971
Enter Timon, in a rmjei Feaminids foUomnff.
Tim. What, are my doors opposed against
my passage 7 80
Have I been ever free, and must my house
lie my retentive enemy, my gaol 7
The place which I have feasted, does it now,
Like all mankind, show me an iron heart 7
Luc. Serv. Put in now, Titus.
Tit. My lord, here is my bill.
Luc. Serv. Here's mine.
//or. And mine, my lord.
Both Var. Serv. And ours, my lord.
Phi. All our bills. 90
Tim. Knock me down with 'em: cleave me
to the girdle.
Luc. Serv. Alas, my lord,—
Tim. Cut my heart in suras.
Tit. Mine, fifty talents.
Tim. Tell out my blood.
Luc. Scry. Five thousand crowns, my lord.
Tim. Five thousand drops pays that. What
yours 7—and yours 7
First Var. Serv. My lotd,~
Sec. Var. Serv. My lord,—
Tim. Tear me, take me, and the gods fall
upon you ! [Exit. 100
Hor. 'Faith, I jierceive our masters may
throw their caps at their money : tliese debts
may well be cmled desperate ones, for a mad¬
man owes 'em. [Exeunt.
Re-enter Timon and Flavhjs.
Tim. They have e'en put my breath from
me, the slaves.
Creditors 7 devils!
Flav. My dear lord,—
Tim. What if it should be so 7
ITav. My lord,—
Tim. I'll have it so. My steward !
Flav. Here, my lord. 110
Tim. So fitly"? Go, bid all my friends
a^in,
Lucius, LucuUus, and Sempronius :
Ail, sirrah, all;
I'll once more feast the rascals.
Flav. O my lord.
You only speak from your distracted'boul;
There is not so much left, to furnish out
A moderate table.
Tim. Be't not in thy care • go,
I charge thee, invite them all: let in the tide
Of knaves onae more ; my cook and I'll pro¬
vide. [Exeunt.
ScBNB Y. The same. The senate-house.
The Senate sitting.
First Sen. My lord, you have my voice to
it; the fault's
Bloody ; 'tis necessary he should die r
Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy.
Sec. Sen. Most true ; th^law shall bruise
him. *
Enter Aecibiadbs, with Attendants.
Alcib. Honor, health, and compassion to
the senate !
your
10
First Sen. Now, captain 7
Alcib. 1 am an humble suitor to
virtues ;
For pity is tlie virtue of the law.
And none but tyrants use it cruelly.
It pleases time and fortune to lie heavy
Upon a friend of mine, who, in hot blood
Hath stepp'd luto the law, which is past deptli
To those that, without heed, do plunge into 'L
He Is a man, setting his fate aside.
Of comely virtues:
Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice—
An honor in him which buys out his fault—
But with a noble fury and fair spirit.
Seeing his reputation touch'd to death.
He did opiwse his foe ; 20
And with such sober and unnoted jiassion
He did behave his anger, ere-'twas spent.
As if he had but proved an argument
First Sen. You undergo too strict a parar
dox.
Striving to make an ugly deed look fair :
Y'our words have took such pains as if they
labor'd
To bring manslaugliter into form and set quar-
reliing
Upon the head of valor ; which Indeed
Is valor raisbegot and came into the world
When sects and factions were newly born : SO
He's truly valiant that can wisely suffer
The wor-st that man can breathe, and make
his wrongs
His outsides, to wear them like his raiment,
carelessly.
And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart,
To bring it into danger.
If wrongs be evils and enforce us kill.
What folly 'tis to hazard life for ill!
Alcib. My lord,—
First Sen. You'cannot make gross sins
look ciear:
To revenge is no valor, but to bear.
Akib. My lords, then, under favor, pardon
me, 40
If I speak like a captain.
Why do fond men exijose themselves to battle.
And not endure all threats 7 sleep npon't.
And let tlie foes quietly cut their throats.
Without repugnancy 7 If there be
Such valor in the bearing, what make we
Abroad 7 wliy then, women are more valiant
That stay at home, if bearing carry it.
And the ass more captain than the lion, the
felon
Loaden with irons wiser than the judge, 50
If wisdom be in suffering. O my lords.
As you are great, be pitifully good :
Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood?
To kill, I grant, is sin's extremest gust;
But, in defence, by mercy, 'tis most just
To be in anger is impiety ;
But who is man that is not angry 7
Weigh but the crime with this.
Sec. Sen. You breathe in vain.
Alcib. In vain ! his i,
.\t Lacedtemon and Byzantium \
972
riMON OF ATBEm
[Act iti.
Were a sufflcieiit briber for his life.
First Sen. What's that ?
Alcib. 1 say, iny lords, he has done fair
service.
And slain in nglit many of your enemies ;
How full of valor did he bear himself
In the last conflict, and made plenteous
wounds !
Sec. Sen. He has made too much plenty
with 'em ;
He's a sworn rioter : he has a sin that often
Drowns him, and takes his valor prisoner :
If there were no foes, that were enough 70
To overcome him : in that beastly fury
He has been known to commit outrages,
And cherish factions : 'tis inferr'd to us.
His days are foul and his drink dangerous.
First Sen. He dies.
Alcib. Hard fate I he might have died in
war.
My lords, if not for any parts in him—
Though his right arm might purchase his own
time
And be in debt to none—yet, more to move
Take my deserts to his, and join 'em both :
And, for I know your reverend ages love 80
Security, I'll pawn my victories, all
My honors to you, u^n his good returns.
If by this crime he owes the law his life.
Why, let the war receive't in valiant gore ;
For law is strict, and war is nothing more.
First Sen. We are for law : he dies ; nrge
it no more.
On height of our displeasure : friend or
brother.
He forfeits his own blood that spills another.
Alcib. Must it be so ? it must not be. My
lords,
I do beseech you, know me. 90
Sec. Sen. How !
Alcib. Call me to your remembrances.
Third Sen. What!
Alcib. I cannot think but your age has for¬
got me ;
It could not else be, I should prove so base.
To sue, and be denied such common grace :
My wounds ache at you.
First Sen. Do you dare our anger ?
'Tis in few words, but spacious in effect;
We banish thee for ever.
Alcib. Banish me I
Banish your dotage ; banish usury.
That makes the senate ugly. 100
First Sen. If, after two days' shine, Athens
contain thee^
Attend our weightier judgment. And, not to
swell our spirit.
He shall be executed presently.
{Exeunt Senators.
Alcib. Now the gods keep you old enough;,
that you may live
Only in bone; that none may look on you !
I'm worse than mad : I have kept back their
foes.
While they have told their money and let out
Their coin npou large Interest, I myself
Rich only in large hurts. All those for this?
Is this the balsam that the usuriiig senate 110
Pours into captains' wounds '/ Banishment 1,
It comes not ill ; I hate not to be banish'd ;
It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury.
That I may strike at Athens. I'll cheer up
My discontented troops, and lay for hearts.
'Tis honor with most lands to be at odds ;
Soldiers should brook as little wrongs asj^s.
^xit.
Scene VI. The same. A banqueting-room in
Timon's house.
Music. Tables set out: Servants attending.
Enter divers Lords, Senators and others, at
several doors.
First Lord. The good time of day to you,
sir.
Sec. Lord. I also wish it to you. I think
this honorable lord did but try us this other
day.
First Lord. Upon that were my thoughts
tiring, when we encountered ; I hope it is not
so low with him as he made it seem in the
trial of his several friends.
Sec. Lord. It should not be, by the persua¬
sion of his new feasting. 9
First Lord. I should think so : he hath .sent
me an earnest inviting, which many my near
occasions did urge me to put off ; but he hath
conjured me beyond them, and I must needs
appear.
See. Lord. In like manner was I In debt to
my importunate business, but he would not
hear my excuse. I am sorry, when he sent to
borrow of me, that my provision was out.
First Lord. I am sick of that grief too, as I
understand how all tilings go. 20
Sec. Lord. Every man here's so. What
would he have borrowed of you ?
First Lord. A thousand pieces.
Sec. Lord. A thousand pieces t
First Lord. What of you ?
Sec. Lord. He sent to me, sir,—^Hete he
comes. •
Enter Timon and Attendants.
Tim. With all my heart, gentlemen .both ;
and how fare you 7
First Lord. Ever at the best, hearing well
of your lordship. M
Sec. Lord. 'The swallow follows not sum¬
mer more willing than we your lordship.
Tim. [Aside] Nor more williugly leaves
winter ; such summer-birds are men. Gentle¬
men, our dinner will not recompense this long
stay : feast your ears with the music awhile,
if they will fare so harshly o' the trumpet's
sound ; we shall to't presently.
First Lord. I hope it remains not unkindly
with your lordship that I returned you an
enmty messenger. 41
Tim. O; sir, let it not trouble you.
Sec. Lord. My noble lord,—
SCBKE 1.]
Tim. Ah, my good friend, what cheer f
Sec. Lord. My most honorable lord, I am
e'en sick of shame, that, when your lordship
Ais other day sent to me, I was so unfortunate
a beggar.
Tim. Think noton't, sir.
Sec. Lord. If yon had sent hut two hours
before,— 51
Tim.' Let it not cumber your better remem¬
brance. \TTie banquet brought f».] Come,
bring in ail together.
Sec. Lord. All covered dishes !
First Lord. Royal cheer, I warrant you.
Third Lord. Doubt not that, if money and
the season can yield it.
First Lord. How do you ? What's the
news ? ■
Third Lord. Alcibiades is banished : hear
yon of it ? 61
First and Sec. Lord. Alcibiades banished !
' Third Lord. "Tis so, be sure of it.
First Lord. How ! how !
Sec. Lord. I pray you, upon what ?
Tim. My worthy friends, will you draw
near?
Third Lord. I'll tell you more anon. Here's
a noble feast toward.
Sec. Lord. This is the old man still.
Third Lord. Will't hold ? will't hold ? 70
.Sec. Lord. It does : but time will—and so—
Third Lord. I do conceive.
2V'm. Each man to his stool, with that spur
as he would to the lip of his mistress ; your
diet shall be in all places alike. Make' not a
city feast of it, to let the meat cool ere we can
agree upon the first place : sit, sit. The gods
require our tlianks.
You great benefactors, sprinkle our society
with thankfulness. For your own gifts, make
Tourselves praised : but reserve still to give,
1^ your deities be despised. Lend to each
man enough, that one need not lend to an¬
other ; for, were your godheads to borrow of
men, men would forsake the gods. Make the
meat be beloved more tlian the man that gives
it Let no assembly of twenty be without a
score of villains : if there sit twelve women
atthetable, letaodozen of them be—as they
are. t nie rest of your fees, O gods—the
senators of Athens, together with tlie common
lag of people—what is amiss in them, yon
gods, make suitable for destruction. For these
my present friends, as they are tomenotliing,
so in nothing bless them, and to nothing are
they welcome.
Uncover, dogs, and lap.
[The di'sAes ore uncovered and seen to be full
of warm water.
Some speak. Wliat does his lordship mean ?
Some other. I know not. #
Tim. May you a better feast never behold.
You knot of mouth-friends ! smoke and luke¬
warm water
Is your perfection. This is Timon's last; 100
Who, stuck and spngled with your flatteries,
978
Washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces
Your reeking villany.
[Throwinjf the water in their faces.
Live loathed and long.
Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites.
Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek
^ ^ b^rs. [flies.
You fools of fortune; trencher-friends, time's
Cap and knee slaves, vapors, and minute-
jacks !
Of man and bea.st the infinite malady
Crust you quite o'er ! 'What, dost thou go 7
Soft! take thy physic first—Ihou too—and
thou;— 110
Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none.
[Throws the dishes at them, and drives ■
them out.
What, all in motion ? Henceforth be no
feast,
'Whereat a villain's not a welcome guest.
Bum, house ! sink, Athens ! henceforth hated
be
Of Timon man and all humanity ! [Exit.
He-enter the Lords, Senators, ic.
First Lord. How now, my lords I
Sec. Lord. Emow you the qiuility of Lord
Timon's fury 7
Third Lord. Push ! did you see my cap 7
Fourth Lord. I have lost my gown. 120
First Lord. He's but a mad lord, and
nought but humor sways him. He gave me a
jewel th' other day, and now he has beat it
out of my hat: did you see my jewel 7
Third Lord. Did you see my cap 7
Sec. Lord. Here ' tis.
Fourth Lord. Here lies my gown.
First Lord. Let's make no stay.
Sec. Lord. Lord Timon's mad.
Third Lord. I feel't upon my bones. 130
Fourth Lord. One day he gives us diamonds,
next day stones. [Exeunt.
ACT IV.
Sc'EKE I. Without the walls of Athens.
Enter Tmoif.
Tim. Let me look back upon thee. O thou
wall.
That girdlest in those wolves, dive in the earth.
And fence not Athens ! Matrons, turn incon¬
tinent !
Obedience fail in children ! slaves and fools,
Pluck the grave wrinkled senate from the
bench.
And minister in their steads ! to general filths
Convert o' the instant, gi-een virginity.
Do't in your parents' eyes ! bankrupts, hold
fast;
Rather than render back, out with your knives.
And cut your trusters' throats ! bound ser-,
vants, steal ! 10
Large-handed robbers your grave masters are,
TIMON OP ATHENS.
974
TIMON OF ATHENS.
[Act it.
And pill by law. Maid, to thy inaster's bed ;
Thy mistress is o' the brothel! Sou ot six¬
teen.
Pluck the lined erutch from thy old limping
she.
With it beat out his brains I Piety, and fear.
Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth,
Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighborhood,'
Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades.
Degrees, observances, customs, and laws.
Decline to your confounding contraries, . 20
And let confusion live ! Plagues, incident to
men.
Tour mtent and infectious fevers heap
On Atnens, ripe for stroke 1 Thou cold sciatica.
Cripple our senators, tliat their limbs may halt
As lamely as their manners. Lust and liberty
Creep in tlie minds and marrows of our youth,
That 'gainst the stream of- virtue they may
strive.
And drown themselves iu riot! Itches, blains.
Sow all the Athenian bosoms ; and their crop
Be general leprosy ! Breath infect breath, 30
That their society, as tlieir friendship, may
Be merely poison 1 Nothing I'll bear from
thee.
But nakedness, thou detestable town 1
Take thou that too, with multiplying bans !
Timon wili to the woods ; where he shali find
The unkindest beast more kinder than man¬
kind.
The gods confound—hear me, you good gods
all—
The Athenians both within and out that wall!
And grants as Timon grows, his hate may
grow
To the whole race of mankind, high and low !
Amen. [Exit. 41
Scene II. Athens. A room in Timon's Aouse.
Enter Plavius, with two or three Servants.
First Seirv. Hear you, master steward,
Where's our master ?
Are we undone ? castoff ? nothing remaining?
FUtv. Alack, my fellows, what should 1 say
to you ?
Let me be recorded by the righteous gods,
I iun as poor as you.
First Serv. Such a house broke !
.So noble a master fall'ii 1 All gone 1 and not
One friend to take his fortune by the arm.
And go along with him 1
Sec, Serv. As we do turn our backs
Prom our companion thrown into his grave.
So his familiars to his buried fortunes 10
Slink all away, leave their false vows with him.
Like empty purses pick'd ; and his poor self,
A dedicated beggar to the air.
With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty.
Walks, like contempt, alone. Mwe of our
fellows.
Enter other Servants.
, Flav. All broken implements of a roiu'd
house,
Third Serv. Yetdoonrheartswear TimonFs
livery ;
That see I by our faces ; we are fellows still.
Serving alike ia sorrow: leak'd is our bark.
And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck.
Hearing the surges threat: we must all part
Into this sea of air.
Flav. Good fellows all.
The latest of my wealth I'll share amongst
you.
Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake.
Let's yet be fellows ; let's shake our heads,
and say.
As 'twere a knell unto our master's fortunes,
' We have seen better days.' Let each take
some;
Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word
more:
Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor.
[Servant* embrace, and part several ways.
O, the fierce wretchedness that glory brings
us 1 30
Who would not wish to be from wealth ex¬
empt.
Since riches point to misery and contempt 7
Who would be so mock'd with glory 7 or to
live
But in a dream of friendship 7
To have his pomp and all what state com¬
pounds
But only painted, like his vamish'd friends 7
Poor honest lord, brought low by his own
heart.
Undone by goodness 1 Strange, unusual blood.
When man's worst sin is, he does too much
good 1
Who, tlien, dares to be half so kind agw 7 40
For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar
men.
My dearest lord, bless'd, to be most accursed.
Rich, only to be wretched, thy great fortunes
Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind
lord I
He's fiung in rage from this ingrateful seat
Of monstrous friends, nor hashe with him to
Supply his life, or that which can command it.
I'll follow and inquire him out :
I'll ever serve his mind with my best will;
Whilst I have gold, I'll be his steward still. 60
[Exit.
Scene HI. Woods and cave, near (he sea¬
shore.
Enter Timon,/rom the cave.
Tim. 0 blessed breeding sun, draw from
the earth
Rotten humidity ; below thy sister's orb
Infect the air ! Twinn'd brothers of one womb.
Whose procreation, residence, and birth.
Scarce is dividaut, touch them with several
fortunes ;
The greater scorns the lesser: not nature',
"To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great
fortune.
But by contempt of nature.
Scene hi.]
Raise me this beggar, and deny't that lord ;
The senator shall bear contempt hereditary, IQ
The beggar native honor.
It is the pasture lards the rother's sides,
The want that makes him lean. Who dares,
who dares.
In purity of manhood stand upright.
And say 'This man's a flatterer 7' if one be.
So are they all; lor every grise of fortune
Is smooth'd by that below : the learned pate
Ducks to the golden fool: all is oblique ;
There's nothing level in our cursed natures.
But direct vlllany. Therefore, be abhorr'd 20
All feasts, societies, and throngs of men !
His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains :
Destruction fang mankind ! Earth, yield me
roots! [Digging.
Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate
With thy most operant poison ! What is here?
Gold 7 yellow, glittering, precious gold 7 No,
gods,
I am no idle votarist: roots, you dear heav¬
ens ! [fair.
Thus much of this will make black white, foul
Wrong right, base noble, old young, coward
valiant.
Ha, you gods ! why this 7 what this, you
gods? Wl^, this 30
Will lug your priests and servants from your
sides,
Pluck stout men's pillows from below their
heads:
This yellow slave
Will knit and break' religions, bless the ac¬
cursed,
Make the hoar leprosy adored, place thieves
And give them title, knee and approbation
With senators on the bench : this is it
That makes the wappen'd widow wed again ;
She, whom the spital-house and ulcerous sores
Would cast the gorge at; this embalms and
spices 40
To the April day again. Come, damned earth,
Tliou common whore of mankind, that put'st
odds
Among the route of nations, I will make thee
Do thy right nature. [March afar Ha !
a drum? Thou'rt quick.
But yet I'll bury thee : thou'lt go, strong thief.
When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand.
Nay, stay thou out for earnest.
[Keeping some gold.
Enter Alcibiades, loith drum and fife, in
warlike manner; Phrynia and Timandba.
Alcib. What art thou there 7 speak.
Tim. A beast, as thou art. The canker
gnaw thy heart.
For showing me again the eyes of man ! , 50
Alcib. What is thy name 7 Is man so hate¬
ful to thee, 0
Tliat art thyself a man 7
Tim. I am Misauthropos, and hate mankind.
For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog.
That I might iove thee something.
AMb. I know thee well;
976
But in thy fortunes am uulearn'dand strange.
Tim. 1 know thee too ; and more than that
I know tiiee,
T not desire to know. Follow thy drum ;
A\'ith man's blood paint the ground, gules,
gules: -
Religious canons, civil laws are cruel; 60
Then what should war be 7 This fell whore
of thine
Hath in her more destruction than thy sword.
For all her cherubin look.
Phrg. Thy lips rot off !
Tim. I will not kiss thee ; then the rot
returns
To thine own lips again.
Alcib. How came the noble Timon to this
change 7
Tim. As the moon does, by wanting light
to give:
But then renew I could not, like the moon ;
There were no suns to borrow ot
Alcib. Noble Timon,
What friendship may 1 do tliee 7
Tim. None, but to 70
Maintain my opinion.
Alcib. What is it, Timon 7
Tim. Promise me friendship, but perform
none: if thou wilt not promise, the gods
plague thee, for thou art a man 1 if thou dost
perform, confound thee, for thou art a man !
Alcib. I have heard in some sort of thy
miseries.
Tim. Thou saw'st them, when I had pros¬
perity.
Alcto. 1 see them now ; then was a bles.sed
time.
Tim. As thine is now, held with a brace of
harlots.
Timan. Is this the Athenian minion, whom
the world 80
Voiced so regardfully 7
Tim. Art thou Timandra 7
Timan. Yes.
Tim. Be a whore still : they love thee not
that use thee ;
Give them diseases, leaving with thee their
lust.
Make use of thy salt hours : season the slaves
For tubs and baths ; bring down rose-cheeked
youth
To the tub-fast and the diet.
Timan. Hang thee, monster 1
Alcib. Pardon him, sweet Timandra j for
his wits
Are drown'd and lost in his calamities.
I have but little gold of late, brave Timon, 90
The want whereof doth daily make revolt
In my penurious band : I have heard, and
grieved,
IIow cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth.
Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbor
states.
But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon
them,—
Tim. I prithee, beat thy drum, and get
thee gone.
TIMON OF ATHENS.
9';c
JUcB). I am tliy friend, and pity thee, dear
Tlmon.
Tim. How dost thou pity him whom thon
dost trouble ?
I had rather be alone.
Alcib. Why, fare thee well :
Here is some gold for thee.
Tim. Keep it, I cannot cat it. 100
Alcih. When I have laid proud Athens on
a heap,—
Tim. Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens ?
Akih. Ay, Timon, and have cause.
Tim. The gods confound them all in thy
conquest ;
And thee after, when thou hast conquer'd !
Alcib. Why me, Timon ?
Tim. That, by killing of villains.
Thou wast bom to conquer my country.
Put up thy gold : go on,—here's gold,—go on;
Be as a planetary plague, when Jove
Will o'er some high-viced city hang his poison
In the sick air : let not thy sword skip one :
Pity not honor'd age for his white beard ; 111
He is an usurer : strike me the counterfeit
matron ;
It is her habit only that is hone.st,
Herself's a bawd : let not the vir^n's cheek
Make soft thy trenchant sword ; for those
milk-mps,
That throng the window-bars bore at men's
eyes.
Are not within the leaf of pity writ,
But set them down horrible traitors: spare
not the babe,
Whose dimpled smiles from fools exliaust their
mercy ;
Think it a bastard, whom the oracle liO
Hath doubtfully pronounced thy throat shall
cut,
And mince it sans remorse: swear against ob¬
jects ;
Put armor on thine ears and on thine eyes ;
Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor
babes.
Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding.
Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy
soldiers:
Make large confusion ; and, thy fury spent.
Confounded be thyself ! Speak noti be gone.
Alcib. Hast thou gold yet ? I'll take the
gold thou givest me.
Not all thy counsel. 130
Tim. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's
curse won thee!
Phr. and Timan. Give us some gold, good
Timon: hast thou more ?
Tim. Enough to make a whore forswear
her trade,
t And to make whores, a bawd. Hold up, you
sluts.
Your aprons mountant: you are not oathable.
Although, I know, you '11 swear, terribly
swear
Into strong shudders and to heavenly agues
The immortal gods that hear you,—spare your
oaths.
[Act IV.
I'll trust to your conditions : be whores still;
And he whose pious breath seeks to convert
you, . 149
Be strong in whore, allure him, bum him up;
Let your close fire predominate his smoke.
And be no turncoats: yet may your pains, six
months.
Be quite contrary : and thatch your poor thin
roofs
With burthens of the dead ;—some that were
hang'd.
No matter :—wear them, betray with them :
whore still;
Paint till a horse may mire upon your face,
A pox of wrinkles t
Phr. and Timan. Well, more gold: what
thett ?
Believe't, that we'll do any thing for gold. I.IO
Tim. Consumptions sow
In hollow bones of man ; strike their sharp
shins.
And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's
voice.
That he may never more false title plead.
Nor soundhisquillets shrilly: hoar tite flamen.
That scolds against the quality of flesh,
And not believes himself ; down with the nose,
Down with it flat ; take the Dridge quite away
Of him that, his particular to foresee.
Smells from the general weal: make eurl'd-
pate rnfllans bald ; KX)
And let the unscarrid braggarts of the war
Derive some pain from you : plague all;
'That your activity may defeat and quell
The source of all erection. There's more gold :
Do you damn others, and let this damn you,
And ditches grave you all!
Phr. and Timan. More counsel with more
money, bounteous Tlmon.
Tim. More whore, more mischief first; I
have given you earnest. -
Alcib. Strike up the drum towards Athens '
Farewell, Timon ;
If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again. ITO
Tim. If I hope well, I'll never see thee
more.
Alcib. I never did thee harm.
Tim. Yes, thou spokest well of me.
Alcib. Call'st thou that harm ?
Tim. Men daily find it. Get thee away, and
take
Thy beagles with thee.
Alcib. We but offend him. Strike I
[Drum beats. Exeunt Alcibiades,
Phrynia, and Timandra.
Tim. That nature, being sick of man's un-
klndness.
Should yet be hungry I Common mother,
thou, [Digging.
Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite
breast.
Teems, and feeds all ; whose self-same mettle,
^V^lereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is
puff'd, 180
Engenders the black toad and adder blue.
The gilded newt and eyeless venom'd worm,
TIMON OF ATHEN.'=l.
SCKNK 111.]
With all the abhoraed births below crisp heaTen
Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth
shine;
Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate,
From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root!
Ensrar thy fertile and conceptious womb,
Let it no nx^ bring out ingrateful man !
Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and
bears; [face
Teem with new monsters, whom tiiy upward
Hath to the marbled mansion all above 191
Never presented.—O, a root,—dear thanks !—
Dry up tiiy marrows, vines, and plough-torn
leas^
Whereof mgratefnl man, with liquorish
draughts
And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind,
That from it all consideration slips !
Enter Apemantus.
More man ? plague, plague 1
Apetn. I wasdire<^d hither: men report
Thou dost affect my manners, and dost use
them.
Tim. 'Tis, then, because thoii dost not keep
a dog, 200
Whom I would imitate : consumption catch
thee !
Apetn. This is in thee a nature but infected;
A poor unmanly melancholy sprung
From change of fortune. Why this spade ?
this place ?
This slave-like habit ? and these looks of care?
Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie
soft;
Hug their diseased perfumes, and have forgot
That ever Timon was. Shame not these wo(ms.
By putting on the cunning of a carper.
Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive 210
By that Which has undone tliee : hinge thy
knee.
And let his very breath, whom thou'lt observe,
Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain.
And call it excellent: thou wast told thus ;
Thou gavest thine ears like tapsters that bid
welcome
To knaves aad all approachers : 'tis most just
That thou turn raakl ; hadst thou wealth
again,
Bascals should have't. Do not assume my
likeness.
Tim. Were I like thee, I'ld throw away
myself.
Apem. Thou hast cast away thyself, being
like thyself ; 220
A madman so long, now a fool. What, think'st
That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamber¬
lain,
Will put thy shirt on warm? will these moss'd
trees.
That have outlived tlie eagle, uage thy heels,
And skip where thou point'n out ? will the
cold brook.
Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste.
To cure thy o'er-night's surfeit ? CaU the crea¬
tures
977
Whose naked natures live in all the spite
Of wreakful heaven, whose bare unhoused
trunks.
To the conflicting elements exposed, 230
Answer mere nature ; bid them flatter thee
O, tliou shait find—
Tim. A fool of thee : depart.
Apem. I love thee better now than e'er I did.
2 tm. I hate thee worse.
Apem. Why ?
Tim. Thou flatter'st misery.
Apem. I flatter not; but say thou art a
caitiff.
Tim. Why dost thou seek me out ?
Apem. To vex thee.
Tim. Always a villain's office or a fool's.
Dost please thyself in't?
Apem. Ay.
Zim. What! a knave too ?
Apem. If thou didst put this sour-cold
habit on ^9
To castigate thy pride, 'twere well: but thou
Dost it enforcedly ; thou'ldst courtier be again,
Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery
Outlives iucertain pomp, is erown'd before :
The one is filling still, never complete ;
The other, at high wish: best state, content-
less, 249
Hath a distracted and most wretched being.
Worse than the worst, content.
Thou shouidst desire to die, being miserable..
Jim. Not by his breath that is more misera¬
ble.
Thou art a slave, whom Fortune's tender arm
With favor never clasp'd ; but bred a dog.
Hadst thou, like us from our first swath, pro¬
ceeded
The sweet degrees that tliis brief world affords
To such as may the passive drugs of it
Freely command, thou wouldst have plunged
thyself
In general riot; melted down thy youth
In different beds of lust; and never learu'd
The icy precepts of respect, but foliow'd
The sugar'd game before thee. But myself.
Who had the world as my confectionary, 260
The mouths, the tongues, the eyes and hearts
of men
At duty, more than I could frame employment,
That numberless upon me stuck as leaves
Do on the oak, have with one winter's brush
Fell from their boughs and left me open, bare
Fbr every storm that blows : I, to bear tliis.
That never knew but better, is .some burden :
Thy nature did commence in sufferance, time
Hath made thee hard in't. Why shouidst
thou hate men ?
They never flatter'd thee: what hast thou
given ? 270
If thou wilt curse, thy father, that poor rag,
Must be thy subject, who in spite put stiifi
To some she beggar and compounded thee
Poor rogue hereditary. Hence, be gone !
If thou hadst not been born the worst of men,
Thou hadst been a knave and flatterer.
Apem, Art thou proud yet 7
62
TtMON OF ATHENS.
978
Tim. Ay, that I am not thee.
Apem. I, that I was
Ko prodigal.
Tim. I, that I am one now:
Were all the wealth I liave shut up In thee,
I'ld give thee lo.ave to hang it Get thee gone.
That the whole life of Athens were in this ! 2«1
Thus wonld I eat it. [Eating a root.
Apem. Here; I will mend thy feast
[Offering him a root.
Tim. First mend my company, take away
thyself.
Apem. So I shall mend mine own, by the
lack of thine.
Tim. 'Tis not well mended so, it is but
botch'd ;
If not, I would it were.
What wouldst thou have to Athens?
Tim. Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou
wilt.
Tell them there I have gold ; look, so I have.
Apem. Here is no use for gold.
Tim. The best and truest; 290
For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm.
Apem, Where liest o' nights, Timon 7
Jim. Under that's above me.
Where feed'st thou o' days, Apemantus ?
Apem. Where my stomach finds meat; or,
rather, where I eat it.
Tim. Would poison were obedient and
knew my mind !
Apem. Where wouldst thou send it ?
Tim. To sauce thy dishes. 299
Apem. The middle of humanity thhu never
knewest, but the extremity of both ends: when
thou wast in thy gilt and thy jierfume, they
mocked thee for too much curiosity ; in thy
rags thou knowest none, but art despised for
the contrary. There's a medlar for thee, eat it.
Tim. On what I hate I feed not
Apem. Dost hate a medlar ?
Tim. Ay, though it look like thee.
Apem. An thou hadst hated meddlers
sooner, thou shouldst have loved thyself better
now. What pian didst thou ever know un-
thrift that was beloved after his means ?
Tim. Who, without those means thou talk-
est of, didst thou ever know beloved ?
Apem. Myself.
Tim. I understand thee ; thou hadst some
means to keep a dog.
Apem. What things in the world canst thou
nearest compare to thy flatterers ? 319
Tim. Women nearest ; but men, men are
tiie things themselves. What wouldst thou do
with the world, Apemantus, if it lay in thy
power ?
Apem. Give it the beasts, to be rid of the
men.
Tim. Wouldst thou have thyself fall in the
confusion of men, and remain a beast with the
beasts ?
.^em. Ay, Timon.
JAm. A beastly ambition, which the gods
grant thee t' attain to ! If thou wert the lion,
the fox would beguile thee : if thou wert the
[Act ir.
lamb, the fox would eat thee: if thou wert the
fox, the lion would suspect thee, when perad-
venture thou wert accu-sed by the ass : if thou
wert the ass, thy dntne.sB would torment thee,
and still thou livedst but as a breakfast to the
wolf: if thou wert the wolf, tliy greediness
would afflict thee, and oft thou shouldst hazard
tliy life for thy diuuer: wert thou the unicorn^
pride and wrath would confound thee and
make thine own self the conquest of thy fury;
wert thou a bear, thou wouldst be killed by
tlie horse: wert thou a horse, thou wouldst be
seized by the leopard : wert thou a leopard,
thou wert german to the lion and the spots of
thy kindred were jurors on thy life: all thy
safety were remotiou and thy defence absence.
What bea.st conldst thou be, that were not
subject to a beast 7 and what a beast art thou
already, that seest not thy loss in trausforma*
tion! 349
Apem. If thou conldst please me with speak¬
ing to me, thou mightst nave hit upon it here :
the commonwealth of Athens is become a forest
of beasts.
Tim. How has the ass broke the wall, tl)at
thou art out of the city 7
Apem. Yonder comes a poet and a painter :
the plague of company light upon thee ! I will
fear to catch it and give way : when I know
not what else to do, I'll see thee again. 359
Tim. When there is nothing living but thee,
thou shalt be welcome. I Imd rather be a
bej^r's dog then Apemantus.
Apem. Thou art the cap of all the fools alive.
Tim. Would thou wert clean enough to spit
upon!
Apem. A plague on thee i thou art too bad
to curse.
Tim. All villains that do stand by thee are
pure.
Apem, There is no leprosy but what thou
speak* St.
JJm. If I name thee.
I'll beat thee, but I should infect my hands.
Apem. I would my tongue could rot them
off! 370
JJm. Away, thou issue of a mangy dog 1
Choler does kill me that fliou art alive ;
I swound to see thee.
Apem. Would thou wouldst burst I
Tim, Away,
Thou tedious rogue I lam sorry I shall lose
A stone by thee. [Throws a stone at him.
.^m. Beast!
Tim. Slave!
^em. Toad!
Jim. Rogue, rogue, rogue!
I am sick of this false world, and will love
nought
But even the mere necessities upon't.
Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave ;
Lie where the light foam of the sea may b^t
Thy grave-stone daily : make thine epitaph-
That death in me at others' lives may laugh.
[7b the'gold] O thou sweet king-killer, and
dear divorce
T/J/O.V OF ATHENS.
SCBNS III.]
TIMON OF
ATHENS, y
979
'Twixt natuial son and sire 1 thou bright de-
filer
Of Hymen's poiest bed! thou valiaut Mars 1
Thou ever young, fresh, loved and delicate
wooer,
Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow
That lies on Diau's lap ! thou visible god.
That 8(fider'st close impossibilities.
And makest them kiss! that sp^k'st with
every tongue.
To every purpose ! 0 thou touch of hearts !
Think, thy slave man rebels, and by thy vir¬
tue 391
Set them into confounding odds, that beasts
May have the world in empire 1 .
Apem. Would 'twere so !
But not till I am dead. I'll say tliou'st gold :
Thou wilt be throng'd to shortly.
Tim. Throng'd to !
, Ay.
2w». Thy back, I prithee.
Apem. Live, and love thy misery.
Tim. Long live so, and so die. [Exit Ape-
mantus.] I am quit.
Moe things like men ! Eat, Timon, and abhor
them.
Enter Banditti.
First Ban. Wliere should he have this gold 7
It is some poor fragment, some slender ort of
his remainder : the mere want of gold, and the
falling-from of his friends, drove him into this
melancholy.
Sec. Ban. It is noised he hath a mass of
treasure.
Third Ban. Let us make the assay upon
him ; if he care not for't, he will supply us
easily: if he covetously reserve it, how shall's
get it 7
Sec. Ban. True ; for he bears it not about
him, 'tis hid.
First Ban. Is not this he 7 410
Banditti. Where 7
Sec. Ban. 'Tis his description. •
Third Ban. He ; I know him.
Banditti. Save thee, Hmon.
Tim. Now, thieves 7
Banditti. Soldiers, not thieves.
Tim. Both too ; and women's sons.
Banditti. We are not thieves, but men that
much do want.
Tim. Your greatest want is, you want much
of meat.
Why should you want 7 Behold, the earth
bath roots ; ' 420
Within this mile break forth a hundred
springs ;
The oaks bear mast, the briers scarlet hips ;
The bounteous housewife, nature, on each
bush [want 7
Lays her full mess before yof. Want! why
First Ban. We cannot live on grass, on ber¬
ries, water.
As beasts and birds and fishes.
Tbn. Nor on the beasts themselves, the
birds, and fishes;
You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you
con
That you are thieves profess'd, that you work
not 429
In holier shapes: for there is boundless theft
In limited professions. Rascal thieves.
Here's gold. Go, suck the subtle blood o' the
grape.
Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth.
And so 'scape hanging : trust not the physi¬
cian ;
His antidotes are poison, and he slays
Moe than you rob ; take wealth and lives to-
getlier;
Do villany, do, since you protest to do't.
Like workmen. I'll example you with thiev¬
ery;
Tlie sun s a thief, and with his great attrac¬
tion 439
Robs the vast sea: the moon's an arrant tliief,
And her pale fire she snatches from the sun:
The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves
The moon into salt tears : the earth's a thief.
That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen
From general excrement; each thing's a thief;
The laws, your curb and whip, in tlieir rough
power I
Have uncheck'd theft. Love not yourselves:
away,
Rob one another. There's more gold. Cut
throats:
All that you meet are thieves : to Athens go,
Break open shops ; nothing can you steal, 4i^
But thieves do lose it; steal no less for this
I give you ; and gold confound you liowsoe'er!
Amen.
Third Bant Has almost charmed me from
my profession, ^ persuading nie to it.
First Ban. 'Tis in the malice of mankind
that he thus advises us ; not to have us thrive
in our mystery.
Sec. Ban. I'll believe him as an enemy, and
give over my trade. 4()0
First Ban. Let us first see peace in Athens:
there is no time so miserable but a man may
be true. [Exeunt Banditti.
Enter Flavius.
Flav. O you gods !
Is yond despised and ruinous man my lord 7
Full of decay and failing 7 O monument
And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow'd !
What an alteration of honor
Has desperate want made ! 469
What vuer thing upon the earth tlian friends
Who can bring noblest rouids to basest ends !
How rarely does it meet with this time's guise.
When man was wish'd to love his enemies I
Grant I may ever love, and rather woo
"Ihose that would mischief me than those that
do !
Has caught me in his eye : I will present
My honest grief unto him ; and, as my lord,
Still serve him with my life. My dearest mas¬
ter I
Tim. Away I what art thou ?
980
TIMON OF ATHENS.
[Act v.
Flew. Have yoa forTOt me, eir 1
Tim. Why dost ask that? I have forgot
all men ; 480
Then, if thou grant'st thou'rt a man, I have
forgot thee.
Flow. An honest poor servant of yours.
Tim. Then I know thee not:
I never had honest man about me, I; all
I kept were knaves, to serve in meat to vil¬
lains.
Flaxi. The gods are witness.
Ne'er did poor steward wear a truer grief
For his undone lord than mine eyes for yon.
Tim. What, dost thou weep? Come nearer.
Then I love thee.
Because thou art a woman, and disclaim'st 490
Flinty mankind ; whose eyes do never give
But thorough lust and laughter. Pity's sleep¬
ing :
Strange times, that weep with laughing, not
with weeping!
Flam. I beg of you to know me, good my
lord.
To accept my grief and whilst this poor wealth
lasts
To entertain me as your steward still.
Tim. Had I a steward
So true, BO just, and now so comfortable ?
It almost tunis my dangerous nature mild.
Let me behold thy face. Sorely, this man 500
Was born of woman.
Forgive vai general and exceptless rashness.
You perpetual-sober gods ! I do proclaim
One honest man—mistake me not—but one ;
No more, I pray,—^and he's a steward.
How fain would I have hated all mankind !
And thou redeem'st thyself: but all, save
thee, •
I fell with curses.
Methinks thou art more Honest now than wise;
For, by oppressing and betraying me, 510
Tliou mightst have sooner got another service:
For many so arrive at second masters.
Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me
true—
For I must ever doubt, though ne'er so sure—
Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous.
If not a usuring kindness, and, as rich men
deal gifts.
Expecting in return twenty for one ?
Flav. No, my most worthy master ; in
whose breast
Doubt and suspect, alas, are placed too late :
You should have fear'd false times when you
did feast: 520
Suspect still comes where an estate is least.
That which I show, heaven knows, is merely
love.
Duty and zeal to your unmatched mind.
Care of your food and living ; and, believe it,
My most honor'd lord,
For any benefit that points to me.
Either in hope or present, I'ld exchange
For this one wish, that you had power and
wealth
' To requite me, by making rich yourself.
Tim. Look thee, 'tis so I Thou singly hon¬
est man, 630
Here, take : the gods out of my misery
Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich and
happy ;
But thus condition'd : thou shalt build from
men ;
Hate all, curse all, show charity to none,
But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone,
Ere thou relieve the beggar ; give to dogs
What thou deny'st to men ; let prisons swal¬
low 'em.
Debts wither 'em to nothing; be men like
blasted woods,
And may diseases lick up their fiilse bloods t
And so farewell and thrive.
Flav. O, let me stay, 540
And comfort you, my master.
Tim. If thou hatest curses.
Stay not; fly, whilst thou art blest and free:
Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee.
[Exit Flavius. Timon retires to his cave.
ACT V.
Scene I. The woods. Before Timon's cave.
Enter Poet and Painter ; TnaoN watching
them from his cave.
Pabi. As I took note of the place, it cannot
be far where he abides.
Poet. What's to be thought of him ? does
the rumor hold for true, tmit he's so full of
gold ?
Pain. Certain; Alcibiades reports it; Phry-
nia and Timandra had gold of him : he like¬
wise enriched poor straggling soldiers with
great quantity : 'tis said he gave unto his
steward a mighty sum.
Poet. Then this breaking of his has beeu
but a try for his friends. 11
Pain. Nothing else : you shall see him a
palm in Athens again, and flourish with the
highest Therefore 'tis not amiss we tender
our loves to him, in this supposed distress of
his : it will show honestly in us ; and is very
likely to load our purposes with what they
travail for, if it be a just and true report that
goes of his having.
Poet. What have you now to present unto
liim ?
Pain. Nothing at this time but my visita¬
tion : only I will promise him an excellent
Ijiece. 21
Poet. I must serve him so too, tell him of
an intent that's coming toward him.
Pain. Good as the best Promising is the
very air o' the time : it opens the eyes of ex¬
pectation ; performance is ever the duller for
his act ; and, but in the plainer and simpler
kind of people, the deed of saying is quite out of
use. To promise is most courtly and fashion¬
able ; performance is a kind of will or testa-
Scene i.]
meut which aigues .a great sickness in his
judgment that makes it.
iTimon comes from his cave, behind.
Aside] Excellent workman ! thou
canst not paint a man so bad as is thyself.
Poet. 1 am thinking wliat I shall say I have
provided for him : it must be a personating of
hinuelf ; a satire against the softness of pros¬
perity, with a discovery of the infinite flatter¬
ies tlisit follow youth and opulency.
Tim. ]_Aside] Must thou iieed.s stand for
a villain in thine own work ? wilt thou whip
thine own faults in other men ? Do so, 1 have
gold for thee.
Poet. Nay, let's seek him:
Then do we sin against our own estate.
When we may profit meet, and come too late.
Pain. True;
When the day serves, before black-corner'd
night.
Find what thou-want'st by free and offer'd-
l^ht.
Come.
Tim. [Aside] I'll meet you at the turn.
What a god's gold, 50
That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple
Than where swine feed !
'Tis thou that rigg'st the bark and plough'st
the foam,
Settlest admired reverence in a slave ;
To thee be worship ! and thy saints for aye
Be crown'd with plagues that thee alone obey !
Fit I meet them. [Cominy forward.
Poet. Hail, worthy Timoi)!
Pain. Our late noble master 1
Tim. Have I once lived to see two honest
men?
Poet. Sir, 60
Having often of your open bounty tasted.
Hearing you were retired, your friends fall'n
on.
Whose thankless natures~0 abhorred spirits !—
Not all the whips of heaven are large enough:
What! to you.
Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influ¬
ence
To their whole being 1 I am rapt and cannot
cover
The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude
With any size of words.
Tim. Let it go naked, men may see't the
better: 70
You that are honest, by being what you are.
Make them best seen and known.
Pain. He and myself
Have travail'd in the great shower of your
gifts.
And sweetly felt it.
Tim. Ay, you are honest men.
Pain. We are hither come to otter you our
service.
77m. Most honest men ! yhy. .'.ow shall 1
requite you 7
Can you eat roots, and drink cold water ? no.
Both. What we can do, we'll do, to do you
service.
981
Tim. Ye're honest men : ye've heard that
I have gold ;
I am surd you have : speak truth ; ye're hon¬
est men. ^
Pain. So it is said, my Uoble lord ; but
therefore
Came not my friend nor I.
Tim. Good honest men ! Thou draw'st a
counterfeit
Best in all Athens : thou'rt, indeed, the best;
Thou counterfeit'St most lively.
Pain. So, so, my lord.
Tim. E'en so, sir, as I say. And, for thy
fiction.
Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and
smooth
Tliat thou art even natural in thine art
But, for all this, my honest-natured friends,
I must needs say you have a little fault; 90
Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you, neither
wish I
You take much pains to mend.
Both. Beseech your honor
To make it known to us.
Tim. You'll take it ill.
Both. Most thankfully, my lord.
Tim. Will you, indeed 7
Bot/i. Doubt it not, worthy lord.
Tim. There's never a one of you but trusts
a knave.
That mightily deceives you.
Both. Do we, my lord 7
Tim. Ay, and you hear him cog, see him
dissemble.
Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him.
Keep in your bosom ; yet remain assured 100
That he's a made-up villain.
Pain. I know none such, my lord.
Poet. Nor I.
Tim. Look you, I love you well; I U give
you gold.
Rid me tliese villains from your companies :
Hang them or stab them, drown them in a
draught.
Confound them by some course, and come to
me,
I'll give you gold enough.
Both. Name them, my lord, let's know
them.
Tim. You that way and you this, but two
in company ;
Each man aprut, all single and alone, 110
Yet an arch-villain keejis him company.
If where thou art two villains shall not be.
Come not near him. If thou wouldst not re¬
side
But where one villain is, then him abandon.
Hence, pack ! there's gold ; you came for
gold, ye slaves :
[ To Painter] You have work'd for me; there's
payment for you : hence 1
[7b Poet] You are an alchemist; make gold
of that.
Out, rascal dogs 1 [Beats them out, and then
retires to his cave.
TIMON OF ATHENS.
982
Enter Flavicts and tioo Senatoirs.
Flan. It is in vain that yon wonld speak
with Timon ;
For he is set so oul^ to himself 120
That nothing but himseif which looks like man
Is friendly with him.
First Sen. Bring us to his cave :
It is our part and promise to the Athenians
To speak with Tijnon.
Sec. Sen. At all times alike
Men are not still the same: 'twas time and
griefs
That framed him thns : time, with his fairer
hand,
Offering the fortunes of his former days.
The former man may make him. Bring us to
him.
And chance it as it may.
Flav. Here is his cave.
Peace and content be here 1 Lord Timon !
Timon 1 130
Look out, and speak to friends: the Athenians,
By two of their most reverend senate, greet
thee :
Speak to them, noble Timon.
Timon comes Jrom his cave.
Tim. Thou sun, ' that comfort'st, bum !
Speak, and be hang'd ;
For each true word, a blister ! and ehch false
Be as cauterizing to the root o' the tongue.
Consuming it with speaking!
First Sen. Worthy Timon,—
Tim. Of none but such as yOu, and you of
Timon.
First Sen. The senators of Athens greet
Uiee, Timon.
Tim. I thank them ; and wonld send them
back the plague, 140
Could 1 but catch it for them.
First Sen. O, forget
What we are sorry for ourselves in thee.
The senators with one consent of love
Entreat thee back to Athens; who have
thought
On special dignities, which vacant lie
For thy best use and wearing.
Sec. Sen. They confess
Toward thee forgetfulneiss too general, gross :
Which now the public body, which doth seldom
Play the recanter, feeling in itself
A lack of Timon's aid, hath sense withal 150
Of its own fail, restraining aid to Timon ;
And send forth us, to make their sorrow'd
render.
Together with a recompense more fruitful
Than their offence can weigh down by the
dram;
Aj', even such heaps and sums of love and
wealth
As shall to thee blot out' what wrongs were
theirs
And write in thee the figures of their love.
Ever to read them thine.
Tim. You witch me in it;
Surprise me to the very brink of tears :
[Act v.
Lend me a fool's heart and a woman's eyes.
And I'll beweep these comforts, worthy sena¬
tors. 101
First Sen. Therefore, so please thee to re-
tarn with us
And of our Athens, thine and ours, to take
The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks,
Allow'd with absolute power and thy good
name
Live with authority: so soon we shall drive
back
Of Alcibiades the approaches wild.
Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up
His country's peace.
Sec. Sen. And shakes his threatening sword
Against the wails of Athens.
First Sen. Therefore, Timon,— 170
Tim. Well, sir, 1 will; therefore, I will, sir;
thus :
If Alcibiades kill my countrymen,
•Let Alcibiades know this of Timon,
That Timon cares not. But if he sack fair
Athens,
And take our goodly aged men by the beards.
Giving our holy virgins to the stain
Of contumelious, beastly, mad-brain'd war,
Then let him know, and tell him Timon sneaks
it,
In pity of our aged and our youth,
1 cannot choose but tell him, that I care not.
And let him take't at worst; for their knives
Care not, 181
■\Vhile you have throats to answer : for myself,
There's not a whittle in the unruly camp
But 1 do prize it at my love before
The reverend'st throat in Athens. So I leave
you
To the protection of the prosperous gods.
As thieves to keepers.
Flav. Stay not, all's in vain.
Tim. Why, 1 was writing of my epitaph ;
It will be seen to-morrow: my long sickness
Of health and living now begins to mend, 190
And nothing brings me all things. Go, live
still;
Be Alcibiades your plague, you his.
And last so long enongh !
First Sen. We speak in vain.
Tim. But yet I love my country, and am
not
One that rejoices in the common wreck.
As common bruit doth put it.
First Sen. That's well spoke.
Tim. Commend me to my loving country¬
men,—
First Sen. These words become your lips
as they pass thorough them.
Sec. Sen. And enter in our ears like great
triumphers
In their applauding gates.
Tim. Commend me to them, 200
And tell them that, to ease them of their griefs,
Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches,
losses.
Their pangs of love, with other incident throes
That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain.
TIMON OF ATHENS.
sobnb it.j
In life's iinceitain voyage, I will some kind¬
ness do them :
I'll teach tliem to prevent wild AJcibiades'
wrath, . [again.
Fir»t Sen. I like this well ; he will return
Tim. 1 have a tree, which grows here in
my close,
That mine own use invites me to cut down,
And shortly must I fell it: tell my friends, 210
Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree
From high to low throughout, Uiat whoso
please
To stop affliction, let him take his haste.
Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe.
And hang himself. I pray you, do my gi;eet-
ing.
Flav. Trouble him no further ; thus yom
still shall find him.
Tim. Come not to me again : but say to
Athens,
Timon hath made his everlasting mansion
X" n the beached verge.of the salt flood ;
> once a day with his embossed froth 220
The turbulent surge shall cover: thither come,
And let my grave-stone be your oracle.
Lips, let sour words go by and language end ;
What is amiss plague and infection mend !
Graves only be men's works and death their
gain !
Sun, hide thy beams ! Timon hath done his
reign. [Retires to his cave.
First Sen. His discontents are unremove-
ably
Coupled to nature.
Sec. Sen. Our hope in him is dead : let us
return,
And strain what other means is left nnto us
In our dear peril. 231
First Sen, It requires swift foot. [Exeunt,
Scene 11. Before the walls of Athens.
Enter t%co Senators and a Messenger.
First Sen. Thou hast painfully discover'd :
are his files
As full as thy' report ?
Mess. I have spoke the least:
Besides, his expedition promises
Present approach.
Sec. Sen. We stand much hazard, if they
bring not Timon.
Mess. I met a courier, one mine ancient
friend ;
Whom, though in general part we were op¬
posed,
tYet our old love made a particular force.
And made us speak like friends: this man was
riding
From Alcibiades to Timon's cave, 10
With letters of entreaty, which imported
His fellowship i' the cause against your city.
In part for his sake moved. « '
First Sen, Here come our brothers.
Enter the Senators from Timon.
Third Sen. No talk of Timon, nothing of
him expect.
983
The enemies' drum is heard, and featful scour¬
ing
Doth choke the air with dust: in, and prepare:
Ours is the fall, I fear ; our foes the snare.
[Exeunt.
Scene IH. The woods. Timon's cave, and a
rude tomb seen.
Enter a Soldier, seeking Timon. ,
Sold. By all description this should be the
place.
Who's here ? speak,ho! No answer! What
is this ? '
Timon is dead,who hath outstretch'd his span:
Some beast rearid this ; there does not live a'
man. ... .
Dead, sure ; and this his grave. What's on
this tomb
I cannot read; the characterl'll take with wax:
Our captain hath in every figure skill.
An aged interpreter, though young in daj s:
Before proud Athens he's set down by this.
Whose fall the mark of his ambition is. [Exit.
Scene IV. Before the walls of Athens. ^
Trumpets sound. Enter Alcibiades with his
poioers,
Alcib. Sound to this coward and lascivious
town
Our terrihle approach. [A parley soundedl
■ Enter Senators on the waUs.
Till now you have gone on and fill'd the time
With all licentious measure, making your
wills _ [such
The scope of justice ; till now myself and
As slept within the .shadow of your power
Have wander'd with our traversed arms and,
breathed
Our sufferance vainly : now the time is flush,
AVhen crouching marrow in the bearer strong,
Cries of itself ' No more:' now breathless
wrong 10
Sliall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease,
And pursy insolence shall break his wind
With fear and horrid flight.
First Sen. Noble and young,
When thy first griefs were but a mere con¬
ceit.
Ere thou had.st power or we had cause of fear.
We sent to thee, to give thy rages balm.
To wipe out our ingratitude with loves •
Above their quantity.
Sec. Sen, So did we woo
Transformed Timon to our city's love
By humble message and by promised means :
We were not all unkind, nor all deserve 21
The common stroke of war.
First Sen. These walls of ours
Were not erected by tlieir hands from whom
You have received your griefs ; nor are they
such
That these great towers, trophies and schools
should fall
TIMON OF ATHENS.
9^
TIMON OF ATHENS.
[Act v,
For private faults in them.
Sec. Sen. Nor are they living
Who were the motives that' you first went
out;
Shame tliat they wanted cunning, in excess
Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord.
Into our city with thy banners spread: 30
By decimation, and a tithed death—
If thy revenges hunger for that food
Which nature loathes—take thou the des¬
tined tenth.
And by the hazard of the spotted die
Let die the spotted.
Firet Sen. All have not offended ;
For those that were, it is not square to take
On those tliat are, reveuges: crimes, like
lands.
Are not inherited. Tlien, dear countryman,
Bring in thy nmks, but leave without thy
rage :
Spare thy Athenian cradle and those kin 40,
Which in the bluster of thy wrath must fall
With those that have offended: like a
shepherd.
Approach the fold and cull the infected forth.
But kill not all together.
See. Sen. What thou wilt.
Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile
Than hew to't with thy sword.
First Sen. Set but thy foot
Against our rampired gates, and they shall
ope ;
So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before.
To say tbou'lt enter friendly.
Sec. Sen. Throw thy glove,
Or any token of thine honor else, 50
That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress
And not as our confusion, all thy powers
Shall make their harbor in our town, till we
Have seal'd thy full desire.
Atcib. Then there's my glove;
Descend, and open your uncharged ports :
Those enemies of Timon's and mine own
Whom you yourselves shall set out for re¬
proof
Fall and no more : and, to atone your fears
With my more noble meaning, not a man
Shall pass his quarter, or offend the stream
Of regular justice in your city's bounds, 61
But shall be render'd to your public laws
At heaviest answer.
Both. "lis most nobly spoken.
Alcib. Descend, and keep your words.
[The Senators descend, and open the gates.
Enter Soldier.
Sold. My noble general, Timon is dead ;
Entomb'd upon the very hem o' the sea ;
And on his grave-stone thi.siusculpture, which
With wax 1 brought away, whose soft im¬
pression
Interprets for my poor ignorance. 69
Alcib. [Reads the epitaph^ 'Here lies a
wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft:
Seek not my name : a plague consume you
wicked caitiffs left!
Here lie I, Timon ; who, alive, all living men
did hate :
Pass by and curse thy fill, but pass and stay
not here thy gait.'
These well express in thee thy latter spirits :
Though thou abhorr'dst in us our human
griefs,
Scorn'dst our brain's flow and those our drop¬
lets which
From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit
Taught thee to make vast Neptime weep for
aye
On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead
Is noble Timon : of whose memory 80
Hereafter more. Bring me into your city.
And I will use the olive with my sword.
Make war breed peace, make peace stint war,
make each
Prescribe to other as each other's leech.
Let our drums strike. [Exeunt.
PEKEOLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.
(written about 1608.)
. INTRODUCTION.
Shakespeare'B portion of tbU play has something of the slightnessof a preliminary sketch. The
first two Acts are evidently by another writer than Shakespeare, and probably the scenes in Activ¬
es. II., v., and VI.), so revolting to our moral sense, are also to be assigned away from him.
What remains (Acts III., IV., V., omitting the scenes just mentioned) is the pure and charming
romance of Marina, the sea-born child of Pericles, her loss, and the recovery of both child ami mother
by the afflicted Prince. Whether Shakespeare worked upon Die foundation of an earlier play, or
whether the non-Shakespearean parts of Pericles were additions made to what he had written, cannot
be determined with certainty, i. is supposed by some critics that three hands can be distin^ished :
that of a general reviser wh wrote the first two acts and Gower's choruses—possibly the dramatist,
George wiisins ; that of a second writer who contributed the odensive scenes of Act IV. ; and
thirdly the hand of Shakespeare. Pericles was entered in the Stationers' register in 1608 by the
book-seller Blount, and was published with t^very ill arranged text the next year (1609) by another
book-seller who had, it is believed, surreptitiously obtained Bis copy. It was not included among
the plays given in the first or second folios, but appeared, with six added plays, in the third folio
(1663). The story upon which Pericles was founded is that given in Lawrence 'Twine's Pattenw of
Painfull. Adventures (1607), itself a reprint of an early printed version from the French; given also
in Gower's Cemfessio Amantis, and originally written about the fifth or sixth century of our era, in
Greek, Both 'Twine and Gower appear to have been made use of by the writers of Pericles, and the
debt to Gower is acknowledged by Ills introduction as the " presenter " of the play. The drama as
a whole is singularly undramatic. It entirely lacks unity or action, and the prominent figtires of
the opeiung scenes quickly drop out of the play. Most of the story is briefly told In rhymed verse
by the presenter, Gower, or is set forth in dumb show. But Shakespeare's portion is one and in¬
divisible. It opens on ship board with a tempest, and in Shakespeare's later play of storm and
wreck he has not attempted to rival the earlier treatment of the subject. " No poetry of ship¬
wreck and the sea," a living poet writes, " has ever equalled the great scene of Pericles; no such
note of music was ever struck out of the clash and contention of tempestuous elements." Cerimon,
who is master of the secrets of nature, and who is liberal in his*" learned charity," is like a first
study of Prospero. In the fifth act Marina, so named from her birth at sea, has grown to the age
of fourteen years, and Is, as it were, a sister of Miranda and Perdita (note in each case the signific,ant
name). She, like Perdita, is a child lost by her parents, and, like Perdita, we see her fiower-like
with her flowers—only these flowers of Marina are not for a merrymaking, but a grave. The melan¬
choly of Pericles is a clear-obscure of sadness, not a gloom of cloudy remorse like that of Leontes.
His meeting with his lost Marina is like an anticipation of the scene in which Cymbeline recovers
his sons and daughter; but the scene in Pericles is filled with a rarer, keener passion of joy.
DRAMATIS
Antiochus, king of Antioch.
Pericles, prince of Tyre.
i
simonises, king of Pentapolis.
Cleon, governor of Tarsus.
Lvsimachus, governor of Mytilene.
Cerimon, a lord of Ephesus.
Tiialiard, a lord of Antioch^t
Philemon, servant to Cerimon.
Leonine, servant to Dionyza.
Marshal.
•A Pandar.
Boult, his servant.
PERSONJE.
The Daughter of, Antiochus.
Dionyza, wife to Cleon.
Thaisa, daugliter to Simonides.
Marina, daughter to Pericles and Thaisa.
Lvohorida, niir.sc to Marina.
A Bawd.
Lords, Knights, Gentlemen, Sailors, Pirates,
Fishermen, and Messengers.
Diana.
Gower, as Chorus.
Scene : Disoirsedly in various countries.
(985)
986
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.
[Act i.
ACT 1.
Entet- Gower.
Before the palace of Antioch.
To sing a song that old was sung,
From ashes ancient Gower is conte ;
Assuming man's infirmities,
To glad your ear, and please your eyes.
It hath been sung at festivals.
On ember-eves and holy-ales ;
And lords and ladies in their lives
Have read it for restoratives :
The purchase is to make men glorious ;
Et bonum quo antiquius, eo melius. 10
If you, bom in these latter times.
When wit's more ripe, accept my rhymes.
And that to hear an old man sing
■ May to your wishes pleasure bring,
I life would wish, and that I might
Wastq it for you, like ta])er-light.
This Antioch, then, Antiochus the Great
Built up, this city, for his chiefest seat :
The fairest in all Syria,
I tell you what mine authors say : 20
This king unto him took a fere.
Who died and left a female heir.
So buxom, blithe, and full of face.
As heaven had lent her all his grace ;
With whom the father liking took,
And her to incest did provoke :
Bad child ; worse father ! to entice his own
To evil should be done by none :
But custom what they did begin
Was with long use account no sin. 30
The beauty of this sinful dame
Made many princes thither frame,
To seek her as a bed-fellow.
In marriage-pleasures play-fellow :
Which to prevent he made a layv,
To keep her still, and men in awe.
That whoso ask'd her for his wife,
His riddle told not, lost his life :
So for her many a wight did die.
As yon grim looks do testify. 40
What now ensues, to the judgment of your
eye
I give, my cause who best can justify.
[Exit.
Scene I. Antioch. A room in the palace.
Enter Antiochus, Prince Pericles, and
followers.
Ant. Young prince of l^'re, you have at
large received
The danger of the task you undertake.
Per. I have, Antiochus, and, with a soul
Embolden'd with the glory of her praise,
Tliink death no hazard iu this enterprise.
Ant. Bring in our daughter, clothed like a
bride,
For the embracements even of Jove himself ;
At whose conception, till Luciua reign'd,
Nature this dowry gave, to glad her presence.
The senate-house of planets all did sit, 10
To knit in her their best perfections.
Music. Enter the Daughter of Antiochus.
Per. See where she comes, appareU'd like
the spring, .
Graces her subjects, and her thoughts the
king
Of every virtue gives renown to men !
Her face the book of praises, where is read
Nothing but curious pleasures,'as from thence
Sorrow were ever razed, and testy wrath
Could never be her mild companion.
You gods that made me man, and sway in
love.
That have inflamed desire in my breast 20
To taste the fruit of yon celestial tree.
Or die in the adventure, be my helps.
As I am son and servant to your will.
To compass such a boundless happiness !
Ant. Prince Pericles,—
Per. That would be son to great Antiochns>
Ant. Before thee stands this fair Hesper-
ides,
Witli golden fruit, but dangerous to be
touch'd ;
For death-like dragons here affnght thee
hard :
Her face, like heaven, enticeth thee to view 30
Her countless glory, which desert must gain ;
And which, without desert, because thine eye
Presumes to reach, all thy whole heap must
die.
Yon sometimes famous xirinces, like thyself.
Drawn by report, adventurous by desire.
Tell thee, with speechless tongues and sem-
, ■ ' blance i>ale,
Tliat without covering, save yon field of stars.
Here they stand martyrs, slain in Cupid's
wars ;
And with dead cheeks advise thee to desist
For going on death's net, whom none resist.
Per. Antiochus, I thank thee, who hath
taught " 41
My frail mortality to know itself.
And by those fearful objects to prexiare
This body, like to tliem, to what I must;
For death remember'd should be like a mir¬
ror.
Who tells us life's but breath, to trust it error.
I'll make my will tlien, and, as sick men do
Who know the world, see heaven, but, feeling
woe.
Gripe not at earthly joys a's erst they did ; ,
So I bequeath a hajipy jieace to you 50
And all good men, as every prince should do ;
My riches to the earth from whence they
came ;
But iny unspotted fire of love to you.
[To the dauf/hter of Antiochns.
Thus ready for the way of life or death,
I wait the sharpest blow, Antiochus.
Ant. Scorning advice, read the conclusioix
then ;
Which read and not expounded, 'tis decreed.
As these before thee thou thyself shalt bleed.
Daugh. Of all say'd yet, mayst thou prove
prosxierous !
Of all say'd yet, I wish thee happiness 1 60
•
SCBXE 1.]
Per. Like a bold champion, I assume the
lists.
Nor ask advice of any other thought
But faithfulness and courage.
He reads the riddle.
I am no viper, yet I feed
On mother's flesh which did me breed.
I sought a husband, in which labor
I found that kindness in a father :
He's father, son, and husband mild ;
I mother, wife, and yet his child.
How they may be, and yet in two, 70
As you will live, resolve it you.
Sharp physic is the last: but, O you powers
"That give heaven countless eyes to view men's
acts.
Why cloud they not their sights perpetually.
If this be true, which makes me pale to read
it?
Fair glass of light, I loved you, and could
still,
[Takes hold of the hand of the Princess.
Were not this glorious casket stored with ill :
But I must tell you, now my thoughts revolt;
For he's no man on wliom perfections wait 79
That, laiowing sin witiiin, will touch the gate.
You are a fair viol, and your sense the strings;
Who, fiuger'd to make man his lawful music.
Would draw heaven down, and all the gods,
to hearken :
. But being play'd upon before your time.
Hell only danceth at so harsh a chime.
Good sooth, I care not for you.
Ant. Prince Pericles, touch not, upon tliy
life,
For that's an article within our law.
As dangerous as the rest. Your time's exi
pired :
Either expound now, or receive your sen¬
tence. 90
Per. Great kmg.
Few love to hear the sins they love to act;
'Twould braid yourself too near for me to tell
M.
Who has a book of all that monarchs do.
He's more secure to keep it shut than shown
For vice repeated is like the wandering wind.
Blows dust in others' eyes, to spread itself;
And yet the end of all is bought thus dear.
The breath is gcme, and the sore eyes .see clear;
To stop the air would hurt them. The blind
mole casts 100
Conp'd hills towards heaven, to tell the earth
is throng'd
By man's oppression; and the poor worm doth
die for't.
Kings are earth's gods ; in vice their law's
their will;
And if Jove stray, who dares say Jove doth
ill?
It is enough you know ; and i^s fit.
What being more known ^ows worse, to
smother it.
All love the womb that their first being bred,
Then give my tongue like leave to love my
. bead.
987
Ant. [Aside] Heaven, that I had thy head I
he has found the meaning ;
But I will gloze with him.—Young prince of
Tyre, 110
Though' by the tenor of our strict edict.
Your exposition misinteriireting.
We might proceed to cancel of your days ;
Yet hope, succeeding from so fair a tree
As your fair self, doth tune us otherwise :
Forty days longer we do respite you ;
If by which time our secret be undone.
This mercy shows we'll joy in such a son :
And until then your enter^in shall be
As doth befit our honor and your worth. 120
[Exeunt all bttt Pericles.
Pier. How courtesy would seem to cover
sin.
When what is done is like an hypocrite,
The which is good m nothing but in sight!
If it be true that I interpret false.
Then were it certain you were not so bad ,
As with foul incest to abuse your soul;
Where now you're both a father and a son.
By your untimely claspings with your child.
Which pleasure fits an husband, not a father
And she an eater of her mother's flesh, 130
By the defiling of her iiarent's bed ;
And both like serpents are, who though they
feed
On sweete.st flowers, yet they poison breed.
Antioch, farewell! for wisdom sees, those men
Blush not in actions blacker than the night, .
Will shun no course to keep them from the.
light.
One sin, I know, another doth provoke ;
Miii-der's as near to lust as flame to smoke : ■
Poison and treason are the hands of sin,
Ay, aitd the targets, to put off tlie shame : 140
Then, lest.niy life be cropp'd to keep you
clear.
By flight I'll shun the danger which I fear.
[Exit.
Ee-enter Antiochos.
Ant. He hath found the meaning, for which
we mean
To have his head.
He must not live to trumpet forth my infamy.
Nor tell the world Aiitiochus doth sin
In such a loathed manner ;
And therefore instantly this prince must die :
For by his fall my honor must keep high.
Who attends us there ?
Enter Thamard.
Thai. Doth your highness call ? 150
Ant. Thaliard,
You are of our chamber, and our mind par¬
takes
Her private actions to your secrecy ;
And for your faithfulness we will advance
you.
Thaliard, behold, here's poison, and here's
gold ;
We hiite the prince of Tyre, and thou must
bill him:
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.
983
It fits thee not to ask the reason why,
Because we bid it. Say, is it done ?
Thai. My lord,
'Tis done.
Ant. Enough. 160
Enter a Messenger.
Let your breath cool yourself, telling your
haste.
Mess. My lord, prince Pericles is fled. [Exit.
Ant. As thou
Wilt live, fly after : and like an arrow shot
From a well-experienced archer hits the mark
His eye doth level at, so thou ne'er return
Unless thou say ' Prince Pericles is dead.'
Thai. My lord.
If I can get him within my pistol's length,
I'll make him sure enough: so, farewell to
your highness.
Ant. Thaliard, adieu ! [Exit Thai.] Till
Pericles be dead, 170
My heart can lend no succor to my head.
[Exit.
, Scene II. Tyre. A room in the palace.
. Enter Perici.es.
Per. [To Lords without] Let none dis¬
turb us.—Why should this change of
thoughts.
The ^d companion, dull-eyed melancholy,'
Be my so used a guest as not an hour.
In the day's glorious walk, or peaceful night,
The tomb where grief should sleep, can breed
me quiet ?
Here pleasures court mine eyes, and mine
eyes shun them.
And danger, which I fear'd, is at Antioch,
Whose aim seems far too short to hit me here:
Yet neither pleasure's art can joy my spirits,
Nor yet the other's distance comfort me. 10
Then it is thus: the passions of the mind.
That have their first conception by mis-dread.
Have after-nourishment and life by care ;
And what was first but fear what might be
done.
Grows elder now and cares it be not done.
And so with me : the great Antiochus,
'Gainst whom I am too little to contend.
Since he's so great can make his will his act.
Will think me speaking, though I swear to
silence ;
Nor boots it me to say I honor him. 20
If he suspect I may dishonor him:
And what may make him blush in being
known,
He'll stop the course by which it might be
known;
With hostile forces he'll o'erspread the land.
And with the ostent of war will look so huge.
Amazement shall drive courage from the state;
Our men be vanquish'd ere they do resist.
And subjects puuish'd that ne'er thought
offence:
Which care of them, not pity of myself.
Who am no more but as the tops of trees.
(Act i.
Which fence the roots they grow ■ by and
defend them, 30
Makes both my body pine and soul to lan¬
guish,
And punish that before that he would punish.
Enter Helicanus, with other Lords.
First lard. Joy and all comfort in your
sacred breast 1
Sec. lard. And keep your mind, till you
return to us.
Peaceful and comfortable 1
Ilel. Peace, peace, and give experience
tongue.
Tliey do abuse the king that flatter him:
For flattery is the bellows blows up sin ;
The thing the which is flatter'd, but a spark.
To which that blast gives heat and stronger
glowing; 41
Wliereas reproof, obedient and in order.
Fits kings, as they are men, for they may err.
When Signior Sooth here does proclaim a
peace.
He flatters you, makes war upon your life.
Prince, pardon me, or strike me, if you please;
I cannot be much lower than my knees.
Per. All leave us else ; but let your cares
o'erlook <
What shippuig and what lading's in our
haven.
And then return to us. [E-xeunt xards.]
Helicanus, thou 50
Hast moved us : what seest thou in our looks?
Hel. An angry brow, dread lord.
Per. If there be such a dart in princes'
frowns.
How durst thy tongue move anger to our
face ?
>hl. How dare the plants look up to
heaven, from whence
They have their nourishment ?
Per. Thou know'st I have power
To take thy life from thee.
Hel. [Kneeliny.] I have ground the axe
myself;
Do you but strike the blow.
Per. Rise, prithee, rise.
Sit down: thou art no flatterer : 60
I thank thee for it; and heaven forbid
That kings should let their ears hear tlieir
faults hid !
Fit counsellor and servant for a prince,
Who by thy wisdom makest a prince thy ser¬
vant.
What wouldst thou have me do ?
Hel. To hear with patience
Such griefs as you yourself do lay upon your¬
self.
Per. Thou speak'st like a physician, Heli¬
canus,
That minister'st a potion unto me
That thou wouldst tremble to receive thyself.
Attend me, then : I went to Antioch, " 70
Where as thou know'st, against the face of
death,
I sought the purchase of a glorious beauty,
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.
SCEKE III.]
Ftom whence an issue I might proiiagate,
t-Vre arms to princes, and bring joys to sub¬
jects.
Her face was to mine eye beyond all wonder ;
The rest—hark in thme ear—as black as
incest: [father
Which by my knowledge found, flie sinful
Seem'd not to strike, but smooth: but thou
know'st this,
"fis time to fear when tyrants seem to kils.
Wiiich fear so grew in me, 1 hitiier fled, 80
Under the covering of a careful night, '
Wlio seem'd my good protector; and, being
here,
Uethought me what was past, what might
succeed.
I knew him tyrannous ; and tyrants' fears
Decrease not, but grow faster than tlie years;
And should he doubt it, as no doubt he doth.
That I should open to the listening air
How many worthy princes' bloods were shed.
To keep his bed of blackness unlaid ope.
To lop that doubt, he'll fill tliis land with
arms, 90
And make pretence of wrong tliat I have done
him: . _
Wlieu all, for mine, if I may call offence.
Must feel war's blow, who spares not in-
. nocence :.
Which love to all, of which thyself art one.
Who now reprovestme for it,—
Hel. - Alas, sir !
Per. Drew sleep but of mine eyes, blood
from my cheeks.
Musings into my mind, with thousand doubts
How 1 might stop this tempest ere it came ;
And finding Uttle comfort to relieve them,
I tliought it princely charity to grieve them. 100
Hel. Well, my lord, since you have given
me leave to speak.
Freely will I speak. Antiochus you fear.
And justly too, I think, you fear the tyrant.
Who either by public war or private treason
WiH take away your life.
Therefore, my lord, go travel for a while.
Till that his rage and anger be forgot,
Or till the Destinies do cut his thread of life.
Your rule direct to any ; if to me. 109
Day serves not light more faiffiful than I'll be.
Per. I do not doubt thy faith ;
Dut should he wrong my liberties in my ab¬
sence ?
I Ilel. We'll mingle our bloods together in
the earth.
From whence we had our being and our birth.
Per. Tyre, I now look from tliee then, and
to Tarsus
Intend my travel, where I'll hear from thee ;
And by whose letters I'll dispose myself.
The care I had and have of subjects' good
On thee I lay, whose wisdom^ strength can
bear it *
I'll take thy Word for faith, not ask thine
oath: 120
Wlio shuns not to break one will sure crack
both:
989
But in our orbs we'll live so round and safe,
Tliat time of botii this truth shall ne'er con¬
vince.
Thou show'dst a subject's shine, I a true
Ijrince. \Exeunt.
SCE14B HI. Tyre, An ante-chamber in the
palace.
Enter Tuauard.
Thai. So, this is Tyre, and this the court
Here must I kiil King Pericles ; and if I do it
not, 1 am sure to be hanged at Imme: 'tis dan¬
gerous. Weii, I perceive he was a wise fellow,
and had good discretion, tliat, being bid to
ask what he would of the king, desired he
might know none of his secrets: now do I see
lie liad some reason for't; for if a king bid a
man be a villain, he's bound by the indenture
of his oath to be one ! Hush ! here come the
lords of Tyre.
Enter Helicanus and Escanes, with other
Lords 0/ Tyre.
Hel. You'shall not need, my fellow peers
of Tyre. 10
Furtiier to question me of your king's depart¬
ure :
His seai'd commission, left in trust with me.
Doth speak sufficiently he's gone to travel.
ITial. [Aside'] How ! the king gone !
Hel. If further yet you will be satisfied,'
Why, as it were unlicensed of your loves.
He would depart, I'll give some light unto
you.
Being at Antioch
Thai. [Aside] What from Antioch ?
Hel. Royal Antiochus—on what cause I
know not— 20
Took some displeasure at him ; at least he
judged so : ,
And doubting lest that he had err'd or sinn'd,
To show his sorrow, he'ld correct himself ;
So puts himself unto the shipraan's toil.
With whom each ininute threatens life or
death.
Thai. [Aside] Well, I perceive
I shall not be hang'd now, although I would
But since he's gone,t the king's seas must
please :
He 'scaped tlie land, to jierish at the sea.
I'll pre.sent myself. Peace to the lords of
Tyre! 30
Hel. Lord Thaliard from Antiochus is wel¬
come.
Thai. From him I come
With message unto princely Pericleii ;
But since my landing I have understood
Your loi-d has betook himself to unknown
travels.
My message must return from whence it came.
Hel. 'We have no reason to desire it,,
Commended to our master, not to us:
Yet, ere you shall depart, this we desire.
As friends to Antioch, we may feast in Tyre.
[Exe^mt. 40
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.
990
Scene IV. Tarsus. A room in the Govem-
or's house.
Enter Ceeon, the governor of Tarsus, toith
Dionyza, and others.
Cle. My Dionyza, sliall we rest us here,
And by relating tales of others' griefs.
See if twill teach us to forget our own ?
Dio. That were to blow at fire in hope to
' quench it;
For who digs hills because they do aspire
Throws down one mountain to cast up a
higher.
O my distressed lord, even such our griefs
are ;
Here they're but felt, and seen with mischief's
eyes.
But like to groves, being topp'd, they higher
rise.
Cle. O Dionyza, 10
Who wanteth food, and will not say he wants
it,
Or can conceal his hunger till be famish ?
Our tougnes and sorrows do sound deep
Onr woes into the air ; our eyes do weep, ,
Till tongues fetch breath that may proclaim
them louder ;
That, if heaven slumber while their creatures
want.
They may awake their helps to comfort them.
I'll then discourse our woes, felt several years,
And wanting breath to speak help me with
tears.
Dio. I'll do my best, sir. 20
Cle. This Tarsus, o'er which I have the
goveniment,
A city on whom plenty held full hand.
For riclies strew'd herself even in the streets ;
Whose towers bore beads so high they kiss'd
the clouds.
And strangers ne'er beheld but wonder'd at;
Wliose men and dames so jetted and adorn'd,
Like one auotlier's glass to trim tliem by:
Their tables were stored full, to glad the
sight.
And not so much to feed, on as delight;
All poverty was scorn'd, and pride so great,
The name of help grew odious to repeat. 31
Dio. 0, 'tis too true.
Cle. But see what heaven can do ! By this
our .change,'
■piese mouths, who but of late, earth, sea,
and air.
Were all too little to content and please.
Although they gave their creatures in abund¬
ance, " ,
As houses are defiled for want of use,
They are now starved for want of exercise:
Those palates who, not yet two summers
younger.
Must nave inventions to delight the taste, 40
Would now be glad of bread, and beg for it:
Those mothers who, to nousle np their babes.
Thought nought too curious, are ready now
To eat those little darlings whom they loved.
[Act r.
So sharp are hunger's teeth, that man and
wife
Draw lots who first shall die to lengtlien life :
Here stands a lord, and there a lady weep¬
ing ;
Here many sink, yet those which see them
fan
Have scarce strength left to give them burial.
Is not this true ? 30
Dib. Our die^ and hollow eyes do wit¬
ness it.
Cle. O, let tliose cities that of plenty's cup
And her prosperities so largely taste,
With their superfluous riots, hear these teai-s!
The misery of Tarsus may be theirs.
Enter a Lord.
Lord. Where's the lord governor ?
Cle. Here.
Speak out thy sorrows which thou bring'st in
haste.
For comfort is too far for us to expect
Lord. We have descried, upon our neigh¬
boring shore, 60
A portly sail of ships make hitherward.
Cle. I thought gs much.
One sorrow never comes but brings an heir.
That may succeed as his inheritor ;
And so in ours : some neighboring nation.
Taking advantage of our misery,
Hatli stuff'd these hollow vessels with their
power.
To beat us down, the which are down al¬
ready ;
And make a conquest of unhappy me.
Whereas no glory's got to overcome. 70
Lord. That's the least fear ; for, by the
semblauce
Of their white flags display'd, they bring us
peace, '
And come to us as favorers, not as foes.
Cle. Thou speak'st like Kim's untutor'd to
repeat:
Who makes the fairest show means most de¬
ceit.
But bring they what they will and what they
can.
What need we fear ?
The ground's the lowest, and we are lialf
way there.
Go tell their general we attend him here.
To know for what he comes, and whrace he
comes, 60
And what he craves.
Lord. I go, my lord. [Exit.
Cle. Welcome is peace, if he on peace con¬
sist ;
It wars, we are unable to resist.
Enter Pebicles with Attendants.
Per. Lord governor, for so we hear you
are.
Let not our ships and number of our men
Be like a beacon fired to amaze your eyes.
We have heard your miseries as far as'Tyre.
And seen the desolation of your streets :
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE,
Scene I.]
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.
991
Nor come we to add sorrow to your tears, 90
But to relieve them of their heavy load ;
And these our ships, you hap^y may tnink
Are like the Trojan horse was stuff'd within
With bloody veins, ex^iecting overtJirow,
Are stored with com to make your needy
bread.
And give them life whom hunger starved
half dead.
All. The gods of Greece protect you !
And we'll pray for you.
Per. Arise, 1 pray you, rise :
We do not look for reverence, but for love.
And iiarborage for ourself, our ships, and
men. 100
Cle. The whicli when any shall not gratify.
Or pay you with uutitankfulness in thought.
Be it our wives, Our children, or ourselves,
Tiie curse of heaven and men succeed their
evils 1'
Till when,—the which I hope shall ne'er be
seen,—
Your grace is welcome to our town and us.
Per. Which welcome we'll accept; feast
here awhile.
Until our stars that frown lend us a smile.
[Exeunt.
ACT II.
Enter Gowek.
Gow. Here have you seen a mighty king
His child, I wis, to incest bring ;
A better prince and benign lord,
Tliat will prove awful both in deed and
word.
Be ouiet then as men should be.
Till he hath pass'd necessity.
I'll show you those in troubles reign.
Losing a mite, a mountain gain.
The good in conversation.
To whom I give my benison, 10
Is still at Tarsus, where each man
Thinks all is writ he speken can ;
And, to remember what he does.
Build his statue to make him glorious:
But tidings to the contrary
' Are brought your eyes ; what need speak I ?
Duinn Show.
Enter at one door Pericles talking with
Cleon ; all the train with them. Enter at
another door a Gentleman, with a letter to
Pericles ; Pericles shows the letter to
Cleon ; gives the Messenger a reward, and
knights him. Exit Pericles at one door,
and Cleon at another.
Good Helicane, that stay'd at home.
Not to eat honey like a drog^
From others' labors ; for though he strive
To killen bad, keep good alive ; 20
And to fulfil his prince' desire.
Sends word of all that haps in Tyre :
How ThaUard came full bent with sin
And had intent to murder him ;
And that in Tarsus was not best
Longer for him to make his rest.
He, doing so, put forth to seas.
Where when men been, there's seldom ease;
For now the wind begins to blow;
Thunder above and deeps below 30
Make such unquiet, that the ship
Simuld house him safe is wreck'd and split;
And he, good prince, having all lost,
By waves from coast to coast is tost:
All perishen of man, of pelf,
Ne aught escapen but himself;
Till fortune, tired with doing bad,
Threw him ashore, to give him glad:
And here he comes. What shall be next,
Pardon old Gower,—tliis longs the text 40
[Exit.
Scene I. Pentapolis. An open plaee by the
sea-side.
Enter PericIes, wet.
Per. Yet cease your ire, you angry stars of
heaven !
Wind, rain, and thunder, remember, earthly
man
Is but a substance that must yield to you ;
And I, as fits my nature, do obey you :
Alas, the sea hath cast me on the rocks,
Wash'd me from shore to shore, and left me
breath
Nothing to think on but ensuing death :
Let it suffice the greatness of your powers
To have bereft a prince of all his fortunes ;
And having thrown him from your watery
grave, 10
Here to have death in peace is all he'll crai e.
Enter three Fishermen
First Fish. What, ho. Pilch !
Sec. Fish. Ha, come and bring away the
nets !
First Fish. What, Patch-breech, I say !
Third Fish. What say you, roaster ?
First Fish. Look how fliou stirrest now !
come aww, or I'll fetcJi thee with a wanion.
Third Fish. 'Faith, master, I am thinking
of the poor men that were cast away before
us even now. 20
First Fish. Alas, poor souls, it grieved my
heart to hear what pitiful cries they made to
us to help them, when, well-a-day, we could
scarce help ourselves.
Third Fish. Nay, master, said not I as
much when I saw the porpus how he bounced
and tumbled ? they say they're half fish, half
flesh : a plague on them, they ne'er come but
I look to be washed. Master, I marvel how
the fishes live in the sea. 30
First Fish. Why, as men do a-land ; the
great ones eat up the little ones : I can com¬
pare our rich misers to nothing so fitly as to a
whale; a' plays and tumbles, driving the
poor fry before him, and at last devours them
all at a mouthful: such whales have I heard
992
on o' the land, who never leave raping till
they've swallowed the whole parMi, church,
steeple, bells, and all.
Per. \Asidei ^ pretty moral. 39
Third Fish. But, master. If I had been the
sexton, I would have been that day in tlie
belfry.
Sec. Fish. Why, man ?
Third Fish. Because he should have swal¬
lowed me too : and when I had been in bis
belly, I would have kept such a jangling of
the bells, that he should never have left, till
he cast bells, steeple, church, and parish, up
again. But if the good King Simouides were
of iny mind,—
Per. [Aside'\ Siiuonidesl 49
Third Fish. We would purge the land of
these drones, that rob the bee of iier honey.
Per. [Aside] How from the finny subject
of the sea
These fi.shers tell the infirmities of men ;
And from th^r watery empire recollect
All that may men approve or men detect!
Peace be at your later, honest fishermen.
Sec. Fish. Honest! good fellow, what's
that ? If it be a day fits yon, fsearch out of
the calendar, and nobody look after it.
Per. May see the sea hath cast upon your
coast 60
Sec. Fish. What a drunken knave was tlie
sea to cast thee in our way 1
Per. A man whom both the waters and the
wind,
In tiiat vast tennis-court, have made the ball
For them to play upon, entreats you pity him;
He asks of you, tliat never used to beg.
First Fish. No, friend, cannot you beg?
Here's them in our country of Greece gets
more with begging than we can do with work¬
ing.
Sec. Fish. Canst thou catch any fishes,
then ? 70
Per. I never practiced it.
Sec. Fish. Nay, then thou wilt starve, sure;
for here's nothing to be got now-a-days, un¬
less thou canst fish for't.
Per. What I have been I have forgot to
know ;
But what I am, want teaches me to think on :
A man tbrong'd up with cold : my veins are
chill.
And have no more of life tlian may suffice
To give my tongue that heat to ask your help;
Which if you shall refuse, when I am deiid, 80
For that t am a man, pray, see me buried.
First Fish. Die quoth-a ? Now gods for¬
bid ! I have a gown here ; come, put it on ;
keep tliee warm. Now, afore me, a handsome
fellow ! Come, thou shalt go home, and we'll
have flesh for holidays, fish for fasting-days,
and moreo'er puddings and flap-jacks, and
thou shalt be welcome.
Per. I thank you, sir.
Sec. Fish. Hark you, my friend ; you said
yon could not beg. 90
Per. I did but crave.
[Ac* It
Sec. Fish. But crave I Tlien I'U turn craver
too, and so I shali 'scape whipping.
Per. Why, are all your beggars whipped,
then ?
Sec. Fish. O, not all, my friend, ifot all:
for if all your beggars were whipped, I would
wish no better office than to be beadle. But,
master, I'll go draw up the net.
[Exit with Third Fisherman.
Per. [Aside] How well this honest mirth
becomes their later 1
First Fish. Hark yon, sir, do you know
where ye are? , 101
Per. Not well.
First Fish. Why, I'll tell you: this is
called Pentapolis, and our king the good
Simouides. >
Per. The good King Simouides, do you call
him.
First Fi^ Ay, sir ; and he deserves so to
be called for his peaceable reign and good gov¬
ernment. '
Per. He is a happy hing, since he gains
from bis subjects the name of good by his
government. How far is Iris court distant from
this shore ? ' 111
First Fish. Marry, sir, half a day's jour¬
ney : and I'll tell you, he hath a fair daughter,
and to-morrow is her birth-day ; and there
are princes and knights come from all parts of
the world to just and tourney for her love.
Per. Were my fortunes equal to my desires,
I could wish to make one there.
First Fish. O, sir, things must be as they
may ; and what a man cannot get, he may
lawfully deal for—this wife's soul. 121
Re-enter Second and Third Fishermen, draw¬
ing up a net. •
Sec. Fish. Help, master, help ! here's a
fish hangs in the net, like a poor man's right
in the law ; 'twill hardly come out. Ha ! hots
ou't, 'tis come at last, and 'tis turned to a
rusty armor.
Per. An armor, friends ! I pray you, let me
see it.
Thanks, fortune, yet, that, after all my orosses.
Thou givest me somewhat to repair myself ;
And though it was mine own, part of my her- ^
itage, 129
Which my dead father did bequeath to me.
With this strict charge, even as he left his life,
' Keep it, my Pericles ; it hath been a shield
'Twixt me and death ;'—and pointed to this
brace;—
' For that it saved me, keep it; in like neces¬
sity—
The which the gods protect thee from!—may
defend thee.'
It kept where I kept, I so dearly loved it;
Till the rough seas, that spare not any man,
Took it in rage, though calm'd have given't
again :
I thank thee for't: my shipwreck now's no ill
Since I have here my father's gift in's will.
First Fish. What mean you, sir ? 141
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.
Scene ii.]
Per. To beg of you, kind friends, this coat
of worth.
For it was sometime target to a king ;
I know it by this mark. He loved me dearly.
And for his sake I wish the having of it ;
And that you'ld guide me to your sovereign's
court.
Where with it I may appear a geiitieman :
And if that ever my low fortune's better,
I'll pay your bounties; till then rest your
debtor.
First Fish. Why, wiltthou tourney for the
Udy? 150
Per. Til show the virtue I have borne in
arms.
First Fish. Why, do 'e take it, and the gods
give thee good on't!
Sec. Fim. Ay, but hark you, my friend ;
'twas we that made up this garment through
the rough seams of the waters : there are cer-
I liu condolements, certain vails. I hope, sir,
i: you thrive, you'll remember from whence
;. ou had it.
Per. Believe't, I will.
:>y your furtlierauce 1 am clothed in steel; 160
.\i.d, spite of all the rapture of the sea,
'i'liis jewel holds his building oil my arm :
L'lito thy value I will mount myself
L'puu a courser, whose deiightfui steps
Shall make the gazer joy to see him tread.
Only, my friend, I yet am unprovided
Uf a pair of bases.
Sec. Fish. We'll sure provide : thou shalt
have my best gown to make tliee a pair ; and
I'll bring thee to the court myself. 170
Per. Then honor be but a goal to my will,
This day I'll rise, or else add ill to ill. [Exsunt.
Scene U. The same. A public way or plat¬
form, leading to the lists. A pavilion by the
side of it for the reception of the King, Prin¬
cess, Lords, &c.
Enter Simonides, Thaisa, Lords, and At¬
tendants.
Sim. Are the knights ready to begin the
triumph ?
First Lord. They are, my liege ;
And stay your coming to present themselves.
Sim. Betum them, we are ready ; and our
daughter.
In honor of whose birth these triumphs are,
Sits here, like beauty's child, whom nature gat
For men to see, and seeing wonder at.
[Exit a Lord.
Thai. It pleaseth you, my royal father, to
express
My commendations great, whose merit's less,
Sim. It's fit it should be so ; for princesare
A model, which heaven makes like to itself :
As jewels lose their glory if neglected.
So princes their renowns if ^ot resijected.
'Tis now your honor, daughter, to explain
The labor of each knight in his device.
Thai, ■^ich, to preserve mine honor, I'll
perform.
993
Erder a Knight; he passes over, and his Squii-e
presents his shield to the Princess.
Sim. Who is the first that doth prefer him¬
self?
TAai. A knight of Sparta, my renowned
father ;
And the device he bears upon his shield
Is a black Ethiope reaching at the sun ; . 20
The word, ' Lux tna vita mihi.'
Sim. He loves you well that holds his life
of you.
[The Second Knight passes over.
Who is tlie second that presents himself 7
Thai. A prince of Macedon, my royal
fatlier ;
And the device he bears upon his shield
Is an arm'd knight that's conquer'd by a lady ;
The motto thus, in Si>anish, ' Piu pordulzura
que por fuerza.'
[TAe Third Knight passes over.
Sim. And what's the third 7
Thai. Tlie third of Antioch ;
And his device, a wreath of chivalry ;
The word, ' Me pompse provexit apex.' 30
[27i« Fourth Knight passes over.
Sim. What is the fourth 7
Thai. A burning torch that's turned upside
down :
The word,' Quod me alit, me extingnit.'
Sim. 'Which shows tliat beauty hath his
power and will.
Which can as well inflame as it can kill.
[ITie Fifth Knight passes over.
Thai. The filth, an hand environed with
clouds.
Holding out gold tlia t's by the touchstone tried;
The motto tb^us, ' Sic spectauda fides.'
[The Sixth Knight, Pericles, passes over.
Sim. And what's
The sixth and last, the which the knight him¬
self 40
With such a graceful courtesy deliver'd 7
Thai. He seems to be a stranger ; but his
present is
A witheTd branch, that's only green at top ;
The motto, ' In hac spe vivo.'
Sim. A pretty moral ;
From the dejected state wherein he is.
He hopes by you his fortunes yet may flour¬
ish.
First Lord. He had need mean better than
his outward show
Can any way speak in his just commend ;
For by his rusty outside he appears 50,
To haive practic^ more the whipstock than the
lance.
Sec. Lord. He well may be a stranger, for
he comes
To an honor'd triumph strangely furnished.
Third Lord. And on set purpose let his
armor rust
Until this day, to scour it in the dust.
Sim. Opinion's but a fool, that makes us
scan
The outward habit by the inward man.
03
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.
994
Bat stay, the knights are coming; we will
withdraw
Into the gallery. [Exeunt.
[Great shouts within and all try ' The mean
knight I'
Scene III. The same. A hall of state: a
banquet prepared.
Enter SraoNiDES, Thaisa, Lords, Attendants,
and Knights, from tiltiny.
Sim. Knights,
To say you're welcome were superfluous.
To place upon the volume of your deeds,
As m a title-page, your worth lu arms.
Were more than jmu expect, or more than s
fit.
Since every worth In show commends Itself.
Prepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast;
You are princes and my guests.
Thai. But you, my knight and guest;
To whom this wreath of victory I give, 10
And crown you king of this day's happiness. .
Per. 'Tls more by fortune, lady, than by
merit.
Sim. Call it by what you will, the day is
yours ;
And here, I hope, is none that envies It.
In framing an artist, art hath thus decreed,
To make some good, but others to exceed ;
And you are her laboPd scholar. Come, queen
o' the feast,—
For, daughter, so you are,—here take your
place :
Marshal the rest, as4hey deserve their grace.
Knights. We are honor'd much by good
Slmonldes. ■ 20
Sim. Your presence glads our days : honor
we love ;
For who hates honor hates the gods above.
Marshal. Sir, yonder is your place.
Per. Some other is more fit
First Knight. Contend not, sir ; for we are
gentlemen
That neither In our hearts nor outward eyes
Envy the great nor do the low despise.
Per. You are right courteous knights.
Sim. Sit, sir, sit.
Per. By Jove, I wonder, that Is kli^ of
thoughts.
These cates resist me, she but thought upon.
Thai. By Juno, that Is queen of marriage.
All viands that I eat do seem unsavory, 31
Wishing him my meat. Sure, he's a gallant
gentleman.
Sim. He's but a country gentleman ;
Has done no more tlian other knights have
done;
Has broken a staff or so ; so let It pass.
Thai. To me he seems like diamond to glass.
Per. Ton king's to me like to my father's
picture,
Which tells me In that glory once he was ;
Had princes sit, like stars, about his throne.
And he the sun, for them to reverence ; 40
None that beheld him, but, like lesser lights.
[Act ii.
Did vail their crowns to his supremacy : _
Where now his son's like a glow-worm In the
night.
The which hath fire In darkness, none in light:
Whereby I see tJiat Time's the king of men.
He's both their parent, and he is their grave.
And gives them what he will, not what they
crave,
Sim. What, are you merry, knights ?
Knights. Wlio can be other in tins royal
presence 1
Simj Here, with a cup that's stored unto
the brim,— 50
As you do love, fill to your mistress' lips.—
We drink this health to you.
Knights. We thank your grace.
Sim. Yet pause awhile :
Yon knight doth sit too melancholy.
As If the entertainment in our court
Had not a show might countervail his worth.
Note it not you, Thaisa ?
Thai. What is It
To me, my father ?
Sim. 0, attend, my daughter :
Prluces in this should live like gods above.
Who freely give to every one that comes 60
To honor them ;
And princes not doing so are like to gnats,
Whicli make a sound, but klU'd are wondePd
at.
Therefore to make his entrance more sweet.
Here, say we drink this standing-bowl of wine
to him
Thai. Alas, my father, it befits not me
Unto a stranger knight to be so bold ;
He may my proffer take for an offence.
Since men take women's gifts for Impudence.
Sim. How I 70
Do as I bid you, or vou'll move me else.
Thai. [Aside'] Now, by the gods, he could
not please me better.
Sim. And furthermore tell him, we desire
to kno w of him,
Of whence he Is, his name and parentage
Thai. The king my father, sir. has drunk
to you.
Per. I thank him. [life.
Thai. Wlsliing It so much blood unto your
Per. I thank both him and you, and pledge
him freely.
Thai. And further he desires to Itnow of
you, 79
Of whence you are, your name and parenbige.
Per. A gentleman of Tyre ; my name,
Pericles ;
My education been In arts and arms ;
Who, looking for adventures In the world.
Was by the rough seas reft of ships and men.
And after shipwreck driven upon this sliore.
Thai. He thanks your grace* names himself
Pericles,
A gentleman of Tyre,
Who onlv by misfortune of the seas <
Bereft of ships and men, cast on this shore.
Sim. Now, by the gods, I pity his misfor¬
tune, " 90
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.
Scene t.]
And will awake him from his melancholy.
Come, gentlemen, we sit too long on trilles,
And waste the time, which looks for other
revels.
Even in your armors, as .vou are address'd.
Will very well become a soldier's dance.
1 will not have excuse, with saying this
Loud music is too harsh for ladies' heads.
Since they love men in arms as well as beds.
[The Knights dance.
So, this was well' ask'd, 'twas so well per-
form'd.
Come, sir ; 100
Here is a l^y that wants breathing too ;
And 1 have heard, you knights of Tyre
Are excellent in making ladies trip;
And that their measures are as excellent.
Per, In those that practice them they are,
my lord. '
Sim. O, that's as much as you would be de-
ni^
Of your fair courtesy.
[The Knights and Ladies dance.
Unclasp, unclasp':
Thanks, gentlemen, to all; all have done well,
[To Per.} But you the best. Pages and lights,
to conduct
These knights unto their several lodgings! [To
Per.} Yours, sir, 110
We have given order to be next our own.
Per. I am at your grace's pleasure.
Sim. Princes, it is too late to talk of love ;
And that's the mark I know you level at;
Therefore each one betake him to his rest ;
To-morrow all for speeding do their best.
[Exeunt.
Scene IV. Tyre. A room in the Governor's
house.
£nter Helicanus and Escanes.
Hel. No, Escanes, know this of me,
Antiochns from incest lived not free :
For which, the most high gods not minding
longer
To withhold the vengeance that they had in
store,
Due to this heinous capital offence.
Even hi the height and pride of all his glory.
When he was seated in a chariot
Of an inestimable value, and his daughter
with him,
A fire from heaven came and shtivell'd up
Tlieir bodies, even to loathing; tor they so
stunk, 10
That all those eyes adored them ere their fall
Scorn now their hand should give them burial.
Esca. 'Twas very strange.
//el. And yet but justice ; for though
This king were great, his greatness was no
guard
To bar heaven's shaft, but sin Bad his reward.
Esoa. 'Tis very true. .
Enter two or three Lords.
Eirst Lord. See, not a man in private con¬
ference
996
Or council has respect with him but he.
Sec. Lord. It shali no longer grieve without
reproof.
Third Lord. And cursed be he that will not
second it. 20
First Lord. Follow me, then. Lord Heli-
cane, a word.
Hel. With me ? and welcome : happy day,
my lords.
First Lord. Know that our griefs are risen
to the top.
And now at len^h they overfiow their banks.
Hel. Your griefs ! for what 1 wrong not
your prince you loVe.
First Lord. Wrong not yourself, then, noble
Helicane;
but if the prince do live, let us salute him,
Or know what ground's made happy by his
breath.
If in the world he live, we'll seek him out;
If in his grave he rest, we'll find him there ;
And be resolved he lives to govern us, M
Or dead, give's c^use to mourn his funeral,
And leave us to our free election.
Sec. Lord. Whose death iudeed's the strong¬
est in our censure;
And knowing this kingdom is without a
head,—
Like goodly buildings left without a roof
Soon fall to ruin,—your noble self.
That best know how to rule and how to reign.
We thus submit unto,—our sovereign.
All. Live, noble Helicane ! 40
' Hel. For lionor's cause, forbear your suf¬
frages :
It that yon love Prince Pericles, forbear.
Take I your wish, I leap into the seas,
Where's hourly trouble for a minute's ease.
A twelvemonth longer, let me entreat you t»
Forbear the absence of .your king :
If in which time expired, he not return,
I shall with aged jiatience bear your yoke.
But if I cannot win yon to this love.
Go search like nobles, like noble subjects, 50
And iu your search spend your adventurous
worth ;
Whom if you find, and win niito return.
You shall like diamonds sit about his crown.
First Lord. To wisdom he's a fool that will
not yield ;
And since Lord Helicane eujoineth us.
We with our travels wilbendeavor us.
//el. Then you love us, we you, and we'll
clasp hands:
When peers thus knit, a kingdom ever stands.
[Exeunt.
Scene 'Y. Pentapolis. A room in the palace.
Enter SmoyiuEs, reading a letter, atone door:
the Knights meet him.
■First Knight. Good morrow to the good Si-
mouides.
Sim. Knights, from my daughter this 1 let
you know, [take
That for this twelvemonth she'll not under-
pehjcles, prince of tyre.
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. [Act iit
09U
A married life.
Her reason to herself is only known,
Which vet from iter by no means can I get.
iVc. ICnif/ht. May we not get access to her,
my lord ?
Sim. 'Faith, by no means ; sl»e has so
strictly tied
Her to her chamber, that 'tis impossible.
One twelve moons more she'll wear Diana's
livery ; 10
Tliis by the eye of Cynthia hath she vow'd,
And on her virgin iionor will nut break it.
Third Knight. Loath to bid farewell, we
take our leaves. \ExeuHt Knights.
Sim. So,
They are well dispateh'd ; now to my daugli-
ter's letter :
She tells me here, she'll wed the stranger
knight,
Or never more to view nor day nor light.
'Tis well, mistress ; your choice agrees with
mine ;
I like that well: nay, how absolute she's lu't,
Not minding whether I dislike or no I ^
Well, I do commend her clioice ;
And will no longer have it be delay'd.
Soft ! here he comes : I must dissemble it
Enter Pisbici.es.
Per. All fortune to the good Slmonides !
Sim. To you as much, sir ! I am beholding
to you
For your sweet music this last night; I do
Protest my ears were never better fed
With such delightful pleasing harmony.
Per. It is your grace's pleasure to com¬
mend ;
Not my desert.
Sim.' Sir, you are music's master. .30
Per. The worst of all her scholars, my good
lord.
Sim. Let me ask you one thing:
What do you think of my daughter, sir ?
Per. A most virtuous princess.
Sim. And she is fair too, is she not ?
Per. As a fair day in summer, wondrous
fair.
Sim. Sir, my daughter thinks very well of
you ;
Ay, so well, that you must be her master.
And she will be your scholar : therefore look
to it. ■ 39
Per. I am unworthy for her schoolmaster.
Sim, She thinks not so ; peruse this writ-
lug else.
Per. [/tsi'cie] What's here ?
A letter, that she loves the knight of Tyre 1
'Tis the king's subtiity to have my life.
0, seek not to entrap me. gracious lord,
A stranger and distressed gentleman,
That never alm'd so high to love your daugh¬
ter.
But bent all offices to honor her.
Sim. Thou hast bewitch'd my daughter,
and thou art
A villain. 50
Per. By the gods, I have not;
Never did tliought of mine levy offence ;
Nor never did my actions yet commence
A deed might gain her love or your dlpleasure.
Sim. Traitor, thou Best.
Per. ' Traitor!
Sim. Ay, traitor.
Per. Even in his throat—unless it be the
king-
That ciills mc traitor, I return the lie.
Sim. [Aside] Now, by the gods, I do ap¬
plaud his courage.
Per. My actions are as noble as my thoughts,
Thiit never relish'd of a base descent. 60
I came unto your court for honor's cause.
And not to be a rebel to her state :
And he that otherwise accounts of me^'
This sword shall prove he's honor's enemy.
Sim. No ?
Here comes my daughter, she can witness it.
Enter Thaisa.
Per. Then, as you are as virtuous as fair.
Resolve your angry father, if my tongue
Did ere solicit, or my hand subscribe
To any syllable that made love to yoa. 70
Thai. Why, sir, s.ay if you had,
Wlio takes offence at that would make me
glad •?
Sim. Yea, mistress, are you so peremp¬
tory ?
[Ast'del I am glad on't with all mv heart—
I'll tame you ; I'll bring you in subjection.
Will you, not having my consent,
Be.stow your love and your affections
Upon a stiai'ger 7 [Aside] who, for aught I
know, ~
May be, nor c.an I think the contrary.
As great in blood as I myself.— 80
Therefore hear you, mistress ; either frame
Your will to mine,—and you, sir, hear you,
Either be ruled by me, or I will make you—
Man and wife ;
Nay, come, your hands and lips must seal it
too ;
And being join'd, I'll thus your hopes de¬
stroy ;
And for a further grief,—God give you joy!—'
Wh.at, are you both pleased 7
Thai. Yes, if you love me, sir.
Per. Even as my life, or blood that fosters
it.
Sim. What, are you both agreed 7 90
Both. Yes, if it please your raajesW.
Sim. It pleaseth me so well, that I will see
you wed ;
And then with what haste you can get you to
bed. [Exeura.
ACT HI.
Enter Gower.
Gow. Now sleep yslaked hath the rout;
No din but snores the house about,
Made louder by the o'er-fed breast
SCEKE t.]
Of this most pompons marriage-feast.
The cat, with eyne of burning coal,
Now crouches fore the mouse's hole ;
And crickets sing at tiie oven's mouth,
E'er tiie blither for their drouth.
Hymen hath brought the bride to bed.
Where, by the loss of maidenhead, IQ
A babe is moulded. Be attent.
And time that is so briefly spent
With your fine fancies quaintly eche:
What's dumb in show I'll plain with, speecli.
Dumb Show.
StUer, Perkxes cmd Simomides at one door,
with Attendants ; a Messenger meets them,
kneels, and gives Pericles a letter: Peri¬
cles shows it SiMONiDEs ; the Lords kneel
to him. Then enter THaisa with child,
with Lychorida a nurse. The King shows
her the letter; she rejoices: she and Peri¬
cles takes leave of her father, and depart
with Lychorida and their Attendants.
Then exeunt Simonides and the rest.
By many a dem and painful perch
Of Pericles the careful search,
By the four opposing coigns
Which tiie world together joins.
Is made with all due diligence
That horse and sail and high expense 20
Can stead the quest At hist from Tyre,
Fame answering tlie most strange inquire.
To the court of King Simonides
Are letters brought, the tenoi these :
Antiochus and his daughter dead ;
The men of Tyrus on tlie bead
Of Heiicanns would set on
"The crown of Tyre, but he will none :
The mutiny he there hastes t' oppress ;
Says to 'em, if King Pericles 30
Come not home in twice six moons.
He, obedient to their dooms.
Will take the crown. The sum of this,
Brought hitlier to Pentapolis,
Y-ravished the regions round.
And every one with claps can sound,
' Our heir-apparmit is a king !
Who dream'd, who thought of siicii a thing?'
Brief, he rnnst hence depart to Tyre :
His queen with child makes her desire— 40
Which who sliall cross ?—along to go :
Omit we all their dole and woe:
Lychorida, her nurse, she takes.
And so to sea. Tiieir vessel shakes
On Neptune's billow ; half the flood
Hath their keel cut : but foitune's mood
Varies again ; the grisly north
Disgorges such a tempest forth.
That, as a duck for life that dives,
So up and down the poor ship drives : 30
The lady shrieks, and welba-near
Does fail in travail with Imr fear :
And wiiat ensues in this fell storm
Shall for itself itself perform.
I nill relate, action may
Conveniently the rest convey ;
W7
Which migiit not what by me is told.
In your iiiiagiiiation hold •
This stage tlie ship, upon whose deck 59
'The sea-tost Pericies appears to speak. [Exit.
Scene I.
' Enter Pericles, on shijSboard.
Per. Thou god of this gredt vast, rebuke
these surges.
Which wash both heaven and heii; and thou,
that hast
Upon the winds command, bind tliemin brass.
Having call'd them from the deep I O, stiii
Tiiy deafening, dreadful thunders •, gently
quench
Thy nimble, sulphurous flashes i O, how,
Lycliorida,
How does my queen ? Thou stormest venom¬
ously ;
Wilt thou spit all thyself? The seaman's
whistle
Is as a wliisper in the ears of death,
Unheard. Lycliorida!—Lucina, O 10
Divinest patroness, and midwife gentle
To tliose that cry by night, convey thy deity
Aboard our dancing boat; make swift the
pangs
Of my queen's travails 1
Enter Lychorida, wUh an Infant.
Now, Lychorida!
Lyc. Here is a thing too young for such a
place.
Who, if it had conceit, would die, as I
Am like to do: take in your arms this piece
Of your dead queen.
Per. How, how, Lychorida !
Eye. Patience, good sir ; do not assist the
storm.
Here's all that is left living of your queen, 20
A little daughter : fcr the sake of it.
Be manly, and take comfort.
Per. ' O you gods !
Why do you make us love your goodly gifts.
And snatch them straight away ? We here
below
Recall not what we give, and therein may
Use honor with you.
Lyc. Patience, good sir.
Even for this charge.
Per, Now, mild may be thy life !
tor a more blustrous birth had never babe :
Quiet and gentle thy conditions ! for 29
Thou art the rudeliest welcome to this world
That ever was prince's child. Happy what
follows !
Thou hast as chiding a nativity
As fire, air, water, earth, an4 heaven can
make,
To herald thee from the womb: even at the
first
Tliy loss is more than can thy portage quit.
With all thou canst find here. Now, the good
gods
Throw their best eyes upou't I ,
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE,
098
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.
[Act iii.
Enter two Sailors.
Firit Sail. What courage, sir ? God save
you!
Per. Courage enough: I do not ^ear the
flaw ;
It hath done t'> me the worst, Yet, for the
■ love ' 40
Of this ]^r infant, this fresh-new sea-farer,
I would it would be quiet.
First Sail, Slack the bolins there ! Thou
wilt not, wilt thou ? Blow, and split thy¬
self.
Sec. Sal. But sea-room, an the brine and
cloudy billow kiss the moon, I care not.
First Sail. Sir, you r queen must overboard:
the sea works high, the wind is loud, and will
not lie till the ship l)e cleared of the dead.
Per. That's your superstition. . 50
First Sail. Bardon us, sir ; with us at sea
it hath been still observed : and we are strong
in custom. Therefore briefly yield her ; for
she must overboard straight.
Per. As you think meet. Most wretched
queen I
Lyc. Here she lies, sir.
Per. A terrible childbed hast thou had,
my dear ;
No light, no fire: the unfriend^ elements *
Forgot thee utterly : nor have I time
To give thee hallow'd to thy grave, but
straight 60
Must cast thee, scarcely coflSn'd, in the ooze ;
Where, for a monument uixni thy bones,
And e'er-remaining lamps, the belching whale
And humming water must o'erwhelm thy
corpse,
Lving with simple shells. O Lychorida,
Bid Nestor bring me spices, ink and paper,
My casket and my jewels ; and bid Nicander
Bring me the satin coffer : lay the babe
Upon the pillow: hie thee, whiles I say 69
A priestly farewell to her : suddenly, woman.
[Exit Lychorida.
Sec. Sail. Sir, we have a chest' beneath
the hatches, caulked and bituraed ready.
Per. I thank thee. Mariner, say what
coast is this ?
Sec. Sail. We are near Tarsus.
Per. Thither, gentle mariner.
Alter thy course for Tyre. When canst thou
reach it ?
Sec. Sail. By break of day, if the wind
cease.
Per. 0, make for Tarsus !
There will I visit Cleon, for the babe 79
Cannot hold out to Tyrus: there I'll leave it
At careful nursing. Go thy ways, good
mariner:
I'il bring the body presently. [Exeunt.
Scene II. Ephesus. A roomin Cerimon's
house.
Enter Cerimon, with a Servant, and some
Persons who have been shipwrecked.
Cer. Philemon, ho 1
Enter Philemon. .
Phil. Doth my lord call 7
Cer. Get Are and meat for these poor men:
'T has been a turbulent and stormy night.
Serv. I have been in many; but such a
night iis this.
Till now, I ne'er endured.'
Cer. Your master will be dead ere yon re¬
turn ;
There's nothing can be minister'd to nature
That can recover him. [To Philemon'] Give
this to the 'pothecary.
And tell me how it works.
[Exeunt all but Cerimon.
Enter two Gentlemen.
First Gent. Good morrow. 10
Sec. Gent. Good morrow to your lordship.
Cer. Gentlemen,
Why do you stir so early ?
F^irst Gent. Sir,
Our lodgings, standing bleak upon the sea,
' Shook as the earth did quake ;
The very principals did seem to rend.
And ail-to topple: pure surprise and fear
Made me to quit the house.
Sec. Gent. That is the cause we trouble
you so early;
'Tis not our husbandry.
Cer. O, you say well. 26
First Gent. But I much marvel that youi
lordship, having
Rich tire about you, should at these early
hours
Shake off the golden slumber of repose.
'Tis most strange.
Nature should be so conversant with paui.
Being thereto not compell'd.
Cer. I hold it ever.
Virtue and cunning were endowments greater
Thau nobleness and riches: careless heirs
May the two latter darken and expend;
But immortality attends the former, 30
Making a man a god. 'Tis known, I ever
Have studied physic, through which secret art
By turning o'er authorities, 1 have.
Together with my practice, made familiar
To me and to my aid the blest infusions
That dwell in vegetives, in metals, stones ;
And I can speak of the disturbances
That nature works, and of her cures ; which
doth give me
A more content in course of true delight
Tlian to be thirsty after tottering honor, 40
Or tie my treasure up in silken bags.
To please the fool and death.
See. Gent. Your honor has throngh Ephesns
pour'd forth
Your charity, and hundreds call themselves
Your creatures, who by yon have been re¬
stored :
And. not your knowledge, your personal pun,
but even
Your purse, still open, hath built Lord Ceri¬
mon
Such strong renown as time shall ne'er decay.
Scene hi.]
Enter two or three Servants with a chest.
First Serv. So ; lift there.
Cer. What Is that ?
First Serv. Sir, even now
Did the sea toss upon our shore this chest; 50
'Tis of some wreck.
Cer. Set't down, let's look upon't.
See. Cent. "Tis like a coffin, sir.
Cer. Whate'er it be,
"Tis wondrous heavy. Wrench it open
straight :
If the sea's stomach be o'ercbarged with gold,
t'Tis a good constraint of fortune it belches
i^n us.
Ste. Cent. *Tis so, my lord.
Cer. How close 'tis caulk'd and bitumed !
Did the sea cast it up ?
First Serv. I never saw so huge a billow,
sir.
As toss'd it upon shore.
Cer. Wrench it open ;
Soft! it smells most sweetly in my sense. 60
Sec. Gent. A delicate odor.
Cer. As ever hit my nostril. So, up with
0 you most potent gods! what's here ? a
corse!
First Gent. Most strange ! '
Cer. Shrouded in cloth of state ; balm'd
and entreasnred
With full bags of si>ices ! A passport too !
Ai)ollo, perfect me in the characters !
{Reads from a scroll.
' Here I give to understand.
If e'er tiiis coffin drive a-Iand,
1, King Pericles, have lost 70
Tills queen, worth all our mundane cost.
Who finds her, give her burying ;
Siie was tlie da lighter of a king :
Besides this treasure for a fee,
Tlie gods requite his charity !'
If thou livest, Pericles, thou hast a heart
Tliat even cracks for woe! This chanced to¬
night
Sec. Gent. Most likely, sir.
Cer. Nay, certainly to-night;
For look how fresh she looks ! They were
too rough
Tliat threw her hi the sea. Make a fire
within: 80
Fetch hitiier all my boxes in my closet.
{Exit a Servant.
Death may usurp on nature many hours.
And yet the. fire of life kindle again
Tiie o'erpress'd qiirits. tl heard of an Egyp¬
tian
That had nine hours lien dead.
Who was by good appliance'recovered.
Re-enter a Servant, wtth boxes, napkins, and
fire.
Well said, well said ; the fire Aid cloths.
The rough and woeful music tliat we have,
Cause it to sound, beseech you.
The viol once more; how thou stirr'st, thou
block 1 90
OUJ
The music there !—I pray you, give her air.
Gentlemen.
This queen - will live : nature awakes ; a
warmth
Breathes out of her ; she hath not been en¬
tranced
Above five hours: see bow she gins to blow
Into life's flower again !
First Gent. The heavens.
Through you, increase our wonder and set up
Your fame forever.
Cer. She is alive ; behold.
Her eyelids, cases to those heavenly jewels
Which Pericles hath lost, 100
Begin to part their fringes of bright gold ;
The diamonds of a most praised water
Do appear, to make the world twice rich.
Live,
And make us weep to hear your fate, fair crea¬
ture.
Rare as you seem to be. {She movesi
Thai. O dear Diana,
Where am I ? Where's my lord 7 What world
is this 7
Sec. Gent. Is not this strange 7
First Gent. Most rare.
Cer. Hush, my gentle neighbors !
Lend me your hands ; to the next chamber
bear her.
Get linen : now this matter must be look'd to.
For her relapse is mortal. Come, ccnne ; 110
And Alsculapius guide us !
{Exeunt, carrying her away.
Scene III. Tarsus. A room in Clean's house.
Enter Pericles, Cleon, Dionvza, and Ly-
chorida with Marina in her arms.
Per. Most houor'd Cleon, I must needs be
gone ;
My twelve months are expired, and Tyrus
stands
In a litigious peace. You, and your lady.
Take from my heart all tliaukfulness ! The
gods
Make up the rest upon you !
Cle. Your shafts of fortune, though they
hurt you moi-tally,
Yet glance full wanderingly on us.
Dion. 0 your sweet queen !
That the strict fates had pleased you had
^ brought her hither.
To have bless'd mine eyes with her !
Per. We cannot but obey
The powers above us. Could I rage and roar
As doth the sea she lies in, yet the end 11
Must be as 'tis. My gentle babe Marina, n
whom,
For she was born at sea, I have named so, here
1 charge your charity withal, leaving her
The infant of your care ; beseeching you
To give her princely training, that she may be
Manner'd as she is born.
Cle. Fear not, my lord, but think
Your grace, that fed my country with your
com,
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE,
1000
For which the people's prayers still fall upon
you,
Must lu your child be thought on. If iieglec-
tlon 20
Should therein make me vile, the common
body,
By you relieved, wouldv force me to my duty :
But If to that my nature need a spur.
The gods revenge It upon me and mine.
To the end of generation !
Per. I believe you ;
Your honor and your goodness tejich me to't,
Without your vows. Till she be married,
madam.
By bright Diana; whom we hcmor, all
Uusclssar'd shall this hair of mine remain,
Though I show 111 in't So I take my leave. 30
Good madam, make me blessed In your care
In bringing up my child.
Dion. I have one myself.
Who shall not be more dear to my respect
Than yours, ray lord.
Per, Madam, my thanks and prayers.
Cle. We'll bring your grace e'en to the edge
o' the shore.
Then give you up to the mask'd Neptune and
The gentlest winds of heaven.
Per. I will embrace
Your offer. Come, dearest madam. O, no
tears,
Lychorida, no tears :
Look to your little mistress, on whose grace 40
You may depend hereafter. Come, my lord.
\Exeunt.
Scene IV. Ephesiis. A room in Cerimon's
home.
Enter Cerimon and Thaisa
Cer. Madam, this letter, and some certain
jewels.
Lay With yon In your coffer : which are now
At your command. Know you the character?
Thai, It is my lord's.
That I was shlpp'd at sea, I well remember,.
Even on my eaniug time-; but whether there
Dellver'd, by the holy gods,
I cannot rightly say. But since King Pericles,
My wedded lord, I ne'er shall see again,
A vestal livery will I take me to, 10
And never more have joy.
Cer. Madam, If this you purpose as ye
speak,
Diana's temple is not distant far,
Wiiere you may abide till your date expire.
Moreover, If you please, a niece of mine
Shall there attend you.
' Thai. My recompense Is thanks, that's all ;
Yet my good will is great, though the gift
smalL {Exeunt.
ACT IV.
Enter Gower.
Gow. Imagine Pericles arrived at Tyre, '
Welcomed and settled to Ms own desire.
[Act iv.
His woeful queen we leave at Ephesus,
Unto Diana there a votaress.
Now to Marina bend ^our mind.
Whom our fast-growing scene must find
At Tarsus, and by Cleon tralu'd
In music, lettei's ; who hath galn'd
Of education all tlie grace,
Which makes her both the heart and place
Of general wonder. But, alack, J1
'Tliat monster envy, oft the wrack
Of earned praise, Marina's life
Seeks to take off by treason's km'fe.
And In this kind liath our Cleon
One daughter, and a wench full grown.
Even ripe for marrlage-rlte ; this maid
Hlght Phlloten : and It Is said
For certain In our story, she
' Would ever with Marina be : 20
Be't when she weaved the slelded silk
With fingers long, small, white as milk ;
Or when she would with sharp needle
wound
The cambrl(^ which she made more sound
By hurting It; or when to the lute
She sung, and made the night-bird mute.
That still records with moan ; or when
She would with rich and constant peu
Vail to her mistress Dlau ; still
This Phlloten contends in skill 30
With absolute Marina : so
With the dove of Papbos might the crow
Vie feathers white. Marina gets
All praises, which are paid as debts.
And not as given. This so darks
In Phlloten all graceful marks.
That Cleon's wife, with euvy rare,
A present murderer does prepare
For good Marina, that her daughter
Might stand peerless by this slaughter. 40
The sooner her vile thoughts to stead,
Lychorida, our nurse. Is dead :
And cursed Dlonyza hath
The pregnant Instrument of wrath
Prest for this blow. The unborn event
I do commend to your content:
Only I carry winged time
Post on the lame feet of my rhyme ;
Which never could I so convey.
Unless your thoughts went on my way. 50
Dionyza does appear.
With Leonine, a murderer. [Exit,
Scene I. Tarsus. An open place near the,
sea-shore.
Enter Diontza and Leonine.
Dion. Thy oath remember ; thou hast sworn
to do't; •
'Tis but a blow, which never shall be known.
Tliou canst not do a thing In the world so soon.
To yield thee so much profit. Let not con¬
science.
Which Is but cold. Inflaming love 1' thy bosonl.
Inflame too nicely ; nor let pity, which
Even women have cast off, melt thee, but be
A soldier to tliy purpose.
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.
sceke i.]
Letm. I will do't; but yet she is a goodly
creature. <)
Dion. The fitter, thea, the gods should have
her. tHere she comes weeping lor her only
mistress' death. Thou art resolved ?
Leon. I am resolved.
Enl^ Marina, with a basket of flowers.,
Mar. No, I will rob Tellus of her weed.
To strew thy green with flowers: the yellows,
blues,
The purple violets, and marigolds, ,
Shall as a carpet hang upon thy grave.
While summerslays do last. Ay me ! poor
maid.
Bum in a tempest, when my mother died.
This world to me is like a luting storm, 20
Whirring me from my friends.
Dion. How now, Marina ! why do yen keep
alone ? ...
•How'chance my daughter is not with you?
Do not
Consume your blood with sorrowing : you
have
A nurse of me. Lord, how your favor's
changed
With tills unprofitable woe !
Come, give me your flowers, ere tlie sea mar
it.
Walk with Leonine ; the air is quick there.
And it pierces and sharpens the stomach.
Come,
Leonine, take her by the arm, walk with her.
Mar. No, I pray you ; 31
I'll not bereave you of your servant.
Dion. Come, come ;
I love tiie king your father, and yourself.
With more than foreign heart. We every da.v
Expect him here : when he shall come and find
Our paragon to all reports thus blasted.
He will repent the breadth of his great voy¬
age ; [taken
Blame both my lord and me, that we have
No care to your best courses. Go, I pray you,
Walk, and be cheerful once again ; reserve 40
That excellent complexion, which did steal
The eyes of young and old. Care not for me ;
1 can go home alone-
Mar. Well, I will go ;
But yet I have no desire to it.
Dion. Come, come, I know 'tis good for you.
Walk half an hour. Leonine, at the least:
Uemember what I have said.
Leon. I warrant you, madam.
Dion. I'll leave you, my sweet lady, for a
while:
Pray, walk softly, do not heat your blood:
What! I must have a care of you.
Mar. My thanks, sweet madam. 50
[Exit Dionyza.
Is this wind westerly that l^ws ?
Leon. South-west.
Mar. When I was bom, the wind was north.
Leon. Was't so ?
Mar. My father, as nurse said, did never
fear,
1001 .
But cried ' Good seamen I' to the sailors, gall-
• ing
His kingly hands, haling ropes ;
And, clasping to the mast, endured a sea
That almost burst the deck.
Leon. When was this ?
Mar. When I was bom :
Never was waves nor wind more violent; 60
And from the ladder-tackle washes off
A eanvas-climber. ' Ha !' says one, ' wilt
out ?'
And with a dropping industry they skip
From stem to stem : the boatswain whistles,
and
The master calls, and trebles their confusion.
Leon. Come, say your prayers.
Mar. What mean you ?
Leon. If you require a little space for prayer,
I grant it: pray ; but be not traious.
For the gods are quick of ear, and I am sworn
To do my work with haste. 71
Mar. Why will you kill me ?
Leon. To.satisfy my lady.
Mar. Why would she have me kill'd ?
Now, as I can remember, by my troth,
I never did her hurt in all my life :
1 never spake bad word, nor did ill turn
To any living creature ; believe me, la,
1 never kill'd a mouse, nor hurt a fly :
I trod upon a worm against my will.
But I wept for it. How have I offended, 80
Wherein my death might yield her any profit.
Or my life imply her any danger ?
Leon. My commission
Is not to reason of the deed, but do it.
Mar. You will not do't for all tbe world, I
hope.
You are well favor'd, and your looks foreshow
You have a gentle heart. I saw you lately.
When you caught hurt in parting two that
fought:
Good soom, it show'd well in you: do so now:
Your lady seeks my life ; come you between,
And save {>oor me, the weaker. 91
Leon. I am sworn.
And wUi dispatch. [He seizes her.
Enter Pirates.
First Pirate. Hold, villain !
[Leonine runs away.
See. Pirate. A prize ! a prize !
Third Pirate. Half-part, mates, half-part.
Come, let's have her aboard suddenly.
[Exeunt Pirates with Marina.
Re-enter Leonine.
Leon. These roguing thieves serve the
great pirate Valdes ;
And they have seized Marin.a. Let her go:
There's no hope she will retiim. I'll swear
she's dead,
And thrown into the sea. But I'll see further:
Perhaps they will but please themselves upon
ner, 101
Not carry her aboard. If she remain.
Whom they have ravish'd must by me be
slain. [Exit.
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.
• 1002
Scene II. Mijtileive. A room in a brothel.
Enter Pandab, Bawd, and Boult.
Pond. Boult !
Boult. Sir ?
Pand. Search the market narrowly ; My-
tileiie is full of gallants. We lost too mucli
money this mart by being too wenchless.
Bawd. We were never so much out of
creatures. We have but poor three, and they
can do no more tlian they can do ; and tiiey
witli continual action are even as good as
rotten. ' 9
Pmd. Tlierefore let's have fresh ones,
whate'er we pay for them. If there be not a
conscience to be used in every trade, we sliall
never prosper.
Bawd. Thoii sayest true: 'tis not our bring¬
ing up of poor bastards,—as, I think, I have
brought up some eleven—
Boult. Ay, to eleven ; and brought them
down again. But shall I search the market ?
Bawd. What else, man? The stuff we
have, a strong wind will blow it to pieces,
they are so pitifully sodden. 21
Pand. Thou sayest true ; they're too un¬
wholesome, o' conscience. The poor Tran-
sylvanian is dead, that lay with the little bag¬
gage.
Boult. Ay, she quickly pooped him : she
made him roast-meat for worms. But 111 go
search the market. [JSxVf.
Pand. Three or four thousand cheqnins
were as pretty a proportion to live quietl.y,
and so give over. 30
Bawd. Why to give over, I pray you ? is it
a shame to get when we are old ?
Pand. O, our credit comes not in like the
commodity, nor the commodity wages not
with the danger : therefore, if in our youths
we could pick up some pretty estate, 'twere
not amiss to keep ourdoor hatched. Besides,
tiie sore terms we stand upon witli the gods
will be strong with us for giving over. 39
Bawd. Come, other sorts offend as well as
we.
Pand. As well as we 1 ay, and better too ;
we offend worse. Neither is our profession
any trade ; it's no calling. But here comes
Boult.
Ba-enter Boult, with the Pirates and Marina.
Boult. [To Marina] Come your ways.
M.v masters, you. say she's a virgin ?
First Pirate. O, sir, we doubt it not.
Boult. Master, I have gone through for
this piece, you see : if you like her, so ; if not,
I have lost my earnest.
Bawd. Boult, has she any qualities ? BO
Boult. She iias a good face, speaks well,
and has excellent good clothes : there's no
further necessity of qualities cau make her be
refused.
Bawd. What's her price, Boult ?
Boxilt. I cannot be bated one doit of a thou¬
sand pieces.
[Act iv.
Pand. Well, follow me, my masters, you
shall have your money presently. Wife, take
her in ; instruct her what she has to do, that
she may not be raw in her entertainment. 60
[Ezeunt Pandar and Pirates.
Bawd. Boult, take you the marks of her,
the color of her hair, complexion, height, age,
with warrant of her virginity ; and cry ' He
that will give most shall have her first' Such
a maidenhead were no cheap thing, if men
were as they have been. Get this done as I
command you.
Boult. Performance shall follow. [Exit.
Mar. Alack that Leonine was so slack, so
slow!
He should have struck, not spoke; or that
these pirates.
Not enough barbarous, had not o'erboard
thrown me 70
Eor to seek my mother !
Batod. Why lament you, pretty one ?
Mar. That I am pretty.
Bawd. Come, the gods have done their
part in you.
Mar. I accuse them not.
Bawd. You are light into my hands, where
you are like to live.
Mar. The more my fault
To scape his hands where I was like to die. 80
Batod. Ay, and you shall live in pleasure.
Mar. No.
Bawd. Yes, indeed shaH you, and fcaste
gentlemen of all fashions: you shall fare well;
you shall have the difference of all com¬
plexions. What! do yon stop your ears 7
Mar. Are you a woman ?
Batod. What would you have me be, an I
be not a woman ?
Mar. An honest woman, or not a woman. 90
Batod. Marry, whip thee, gosling: I think I
shall have something to do with you. Come,
you're a young fooli.sh sapling, and must be
bowed as I would have yon.
Mar. The .gods defend me !
Bawd. If it please the gods to defend you
by men, then men must comfort you, men
must feed you, men must stir you up. Boult's
returned.
Re-enter Boult. .
Now, sir, hast thou cried her through tlie
market ?
Boul. I have cried her almost to the num¬
ber of her hairs; I have drawn her picture
with' m.y voice.
Bawd. And I prithee tell me, how dost
thou find the inclination of the people, espe¬
cially of the younger sort ?
Botita. 'Faith, they listened to me as they
would have hearkened to their father's testa¬
ment. Tlmre was a Spaniard's mouth so
watered, that he went to bed to her very
description. 109
Bawd. AYe shall have him here to-morrow
with his best ruff on.
Boult. To-night, to-night But, mistress.
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.
SCBXB ly.]
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE,
100.J
do you know the French knight tliat cowere i'
the hams?
Bawd. Who, Monsieur Yeroles ?
Boult. Ay, he : lie offered to cut a caper
at the proclamation ; but he made a groan at
it, and swore he would see her to-morrow.
Bawd. Well, well; as for him, he brouglit
his disease hither ; here he does but repair it.
I know he will come in our shadow, to scatter
Ills crowns in the sun.
BmU, Well, if we Imd of every nation a
traveller, we should lodge them with tliis sign.
Bawd. [To Mar.} Pray you, come hither
awhile. You have fortunes cmning upon
you. Mark me ; you must seem to do timt
fearfully which you commit willingly, despise
profit where you have most gain. To weep
that you live as ye do makes pity in your
lovers: seldom but that pity begets you a good
opinion, and tliat opinion a mere profit.
Mar. I understand you not.
Boult. 0, take her home, mistress, take
her home : these blushes of hers must be
quenched with some present practice.
Bawd. Thou say est true, i' faith, so they
must; for your bride goes to that with sliarae
which is her way to go with warrant. 139
Boxtlt. 'Faitli, some do, and some do not.
Bnt, mistress, if I have bargained for the
joint,—
Bawd. Thou mayst cut a morsel of! tlie
Bovlt. I may so.
Batod. Who should deny it ? Come, young
one, I like the manner of your garments well.
Boult. Ay, by my faith, they shall not be
changed yet.
Bawd. Boult, spend thou that in the town:
report what a sojourner we have ; you'll lose
nothing by custom. When nature framed this
piece, she meant tljee a good turn; therefore
say what a paragon she is, and thou hast the
harvest out of thine own report.
Boult. I warrant you, mistress, thunder
shall not so awake the beds of eels as my giv¬
ing out her beauty stir up the lewdly-inclined.
I'll bring home some to-night. ■
Batod. Come your ways ; follow me.
Mar. If fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters
deep.
Untied I still my virgin knot will keep. 160
Diana, aid my purpose !
Bawd. What have we to do with Diana ?
Pray you, will you go with us? [Exeunt.
ScBME III. Tarsus. A room in Cleon's house.
Enter Cleoit and Diouyza.
Dion. Why, are you foolish ? Can it be
undone?
Cle. O Dionyza, such a piece of slaughter
sun and moon ne'er look'd upon !
Vu
«
I think
You'll turn a child again,
Cle. Were I chief lord of all this spacious
world,
I'ld give it to undo the deed. O lady,
Much less iu blood tlian virtue, yet a princess
To equal any single crown o' the earth
1' the jiuntice of compare! 0 villain Leonine !
Whom tliou hast poison'd too : 10
If thou hadst drunk to him, 't had been a
kindness
Becoming well thy fact; what daust thou say
When noble Pericles shaU demand bis child ?
Dion. That she is dead. Nurses are not
the fates.
To foster it, nor ever to preserve.
She died at night; I'll say so. Who can
cross it ?
Unless you play the pious innocent.
And lor an honest attribute cry out
' She died by foul play.'
Cle. I O, go to. Well, well,
Of all the faults beneath the heavens, the
gods 20
Do like this worst.
Dion. Be one of those that think
The petty wrens of Tarsus will fly hence.
And open this to Pericles. I do shame
To think of what a noble strain you are.
And of Imw coward a spirit.
Cle. To such proceeding
Who ever but his approbation added,
Though not his'prinie consent, he did not flow
From honorable sources.
Dion. Be it so, then :
Yet none does know, but you, how she came
dead, , ■• '
Nor none can know. Leonine being gone. 30
She did distain my child, and stocm between
Her and her fortunes; none would look on her.
But cast their gazes on Marina's face j
Whilst oura was blurted at and held a malkiii
Not worth the time of day. It pierced mo
thorough ;
And though you call my course unnatural,'
You not your child well loving, yet I find
It greets me as an enterprise of kindness
Perform'd to your sole daughter.
Cle. Heavens forgive it i
Dion. And as for Pericles, 40
What Should he say? We wept after her
hearse,
And yet we mourn: her monument
Is almost finish'd, and her epitaphs
In glittering golden characters express
A general praise to her, and care in us
At whose expense 'tis done.
Cle. Thou art like the harpy.
Which, to betray, dost, with thine angel's face.
Seize with thine eagle's talons.
Dion. Yon are like one that superstitiously
Doth swear to the gods that winter kills the
flies: 60
But yet I know you'll do as I advise. [Exeunt.
Scene IV.
Enter Go wee, before the ■monument Marina
at Tarsus.
Oow. Thus time we waste, and longest lea¬
gues make short;
1004
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.
[Act iv.
Sail seas in cockles, have an wish but for't;
Malciug, to tiikc your iiiiaginatioii,
From iMurii to Ixmrn, region to region.
By you being pardon'd, we commit no crime
To use one l.-iiiguage in each several clime
Where our scenes seem to live. I do beseech
you [teach you,
To learn of me, who stand i' the gaps to
The stages of our story. Pericles
Is now again thwarting the wayward seas.
Attended on by many a lord and knight.
To see his daughter, all his life's delight.
Old Kscaues, whom Helicanus late
Advanced in time to great and high estate.
Is left to govern. Bear you it in mind.
Old Helicanus goes along behind.
Well-.sailing ships and bounteous winds have
brought
This king to Tarsus,—think his pilot thought;
So with his steerage shall your thoughts
grow on,— 19
To fetch his daughter home, who first is gone.
Like motes and shadows see them move
awhile ;
Your ears unto your eyes I'll reconcile
' Dumb Show.
Bnfej'periole,s, at one door, with all hit train ;
Cleon and DiojfYZA, at the other. C1.kon
shows Pebicles the tomb; ichereat Pericles
makes lamentation, puts on sackcloth, and in
a mif/hty passion departs. Then exeunt Cleon
and Dionyza.
See how belief may suffer by foul show !
'This borrow'd passion stands for true old woe;
And Pericles, in sorrow all devoupd.
With sighs shot through, and biggest tears
o'ershower'd.
Leaves Tarsus and again embarks. He swears
Never to wash his face, nor cut liis hairs :
He puts on sackcloth, and to sea. He bears
. A tempest, which his mortal vessel tears, 30
And yet he rides it out. Now please you wit
The epitaph is for Marina writ
By wicked Dionyza.
[fleads the inscription on Marina's
monnment.
'The fairest, sweet'st, and best lies here,
Wlio wither'd in her spring of year.
She was of Tyrus the king's daughter.
On whom foul death hath made this slaugh¬
ter;
Marina was ^e call'd ; and at her biitli,
Theti.s, beiug jirond, swallow'd some part o"
the earth :
Therefore the earth, fearing to be o'erflow'd.
Hath Tlietis' birth-child on the heavens be-
stow'd : [stint,
Wherefore she does, and swears she'11 never
Make raging battery uixm shores of flint.'
No visor does become black villany
So well as soft and tender flattery.
Let Pericles believe his daughter s dead.
And bear his courses to be ordered
By Lady Fortune; while our scene must
play
His daughter's woe and heavy well-a-day
In her unholy service. Patience, then, 50
And think you now are all in Mytilene.[Ah;it.
Scene V. MytUene. A street before the brothel.
Enter, from the brothel, two Gentlemen.
First Gent. Did you ever hear the like ?
Hec.Gent. No, nor never shall do hi such a
place as this, she being once gone.
First Gent. But to have divinity preached
there ! did you ever dream of such a thing ?
Sec. Gent. No, no. Come, I am for no more
bawdy-houses: shall's go hear the vestals sing'?
First Gent. I'll do any thing now that is
virtuous ; but I am out of the road of rutting
for ever. [Exeunt- 10
Scene VI. The same. A room in the brothel.
Enter Pandar, Bawd, and Boult.
Pand. Well, I had rather tlnui twice the
worth of her she had ne'er come here.
Bawd. Fie, fie upon her ! she's able to
freeze the god Pria)>us, and undo a whole
generation. We must either get her ravished,
or be rid of her. When she should do for clients
her fitment, and do me the kindness of our
profession, she has me her quirks, her reiisoits,
her master reasons, her prayers, her knees ;
that she would make a puritan of the devil, if
he should cheairen a kiss of her.
Boult. 'Faith, I must ravish her, or she'll
disfumish us of all our cavaliers, and make
our swearers priests.
Pand. Now, the pox upon her green-sick¬
ness for me!
Bawd. 'Faith, there's no way to be rid on't
but by tire way to the pox. Here comes the
Lord Lysimachus disguised.
Boult. We should have both lord and lown,
if the peevish baggage would but give way to
customers, , 31
Enter Lysimachus.
Lys. How now ! How a dozen of virgini¬
ties ?
Bawd. Now, the gods to-bless your honor 1
Boult. I am glad to see your honor hi good
health.
Lys. You may so ; 'tis the better for yon
that your resorters stand upon sound legs.
How now ! wholesome iniquity liave you that
a man may deal withal, and defy the surgeon'?
Bawd. We have here one, sir, if she would
—but there never came her like in Mytilene.
Lys. If she'Id do the deed of darknes.';,
thou wouldst say.
Bawd. Your honor knows what 'tis to say
well enough.
Lys. 'Well, call fortli, call forth,
Boult. For flesh and blood, sir, white a^d
red, you shall see a rose ; and she were a rose
indeM, if she had but—
Lys. What, prithee ? 40
Boult. 0, sir, I can be modest
Scene vi.]
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.
1005
Lys. That dignifies the reuown of a bawd,
no lees thaw it gives a good report to a uumber
to be chaste. [Exit Boult.
Bawd. Here comes that which grows to the
stalk ; never plucked yet, I can assure you.
Re-enter Boult loilh Marina.
Is she not a fair creature ?
Lys. 'Faith, she would serve after a long
voyage at sea. Well, there's for you : leave
us.
Bawd. I beseech your honor, give me leave:,
a word, and I'll have done presently. 51
Lys. I be.seech you, do.
Bawd. [To Marin^ First, I would have
you note, this is an honorable man.
Mar. I desire to find him so, that I may
worthily note him.
Bawd. Next, he's the governor of this coun¬
try, and a man whom I am bound to.
Mar. If he govern the country, you are
bound to him indeed ; but how honorable he
is in that, I know not. 61
Bawd. Pray you, without any more vir¬
ginal fencing, will you use him kindly ? He
^11 line your apron with gold.
Mar. What he will do graciously, I will
thankfully receive.
Lys. Ha' you done t
Bawd. My lord, she's not paced yet: you
must take some pains to work her to your
manage. Come, we will leave his honor and
her together. Gotlwways.
[Exeunt Bawd, Pandar, and Boult,
. Lys. Now, pretty one, how long have you
been at this trade ?
Mar. What trade, sir?
Lys. Why, I cannot name't but I shall
offend.
Mar. I cannot be offended with my trade.
Please you to name it.
Lys. How long have you been of this pro¬
fession ?
Mar. E'er since I can remember.
Lys. Did you go to't so young ? Were
you a gamester at five or at seven ? 81
Mar.. Earlier too, sir, if now I be one.
Lys. Why, the house you dwell in proclaims
you to be a creature of sale.
Mar. Do you know this house to be a place
of such resort, and will come into't ? I hear
say you are of honorable parts, and are the
governor of this place.
Ltjs. Why, hath your principal made known
unto you who I am ? 110
Mar. Who is my principal 1
Lys. Why, your herb-woman ;_she tliat
sets seeds and roots of shame and iniquity. O,
you have heard something of my power, and
so stand aloof for more serious wooing. But I
protest to thee, pretty one, my authority shall
not see thee, or else look frlAdly upon thee.
Come, bring me to some private place : come,
come.
Mar. If you were bom to honor, show it
now ;
If put upon you, make the judgment good
That thought yon worthy of ib 101
Lys. How's this ? how's this ? Some more ;
be sage.
Mar. For me.
That am a maid, though most ungentle fortune
Have placed me in this sty, where, since I
came.
Diseases have been sold dearer than physic,
O, that the gods
Would set me free from this uuhallow'd plaee.
Though they did change roe to the meanest
bird
That files i' the purer air !
Lys. I did not think
Thou couldst have spoke so well; ne'er
dream'd thou comdsb 110
Had 1 brought hither a corrupted mind.
Thy speech had alter'd it. Hold, here's gold
for thee :
Persever in that clear way thou goest,
And the gods stren^hen thee !
Mar. The good gods preserve you 1
Lys. For me, be you thoughten
That I came with no Hi intent; for to me
The very doors and windows savor vilely.
Fare thee well. Thou art a piece of virtue, and
I doubt not but thy training hath been noble.
Hold, here's more gold for thee. 120
A curse u[)on him, die he like a thief.
That robs thee of thy goodness ! If thou dost
Hear from me, it shall be for thy good.
Re-enter Bouet.
Boxdt. I beseech your honor, one piece for
me.
Lys. Avaunt, thou damned door-keeper!
Your house, but for this vii^n that doth prop
it,
Would sink and overwhelm you. Away f [Exit.
Bmdt. How's this? We must take another
course with you. If youi; peevish chastity,
which is not worth a breakfast in the cheapest
country under the cope, shall undo a whole
household, let me be gelded like a spaniel.
Come your ways.
Mar. Whither would you have me? .
Boult. I must have your maidenhead taken
off, or the common hangman shall execute ib
Come your ways. We'll have no more gentle¬
men driven away. Come your ways, I say.
Re-enter Bawd.
Bawd. How now ! what's the matter ? 140
Boult. Worse and worse, mistress ; she has
here spoken holy words to the Lord Lysima-
chus.
Bawd. O abominable!
Boult. She makes our profession as it were
to stink afore the face of the gods.
Bawd. Marry, hang her up for ever !
Boult. "The nobleman would have dealt
with her like a nobleman, and she sent him
away as cold as a snowball ; saying his pray¬
ers too. 149
Bawd. Boult, take her away ; use her at
1006
thy pleasare : crack the glass of her virginity,
and make the rest malleable.
Boult. -An if she were a thornier piece of
ground than she is, she shall be ploughed.
Mar. Hark, hark, you gods 1 '
Bawd. She conjures : away with her!
Would she had never come within my doors !
Marry, hang you ! She's bom to undo us.
Will you not go the way of women-kind?
Marry, come up, my dish of chastity with rose¬
mary and bays! [Exit.
Boult. Come, mistress ; come your ways
with me.
Mar. Whither wilt thou have me ?
Boult. To take from you the jewel you
hold so dear.
Mar. Prithee, tell me one thing first.
Boult. Come now, your one thing.
Mar. What canst thou wish thine enemy
to be ?
Boult. Why, I could wish him to be my
master, or rather, my mistress. 170
Mar. Neither of these are so bad as thou
art.
Since they do better thee in tlieir command.
Thou hold'st a place, for whicli tlie pained'st
fiend
Of hell would not in reputation change s
Thou art the damned doorkeeper to every
Coistrel that comes inquiring for his Tib ;
"To the choleric fistiug of every rogue
Thy ear is liable ; thy food is such 178
As hath been belch'd on by infected lungs.
Boult. What would you have me do ? go
to the wars, would you ? where a man may
serve .seven years for tiie loss of a leg, and
have not money enough in tlie end to buy him
a wooden one ?
Mar. Do any thing but this thou doest.
Empty
Old receptacles, or common shores, of filth ;
Serve by indenture to the common hangman:
Any of these ways are yet better than this ;
For what thou professest, a baboon, could he
speak, [gods
Would own a name too dear. O, that the
Would safely deliver me from this place ! 191
Here, here's gold for thee.
If that thy master would gain by me.
Proclaim that I can sing, weave, sew, and
dance, [boast;
With other virtues, which I'll keep from
And I will undertake all these to teach.
I doubt not but this populous city will
Yield many scholars.
Boult. But can you teach all this you speak
of ? [again.
Mar. Prove that I cannot, take, me home
And prostitute me to the basest groom 201
That doth frequent your house.
Botdt. Well, I will see what I can do for
tliee : if I can place thee, I will.
Mar. But amongst honest women.
Boult. .'Faith, my acquaintance lies little
amongst them. But since my master and
mistress have bought you, there's no going
[Act v.
but by their consent: therefore I will make
them acquainted with your purpose, and I
doubt not but I shall find the'"* tractable
enough. Come, I'll do for thee vnat I can ;
come your ways. [Exeunt.,
ACT V.
Enter Gower.
Gow. Marina thus the brothel 'scapes, and
chances
Into an honest house, our story says.
She sings like one immortal, and she dances
As goddess-like to her admired lays ;
Deep clerks she dumbs; and with her neeld
composes [berry.
Nature's own shape, of bud, bird, branch, or
That even her art sisters the natural roses ;
Her inkle, silk, twin with the rubied cherry :
That pupils lacks she none of noble race, 9
Who ix)ur their bounty on her ; and her gain
She gives the cursed bawd. Here we her
place;
And to her father turn our thoughts again,
Where we left him, on the sea. We there him
lost;
Whence, driven before the winds, he is arrived
Here where his daughter dwells ; and on this
coast
Suppose him now at anchor. The city strived
God Neptune's annual feast to keep: from
whence
Lysimachus our Tyrian ship espies.
His banners sable, trimm'd with rich expense;
And to him in his barge with fervor hies. 20
In your supposing once more put your sight
Of heavy Pericles ; think this his bark:
Where what is done in action, more, if might.
Shall be discover'd ; please you, sit and hark.
[ExU.
Scene I. On board Pericles' ship, off Myti-
lene. A close pavilion on deck, with a cwrtain
before it; Pericles within it, reclined on a
couch. A barge lying beside the Tyrian
vessel.
Enter two Sailors, one belonging to the Tyrian
vessel, the other to the barge; to them Heli-
canus.
^ Tyr Sail. [To the Sailor of MytUene] Where
is lord Helicanus ? he can resolve yoiu
O, here he is.
Sir, there's a barge put off from Mytilene,
And in it is Lysimachus the governor.
Who craves to come aboard. What is your
will ? [gCntloraeu.
Hel. Tliat he have his. Call up -ome
Tyr. Sail. Ho, gentlemen ! my lord ;ills.
Enter two or three Gentlemen.
Pirst Gent. Doth your lordship call V
Hel. Gentlemen, there's some of t.'orth
would come aboard ;
1 pray ye, greet them fairly. 10
[The'Gentlemen and the tioo Sailoi-s descend,
and go on board the barge.
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.
Scene i.]
£n<er, from thence, Lysimachus and Lords ;
with the Gentlemen and the two Sailors.
Tyr. Sail. Sir,
This is the man that can, in aught you would,
Kesolve you. ■ [you 1
Lys. Hail, reverend sir ! the gods preserve
Hel. And you, sir, to outlive the age I am,
And die as 1 would do.
Lys. Tou wish me well.
Being on shore, honoring of Neptune's tri¬
umphs.
Seeing this goodly ves.sel ride before us,
1 made to it, to know of whence you are.
Hel. First, what is your place ? 20
Lys. I am the governor of this place you
lie before.
Hel Sir,
Our vessel is of Tyre, in it the king ;
A man who for tliis three months hath not
Ei>okeu
To any one, nor taken sustenance
But to prorogue his grief. [perature ?
Lys. Upon what ground is his distein-
Hel. 'Twould be too tedious to repeat;
But the main grief springs from the loss
Of a beloved daughter and a wife. 30
Lys. May we not see him ?
Hel. You may ;
But bootiess is your sight: he will not speak
To any.
Lys. Yet let me obtain my wish.
Hel. Behold him. [Pen'cZcs discovered.']
This was a goodly person,
Till the disaster that, one mortal night.
Drove him to this. ■
Lys. Sir king, all hail! the gods preserve
you !
Hail, royal sir ! 40
Hel. It is in vain ; he will not speak to you.
First Lord. Sir,
We have a maid in Mytilene, I durst wager.
Would win some words of him.
Lys. 'Tis well bethouglit.
She questionless with her sweet harmony
And other chosen attractions, would allure,
And make a battery through his deafen'd
parts.
Which now are midway stopp'd ;
She is all happy as the fairest of all.
And, with her fellow maids, is now upon 50
The leafy shelter that abuts against
The island's side.
[Whispers a Lord, who goes off in the
barge of Lysimachvs.
Hel. Sure, all's effectless ; yet nothing
we'll omit
That bears recovery's name. But, since your
kindness
We have stretch'd thus far, let us beseech you
That for our gold we may provision have.
Wherein we are not destitute for want.
But weary for the staleness.*
Lys. O, sir, a courtesy
Wliich if we should deny, the most just gods
For every graff would send a caterpillar, 60
And so afflict our province^ Yet once more
1007
Let me entreat to know at large the cause
Of your king's sorrow.
Hel Sit, sir, I will recount it to you;
But, see, I am prevented.
Re-enter, from the barge. Lord, with Marina,'
atid a young lady.
Lys. O, here is
The lady that I sent for. Welcome, fair one !
Is't not a goodly presence ?
Hel. She's a gallant lady.
Lys. She's such a one, that, were 1 well
assured .
Came of a gentle kind and noble stock,
I'ld wish no better choice, and think me rarely
wed. 69
Fair one, all goodness that consists in bounty
Expect even here, where is a kingly patient:
If that thy prosperous and artificial feat
Can draw him but to answer thee in aught, ..
Thy sacred physic shall receive such pay
As thy desires can wish.
Mar. Sir, I will use
My utmost skill in his recovery.
Provided
That none but I and my companion maid
Be suffer'd to come near him.
Lys. Come, let us leave her j
And the gods make her prosperous ! 80
[Marina sings.
Lys. Mark'd he your music ?
Mar. No, nor look'd on us.
Lys. See, she will speak to him.
Mar. Hail, sir ! my lord, lend ear.
Per. Hum, ha !
Mai-. I am a maid.
My lord, that ne'er before invited eyes.
But have been gazed on like a comet: she
speaks.
My lord, that, may be, hatlr endured a grief
Might equal yours, if both were justly weigh'd.
Though wayward fortune did malign my
state, 90
My derivation was from ancestors
Who stood equivalent with mighty kings :
But time hath rooted out my parentage.
And to the world and awkward casualties
Bound me in servitude. [Aside] I will desist;
But there is something glows upon my cheek,
And whispers in mine ear ' Go not till ha
speak.' [age—
Per. My fortunes—parentage—good parent-
To equal mine !—was it not thus ? what say
yon ?
Mar. I said, my lord, if yon did know my
parentage, 100
You would not do me violence.
• Per. 1 do think so; Pray you, turn your
eyes upon me. [woman ?
You are like something that—What country-
Here of these shores ?
Mar. No, nor of any shores:
Yet I w.us mortally brought forth, and am
No otlier than I appear.
Per. I am great with woe, and shall deliver
weeping.
PERICLES, PRINCE OF. TYRE.
10)8
My dearest Trife was like this maid, and such
a one
My daughter might have been : my queen's
square brows ;
Her stature to an inch ; as wand-like straight:
As silver-voiced ; her eyes as jewel-like 111
And rased as richly ; in pace another Juno ;
Who starves the ears she leeds, and makes
them hungry,
The more she gives them speech. Where do
I you live 1 [deck
Mar. Where I am but a stranger: from the
You may discern the place.
Per. where were you bred ?
And how achieved you these endowments,
which
You make more rich to owe ?
Mar. If I should tell my history, it would
seem
Like lies disdain'd in the reporting.
Per. Prithee, speak : 120
Falseness cannot come from thee ; for thou
look'st
Modest as Justice, and thou seem'st a palace
For the crown'd Truth to dwell in : I will be¬
lieve thee,
And make ray senses credit thy relation
To points that seem impossible ; for thou
look'st
Like one I loved indeed. What were thy
friends ? • - [back—
Didst thou not say, when I did push thee
Which was when I perceived thee—that thou
camest
From good descending ?
Mar. So indeed I did.
Per. Report thy parentage. I think thou
said'st 130
Thou hadst been toss'd from wrong to injury,
And that thou thought'st thy griefs might
equal mine.
If both were opeu'd.
Mar. Some such thing
I said, and said no more but what my thoughts
Did warrant me was likely.
Per. Tell thy story;
If thine considePd prove the thousandth ^rt
Of my endurance, thou art a man, and I
Have suffePd like a girl : yet thou dost look
Like Patience gazing on kings' graves, and
smiling
Extremity out of act. What were thy friends ?
How lost thou them ? Thy name, my most
kind virgin ? 141
Recount, I do beseedi thee : come, sit by me.
Mar. My name is Marina.
Per. O, I am mock'd,
And thou by some incensed god sent hither
To make the world to laugh at me.
Mar. Patience, good sir.
Or here I'll ^ease.
Per. Nay, I'll be patient.
Thou little know'st now thou dost startle me.
To call thyself Marina.
Mar. Tlie name
Was given me by one that had some power.
[Act t.
My father, and a king. 151
Per. Howl a king's daughter?
And call'd Marina ?
Mar. You said you would believe me;
But, not to be a troubler of your peace.
I wiil end here.
Per. But are you flesh and, blood ?
Have you a working pulse ? and are no fairy?
Motion I Well ; speak on. Wliere were 3'ou
born ?
And wherefore cail'd Marina ?
Mar. Call'd Marina
For I was born at sea.
Per. At sea! what mother ?
Ma?\ My mother was the daughter of a
king ;
Who died the minute I was born, 160
As my good nurse Lychorida hath oft
Deliver'd weeping.
Per. O, stop there a little!
[Aside] This is the rarest dream that e'er dull
sleep
Did mock sad fools withal : tins cannot be :
My daughter's buried. Well: where were you
bred ?
I'll hear you more, to the bottom of your storj'.
And never interrupt you.
Mar. You scorn : believe me, 'twere best I
did give o'er. 169
Per. I will believe you by the syllable
Of what you shall deliver. Yet, give me leave:
How came you iu these parts ? where were you
bred ? [ine ;
Mar. The king my father did in Tarsus leave
Till cruel Cleon, with his wicked wife, i
Did seek to murder me : and having woo'd
A villain to attempt it, who having drawn to
do't,
A crew of pirates came and rescued me ;
Brought me to Mytilene. But, good sir.
Whither will you have me ? Why do you
weep ? It may be.
You think me an impo.stor: no, good faith ;
I am the daughter to King Pericles,' 180
If good King Pericles be.
Pei\ Ho, Helicauus !
I/el. Calls my lord ?
Per. Thou arita grave and noble counsellor.
Most wise iu general: tell me, if thou canst,
What this maid is, or what is like to be.
That thus hath m^e me weep ?
Hel. I know not; but
Here is the regent, sir, of Mytilene
Speaks nobly m her.
Lys. She would never tell
Her parentage ; being demanded that, 190
She would sit. still and. weep.
Per. O Helicanus, strike me, honor'd sir ;
Give me a gash, put me to-irresent pain ;
Lest this great sea of joys rushing upon mo
O'erbear the shores of my moi'tality.
And drown me with their sweetness. O, come
hither.
Thou that beget'st him that did thee beget;
Thou that wast bom at sea, buried .it Tarsus,
Aud found at sea agam I O Helicauus,
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.
SCKSBUI.]
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.
1009
Down on thy knees, thank the holy gods as
loud 200
As thuudei threatens us ; this is Marina.
What was thy mother's name ? tell me but
that,
For truth can never be confirm'd enough,
Though doubts did ever sleem
Mar. First, sir, I pray,
What is your title ?
Per. I am Pericles <Jf Tyre: but tell rae now
My drown'd queen's name, as in the rest you
said
Thou hast been godlike perfect,
tThe heir of kingdoms and another like
"To Pericles liiy father. 210
Mar. Is it no more to be your daughter than
To say my mother's name wiis Thaisa' ?
Thaisa was my mother, who did end
The minute I began. '
Per. Now, blessing on thee ! rise ; thou
ait my child. [canus ;
Give ine fresh garments. Mine own, Heli-
She is not dead at Tarsus, as she should have
been,
Bv .savage Cleon: she shall tell thee all;
■When thou shalt kneel, and jmstify in knowl¬
edge
She is thy very iirinoess. Who is this ? 220
llel. Sir, 'tis the governor of Mytilene,
Who, hearing of your melancholy state.
Did come to see you.
Per. I embrace you. [ing.
Give me ray robes. I am wild in my behold-
0 heavens bless my girl! But, hark, what
music ?
Tell Helicanus, my Marina, tell him
O'er, point by point, for yet he seems to doubt,
How sure you are my daughter. But, what
music ?
IM. My lord, I hear none.
Per. None ! 230
Tlie music of the spheres ! List, my Marina.
Lya. It is not good to cross him give him
way.
Per, Rarest sounds! Do ye not hear ?
Lye. My lord, I hear. [Music.
Per,' Most heavenly music !
It nips me unto listening, and thick slumber
Hangs upon mine eyes : let me rest. [Sleeps.
Lys. A pillow for his head :
So, leave him all. Well, my companion friends.
If this but answer to my just belief,
I'll well remember you." 240
[Exeunt all hut Pericles.
Diana appears to Pekicles as in a vision.
Dia. My temple stands in Ephesus ; hie
thee thither,
And do upon mine altar sacrifice. [gether,
There, when my maiden priests are met to-
Before the people all, a
Reveal how thou at sea didst lose thy wife ;
To mourn thy crosses, witli thy daughter's, call
And give them repetition to the life.
Or perform ray bidding, or tliou live.st in woe ;
Do it, and happy; by my silver bow 1
Awake, and tell thy dream. [Disappears. 250 ,
Per. Celestial Dian, goddess argentine,
I will obey thee. Helicanus !
Re-enter Helicanus, Lysimachus, and
Mabina.
Hd. Sir ?
Per. My purpose was for Tarsus, tliere to
strike
The iuho.spitable Cleon ; but I am
For other service first : toward Ephesus
Turn our blown sails ; eftsoons I'll tell thee
why.
[To LysivMchusI Shall we refresh us, sir, upon
your shore.
And give you gold for such provision
As our intents will need ?
Lys. Sir, 260
With all my heart; and, when you come
ashore,
I have another suit.
Per. You shall prevail.
Were it to woo my daughter ; for it seems
You have been noble towards her.
Lys. Sir, lend me your arm.
Per., Come, my Marina. [Exeunt.
Scene U. Enter Gower, before the temple of
Diana at Ephesus.
Govt. Now our .sands are almost run ;
More a little, and then dumb.
This, my last boon, give me.
For such kindness must, relieve me.
That you aptly will suppose 270
What p^eautry, what feats, what shows.
What minstrelsy, and pretty din.
The regent made in Mytilene
To greet the king. So he thrived,
That he is promised to be wived
To fair Marina ; but in no wise
Till he had done his sacrifice,
As Dian bade : whereto being bound.
The interim, pray yon, all confound.
In feather'd briefness sails are fill'd, 280
And wishes fall out as they're wiU'd.
At Ephesus, the temple see.
Our king and all his company.
That he can hither come so soon.
Is by your fancy's thankful doom. [Exit.
Scene III. The temple of Diana at Ephesus;
Thaisa standing near the altar, as high
priestess; a number of Virgins on each side;
Cerimon and other Inhabitants of Ephesus
attending.
Enter Pericles, with his train; Lysimachus,
Helicanus, Marina, and a Lady.
Per. Hail, Dian ! to perform thy just com¬
mand,
I here confess myself the king of Tyre ;
Who, frighted from my country, did wed
At Pentapolis the fair Thaisa.
At sea in childbed died she, but brought forth
A maid-child call'd Marina ; who, O goddess.
Wears yet thy silver livery. She at Tarsus
Was nursed with Cleon; who at fourteen years
1010
He sought to murcer : but her better stars
Broiiglit her to Mytilene ; 'gaiust whose shore
Kidiii^, her fortuues broogm the maid aboard
us, [she
Wiiere, by her owii most clear remembrance,
Made known herselC my daughter.
Thai. Voice and favor !
You are, yon are—O royal Pericles ! [Foinfs.
Per. Wliat means the nun " she dies! help,
gentlemen !
Cer. Noble sir,
If you have told Diana's altar true.
This is your wife.
Per. Reverend appearer, no ;
I threw her overboard with these very arms.
Cer. Upon this coast, I warrant you.
Per. 'Tis most certain. 20
Cer. Look to the lady; O, she's but o'er-
joy'd.
Early in blustering mom this lady was
Thrown upon this shore. I oped the coffin.
Found there rich jewels ; recover'd her, and
placed her
Here in Diana's temple.
Per. May we see them ?
Cer. Great sir, they shall be brought you
to my house.
Whither I invite you. Look, Thaisa is
Recovered.
Thai. O, let me lo.ik !
If he be none of mine, my sanctity
Will to my sense bend no licentious ear, SO
But curb it, spite of seeing. O, my lord,
Are you not Pericles ? Like him you spake,
Like'him you are: did you not name a tempest,
A birth, and death ?
Per. The voice of dead Thaisa !
Thai. That Thaisa am I, supposed dead
And drown'd.
Per. Immortal Dian !
Thai. Now I know you better.
When we with tears parted Pentapolis,
The king my father gave you such a ring.
[o'/iOTcs a ring.
Per. This, this : no more, you gods 1 your
present kindness 40
Makes my past miseries sports ; you shall do
well.
That on the touching of her lips I may
Melt and no more be seen. O, come, be buried
A second time within these arms.
Mar. My heart
Leaps to be gone into my mother's bosom.
[Kmeis to Thaisa.
Per. Look, who kneels here ! Flesh of thy
flesh, Thais#";
Thy burden at the sea, and call'd Marina
For she was yielded there.
Thai. Blest, and mine own !
Hel. Hail, madaqa, and my queen 1
Thai. I know you not.
Per. You have heard me say, when I did
fly from Tyre, 50
I left behind an ancient substitute:
Can you remember what' caL'a tiie man ?
1 have named him oft
[Act*
Thai. 'Twas Helicanus then.
Per. Still coufinnation :
Embrace him, dear Thaisa ; this is he.
Now do I long to hear how you were found ;
How |x>ssibly preserved ; and who to thank.
Besides the gods, for this great miraciC.
Thai. Lord Cerimon, my lord ; tiiis inn
Tlirough whom the gods have shown thci-
power ; that can 10
From first to last resolve you.
Per. Reverend sir.
The gods can have no mortal officer
More like a god than you. Will you deliver
How this dead queen re-lives ?
Cer. I will, my lord.
Beseech yon, first go with me to my house,
Wiiere shall be sliown you all was found with
her;
How she came placed here in the temple ;
No needful thing omitted.
Per. Pure Dian, bless thee for thy vision! I
Will offer uight-oblatious to thee. Thaisa, 70
This prince, tiie fair-betrothed of your daugh¬
ter.
Shall marry her at Pentapolis. And now.
This ornament
Makes me look dismal will I clip to form ;
And what this fourteen years no razor tonch'd.
To gi-ace thy marriage-day, I'll beautify.
Thai. Lord Cerimon hath letters of good
credit, sir.
My father's dead.
Per. Heavens make a star of him ! Yet
there, my queen.
We'll celebrate their nuptials, and ourselves
Will in that kingdom spend our following
days: 81
Our son and daughter shall in Tyrus reign.
Lord Cerimon, we do our longing stay
To hear the rest nntold: sir, lead's the way.
{Exeunt.
Enter Gower.
Gov.. In Antioehus and his daughter you
have heard
Of monstrous lust the due and just reward :
In Pericles, his queen and daughter, s^en.
Although assailM with fortune fierce and
keen, ' [blast.
Virtue preserved from fell destruction's
Led on by heaven, and crown'd with joy at
last: »
In Helicanus may you well descry
A figure of truth, cl faith, of loyalty :
In reverend Ceiimon there welfappears
The worth ".^t learned charity aye weai-s,:
For wicked Cleon and his wife, when fame
Had spread their cursed deed, and honoFd
name
Of Pericles, to rage the city turn.
That him and his they in his palace bum ;
The gods for murder seemed so content
To punish them ; although not done, but
meant.
So, on your j»tience evenno e a"'tending,l<K)
New jov wait on vou I Heie our play has
ending: - Exit
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.
CYMBELINE.
(written about 1609.)
INTRODUCTION.
CymbeUne tnterweaves with a fragmeut of British history taken from HoNnshed, a story from
Boccacio's Decameron <9th Novel of 2ud Day), the Ueiievra of tiie Italian novel corresponding to
Shakespeare's Imogen. The story is toid in a tract called ffeeticarii for Smelts, 1620 (stated hy
Steevens and Malone to have been published as early as 1603); but Shakespeare appeaie in some way,
directly or indirectly, to have made acqualntaiice with it as given by Boccacio. The names of the
two princes Shakespeare found, as well as the king's name, in Holinslied ; but the incidents of their
having been stolen, and their lite, among the mountains of Wales, appear to have beAi invented by
the dramatist. Dr. Forman records in his MS Booke of Plaits and Notes thereof that he saw Cym-
beline acted; but he gives no date. His book, however, belongs to the years 1610-1611, and the
metrical and other internal evidence point to that time as about the period when the drama must
have been written, it is loosely constructed, and some passages possess little dramatic intensity.
Several critics have questioned whether the vision of Po.sthumus (Act V. Sc. i v.) is of Shakespeare's
authorship, and it is certainly poorly conceived and written. Nevertheless, the play is one of
singular charm, and contains in Imogen one of the loveliest of Shakespeare's creations of female
character. Except grandeur and msqesty, whicii were reserved lor Uermione and Queen Katherine,
every thing that can make a woman lovely is given by the poet to Imogen ; quick and exquisite
feelings, brightness of intellect, delicate Imagination, energy to hate evil and to right what was
wrong, scorn for what is mean or rude, culture, dainty womanly accomplishments, the gift of song,
a capacity for exquisite happiness and no less sensitiveness to the sharpness of sorrow, a power of
quick recovery from disaster when the wai-mth of love breathes upon her once more, beauty of a
fype which is noble and retined. And her lost brpthers are gallant youths, bred happily far from the
court, in wilds wliere their generous instincts and loveot freedom and activity lind innocent if
insufficient modes of gratitication. As in all the works of tliis period, an open-air feeling pervades a
great part of the drama; nature, itself joyous and free, ministers to what is beautiful, simple, or
heroic in man, while yet by Shakespeare nature alone is never anywhere conceived as sufficient to
satisfy the heart or the imagination of a human being. With reconciliation and reunion this, like
the other Romances, closes. The faith of Posthumus ir Imogen is of a haif-romantic kind, uncon¬
firmed by calm and deep acquaintance with her heart: that faith is not subtly poisoned, like the
love of (ithello, but suddenly, in One brief and desperate encounter, overthrown. His jealousy is
not heroic, like Othello's ; it shows something of grossness, unworthy of his true self. In due time
penitential sorrow does its work, his nobler nature reasserts itself, and in the final reunion of parent
and lost children, the erring husband is also restored to the quick-beating, joyous heart of his wife.
DRAMATIS PERSON.®.
CvMBELiNB, king of Britain.
ChotEH, son to the Queen by a former lius-
band.
PosTHUMUS Leonatus, a gentleman, hus¬
band to Imogen,
Belarius, a banished lord, disguised under
the name of Morgan.
sous to Cymbeline, disguised
Guidebius, under the names of Poiydore
Arvibaoits, and Cadwal, supixised sons to
Morgan.
PisANio, servant to Posthumus.
Cornelius, a physician.
A Soman Captain.
Two British Captains.
A Frencliinan, friend to Philario.
Two Lords of Cymbeline's court.
Two Gentlemen of tlie same.
Two Gaolers.
Queen, wife to Cymbeline. \
Imogen, daughter to Cymbeline by a former
queen.
Helen, a lady attending on Imogen.
Lords, Ladies, Roman Senators, Tribunes, a
Soothsayer, a Dutchman, a Spaniard, Musi¬
cians, Officers, Captains, Soldiers, Messen¬
gers, and other Attendants.
Apparitions.
ScBNB : Britain; Rom.
(Iffill)
1012
ACT I.
Scene I. Britain. The garden ofCymbe-
line'spalace.
Enter tteo Gentlemen. | j |
First Gent. You do not meet a man but
frowns: our bloods
Ko more obey the beaveus than our courtiers
Still seem as does the king.
Sec. Gent. But what's the matter ?
First Gent. His daughter, and the heir of's
kingdom, whom
He putiwsed to his wife's solo son—a widow
That late he married—hath referr'd herself
Unto a poor but w-orthy gentleman : she's
wedded;
Her husband banish'd; she imprison'd : all
Is outward sorrow ; though I think the king
Be touch'd at very heart.
Sec. Gent* ■ None but the king? 10
First Gent. He that hath lost her too ; so is
the queen,
That most desired the match ; but not a cour«
tier,
Although they wear their faces to the bent
Of the king's look's, hath a heart tliat is not
Glad at the thing they scowl at
Sec. Gent. And why so ?
First Gent. He that hath miss'd the prin-
cess is a thing .
Too bad for bad report: and he that hath
her—
I mean, that married her, alack, good man 1
And therefore banish'd—is a creature SUch 19
As, to seek through the regions of the earth
For one his like, there would be something
failing
In him that should compare. I do not think
So fair an outward and such stuff within
Endows a man but he.
Sec. Gent. You speak him far.
First Gent. 1 do extend him, sir, within
himself.
Crush him together rather than unfold
His measure duly.
Sec. Gent. What's his name and birth?
First Gent. I cannot delve him to the root:
his father
Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honor
Against the Romans with Cassibelan, 30
But had his titles by Tenantius whom
He served with glory and admired success.
So gain'd the siir-addition Leonatus ;
And had, besides this gentleman in question.
Two other sons, who in the wars o' the time
Died with their swords in hand ; for which
their father.
Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow
That he quit being, and his gentle lady.
Big of this gentleman our theme, deceased
As he was born. The king he takes the babe
To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leon¬
atus, ' 41
Breeds hiraand makes him ofhisbed-chamber.
Puts to him all the learnings that his time
[Act i.
Could make him the receiver of ; which he
took.
As we do air, fast as 'twas minister'd.
And in's spring became a harvest, lived in
bonrt—, i
Which rare it is to do—most praised, most
loved,
A sample to the youngest, to the more mature
A glass that feated them, and to the graver
A child that guided dotards ; to his mistress,
. For whom he now is banish'd, her own price
Prociaims how she esteem'd him and his
virtue ;
By her election may be truly read
What kind of man he is.
Sec. Gent. I honor him
Even out of your report. But, pray yon, tell
me.
Is she sole child to the king ?
First Gent. His only child.
He had two sons : if this be worth your hear¬
ing*
Mark it: the eldest of them at three years old,
r the swath ing-clothes the other, from their
nursery
Were stol'n, and to this hour no guess in
knowledge 60
Which way they went
Sec. Gent. How long is this ago ?
First Gent. Some twenty years.
Sec. Gent. That a king's children should bo
so convey'd.
So slackly guarded, and the search so slow.
That could not trace them !
First Gent. Howsoe'er 'tis strange.
Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at,
Yet is it true, sir.
Sec. Gent. I do well believe yon.
First Gent. We must forbear: here comes
the gentleman,
'The queen, and princess. [Exeunt.
Enter the Queen, Posthumus, and Imogen.
Queen. No, be assured you shall not find
me, daughter, 70
.\fter the slander of most stepmothers.
Evil-eyed unto you : you're my prisoner, but
Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys
That lock up your restraint For you, Posthu¬
mus,
So soon as I can win the offended king,
I will be known your advocate: marry, yet
The fire of rage is in him, and 'twere good
You lean'd unto his sentence with what
patience
Your wisdom may inform you.
Post. Please your highness, "
I will from hence to-day.
Qtteen. You know the peril. 80
I'll fetch a turnabout the garden, pitying
The pangs of barr'd affections, though the
king
Hath charged you should not speak together.
[ExU.
Imo. O
Dissembling courtesy ! How fine this tyrant
CYMBELINE.
Scene i.]
Can tickle where she wounds ! My dearest
husband,
I something fear my father's wrath • but
nothing—
Always reserved my holy duty—what
His rage can do on me : you must be gone ,
And 1 shall here abide the hourly shot
Of angry eyes, not comforted to live, 90
But that tliere is this jewel in the world
That I may see again.
Post. My queen ! my mistress !
0 lady, weep no more, lest 1 give cause
To be suspected of more tenderness
Than doth become a man. 1 will remain
The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth:
My residence in Rome at one Philario's,
■ Who to my father was a friend, to me
Known but by letter ; thither write, my queen.
And with mine eyes TU drink the words yon
send.
Though ink be made of gall
Re-enter Queen.
Queen. Be brief, I pray you : 101
If tlie king come, I shall incur I know not
How much of his displeasure. [Aside\ Yet I'll
move him
To walk this way : I never do him wrong.
But he does buy my injuries, to be fricrds ;
Pays dear for my offences. \_Ejcit.
Post. Shouid we be taking leave
As long a term as yet we have to live.
The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu !
Imo. Nay, stay a little :
Were you but riding forth to air yourself, 110
Such parting were too petty. Look here, love ;
This diamond was my mother's: take it,
heart;
But keep it till yon woo another wife,
When Imogen is dead.
Post. How, how ! another V
You gentle gods, give me but this I have,
And sear np my embracements from a next
With bonds of death ! (Putting on the ring."]
Remain, remain thou here
While sense can keep it on., And, sweetest,
fairest.
As I my poor self did exchange for you.
To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles 120
1 still win of you: for my sake wear this ;
It is a manacle of love ; I'll place it
Upon this fairest prisoner.
[Putting a bracelet upon her arm.
Imo, O the gods !
When shall we see again ?
Enter Cymbeline and Lords.
Post. Alack, the king!
Cym. Thou basest thing, avoid I hence,
from my sight!
If after this command thou fraught the court
With thy unworthiness, thou diest: away !
Thou'rt poison to my blood.
Post. The gods protect you !
And bless the good remainders of the court!
I am gone. [Exit.
1013
Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death 130'
More sharp than this is.
Cym. O disloyal tiling,
Tliat shouldst repair my youth, thou hesmst
A year's age on me.
Imo. 1 beseech yon, sir.
Harm not yourself with your vexation :
1 am senseless of your wrath ; a touch more
rare
Subdues all pangs, all fears.
Cym. Past grace ? obedience?
Imo. Past hope, and in despair ; that way,
past grace.
Cym. That mightst have had the sole son
of my queen !
Imo. O blest, that I might not! I chose an
eagle.
And did avoid a puttock. 140
Cym. Thou took'st a beggar ; wouldst have
made my throne
A seat for baseness.
Imo. No ; 1 rather added
A lustre to it.
Cym. O thou vile one !
Imo. Sir,
It is your fault that 1 have loved Posthumus'
You bred him as my playfeliow, and he is
A man worth any woman, overbuys me
Almost the sum he pays.
Cym. What, art thou mad ?
Imo. Almost, sir: heaven restore me!
Would 1 were
A neat'herd's daughter, and my Leonatus
Our neighbor sheimerd's sou I
Cym. Thou foolish thing ! 160
' Re-enter Queen.
They were again together : you have done
Not after our command. Away with her.
And pen her um
Queen. Beseech your patience. Peace,
Dear lady daughter, peace ! Sweet sovereign.
Leave us to ourselves ; and make yourself
some comfort
Out of your best advice.
Cym. Nay, let her languish
A drop of blood a day ; and, being aged.
Die of this folly !
[Exeunt Cymbeline and Lords.
Queen. Fie ! you must give way.
Enter Pisanio.
Here is your servant. How now, sir ! What
news ?
Pis. My lord your son drew on my master.
Queen. Ha! 160
No harm, 1 trust, is done ?
Pis. There might have been.
But that my master rather play'd than fought
And had no help of anger : they were parted
By gentlemen at hand.
Queen. 1 am very glad on't.
Imo. Your son's my father s friend ; he
takes his part.
To draw upon an exile ! 0 brave sir !
1 would they were In Afric both together ;
CYMBELINE.
lUli
ftlTself by with a needle, tltat I might prick
The goer-back. Why came you from your
master?
Pis. Ou his command : he would not suffer
*ne 170
To bring him to the haven ; left these notes
Of what commands I should be subject to,,
Wheu't pleased you to employ me.
Queen. This hath been
Your faitliful servant: f dare lay mine honor
He will remain so.
Pis. I humbly thank your highness.
Queen. Pray, walk awhile.
Imo. About some half-hour hence,
I pray you, sxieak with me : you shall at least
Go see my lord aboard ; for this time leave
me. • [Exeunt.
ScBNB LI. The same. A public place.
Enter Cloten and two Ix>rds.
First Lord. Sir, f would advise you to shift
a shirt; the violence of action hath made you
reek as a sacrifice : where air comes out, air
comes in : there's none abroad so wliolesome
as that you vent.
Clo. if my shirt were bloody, then to shift
it. Have I hurt him ?
Sec. Lord. [Aside'] No, 'faith ; not so much
as his patience. . 9
First Lord. Hurt him ! his body's a passable
carcass, if he be not hurt: it is a thoroughfare
for steel, if it be not hurt.
Sec. Lord. [Aside] His steel was in debt;
it went o' the backside the town.
Clo. Tlie villain w.ould not stand mei
Sec. Lord. [Aside] No ; but he fled forward
still, toward your face.
First Lord. Stand you ! You have land
enough of your own : but he added to your
having ; gave you some ground. 20
Sec. Lord. [Aside] As many inches as you
have oceans. Puppies ! (yis.
Clo. I would they had not come between
Sec. Lord. [Aside] So would I, till you had
measured how long a fool you were ujwn the
ground.
Clo. And that she should love this fellow
and refuse me!
Sec. Lord. [Aside'] If it be a sin to make a
true election, she is damned. 30
First Lord. Sir, as I told you always, her
beauty and her brain go not together ; she's a
good sign, but I have seen small reflection of
iier wit.
Sec. Lord. [Aside] She shines not upon
fools, lest the reflection should hurt her.
Clo. Come, I'll to my chamber. Would
there had been some hurt done !
J^. iMrd. [Aside] I wish not so ; unless it
had been the fall of an ass, which is no great
hurt. 40
Clo. You'll go with us ?
First Lord. I'll attend your lordship,
Clo, Nay, come, let's go together.
Seq. Ifira, Well, my lord, [Exeunt.
iact I.
SCENB III. A room in C'l/mbelinFs palaee.
Enter Imogen and Pisanio.
Imo. I would thou grew'st unto the sl;<-re3
o' the haven.
And question'dst every sail : if he should
write
And I not have it, 'twere a paiier lost,
As offer'd mercy is. What was the htst
That he siiake to thee ?
Pis. It was his queen, his queen 1
Imo. Then waved his handkerchief ?
Pis. And kiss'd it, madam.
Imo. Senseless linen! happiev therein than 1!
And that was all ?
Pis. No, madam ; for so long
As he could make me with this eye or ear
Distinguish hira from others, he did keep 10
The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief,
■Still waving, as the fits and stirs of's mind
Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on.
How swift his shii>.
Imo. Thou shouldst have made him
As little as a crow, or less, ere left
To after-eye him.
Pis. Madam, so I did.
Imo. I would have broke mine eye-strings;
crack'd them, but ,
To look upon him, till the diminution
Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle.
Nay, follow'd him, till he had melted from 20
The smallness of a gnat to air, and then
Have turn'd mine eye and wexrt. But, good
Pisanio,
When shall we hear from him ?
Pis. Be assured, madam.
With his next vantage.
Imo. I did not take my leave of him, but
had
Most pretty things to say : ere I could tell him
How I would think on him at certain hours
Such thougiits and such, or I could make hira
swear
The shes of Italy should not betray
Mine interest and his honor, or have charged
him, 30
At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at mid¬
night.
To encounter me with orisons, for then
I am in heaven for him ; or ere I could
Give him that parting kiss which I had set
Betwixt two charming words, comes in my
father
And like the tyrannous breathing of the north
Shakes all our buds from growing.
Enter a Lady.
Lady. The queen, madam.
Desires your highness' company.
Itno, Those things I bid you do, get them
disx>atch'd.
I will attend the queen.
Pis. Madam, I shall. [Exeunt. 40
Scene IV. Rome. Philario's house.
Enter Phieakio, Iachimo, a Frenchman, a
Putchman, and « Spaniard,
CYMBELINE.
/Scene iv.J
CYMBELINE.
1015
lach. Believe it, mr. I have seen him in
Britain ; he was then of a crescent note, ex¬
pected to prove so worthy as since he hath been
allowed the name of ; but I could then have
looked on him without the help of almiration,
though the catalogue of his endowments had
been tabled by his side and 1 to peruse him by
items.
Phi. You speak of him when he was less
furnished than now he is with that which
makes him both without and within. 10
French. I have seen him in Brancc ; we
had very many there could behold the sun
with as nrm eyes as he.
lack. This matter of marrying his king's
daughter, wherein he must be weighed rather
by her value than his own, words him, I
doubt not, a great deal from the matter.
Freiu^ And then his banishment.
lack. Ay, and the approbation of those that
weep this lamentable divorce under her colors
are wonderfully to extend him ; be it but to
fortify her judgment, which else an easy bat^
tery might lay flat, for taking a beggar with¬
out less quality. But how comes it he is to
sojourn with you? How creeps acquaintance?
Phi. His father and I were soldiers toge¬
ther ; to whom I have been often bound for no
less than my life. Here comes the Briton:
let him be so entertained amongst you as
suits, with gentlemen of yonr knowing, to a
stranger of his quality. 30
Enter Posthumus.
I beseech you all, be better known to this gen¬
tleman ; whom I commend to you as a noble
friend of mine : how worthy he is I will leave
to appear hereafter, rather than story him in
bis own hearing.
French. Sir, we have known together in
Orleans.
Post. Since when I have been debtor to you
for courtesies, which I will be ever to pay and
yet pay still. 40
French. Sir, you o'er-rate my jioor kind¬
ness: I was glad I did atone my countryman
aud you ; it had been pity you should have
been put together with .so nvortal a purpose as
theu each bore, uix>u importance of so slight
and trivial a nature.
Post. By your pardon, sir, I was then a
yonng traveller; rather shunned to go even
with what I heard than in my every action to
be guided by others' experiences: but upon
my mended judgment—if I offend not to say
it is mended—my quarrel was not altogether
slight. ' 51
French. 'Faith, yes, to be put to the ar-
bitrement of swords, and by such two that
would by all likelihood have confounded one
the other, or have fallen both.
lach. Can we, with mannfrs, ask what
was the difference ?
French. Safely, I think : 'twas a conten¬
tion in public, which may, without contradic¬
tion, suffer the report. It was much like ari
argument that fell ont last night, where each
of us fell in praise of our country mistresses ;
this gentleman at that time vouching—and -
upon warrant of bloody affirmation—his to be
more fair, virtuous, wise. Chaste, constant-
qualified aud less attemptable than any the
' rarest of our ladies in France.
lach. That lady is not now living, or this
gentleman's opinion by this worn out.
Post. She holds her virtue still and I my
mind.
lach. You must not so far prefer her 'fore
ours of Italy. 71
Post. Being so far provoked as I was ii*
France, I would abate her nothing, thongh I
l)rofess myself her adorer, not her friend.
lach. As fair and as good—a kind of hand-
in-hand comparison—had been something too
fair and too good for any lady in Britain. II
she went before others I have seen, as that
diamond of yours outlustres many I have be-
lield, I could not but believe she excelled
many: but I have not seen the most precious
diamond that is, nor you the lady.
Post. I prais^ her as I rated her: so do I
my stoue.
lach. What do you esteem it at?
Post. More than the world enjoys.
lach. Either your unmragoned mistress is
dead, or she's oittprized by a trifle.
Post. You are mistaken : the one may be
sold, or given, if there were wealth enough for
the purchase, or mei-H for the gift: the other is
not a thing for sale, and only the gift of the
gods.
lach. Which the gods have given you ?
Post,. Which, by their graces, I will keep.
lach. You may wear her in title yours:
but, you know, strange fowl light upon neigh¬
boring ponds. Your ring may be stolen too :
so your brace of nnprizable estimations ; the
one is but frail and the other casual; a cun¬
ning thief, or a that way accomplished cour¬
tier, would hazard the winning both of first
and Kst.
Post. Your Italy contains none so accom¬
plished a courtier to convince the hopor of my
mistress, if, in the holding or loss of that, you
term her frail. I do nothing doubt you have
store of thieves ; notwithstanding, I fear not
my ring.
Phi. . Let us leave here, gentlemen. 109
Post. Sir, with all my heart. This worthy
signior, I thank him, makes no stranger of
me ; we are familiar at first.
Jach. With five times so much conversa^
tion, I should get ground of your fair mistress,
make hergo back, even to the yielding, had I
admittance and opportunity to friend.
Post. Ho, no.
lach. I dare thereupon ^vawn the moiety of
my estate to your ring j which, in my opinion,
o'ervalues itmmething: but I make my wager
rather against yonr confidence than her repu¬
tation : and, to bar your offence, herein too, I
durst attempt it against any hidy in the world.
101ft
CYMBELINE.
[Acift
Post. Yon are a great deal abused in too
bold a persuasion ; and I doubt not you sus-
• tain what you're worthy of by your attempt.
laeh. What's that ?'
Post. A repulse : though your attempt, as
you call it, deserve more ; a punishment too.
Phi. Gentlemen, enough of this : it came
in too suddenly ; let it die as it was born, and,
I pray you, be better acquainted.
Jack. Would I had pnt'my estate and my
neighbor's on the approbation of what 1 have
spoke
Post. What lady would you choose to as¬
sail?
JocA Yours; whom in constancy you
think stands so safe. I will lay you ten thou¬
sand ducats to your ring, that, commend me
to the court where your mdy is, with no more
advantage than the opimrtunity of a second
conference, and I will bring from thence that
honor of hers which you imagine so reserved.
Post. I will wage against your gold, gold
to it: my ring I hold dear as my finger ; 'tis
part of it.
ladi. You are afraid, and therein the wiser.
If you buy ladies' flesh at a million a dram,
you cannot preserve it from tainting: but I
see you have some religion in you, that you
fear. 119
Post. This is but a custom in your tongue ;
you bear a graver purpose, I hope.
lach. I am the master of my speeches, and
would undergo what's spoken, I swear.
Post. Will you ? I shall but lend my dia¬
mond till your return : let there be covenants
drawn between's : my mistress exceeds in
goodness the hugeness of your unworthy
thinking: I dare you to this match: here's iny
ring.
Phi. I will have it no lay. 159
lach. By the. gods, it is one. If I bring
you no sufficient testimony that I have en¬
joyed the dearest bodily part of your mistress,
my ten thousand ducats are yours ; so is your
diamond too : if I come off, and leave her in
such honor- as you have trust in, .she your
jewel, this your jewel, and my gold are yours :
provided I nave your commendation for my
more free entertainment.
Post. I embrace these-conditions ; let ns
have articles betwixt us. Only, thus far yon
shall answer : if you make your vo.yage upon
her and mve me directly to understand you have
prevailed, 1 am no further your enemy ; she
IS not worth our debate : if she remain unse-
duced, you not making it appear otherwise,
for your ill opinion and the assault you have
made to her chastity you shall answer me
with your sword.
lach. Tour hand ; a covenant: we will
have these things set down by lawful counsel,
and straight away for Britain, lest the Imrgaiu
should catch cold and starve : I will fetch my
gold and have our two wagers recorded. 181
Post. Agreed.
\E7tmnt Postkumus and Icushimo.
French. Will this hold, think you 1
Phi. Signior lachimo will not from it.
Pray, let us follow 'era. [Exeunt.
Scene V. Britain. A room in Cyrnbeline's
palace.
Enter Queen, Ladies, and Cornelius.
Queen. Whiles yet the dew's on ground,
gather those flowers;
Make haste ; who has the note of them ?
First Lady. ' J, madam.
Queen. Dispatch. [ETceunt Ladies.
Now, master doctor, have you brought those
drugs ?
Cor. Pleaseth your highness, ay : here
they are, madam ;
[Presentinf! a small box.
But I beseech your grace, without offence,—
My conscience bids me ask—wherefore you
have
Commanded of me those most poisonous com¬
pounds.
Which are the movers of alanguisliing death ;
But though slow, deadly ?
Queen. I wonder, doctor, 10
Thou ask'st me such a question. Have 1 not
been
Thy pupil long 1 Hast thou not learn'd me
how
To make perfumes ? distil ? preserve ? yea, so
That our great king himself doth woo liie oft
For my confections ? Having thus far pro¬
ceeded,—
Unless thou think'st me devilUh—is't not meet
That 1 did amplify my judgment in
Other conclusions ? I will try the forces
Of these thy compounds on such creatures as
We count not worth the hanging, but none
human, 20
To try the vigor of them and apply
Allayments to their act, and by them gather
Their several virtues and effects.
Cor. Your highness
Sliall from this practice but make hard youl
heart:
Besides, the seeing these effects will be
Both noisome and infectious.
Queen. O, content thee.
Enter Pisanio.
[Aside] Here comes a flattering rascal; ui>on
him
Will I first work : he's for his master.
An enemy to my son. How now, Pisanio I
Doctor, your service for this time is ended ; 30
Take your own way.
Cor. [Aside] I do suspect you, madam ;
But you shall do no harm.
Queen. [To Pisanio'] Hark thee, a word.
Cor. [Aside] I do not like her. She doth
think she has
Strange lingering poisons: I do know her
spirit.
And will not trust one of her malice with
A drug of such damu'd nature. Those she
ha»
SCKNE VI.]
C'YMBELINE.
1017
Will stuMfy and dull the sense awhile ;
Which first, perchance, she'll prove on 'cats
and dogs.
Then afterward up higherbut there is 39
No danger in what show of death it makes.
More than the locking-up the spirits a time.
To be more fresh, reviving. She is fooi'd
With a most false effect; and I the truer, .
So to be false with her.
Queen. No'further service, doctor.
Until I send for thee.
Cov. I humbly take my leave. [Exit.
Qveen. Weeps she still, say st thou V Dost
thou think in time
She will not quench and let iu.structions enter
Where folly now possesses ? Do thou work :
When thou shalt bring me word she loves my
son,
I'll tell thee on the instant thou art then 50
As great as is thy master, greater, for
His fortunes all lie speechless aud his name
Is at last gasp : return he cannot, nor
Continue where he is : to shift his being
Is to exchange one misery with another.
And every day that comes comes to decay
A day's work in him. What shalt thou ex¬
pect.
To be depen'der on a thing that leans.
Who cannot be new built, nor has no friends.
So much as but to prop him? [The Queen
drops the box; Pisanio takes it up.]
Thou takest up
Thou know'st not what; but take it for thy
laborr
It is a thing I made, which hath the king
Five times redeem'd from death: I do not
know
What is more cordial. Nay, I prithee, tajre
it;
It is an earnest of a further good
That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how
The case stands with her ; do't as from thy¬
self.
Think what a chance thou changest on, but
think '
Thou hast thy mistress still, to boot, my son.
Who shall take notice of thee: I'll move the
king 70
To any shape of thy preferment such
As thon'lt desire ; and then myself, I chiefly.
That set thee on to this desert, am bound
To load thy merit richly. Call my women:
Think on my words. [Exit Pisanio.
A sly and constant knave.
Not to be shaked ; the agent for his master
And the remembrancer of her to hold
The hand-fast to her lord. I have given him
that
'Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her 79
Of liegers for her sweet, and which she after.
Except she bend her humor, shall be assured
To taste of too. ♦
Re-enter Pisanio and Ladies
■ S,v, op: well done, well done •
The violets, cowslips, and the primroses,
Bear to my closet Fate thee well, Pisanio;
Think on my words.
[Exeunt Queen and Ladies. .
Pis. And shall do :
But when to ray good lord I prove untrue,
I'll choke myself: there's all I'll do for yon.«
[Exit.
Scene 'VT. The same. Another room in the
palace.
Enter Imogen.
Itm. A father cruel, and a step-dame false;
A foolish suitor to a wedded lady.
That hath her husband banish'd;—O, that
husband !
My supreme crown of grief 1 and those re¬
peated
'Vexations of it! Had I been thief-stol'n.
As my two brothers, happy 1 but most miser¬
able
Is the desire that's glorious: blest be those.
How mean soe'er, that have their honest
wills.
Which seasons comfort. Who may this be?
Fie!
Enter Pisanio and Iachimo.
Pis. Mad.am, a noble gentleman of Rome.
Comes from my lord with letters.' 11
lach. Change you, madam?
The worthy Leonatus is in safety
And greets your highness dearly.
[Presents a letter.
Imo.' Thanks, good sir;
You're kindly welcome. '
/a<A. [Aside] All of her tliat is out of door
most rich!
If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare.
She is alone the Arabian bird, and I
Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend'
Arm me, audacity, from head to foot!
Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight; 20
Rather, directly fly.
Imo. [ Reads] ' He is one of the noblest
note, to whose kindnesses I am most infinitely
tied. Reflect upon him accordingly, as you
value your trust— Leonatus.'
So far I read aloud:
But even the very middle of my heart
Is warm'd by the rest, and takes it thankfully.
You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I
Have words to bid you, and shall find it so 30
In all that 1 can do.
lach. Thanks, fairest lady.
What, are men mad? Hath nature given them
eyes
To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop
Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt
The fiery orbs above and the twinn'd stones
Upon tlie number'd beach? and can we not
Partition make with spectacles so precious
'Twixt fair and foul ?
Imo, What makes your admiration?
lach. It cannot be F the eye, for apea and
monkeys
lOld
'Twixt two sach shes would chatter this way
and 40
Contemn with mows the other; nor 1' the
judgment,
For idiots in this case of favor would
Bh definite ; nor i' the appetite ;
Sluttery to such neat excellence opposed
Should make desire vomit emptiness,
Not so allured to feed.
Imo. What is the matter, trow 7
lack. The cloyed will,
Tnat satiate yet unsatisfied desire, that tub
Both filTd and running, ravening first the
lamb
Longs after for the garbage.
Imo. What, dear sir, 50
Thus raps you 7 Are you well 7
lack. Thanks, madam ; well. [To Pisania]
Beseech yon, sir, desire
My man's abode where I did leave him: he
Is strange and peevish.
Pis. I was going, sir.
To give him welcome. [Exit.
Imo. Continues well my lord 7 His health,
beseech yon7
lach. Well, madam.
Imo. Is he disposed to mirth7 I hope he is.
lach. Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger
there
So merry and so gamesome : he is call'd 60
The Briton reveller.
Imo. Wlien he was here.
He did incline to sadness, and oft-times
Not knowing why.
lack. I never saw him sad.
There is a Frenchman his companion, one'
An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much
loves
A Gallian girl at home ; he furnaces
The thick sighs from him, whiles the jolly
Briton—
Your lord, I mean—laughs from's free lungs,
cries' O, [knows
Can my sides hold, to think that man, who
By history, report, or his own proof, 70
What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose
But must be, will his free hours languish for
Assured bondage 7'
Imo. Will my lord say so?
lack. Ay, madam, with his eyes in flood
with laughter:
It is a recreation to be by
And hear him mock the Frenchmaik But,
heavens know.
Some men are much to blame.
Imo. Not he, I hope.
lack. Not he: but yet heaven's bounty to-
waids him might
Be used more thankfully. In himself, 'tis
much ;
In you, which I account his beyond all talents.
Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound 81
To pity too.
Imo. What do yon pity, sir?
lack. Two creatures heartily.
Imo. Am I one, sir 7
[Act t.
Tou look on me: what wreck discern you in
me
Deserves your pity ?
lack. Lamentable! What,
To hide me from the radiant sun and solace
r the dungeon by a snuff 7
Imo. I pray you, sir.
Deliver with more openness your answers
To my demands. Wliy do you pity me 7
lack. That others do— 90
I was about to say—enjoy your But
It is an office of the gods to venge it,
Not mine to speak on't.
Imo. You do seem to know
Something of me, or what concerns me : pray
you,—
Since doubting things go ill often hurts more
Than to be sure they do ; for certainties
Either are past remedies, or, timely knowing.
The remedy then bom—discover to me
What both yon spur and stop.
lach. Had I this cheek
To bathe my lips upon; this hand, who.He
touch, 100
Whose every touch, would force the feeler's
soul
To the oath of loyalty ; this object, which
Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye.
Fixing it only here ; should I, damn'd then.
Slaver with lips as common as the stairs
That mount the Capitol; join gripes with
hands
Made hard with hourly falsehood—falsehood,
as
With labor; then by-peeping in an eye
Base and unlustrous as the smoky light
That's fed with stinking tallow; it were fit 110
That all the plagues of hell should at one time
Encounter such revolt.
Imo. My lord, I fear.
Has forgot Britain.
lach. And himself. Not I,
Inclined to this intelligence, pronounce
The beggary of bis change ; but 'tis your
graces
That from mymutest conscience to my tongue
Charms this report out.
Imo. Let me hear no more.
lach. O dearest soul 1 your cause doth
strike my heart
With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady
So fair, and fasten'd to an empery, 120
Would make the great'st king double,—to be
partner'd
With tomboys hired with that se'.f-exhibition
Which your own coffers yield ! with diseased
ventures
That play with all infirmities for gold
Widen rottenness can lend nature! such boil'd
stuff
As well might poison poison ! Be revenged ;
Cr she that bore you was no queen, and you
Recoil from your great stock.
Imo. Revenged!
How should I be revenged 7 If this be true,—
As I have such a heart that both mine ears 1.30
CYMBELiyE.
SCBNB 1.]
Must not in haste abuse—if it be true,
How should 1 be revenged?
lach. Should he make me
Live, like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets,
Whiles he is vaulting variable ramra,
In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge jt.
I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure.
More noble than that runagate to your bed,
And will continue fast to your affection.
Still close as sure.
Itm. What, ho, Pisanio !
lack. Let me my service tender on your
lips.
Imo. Away ! 1 do condemn mine ears that
have 141
So long attended thee. If thou wert hoiioi--
able.
Thou wouldst have told tliis tale for virtue,
not
for such an end thou seek'st,—^as base as
strange.
Thou wrong'St a gentleman, who is as far
From thy report as thou from honor, and
Solicit'St here a lady that disdains
Thee and the devil alike. What ho, Pisanio!
The king my father shall be made acquainted
Of thy assault: if he shall think it fit, 150
A saucy stranger in his court to mart
As in a Romish stew and to expound
His beastly mind to us, he hath a court
He little cares for and a daughter who
He not respects at all. What, ho, Pisanio !
lach. O happy Leonatus ! I may say :
The credit that thy lady hath of thee
Deserves thy trust, and thy most perfect good¬
ness
Her assured credit. Blessed live you long!
A lady to the worthiest sir thiit ever 160
Country call'd his 1 and you his mistress, only
For the most worthiest fit! Give me your par¬
don.
I have spoke this, to know if your affiance
Were deeply rooted ; and shall make your
lord,
Tliat which he is, new o'er; and he is one
The truest manner'd ; such a holy witdi
That he enchants societies into him ;
Half all men's hearts are his.
Imo. > You make amends.
lack. He sits 'mongst men like a descended
god :
He liath a kind of honor sets him off, 170
More than a mortal seeming. Be not angiy,
Most mighty princess, that I have adventured
To try your taking of a false report; which
hath
Honor'd with confirmation your great judg¬
ment
In the election of a sir so rare.
Which you know cannot err: the love I bear
him 0 [you.
Made me to fan you thus, but the gods made
Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray, your
pardon.
Imo.. All's well, sir: take my jxjwer i' the
court for yours'.
loia
lack. My humble thanks. I had almost
forgot 180
To entreat your grace but in a small request,
And yet of moment too, for it concerns
Your lord ; myself and other noble friends,
Are partners in the business.
Imo. Pray, what is't ?
lack. Some dozen Romans of us and your
iord— I
The best feather of our wing—have mingled
sums
To buy a present for the emperor ;
Which I, the factor for the rest, have done
In France : 'tis plate of rare device, and jew¬
els 189
Of rich and exquisite form ; their values great;
And I am something curious, being strange.
To have them in safe stowage : may it please
you
To take them in protection ?
Imo. Willingly ;
And i>awn mine honor for their safety : since
My lord hath interest in them, I will keep
them
In ray bedchamber.
lack. They are in a trunk.
Attended by my men : I will make bold
To send them to you, only for this night;
I must aboai'd to-morrow.
Imo. O, no, no.
. lach. Yes, I beseech ; or I shall short my
word 'AK)
By lengthening my return. From Gallia
I cross'd the seas on purpose and on promise
To see your grace.
Imo. I tlrank you for your pains :
But not away to-morrow !
lach. 0,1 must, madam :
Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please
To greet your lord with writing, do't to-night:
i have outstood my time ; which is material
To the tender of our present.
Imo. I will write.
Send your trunk to me ; it shall safe be kept,
.4Lnd truly yielded you. Y'ou're very welcome.
[Exeunt. 21C
ACT II.
Scene I. Britain. Before 'Cynebeline's
' palace.
Enter Ceoten and two Lords.
C'lo. Was there ever man had such luck 1
when I kissed the jack, upon an up-cast to be
hit away I I had a hundred pound on't: and
then a whoreson jackanapes must take me up
fur swearing ; as if I borrowed mine oaths of
him and might not spend them at my pleasure.
First Lord. What got he by that? You
have broke his pate with your bowl.
^tec. Lord. [Asido] If his wit had been like
liim that broke it, it would have run all out.
Clo. When a gentleman is disposed to
swear, it is not for any standers-by to curtail
lus oaths, ha 7
CYMBELINE.
10^
Sec. Lord. No, my lord ; [Aside] nor crop
the ears of them.
etc. Whoreson dog ! I give him satisfac¬
tion ? Would he had been one of my rank !
Sec. Lord. [Aside] To have smelt like a
fool.
Clo. I am not vexed more at any thing in
the earth : a pox on't! I had ratlier not be so
noble as I am ; they dare not fight with me,
because of the queen my mother ; every Jack-
siave hath his bellyful of figliting, and 1 must
go up and down like a cock tliat nobody can
matcli.
Sec. Lord. [Aside] You are cock and capon
too ; and you crow, cock, with your comb
on.
Clo. Sayest thou ?
See. lord. It is not fit your lordship should
undertake every companion that you give
offence to. 30
Clo. No, I know that; but it is fit I should
commit offence to my inferiors.
Sec. Lord. Ay, it is fit for your lordship
only.
Clo. Why, so I say.
First Lord. Did you hear of a stranger
that's come to court to-night ?
Clo. A stranger, and 1 not know on't!
Sec. Lord. [Aside] He's a strange fellow
himself, and knows it not.
First Lord. There's an Italian come ; and,
'tis thought, one of Leonatus' friends. 41'
Clo. Leonatus ! a banished rascal; and
he's another, whatsoever he be. Who told
you of this stranger ?
First Lord. One of your lordsliip'e pages.
Clo. Ik it fit 1 went "to look upon him ? is
there no derogation in't ?
Sec. ^tord. You cannot derogate, my lord.
Clo. Not easily, I think. 49
Sec. Lord. [Aside] You are a fool granted;
therefore your issues, being foolish, do not
derogate.
Clo. Come, I'll go see this Italian : what I
have lost to-day at bowls I'll win to-night of
him. Come, go.
Sec. Lord. I'll attend your lordship.
[Exeunt Clolen and First Lord.
That such a crafty devil as is his mother
Should yield tiro world this ass I a woman that
Bears ali down with her brain ; and this her
sou
Cannot take two from twenty, for his heart,
And leave eighteen. Alas, iKior princess, 61
Thou divine Imogen, what thou endurest.
Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govem'd,
A mother hourly coining plots, a wooer.
More hateful than the foul expulsion is
Of thy dear husliand, than that horrid act
Of the divorce he'ld make I The heavens hold
firm
The walls of thy dear honor, keep unshaked
That temple, thy fair mind, that tliou mayst
stand.
To enjoy thy bardsh'd lord and this great
land! 70
' [Act ii.
Scene II. Imogen's bedchamber in Cymbe-
line's palace: a trunk in one corner of it
Imogen in bed, reading; a Lady attendini
Imo. Who's there ? rny woman Helen ?
Lady. Please you, madaiq
Imo. Wliat hour is it ?
Lady. Almost midnight, madam
Imo. I have read three hours then : mine
eyfes are weak :
Fold down the leaf where I have left: to bed:
Take not away tiie taper, leave it burning ;
And if thou canst awake by four o' the clock,
I .prithee, call me. Sleep hath seized me
wholly. [Exit Lady.
To your protection I commend me, gods.
From fairies and the tempters of the night
Guard me, beseech ye. * 10
[Sleeps. lachimo comes from the trunk,
lack. The crickets sing, and man's o'er-la>
boFd sense
Kepairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus
Did softly pre.ss the rushes, ere he waken'd
The chastity he wounded. Cytherea,
How bravely thou becomest thy bed, fresh
lily, * [touch !
And whiter than the sheets I That I might
But kiss ; one kiss I Rubies unparagou'd.
How dearly they do't I 'Tis her breathing that
Perfumes the chamber thus : the fiame o' the
taper
Bows toward her, and would under-peep her
lids, 20
To see the enclosed lights, now canopied
Under these windows, white and azure laced
With bine of heaven's own tinct. But my
design.
To note the chamber : I will write all down:
Such and such pictures; there the window ;
such
The adornment of her bed ; the arras ; figures.
Why, such and such ; and the contents o' the
story.
Ah, but some natural notes about her body.
Above ten thousand meaner moveables
Would testify, to enrich mine inventory. 30
O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her I
And be her sense but as a monument.
Thus in a chapel lying ! Come off, come off .
[Taking off her bracelet.
As slippery as the Goraian knot was hard'.
'Ti.K mine ; and this will witness outwardly.
As strongly as the conscience does witliin.
To the madding of her lord. On her left
breast
A mole cinque-spotted, like the cilmson drops
I' the bottom of a cowslip : here's a voucher.
Stronger than ever law could make: this
secret 40
Will force him think I have pick'd the lock
and ta'en
The treasure of her honor. No more. To
what end ?
Why should I write this down, that's liveted,
Screw'dto my memory ? She hath been read¬
ing late
CYMBELINE.
jji,]
The tale of •Tcrcus ; here the leaf's turn'd
down
Where Philomel gave up. I have euough :
To the trunk again, and ®ut the spring of it.'
Swift, swift, yott dragons of the night, that
dawning
May bare the raven's eye I I lodge in fear ; .
Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here. fiO
\Cloek ttrihes.
One, two, three : time, timet
[Goes into the trunk. The scene closes.
SnENB III. An antC'charnber a^oininy Imo
gen's apartments.
Enter Cloxen and Lords.
Wrsf Lord. Your lordship is the most pa-
tie It man in loss, the most coldest tliat ever
tm ned up ace.
«Ho, It would make any man cold to lose.
first Lord. But not every man patient
aft sr the noble temper of your lordship. You
arc most hot and furious when you win.
('lo. Winning will put any man into cour¬
age. If I could get this foolish Imogen, 1
she iild have gold enough. It's almost morn¬
ing , is't not ? 10
J 'irst Lord. Day, my lord.
('to. I would this music would come: I am
ad ised to give her .music o' mornings ; they
say it will penetrate.
Enter Musicians.
Come on ; tune : if you can penetrate her
with your fingering, so; we'll try with tongue
too : if none will do, let her remain ; but I'll
never give o'er. First, a very excellent good-
conceited thing ; after, a woiiderful sweet air,
with admirable rich words to it: and then let
her consider. 20
Soifo.
Hark, hark! the lark at l\eaveu's gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gins arise.
His steeds to water at those sxirnigs
On chaliced flowers that lies ;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes :
With avery thing that pretty is,
My lady sweet, arise •
Arise, arise. 30
Clo. So, get you gone, d this penetrate, I
will consider your music the better : if it do
not, it is a vice in her ears, which horse-hairs
and calves'-guts, nor the voice of nupaved
eunuch to boot, can never amend.
[Exeunt Musicians.
Sec. Lord. Here comes the king.
Clo. I am glad I was up so late ; for that's
the reason 1 was up so early : he cannot
choose but take thto servioa I have done
fatherly.
Enter crmbelike and Qcteen.
fiood morrow to your majesty and to my
gBMious mother. 41
i<y2i
Cgm. Attend you here the door of our
stem daughter ?
Will she not forth ?
Clo. I have assailed' her with music, but
she vouchsafes no notice.
C'l/m. The exile of her minion is too new ;
She hath not yet forgot him : some more time
Hu.st wear the print of his remembrance ont,
And then she's yours.
Queen, You are most bound to the king.
Who lets go by no vantages that may 50
Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself
To orderly soliciting, and be friended
With aptness of the season ; maket denials
Increase your services ; so seem as if
You were inspired to do those duties which
You tender to her ; that you in all obey her.
Save when command to your dismission tends,
And therein you are senseless.
Clo. Senseless! not so.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. So like you, sir, ambassadors from
Rome ;
The one is Cains Lucius.
Ci/m. A worthy fellow, 00
Albeit he comes on angry purpose now ;
But that's no fault of his : we must receive
him
According to the honor of his sender ;
And towards himself, his goodness forespent
on us,
We must extend our notice. Our dear son.
When yon have given good morning to your
mistress,
Attend the queen and us ; we shall have need
To employ you towards this Roman. Come,
our queen. [Exeunt all but Cloten.
Clo. It she be up, I'll speak with her if
not, . '
Let her lie still and dream. [Knocks'] By
your leave, ho ! 70
I know her women are about her : what
If I do line one of their hands ? .'Tis gold
Which buys admittance ; oft it doth ; yea,
and makes
Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up
Their deer to the stand o' the stealer ; and
'tis gold
Which makes the true man kill'd and saves
the thief;
Nay, sometime hangs both thief and true man;
what
Can it not do and undo ? I will make
One of her women lawyer to me, for
I vet not understand the case myselL 80
[Anoclrs] By your leave.
Enter a Lady.
Lady. Wlio'o there that knocks ?
Clo. A gentlemaai.
Lady. No more i
Clo. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son.
Lady. That's nuw
Than some, whose tailors are as ttaai at
yoMB,
CYUBELWE.
Can justly boast of. What's your lordship's
pleasure ?
Cto. Your lady's person: is she ready 7
LMV. Ay,
To keep her chamber.
Clo. ■ There is gold for you ;
Sell me your good report.
Ladif. How ! my good name 7 or to report
of you
What I shall think is good 7—^The princess 190
Enter Imogek.
Clo. Good morrow, fairest: sister, your
sweet hand. [Eeit I^y.
Itno. Good morrow, sir. Ton lay out too
much pains
For purchasing but trouble: the thanks I give
Is telling you that I am poor of thanks
And scarce can spare them.
Clo. Still, I swear I love you.
Itno. If you but said so, 'twere as deep
with me:
If you swear still, your recompense is still
That I regard it not.
Clo. This is ho answer.
Imo. But that you shall not say I yield
being silent,
I would not speak. I pray you, spare me:
'faith, 100
I shall unfold equal discourtesy
To your best kindness : one of your great
knowing
%onld learn, being taught, forbearance.
Clo. To leave you in your madness, 'twere
my sin :
I will not.
Imo. Fools are not mad folks.
Clo. Do you call me fool 7
Imo. As I am mad, I do :
If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad ;
That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir.
You put me to forget a lady's manners, 110
By being so verbal: and ieam now, for all.
That 1, which know my heart, do here pro¬
nounce.
By the very truth of it, I care not for you.
And am so near the lack of charity—
To accuse myself—I Ijate you ; which I had
rather
You felt than make't my boast.
Clo. You sin against
Obedience, which yon owe your father. For
'The contract you pretend with that b.ase
wretch.
One bred of alms and foster'd with cold disiies.
With scraps o' the court, it is no contract,
none; 120
And timugh it be allow'd in meaner parties—
Yet who than he more mean 7—to knit their
souls.
On whom there is no more dependency
But brats and beggary, in seif-fi^ured knot;
Yet you are curb'd from that enlaigement by
The consequence o' the crown, and must not
_ soil
rne precious note of it with a base slave-
[kci It.
A hilding for a livery, a squire's-cloth,
A nantier, not so eminent.
Imo. , Profane fellow
Wert thou the son of Jupiter and no more 130
But what tlK>tt art besides, thou wei-t too base
To be his groom : thou wert dignified enough.
Even to tiie point of envy, if 'twere made
Comparative for your virtues, to be styled
The under-haugman of his kingdom, and
hated
For being preferr'd so well.
Clo. The south-fog rot him !
Imo. He never can meet more mischance
than come
To be but named of thee. His meanest gar¬
ment.
That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer
In my respect than ail the hairs above tiiee.
Were they all made such men. How now,
Pisanio ! - 141
Enter Pisauio.
Clo. ' His garment!' Now the devil—
Imo. To Dorothy my woman hie thee pres¬
ently—
Clo. ' His garment !'
Itno. I am sprited with a fool.
Frighted, and anger'd worse: go bid my
woman
Search for a jewel that too casually
Hatii left nune arm : it was thy master's :
'shrew me.
If I would lose it for a revenue
Of any king's in Europe. I do think
I saw't this morning : confident 1 am 150
Last night 'twas on mine arm ; I kiss'd it:
I iiope it'be not gone to teii my lord
That I kiss aught but he.
Pie. 'Twiil not be lost.
Imo. I hope so: go and search.
[Exit Pisanio.
Clo. You have abused me :
' His meanest garment!'
Imo. Ay, I said so, sir:
If you will make't an action, call witness to't.
Clo. I will inform your fatiier.
Itno. Your mother too :
Siie's my good lady, and will conceive, I hoiie.
But tiie worst of me. So, I leave you, sir.
To tiie worst of discontent. [Exit.
Clo. I'll be revenged : KiO
' His meanest garment!' Well. [Exit.
Scene IV. Borne. Philario's hmise.
Enter Posthumus and Philario.
Post. Fear it not, sir: I would I were so
sure
To win the king as I am bold her honor
Will remain iiers.
Phi. Wiiat means do you make to him 7
Post. Not any, but abide the change of
time.
Quake in the present winter's state and wish
That warmer days would come: in these
sear'd hopes,
CYMBELWE.
Scene iv.]
I barely ^tify your love ; they failing,
1 must die much your debtor.
PM. Your very goodness and your com¬
pany
O'erpays all I can do. By this, your king 10
Hath heard of great Augustus : Csuus Lucius
Will do's commission throughly : and I think
He'il grant the tribute, send the arrearages.
Or look upon our Bomans, whose remem¬
brance
Is yet fresh in their grief.
Post. I do believe.
Statist though I am none, nor like to be.
That this* will prove a war; and you shall
hear
The legions now in Gallia sooner landed
In our not-fearing Britain than have tidings
Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrvmen
Are men more order'd than when Julius Csesar
Smiled at their lack of skill, but found their
courage
Worthy his frowning at: their discipline,
Now mingled with tiieir courages, will make
known
To their approvers they are people such
That mend upon the world.
Etiter Iachimo.
Phi. See ! Iachimo !
Post. The swiftest harts have posted you
by land ;
And winds of all the comers kiss'd your sails.
To make your vessel nimble.
Phi. Welcome, sir.
PosL I hope the briefness of your answer
made
The speediness of your return.
locA. Your lady 31
Is one of the fairest that I have look'd upon.
Post. And therewithal the best; or let her
beauty
Look through a casement to allure false hearts
And be fal^ with them.
lach. Here are letters for you.
Post. Their tenor good, I trust.
lach. 'Tis very like.
Phi. Was Caius Lucius in the Britaiu court
Wlien you were there ?
lach. He was expected then,
But not approach'd.
Post. Ail is well yet.
Sparkles this stone as it was wont ? or is't
not 40
Too dull for your good wearing ?
lach. , If I had lost it,
I should have lost the worth of it in gold.
I'll make-a journey twice as far, to enjoy
A second night of such sweet shortness which
Was mine in Britain, for the ring is won.
Post. The stone's too hard to come by.
lach. # Not a whit.
Your lady being so easy.
Post. Idake not, sir.
Your loss your sport: I hope you know that
we
Must not continue friends.
1023
lach. Good sir, we must.
If you keep covenant. Had 1 not Imught 50
The knowlMge of your mistress home,! grant
We were to question further : but I now
Profess myself the winner of her honor.
Together with your ring; and not the wronger
Of ner or you, having proceeded but
By both your wills.
Post. If you can make't apparent
That you have tasted her in bed, my hand
And ring is yours ; if not, the foul opinion
You had of her pure honor gains or loses
Y'our sword or mine, or masterless leaves
both
To who shall find them.
lach. Sir, my circumstances.
Being so near the truth as I will make them.
Must first induce you to believe: whose
strength
I will confirm with oath ; which, I doubt not.
You'll give me leave to spare, when you sliall
mid
You need it not.
Post. Proceed.
lach. First, her bedchamber,—
Where, I confess, I slept not, but profess
Had that was well worth watching—it was
haug'd
With tapestry of silk and silver ; the story
Proud Cleopatra, -when she met her Roman, 70
And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for
The press of boats or pride : a piece of work
So bravely done, so nch, that it did strive
In workmanship and value ; which I wonder'd
Could be so rarely and exactly wrought.
Since tlie true life on't was—
Post. This is true ;
And this you might have heard of here, by me,
Or by some other.
lach. More particulars
Must justify my knowledge.
Post. So they must,
Or do your honor injury.
lach. The chimney 80
Is south the chamber, and the chimney-piece
Chaste Diau bathing: never saw I figures
So likely to report themselves : the cutter
Was as another nature, dumb ; outwent her.
Motion and breath left out.
Post. This is a thing
Which you might from relation likewise reap,
Being, as it is, much spoke of.
laah. 'The roof o' the chamber
With golden cherubins is fretted: her and¬
irons—
I had forgot them—were two winking Cupids
Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely 90
Depending on their brands.
Post. Tills is her honor !
Let it be granted you have seen all this—and
praise [Won
Be given to your remembrance—the descrip-
Of what*is iu her chamber nothing saves
The wager you have laid.
Jach. "Fhen, if you can,
[Shmoing the bracekl.
CYMBELINE.
1024
Be pale: I beg but leave to air tliU jewel;
see !
And now 'tis up again it must be married
To that your diamond ; I'll keei> them.
Po$t. Jove!
Once more let me behold it: is it that
Which I left with iier ?
lach. Sir—I tliank her—that: >100
She stripp'd it from her arm ; 1 see her yet;
Her pretty action did outsell her gift,
And yet enrich'd it too : she gave it me, and
said
She prized it once.
Post. May be she pluck'd it off
To send it me.
lack. She writes so to you, doth she ?
Post. Oj no, no, no ! 'tis true. Here, take
this too ; [Gives the ring.
It is a basilisk unto mine eye.
Kills me to look on't. Let there be no honor
Where there is beauty ; truth, where sem¬
blance ; love.
Where there's anotlier man: the vows of
women 110
Of no more bondage be, to where they are
made.
Than they are to their virtues; which is noth¬
ing.
O, above measure false !
Phi. Have patience, sir.
And take your ring again ; 'tis not yet won :
It may be probable she lost it; or
Who knows if one of her women, being coiv
runted.
Hath stol'n it from her ?
Post. Very true ;
And so, I hope, he came by't Back my ring:
Render to me some corporm sign about her.
More evident than this ; for this was stolen.
lach. By Jupiter, I had it from her arm.
Post. Hark you, he swears ; by Jupiter he
swears.
'Tis true :—nay, keep the ring—'tis true : I
am sure
She would not lose it: her attendants are
All sworn and honorable :—they induced to
steal it!
And by a stranger!—No, he hath enjoyed
her:
The cognizance of her incontinency
Is this : she hath bought the name of whore
thus dearly. [hell
There, take tliy hire; and all the fiencfe of
Divide themselves between you !
Phi. Sir, be patient: 130
This is hot strong enough to be believed
Of one persuaded well of—
Post. Never talk on't;
She bath been colted by him.
lach. If you seek
For further satisfying, under her breast-
Worthy the pressing—^lies a mole, right proud
Of that most delicate lodging : by my life,
I kiss'd it; and it gave me present hunger
To feed a^in, though full. You do remem¬
ber 1
[Act ii-
This stain upon her ?
Post. Ay, and it doth confirm
Another stain, as big as hell can hold, 140
Were there no more but it.
lach. ' Will you hear more 7
Post. Spare your arithmetic : never count
the turns ;
Once, and a million !
lach. I'll be sworn—
Post. No swearing.
If you will swear you have not done't, you
lie ;
And I will kill thee, if thou dost deny
Thou'st made me cuckold.
lach. I'll deny nothing.
Post. O, tliat I had her here, to tear her
limb-meal.'
I will go there and do't, i' the court, before
Her father. I'll do something— [Exit.
Phi. Quite brides
The government of patience ! You have won:
Let's follow him, and pervert the present
wrath 131
He hath against himself.
lach. With all my heart [Exeunt.
Scene V. Another room in PhUario's house.
Enter Posthumus.
Post. Is tliere no way for men to be but
women
Must be half-workers ? We are all bastards ;
And that most venerable man which I
Did call my father, was I know not where
When I was stamp'd ; some coiner with his
tools
Made me a counterfeit: yet my mother seem'd
The Dian of that time : so doth my wife
The nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, ven¬
geance 1
Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd
And pray'd me oft forbearance ; did it with
A pudency so rosy the sweet view on't 11
Might well have warm'd old Saturn; that I
thought her
As chaste as unsunn'd snow. O, all the devils!
This yellow lachimo, in an hour,— was't
not?—
Or less,—at first 7—perchance he spoke not,
but.
Like a full-acom'd boar, a German one.
Cried '01' and mount^ ; found no opposi¬
tion
But what he look'd for should oppose and she
Should from encounter guard. Could I find
out
The woman's part in me ! For Uiere's no
motion 20
That tends to vice in man, but I affirm
It is the woman's part: be it lying, note it.
The woman's; flattering, hers ; deceiving,
hers ;
Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; re¬
venges, hers;
Ambitions, covetiugs, change of prides, dis¬
dain,
CYMBEUNE.
Scene i.
CYMBBLINE.
1026
Kice longing, slanders, mutability.
All laults tliat may be named, nay, that hell
knows.
Why, hers, in part or all; but rather, all;
For even to vice
They are not constant, but are changing still
One vice, but of a minute old, for one 31
Not half so old as that. I'll write against
them.
Detest tliein, curse them : yet 'tis neater skill
iii a true hate, to pray they have their will:
The very devils cannot plague them better.
\Exit.
ACT nr.
Scene I. Britain. A hall in Cfymbeline'a
palace.
Enter in state, Cyhbelinb, Queen, Ccoten,
and Lords at one door, and at another, Caius
Lucius and Attendants.
Cym. Now say, what would Augustus
Cxsar with us ?
Luc. When Julius Csesar, whose remem¬
brance yet
Lives in men's ej^es and will to ears and
tongues
Be theme and hearing ever, was in this Brit¬
ain
And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uucie,—
Famous in Csesar's praises, no whit less
Than in his feats deserving it—for him
And his succession granted Rome a tribute.
Yearly three thousand pounds, which by thee
lately
Is left untender'd.
Queen. And, to kill the marvel, 10
Shall to so ever.
CXo. There to many Csesars,
Ere such another Julius. Britain is
A world by itself; and we will nothing pay
For wearing our own noses.
Queen. Tiiat opportunity
Which then they had to take from's, to re¬
sume
We have again. Remember, sir, my liege,
The kings your ancestors, together with
The natural bravery of your isle, which stands
As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in
W ith rocks unscalable and roaring waters, 20
With sands that will not bear your enemies'
boats.
But suck them up to the topmast. A kind of
conquest
Ctesar made here; but made not here bis
brag
Of 'Came' and 'saw' and 'overcame:'
with shame— #
The first that ever touch'd him—^he was car¬
ried
Prom off our coast, twice beaten ; and his
shipping-
Poor ignorant baubles !—on our terrible sead.
Like egg-shells moved upon their surges,
crack'd
As easily 'gainst our rocks : for joy whereof
The famed Cassibelan, who was once at
point— 38
0 giglot fortune !—to master Caesar's sword.
Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright
And Britons strut with courage.
Clo. Come, there's no more tribute to be
])aid : our kingdom Ls stronger than it was at
that time ; and, as I said, there is no moe
such Caesars: other of them may have crook'd
noses, but to owe such straight arms, none.
Cum. Son, let your mother end. 39
Clo. We have yet many among us can
gripe as hard as Cassibelan : 1 do not say I
^m one ; but I have a hand. Why tribute ?
why should we pay tribute ? If Caesar can
hide the sun from us with a blanket, or put
the moon in his pocket, we will pay him tnb-
ute for light; else,, sir, no more tribute, pray
you now.
Cym. You must know.
Till the injurious Romans did extort
This tribute from us, we were free : Caesar's
ambition.
Which swell'd so much that it did almost
stretch 60
The sides o' the world, against all color here
Did put the yoke upon's ; which to shake off
Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon
Ourselves to be.
Clo. and Lards. We do.
Cym. Say, then, to Caesar,
Our ancestor was that Muimutius which
Ordajn'd our laws, whose use the sword of
Caesar
Hath too much mangled; whose repaL* and
franchise
Shall, by the power we hold, be our good
deed.
Though Rome be therefore auigry : Muimu¬
tius made our laws.
Who was the first of Britain which did put 60
His brows within a golden crown and cail'd
Himself a king.
Luc. I am sorry, Cymtoline,
That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar-
Caesar, that hath more kings his servants than
'Thyself domestic officers—thine enemy :
Receive it from me, then : war and confusion
In Caesar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee:
look
For fury not to to resisted. Thus defied,
1 thank thee for myself.
Cym. Tliou art welcome, Caius.
Thy Caesar knighted me ; my youth I spent
Much under him ; of him I gather'd honor ;
MHiich he to seek of me agam, perforce.
Behoves me keep at utterance. I am perfect
That the Pannonians and Dalmatians for
Their liberties are now in amns ; a precedent
Which not to read would show the Britons
cold:
So Caesar shall not find them.
Luc. Let proof speak.
1026
Clo. His majesty Mds you welcome) Make
pastime witli us a day or two, or louger ; if
you seek us afterwards iu other terms, you
shall And us iu our salt-water girdle ; if you
beat us out of it, it is yours ; if you fail in
the adventure, our crows shall fare the better
for you ; ami there's au end.
Luc. So, sir.
Cym. I know your master's pleasure and
be mine:
All the remain is ' Welcome !' [Exeunt.
SCEKB II. Another room in the palace..
Enter Pisanio, with a letter.
Pis. How ! of adultery ? Wherefore write
you not
What monster's her accuser ? Leonatus !
0 master ! what a dtrange infection
Is fall'i) into thy ear ! Wliat false Italian,
As poisonous-tongued as handed, hath pre¬
vail'd
On thy too ready hearing ? Disloyal! No :
She's punish'd for her truth, and undergoes.
More goddess-like than wife-iike, such as¬
saults
As would take in some virtue. O my master!
Thy mind to her is now as low as were 10
Thy fortunes. How ! that T should murder
her ?
Upon the love and truth and vows which I
Have made to thy command ? I, her ? her
blood ?
If it be so to do good service, never
Let me be counted serviceable. How look I,
That 1 should seem to lack humanity
So much as this fact comes to ? [Reading]
' Do't; the letter
That I have sent her, by her own command
Shall give thee opportunity.' O damn'd
paper!
Black as tlie ink that's on thee! Senseless
bauble, i 20
Art thou a feodary for this act, and look'st
So vi^in-like without ? Lo, here she comes.
1 am ignorant in what I am commanded.
Enter Imogbit.
Itno. How now, Pisanio I
Pis. Madam, here is a letter from my lord.
lino. Who ? thy lord ? that is my lord,
Leonatus!
O, learu'd indeed were that astronomer '
That knew the stars as I his characters ;
He'id lay the future open. You good gods.
Let what is here contain'd relish of love, 30
Of my lord's health, of his content, yet not
That we two are asunder ; let that grieve
him :
Some griefs are med'cinable ; that is one of
J them,
it doth physic love ; of his content,
AU but iu that f Good waX) thy leave. Blest
be
[Act lit
You bees that make these locks of counsel'
Lovers
And men in dangerous bonds pray nov alike ,
Tliough forfeiters you cast in prison, yet
You clasp young Cupid's tables. Good news,
gods! 39
[Aeads] 'Justice, and your father's wratli,
should he take me in his dominion, could not
be so cruel to me, as you, O the dearest of
creatures, would even renew me with your
eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria, at
Milford-Haven :> what your own love will out
of this advise you, follow. So he wishes you
ail happiness, that remains loyal to his vow,
and your, increasing in love,
Leonatus Posthcmcs.'
0, for a horse with wings ! Hear'st thou, Pi¬
sanio ? 50
He is at Milford-Haven : read, and tell me
How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs
May plod it iu a week, why may not I
Glide thither in a day ? Tlien, true Pisanio,—
Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord ; who
long'St,—
O, let me bate,—but not like me—yet long'st.
But in a fainter kind :—O, not like me ;
For mine's beyond beyond—say, and speak
thick ;
Love's couuseUor should fill tlte bores of hear¬
ing, 59
To the smothering of tlie sense—how far it is
To this same blessed Milford : and by the way
Tell me how Wales was made so happy as
To inlierit such a haven-: but first of all.
How we may steal from hence, and for the gap
That we shall make in time, from our Itence-
going
And our return, to excuse : but first, how get
hence :
Why should excuse be bom or e'er begot ?
We'll talk of that liereafter. Prithee, speak.
How many score of miles may we well ride
'Twixt hour and hour?
Pis. One score 'twixt sun and sun.
Madam, 's enough for you : [Aside] and too
much too. 71
Imo. Why, one that rode to's execution,
man.
Could never go so slow : I have heard of rid'
ing wagers.
Where horses have been nimbler than the
sands
That run i' the (dock's behalf. But this is
foolery:
Go bid my woman feign a sickness ; say
She'll home to her father: and provide me
presently
A riding-snit, no costlier than would fit
A franklin's housewife.
Pis. Madam, you're best consider.
Imo. I see before me, man : nor here, nor
here, 80
Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them,
That I cannot look through. Away, I prithee;
Do as I bid thee : there's no more to s^ ;
A(g:es8ible is none but Milford way [Exeurd-
CYMBEUNE.
SCEKB III.}
SCBKB III. Wales: a mountainous country
with a cave.
EnteTifro'tn the cave, Belabius ; Guioebids,
and Abvikagus following,
Bel. A goodly day not to keep house, with
such 8
Whose loot's as low as ours ! Stoop, boys :
this gate
lustructs you how to adore the heavens and
bows you
To a morning's holy olBce : the gates of mon-
archs
Are arch'd so iiigh that giants may jet through
And keep their impious turbans on, without
Good -morrow to tiie sun. Hail, thou fair
heaven !
We house i' the rock, yet use thee not so hardly
As prouder livers do.
Gui. Hail, heaven !
Arv. Hail, heaven !
Bet. Now for our mountain sport; up to
yond hill; 10
Your legs are young; I'll tread these flats.
Consider,
When you above perceive me like a crow.
That it is place which lessens and sets off ;
And you may then revolve what tales I have
told you
Of coiu-ts, of princes, of the tricks in war :
This service is not service, so being done.
But being so allow'd : to apprehend thus.
Draws us a profit from all things we see ;
And often, to our comfort, shall we find
Tlie sharded beetle in a safer hold 20
Vlian is the full-wing'd eagle. O, this life
is nobler than attending for a check,
Riclier tlian doing nothing for a bauble, i
Prouder than rustling in uhpaid-for silk :
Such gain the cap of him that makes 'em fine,
Yet keeps his book uncross'd ; no life to ours.
Gui. Out of your proof you speak : we,
poor unfledged.
Have never wing'd from view o' the nest, nor
know not ^
What air's from home. Haply this life is best.
If quiet life be best j sweeter to you 30
Tiiat have a sharper known ; well correspond¬
ing
With your stiff age : but unto: us it is
A cell of ig^iorance ; travelling a-bed ;
A prison for a debtor, that not dares
To stride a limit.
An. What should we si>eak of
When we are old as you ? when we shall hear
The rain and wind beat dark December, how.
In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse
The freezing hours away ? We have seen noth¬
ing ;
We are beastly, subtle as the fox for prey, 40
Like warlike ^ the wolf for what we eat;
Our valor is to chase what ftes ; our cage
We make a quire, as doth the prison'd bird,
And sing our bondage freely.
Bel. How you speak !
Did yon but know the city's usuries
1027
And felt them knowingly; the art o' the ooun
As hard to leave as keep ; whose top tc climb
Is certain falling, or so slippery that
The fear's as bad as falling ; the toil o' the
war, 5'
A pain that only seems to seek out danger 50
r tho name of fame and honor ; which dies i'
the search.
And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph
As record of fair act; nay, many tunes.
Doth 111 deserve by doing well; what's worse.
Must court'sy at the censure :—O boys, this
story
The world may read in me : my body's mark'd
With Roman swords, and my report was once
First with the best of note : Cymbeline loved
me.
And when a soldier was the theme, my name
Was not far off : then was I as a tree 60
Whose boughs did bend with fruit: but in
one night,
A storm or robbery, call it what you will.
Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my
leaves.
And left me bare to weather.
Gtii. Uncertain favor!
Bel. My fault being' nothing—as I have
told you oft— [vail'd
But that two villains, whose false oaths pre-
Before my perfect honor, swore to Cymbeline
I was confederate with the Romans ; so
Follow'd my banishment, and this twenty
years
This rock and these demesnes have been my
world ;■ 70
Where I have lived at honest freedom, paid
More pious debts to heaven than in all
The fore-end of my time. But bp to the moun¬
tains !
This is nut hunters' language t he that strikes
The venison first shall M\he lord o' the feast:
To him the other two shall minister ; '
And we will fear no poison, which attends '
In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the
• valleys. ,
[Exeunt Guiderius and Arviragus.
How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature !
These boys know little they are sons to the
king) 80
Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.
They think they are mine ; and'though train'd
up thus meanly'
I'-the cave wherein they bow, their thoughts
' do hit -
The roofs of palaces, and nature prompts them
In simple and low things to prince it much
I^yond the trick of others; This Polydore,
Tlie heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who
The king his father call'd Guiderius,—Jove I
When on my three-foot stool I sit and tell
The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly
out '90
Into my story : say 'Thus, mine enemy fell.
And thus I set my foot on's neck ;' even then
The princely blood flows in his cheek, he
sweats,
CYMBELTNE.
1028
itraius his young nerves and puts himself in
posture
Thht acts my words. The younger brother, •
Cadw^
Once Arvira^us, in as like a figure,
Strikes life into my speech and shows much
more
His own conceiving.—^Hark, the game is
roused !
O Oymbeiine I heaven and my conscience
knows
Thou didst unjustly banish me : whereon, 100
At three and two years old, I stole these babes;
Ihinking to bar thee of succession, as
Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euripbiie,
Thou wast their nurse ; they took thee for
their mother,
And every day do honor to her grave :
Myself, Beiarins, that am Morgan cail'd,
They take for natural father. The game is up.
[Exit.
Scene IV. Country near Mil/ord-Haven,
Enter Pisanio and Imoqbn.
Itno. Thou toid'st me, when we came from
horse, the place
Was near at hand ; ne'er long'd my mother
so
To see ine first, as 1 have now. Pisanio ! man!
Where is Posthuinus ? What is in thy mind.
That makes thee stare thus ? Wherefore
breaks that sigh
From the inward of thee ? One, but painted
thus^
Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
Beyond self-explication : put thyself
Into a havior of less fear, ere wildness
Vanquish my staider senses. What's the mat¬
ter ?- 10
Why tendePst thou rtiat paper to me, with
A look untender ? If't be summer news.
Smile to't before ; if winterly, thou need'st
But keep that countenance still. My hus¬
band's hand! <
That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him.
And he's at some hard point. Speak, man :
thy tongue
May take off some extremity, which to read
Would be even mortal to me.
Pis. Please you, read ;
And you shall find me, wretched man, a tiling
The moslrdisdain'd of fortune. 20
Itno. [Ecods] ' Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath
played the strumpet in my bed ; the testimo¬
nies whereof lie bleeding in me. I speak not
out of weak surmises, but from proof as strong
as my grief and as certain as I expect my re¬
venge. That part thou, Pisanio, must act for
me, if thy faith be not tainted with the breach
of hers. Let thine own hands take away her
life : I shall give thee opportunity at Milfnrd-
Haven. She hath my letter for the purpose :
where, if thou fear to strike and to make me
certain it is done, thoujirt the pandar to her
dishonM and equally to me disloyal.'
[Act itt.
Pis. What shall I need to draw my swcrd ?
the paper
Hath cut her throat already. No, 'tis slander.
Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose
tongue
Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose
breath
Rides on the posting winds and doth belie
All corners of the world : kings, queens and
states.
Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave
This viperous slander enters. What cheer,
madam ? 41
Imo. False to his bed ! What is it to be
false ?
To lie in watch there and to think on him ?
To weep 'twixt clock and clock ? if sleep
charge nature.
To break it with a fearful dream of him
And cry myself awake ? that's false to's bed,
is it ?
Pis. Alas, good lady !
Imo. I false 1 Thy conscience witness ;
lachimo,
Thou didst accuse him of incontinency ;
Thou then look'dst like a viiiain ; now me-
thiuks 50
Thy favor's good enough. Some jay of Italy
t Whose mother was her painting, hath be-
tray'd him :
Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion ;
And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls,
I must be ripp'd;—^to pieces with me !—O,
Men's vows are women's traitors 1 All good
seeming.
By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought
Put on for villany ; not bom where't grows.
But worn a bait for ladies.
Pis. Good madam, hear me,
Imo. True honest men behig beard, like
false Aineas, 60
Were in his time thought false, and Sinon's
weeping
Did scandal many a holy tear, took pity
From most true wretchedness : so thou, Post-
humuS,
Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men ;
Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjured
From thy great fail. Come, fellow, be thou
honest:
Do thou- thy master's bidding : when thou
see'st him,
A little witness my obedience: look!
I draw the sword myself : take it, and hit 69
The innocent mansion of my love, my heart:
Fear not; 'tis empty of all things but grief :
Thy master is not there, who was indeed
The riches of it: do his bidding ; strike
Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause ;
But now thou seem'st a coward.
Pis. Hence, vile instrament 1
Thou shalt not damn my hand.
Imo. Why, I must die ;
And if I do not by thy hand, thou art
No servant of thy master's. Against self*
slaughter
CYMBELINE.
SCKNE IV.]
There is a prohibition so divine
That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's
my heart. 80
Something's afore't. Soft, soft! we'll no de¬
fence ;
Obedient as the scabbard. What is here ?
The scriptures' of the loyal Leonatiis,
All turn d to heresy ? Away, away.
Corrupters of my faith ! you shall no more
Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor
fools
Believe false teachers : though those that are
betray'd
Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
Stands in worse case of woe. 89
And thou, Posthumus, thou that didst set up
My disobedience 'gainst the king my father
And make me put into contempt the suits
Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find
It is no act of common passage, but
A strain of rareness : and I grieve myself
To think, when thou shalt be disedged by her
That now thou tirest on, how thy memory
Will then be pang'd by me. Prithee, dispatch;
The lamb entreats the butcher: where s thy
knife ?
Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding.
When I desire it too. 101
Pis. O gracious lady.
Since I received command to do this business
I have not slept one wink.
Itno. Do't, and to bed then.
Pis. rU wake mine eye-balls blind first.
Imo. Wherefore tlien
Didst undertake it ? Why hast thou abused
So many miles with a pretence ? this place ?
Mine action and thine own? our horses'
labor V
The time inviting thee ? the perturb'd court.
For my being absent ? wherennto I never
Purpose return. Why hast thou gone so far.
To be unbent when thou hast ta'en thy stand,
The elected deer before thee ?
Pis. But to win time
To lose so bad employment; in the which
I have considePd of a course. Good lady.
Hear me with patience.
Imo. Talk thy tongue weaiw ; speak :
1 have heard I am a strumpet; and mine ear.
Therein false struck, can take no greater
wound,
Xor tent to bottom that But speak.'
Pis. Then, madam,
I thought you would not back again.
Imo. Most like;
Bringing me here to kill me.
Pis. Not so, neither : 120
But if I were ks-wise as honest, then
My purpose would prove well. It cannot be
But that my master is abused :
Some villain, ay, and singular in his art.
Hath done you both this cursed injury.
Imo. Some Roman courtezan.
Pis. ■ No, on my life,
ril give but notice you are dead and send him
Some bloody sign of it; for 'tis commanded
1029
I should do so : you shall be miss'd at court.
And tliat will well donfirm it
Imo. Why, good fellow, 130
What shall I do the while 7 v^ere bide ? how
live?
Or in my life what comfort, when I am
Dead to my husband ?
Pis. If you'll back to the court—
Imo. No court, no father ; nor no more ado
tWith that harsh, noble, simple nothing.
That Cioten,, whose love-suit hath been to me
As fearful as a siege.
Pis. If not at court.
Then not in Britain must you bide.
Imo. Where then ?
Hath Britain all the sun that shines ? Day,
night.
Are they not but in Britain ? I' the world's
volume 140
Our Britain seems as of it, but not in 't;
In a great pool a swan's nest: prithee, think
There's livers out of Britain. ,
Pis. I am most glad
You think of other place,. The ambassador,
Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven
To-morrow: now, if you could wear a mind
Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise
That which, to appear itself, must not yet be
But by self-danger, you should tread a course
tPretty and full of view ; yea, haply, near 150
The residence of Posthumus ; so nigh at least
That though his actions were not visible, yet
Report should render him hourly to your ear
As truly as he moves.
Imo. O, for such means !
Though peril to my modesty, not death on't,
I would adventure.
Pis. Well, then, here's the point:
Ton must forget to be a woman ; change
Command into obedience ; fear and niceness—
The handmaids of all women, or, more truly.
Woman its pretty self—into 'a waggish
courage: 160
Ready in gibes, quick-answePd, saucy and
As quarrelous as the weasel ; nay, you must
Forget that rai-est treasure of your cheek,
Exposing it—but, O, the harder heart!
Alack, no remedy I—to the greedy touch
Of common-kissing Titan, and forget
Your laborsome and dainty trims, wherein
You made great Juno angry.
Imo. Nay, be brief :
I see into thy end, and am almost
A man already.
Pis. First, make yourself but like one. 170
Fore-thinking this, I have already tit—
'Tis in my cloak-bag—doublet, hat, hose, all
That answer to them : would you in their
serving.
And with what imitation you can borrow
From youth of such a season, 'fore noble
Lucius
Present yourself, desire bis service, tell him
Wherein you're happy,- -which you'll make
him know.
If that his head have ear in music,—doubtless
CYMBELINE.
1030
AVith joy he will embrace you, for he's honor¬
able
And doublluz that, most holy. Tour means
abroad, 180
You have me, rich ; and I will never fall
Beginning nor supplyment.
Jnu). Thou art all the comfort
The gods will diet me with. Prithee, away :
There's more to be consider'd ; but we'll even
All that good time will give us : this attempt
I am soldier to, and will abide It with
A prince's courage. Away, I prithee.
Pis. Well, madam, we must take a short
farewell.
Lest, being mlss'd, I be suspected of
Your carriage from the court. My noble mis¬
tress, 190
Here Is a box ; I had It from the queen :
What's In't Is precious ; If you are sick at sea.
Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this
Will drive away distemper. To some shade,
And tit you to your manhood. May the gods
Ulrect you to the best!
Jmo. Amen : I thank thee.
• [Pxeuni, severally.
Scene V. A room in Cymbeline's palace.
.Enter CvMBELiNE, Queen, Cloten, Lucius,
Lords, aid Attendants.
Cym. Thus far ; and so farewell.
Luc. Tlianks, royal sir.
My emperor hath wrote, I must from hence ;
And am right sorry that I must report ye
My master's enemy.
Cym. Our subjects, sir.
Will not endure his yoke ; and for ourself
To show less sovereignty than they, must
needs
Appear unklngllke.
Luc. So, sir : I desire of you
A conduct over-land to Mlltord-Haven.
Madam, all joy befal your grace !
Queen. And you !
Cym. My lords, you are appointed for that
office ; 10
The due of honor In no point omit.
So farewell, noble Lucius.
Luc. Your hand, my lord.
Clo. Receive It friendly ; but from this
time forth
1 wear it as your enemy.
Luc. Sir, the event
Is yet to name the winner : fare you well.
Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good
my lords.
Till he have cross'd the Severn. Happiness 1
[Exeunt Lucius and Lords.
Queen. He goes hence frowning; but It
honors us
That we have given him cause.
Clo. 'Tis all the better ;
Your valiant Britons have their wishes In It.
Cym. Lucius hath wrote already to the
emperor 21
How It goes here. It fits as therefore ripely
Our chariots and our horsemen be In
readiness: <
[Act i«
The powers that he already hath in Gallia
Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he
moves
His war for Britain.
Queen. 'Tls not sleepy business ;
But must be look'd to speedily and strongly.
Gym. Our expectation that It would be
thus
Hath m.ade us forward. But, my gentle queen.
Where Is our daughter? She hath not ap-
pear'd 30
Before the Roman, nor to us hath tenderid
The duty of the day : she looks us like
A thing more made of malice than of duty :
We have noted It. Call her before us; for
AYe have been too slight In sufferance.
[Exit an Attendant.
Queen. Royal sir,
Since the exile of Posthumus, most retired
Hath her life been ; the cure whereof, my
lord,
'Tls time must do. Beseech your majesty.
Forbear shaqi speeches to her : she's a lady
So tender of rebukes that words are strokes 40
And strokes death to her.
Re-enter Attendant
Cym. AVhere is she, sin? How
Can her contempt be answer'd ?
Aiten. Please you, sir.
Her chambers are all lock'd ; and there's no
answer
That will be given to the loudest noise we
make.
Queen. My lord, when last I went to visit
her.
She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close,
AVhereto constraln'd by her infirmity.
She should that duty leave unpaid to yon,
AVhlch dally she was bound to proffer : tlils
She wlsh'd me to make known ; but our great
court 50
Made me to blame In memory.
Cym. ller doors lock'd ?
Kot seen of late ? Grant, heavens, that which
1 fear
Prove false 1 [Exit.
Queen. Son, I say, follow the king.
Clo. Tliat man of hers, Plsanio, her old
servant,
I have not seen these two days.
Queen. Go, look after. [Exit Cloten.
Plsanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus !
He hath a drug of mine : I pray his absence
Proceed by swallowing that, for he believes
It Is a thing most precious. But for her.
Where is she gone? Haply, despair hath
seized her, 60
Or, wlng'd with fervor of her fove, she's flown
To her desired Posthumus: gone she Is
To death or to dishonor ; and my end
Can make good use of either : she l^lng down.
I have the placing of the British crown.
Re-enter Cloten.
How now, my son !
Clo. 'Tls eertain she is fled.
CYMBELINE.
Scene vi.]
Go iu and cbeer the king : he tages ; none
Dare come about liim.
Queen. [Aside] All the better ; may
This night forestall him of the coming day !
[Exit.
Clo. I love and hate her; lor she's fair and
royai, 70
Aud that she hath all courtly parts more ex¬
quisite
Thau lady, ladies, woman ; from every one
The best she hath, and she, of all compounded.
Outsells them all; I love her therefore : but
Disdaining me and throwing favors on
The low Posthumus slanders so her iudgment
That what's else rare is choked ; and in that
point
I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed.
To be revenged upon her. For when fools 79
Shall—
Enter Pisanio.
Who is here ? What, are you packing,
sirrah ? {lain.
Come hither : ah, you precious pander! Vil-
Where is thy lady ? In a word ; or else
Thou art straightway with the fiends.
jPjs. O, good my lord !
Clo. Where is thy lady ? or, by Jupiter,—
I will not ask again. Close villain.
Til have this secret from thy heart, or rip
Thy heart to fiud it. Is she with Posthumus ?
From whose so many weights of baseness can¬
not
A dram of worth be drawn.
I'is. Alas, my lord.
How can she be with him ? When was she
miss'd ? 90
He is in Rome.
Clo. Where is she, sir ? Come nearer ;
No further baiting : satisfy me home
Wltat is become of her.
Pis. O, my ail-worthy lord !
Clo. All-worthy' villain !
Discover where thy mistress is at oiice.
At the next word: no more of' worthy lord !'
Speak, or thy silence on the instant is
Thy condemnation and thy deatli.
Pis. Then, sir.
This paper is the history of my knowledge 99
Touching her flight. [Presenting a letter.
Clo. Let's see't. I will pursue her
Even to Augustus' throne.
Pis. [Aside] Or this, or perish.
She's far enough ; and what he learns by this
May prove his travel, not her danger.
Clo. Hum 1
Pis. [Aside] I'll write to my lord she's
dead. O Imogen,
Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again!
Clo. Sirrah, is this letter true ?
PU. Sir, as I tliiuk. '
Clo. It is Posthumus' hand; I know't.
Sirrah, if thou wouldst not be a villain, but
do me true service, undergo those employ¬
ments wherein I should have cause to use thee
With a serious industry, that is,, what villany
1081
soe'er I bid thee do, to perform it directly aud
truly, I would think theeau honest man : thou
shouldst neither want my means for thy relief
nor my voice for thy perferment.
Pis. Well, my good lord.
Clo. Wilt thou serve me ? for since mtient-
ly and constantly thou ha,st stuck to tlie bare
fortune of that beggar Posthumus, thou canst
not, in the course of gratitude, but be a dili¬
gent follower of mine : wilt thou serve me ?
Pis. Sir, I will.
Clo. Give me thy hand ; here's my purse.
Hast any of thy late master's garments in tliy
possession ?
Pis. I have, my lord, at my lodging, the
same suit he wore when he took leave of my
lady and mistress. IW
Clo. The fiist service thou dost nie, fetch
thid: suit hither : let it be thy first service ; go.
Pis. I shall, my lord. [Exit.
Clo. Meet thee at Milford-Haveh !—I forgot
to ask him one thing ; I'll remember't anon;—
even tliere, thou villain Posthumus, will 1 kill
thee. I would these garments were come.
She said upon a time—the bitterness of it I
now belch from my lieart—tliat she held the
very garment of Posthumus in more respect
than my noble and natural person, together
with the adornment of my qualities. With
that suit upon my back, Willi ravish her : first
kill him, and in her eyes ; there shall she see
my valor, which will then be a torment to her
contempt. He on the ground, my speech of
iusultmeut ended on his dead body, and when
my lust hath dined,—which, as 1 say, to vex
her I will execute in the clothes that she so
praised,—to the court I'll knock her back, foot
her home again. She hath despised me rejoic¬
ingly, and Til be merry in my revenge. 150
Re-enter Pisanio, with the elothes.
Be those the garments ?
Pis. Ay, my noble lord.
Clo. How long is't since she went to Mil-
ford-Haven ?
Pis. She can scarce be there'yet.
Clo. Bring this apparel to my cliamber ;
that is the second thing that I have command¬
ed thee: the third is, that thou wilt be a volun¬
tary mute to my design. Be butduteous, and
true preferment shall tender itself to thee.
My revenge is now at Milford • would I had
wings to follow it! Come, and be true. [Exit.
Pis. Thou bid'st me to my loss : for true
to thee
Were to prove false, which I will never be.
To him that is most true. To Milford go.
And find not her whom thou pursuest. Flow,
flow, [speed
You heavenly ble.ssings, on her ! This fool's
Be.cross'd with slowness ; labor be his meed 1
' [ExU.
Scene 'VT. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius,
Enter Imogen, in hoy's clothes.
Imo. I see a man's life is a tedious one :
CYMBEUNE.
1032
CYMBELINE.
[Act m.
I hare tired myself, and for two nights to¬
gether
Have made the ground my bed. I should be
sick,
But that my resolution helps me. Milford,
Wlien from the mountain-top risanio show'd
thee,
Tliou wast within a ken : 0 Jove ! I think
Foundations fly the wretched ; such, I mean.
Where tliey should be relieved. Two beggars
told me
I could uot miss my way : will poor folks lie,
That have afflictioI^s on them, knowing 'tis 10
A punishment or trial ? Yes ; no wonder.
When rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in
fulness *
Is sorer than to lie for need, and falsehood
Is worse in kings than beggars. My dear lord!
Thou art one o' the false ones. Now 1 tliiuk
on thee.
My hunger's gone ; but even before, I was
At point to sink for food. But what is this ?
Here is a path to't; 'tis some savage hold :
I were best not call; I dare not call: yet
famine, 19
Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valiant.
Plenty and peace breeds cowards : hardness
ever
Of hardiness is mother. Ho I who's here ?
if any thing that's civil, speak ; if savage.
Take or lend. Ho ! No answer ? Then I'll
enter.
Best draw my sword ; and if mine enemy
But fear the sword like me, he'li scarcely look
on't.
Such a foe, good heavens I [Exit, to the cave.
Enter Belarius, Guidekius, and Arviragus.
Bel. You, Polydore, have proved best wood¬
man and
Are master of the feast: Cadwal and I
WiU play the cook and servant; 'tis our
match : 30
The sweat of industry would dry and die.
But lor the end it works to. Come ; our
stomachs
WiU make what's homely savory : weariness
Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth
Finds the down pillow hard. Now peace be
here.
Poor house, that keep'st thyself !
Gui. I am tlioroughly weary.
An. I am weak with toil, yet strong m
appetite.
Out. There is cold meat i' the cave ; we'U
browse on that.
Whilst what we have kill'd be cook'd.
Bet. [Looking into the cave] Stay ; come
not in. 40
But that it eats our victuals, I should thinly
Here were a fairy.
Gui. What's the matter, sir ?
Bel. By Jupiter, aii angei! or, if not.
An earthly paragon ! Behold divineness
No elder wan a boy ' •
Re-enter Imogen.
Irno. Good masters, harm me not:
Before I euter'd here, I caU'd ; and thought
To have begg'd or bought what I have took :
good troth,
I have stol'n nought, nor would uot, though I
had found
Gold strew'd i' the floor. Here's money for
my meat: 50
I would nave left it on the board so soon
As I had made my meal, and parted
Wi& prayers for the provider.
Gui, Money, youth ?
Arv. All gold and silver rather turn to dirt!
As 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those
Who worship dirty gods.
Imo. I see you're angry:
Know, if you kili me for my fault, I should
Have died had I not made it
Bel. Whither bound ?
Imo. To Milford-Haven.
Bel. What's your name ? 60
Imo. Fidele, sir. I have a kinsman who
Is bound for Italy ; he embark'd at Milford ;
To whom being going, almost spent with hun¬
ger,
I am faU'n in this offence.
Bel. Prithee, fair youth.
Think us no churls, nor measure our good
minds
By this rude place we live in. Well encoun-
ter'd !
'Tis almost night: you shall have better cheer
Ere you de|mrt; and thanks to stay and eat it
Boys, bid him welcome.
Gui. Were you a woman, youth,
I should woo hard but be your groom. In
honesty, 70
I bid for you as I'ld buy.
Arv. I'll make't my comfort
He is a man ; I'll love him as my brother :
And such a welcome as I'ld give to him
After lon^ absence, such is yours : most wel¬
come !
Be sprightly, for you fall 'mougst friends.
Imo. .'Monrat friends,
If brothers. [Aside] Would it had been so,
that they
Had been my father's sons ! tlren bad my prize
Been less, and so more equal ballasting
To thee, Posthumns.
Bel. He wrings at some distress.
GuU Would I could free't!
Arv. Or I, whate'er it be, 80
What pain it cost, what danger. God's 1
Bel. Hark, boya
[ Whispering.
Imo. Great men.
That had a court no bigger than this cave.
That did attend themselves and had the virtue
Which their own conscience seal'd them—lay*
in» by
That nothing-gift of differing multitudea—
Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon met
gods!
r Id chajDge my sex to be companion with
Scene ii.]
CYMBELINE.
1033
Since Leonatns'g false.
Bd. It shall be so.
Boys, we'll go dress our hunt Fair youth,
come in : 90
Discourse is heavy, fasting ; when we have
supp'd.
We'll mannerly demand thee of thy story.
So far as thou wilt speak it.
Gui. Pray, draw near.
Arv. The night to the owl and morn to the
lark less welcome.
Imo. Thanks, sir.
Arv. I pray, draw near. [Exeunt.
Scene VII. Rome. A public place.
Enter two Senators and Tribunes.
First Sen. This is the tenor of the empe¬
ror's writ:
That since the common men are now in action
'Gainst the Paunonians and Dalmatians,
And that the legions now in Gallia are
Full weak to undertake our wars against
The fali'n-off Britons, that we do incite
The gentry to this business. He creates
Lucius proconsul : and to yon the tribunes.
For this immediate levy, he commends 9
His absolute commission. Long live Caesar !
First Tri. Is Lucius geneml of the forces ?
Sec. Sen. Ay.
First Tri. Bemaining now in GaUia ?
First Sen. With those legions
Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy
Must be supplyaut: the words of your com¬
mission
Will tie you to the numbers and the time
Of their dispatch.
First Tri. We will discharge our duty.
[Exeunt.
ACT IV.
Scene L Wales: near the cave of Selarius.
Enter Cloten.
Clo. I am near-to the place where they
should meet, if Pisanio have mapped it truly.
How fit his garments serve me ! Why should
his mistress, who was made by him that made
the tailor, not be fit too ? the rather—saving
reverence of the word—^for 'tis said a woman's
fitness comes by fits. Therein I must play the
workman. I dare speak it to myself—for it is
not vain-glory for a man and his glass to con¬
fer in bis own chamber—^I mean, the lines of
my body are as well drawn as his ; no less
young, more strong, not beneath him in for¬
tunes, beyond him in the advantage of the time,
above him in birth, alike convmsant in general
services, and more remarkable in single op-
p>sitions ; yet this imperceiverant thing loves
mm in my despite. What mortality is 1 Pos-
tbumus, thy head, which now is growing upon
thy shoulders, shall withh) this hour be off;
thy mistress enforced ; thy garments cut to
pieces before thy face : and all this done, spurn
her home to her father ; who may haply be a
little angry for my so rough usage ; but my
mother, having power of his testiness, shall
turn all into my commendations. My horse is
tied up safe : out, sword, and to a sore pur¬
pose ! Fortune, put them into my hand ! This
IS the very description of their meeting-place ;
and the fellow dares not deceive me. [Exit.
Scene IL Before the cave of Belarivs.
Enter, from the cave, Beparius, Giiidebius,
Arvisagus, and Imogen.
Bel. [To Imo(ien\ You are not well: remain
here in the cave ;
We'll come to you after hunting.
Arv. [To Imogen'] Brother, stay here ;
Are we not brothers ?
Inw. ■ So man and man should be ;
But clay and clay differs in dignity.
Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick.
Gui. Go you to hunting ; I'll abide with
him.
Imo. So sick I am not, yet I am not well;
But not so citizen a wanton as
To seem to die ere sick : so please you, leave
me ;
Stick to your journal course : the breach of
custom 10
Is breach of all. I am ill, but your being by
me
Cannot amend me ; society is no comfort
To one not sociable : I am not very sick,
Since I can reason of it. Pray you, trust mo
here :
I'll rob none but myself ; and let me die.
Stealing so poorly.
Gui. I love thee ; I have spoke it;
How much the quantity, the weight as much.
As I do love my father. i
Bel. What ! how ! how !
Atv. If it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me
In my good brother's fault : I know not why
I love this youth ; and I have heard you say.
Love's reason's without reason ; the bier at
door.
And a demand who is't shall die, I'ld say
' My father, not this youth.'
Bel. ■ [Aside] O noble strain !
O worthiness of nature ! breed of greatness !
Cowards father cowards and base things sire
base : [grace.
Nature hath meal and bran, contempt ami
I'm not their father ; yet who this should be.
Doth miracle itself, loved before me.
'Tis the ninth hour o' the morn.
Arv. Brother, farewell. 30
Imo. I wish ye sport
Arv. Yon health. So please you, sir
Imo. [Aside] These are kind creatures
Gods, what lies I have heard !
Our courtiers say all's savage but at court:
Experience, O, thou disprovest report!
llie imperious seas breed monsters, for the
dish,
1034
Poor tribataiy rivers as ^eet fish.
I am sick still; heart-sick. Pisauio,
I'll uow taste of thy drug. [iS'tcoUows some.
Gui. I could uot stir him :
He said he was gentle, hut unfortunate ;
Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest 40
Arv. Thus did he answer me : yet said,
hereafter
I might know more.
Bel. To the field, to the field !
We'll leavh you for this time : go in and rest.
Arv. We'll not he long away.
Bel. Pray, he not sick.
For yon must be our housewife.
Imo. Well or ill
I am hound to you.
Bel. And shalt he ever.
[Exit Jinofien, to the cave.
This youth, how'er distress'd, appears he hath
had
Good ancestors.
Arv. How angel-like he sings !
Gui. But his neat cookery ! he cut our roots
In characters.
And sauced our broths, as Juno had been sick
And he her dieter. 51
Arv. Nobly he yokes
A smiling with a sigh, as if the sigh
Was that it was, for not being such a smile;
The smile mocking the sigh, that it would fly
From so divine a temple, to commix
With winds that sailors rail at.
Gtti. I do note
Tliat grief and patience, rooted in him both.
Mingle their spurs together.
Arv. Grow, patience I
And let the stinking elder, grief, nntwiue
His perishing root with the increasing vine!
Bel. It is great morning. Come, away !—
Who's there ? 61
Enter Clotex.
Clo. I cannot find those runagates; that
villain
Hath mock'd me. I am faint.
Bel. ' Tliose runagates .''
Means he not us ? I partly know him : 'tis
Cloten, the son o' the queen. I fear some
ambush.
I saw him not these many years, and yet
Iknow 'tis he. Weare lield as outlaws : hence !
Gui. He is but one : you and my brother
search
What companies are near : pray you, away ;
Let me alone with him.
{Exeunt Belarius and Arvirague.
Clo. Soft! What are you 70
That fly me thus? some villain mountaineers?
I have heard of such. What slave art thou ?
Gui. A thing
More slavish did I ne'er than answering
A slave without a knock.
Clo. Thou art a robber,
A law-breaker, a villain ; yield tiiee, thief.
Chii. To who ? to thee ? What art thoii ?
Have not 1
[Act
An arm as big as thine ? a heart as big ?
Thy words, I grant, are bigger, for I wear not
My dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art.
Why I ^lould yield to thee?
Clo. Thou villain base, 80
Know'st me not by my clothes ?
Gui. ■ No, nor thy tailor, rascal.
Who is thy grandfather: he made those clothes,
Which, as it seems, make thee.
Clo. Thou precious varlet.
My tailor made them not.
GuU Hence, then, and thank
The man tliat gave them thee. Thou art some
fool ;
1 am loath to beat tliee.
Clo. Thou injurious thief.
Hear but my name, and tremble.
Gui. What's thy name ?
Clo. Cloten, thou villain.
Gui. Cloten, thou double villain, be thy
name,
1 cannot tremble at it: were it Toad, or Adder,
Spider, 90
'Twould move me sooner.
Clo. To thy further fear.
Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know
1 am son to the queen.
Gui. 1 am sorry for't ; not seeming
So worthy as thy birth.
Clo. Art not afeard ?
Gui. Those that I reverence those I fear,
the wise :
At fools I laugh, not fear them.
Clo. Die the death :
When 1 have slain thee with my proper hand,
I'll follow those that even now Am hence.
And on the gates of Lud's-town set your heads:
Yield, rustic mountaineer. [Exeunt, fighting.
Re-ente>- Belabius and AKviRAGns.
Bel. No companies abroad ? 101
Arv. None in the world: you did mistake
him, sure.
Bel. 1 cannot tell: long is it since 1 saw him.
But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of
favor
Which then he wore ; the snatches in his voice.
And burst of speaking, were as his: I am
absolute
'Twas very Cloten.
Arv. In this place we left them t
1 wish my brother make {^>od time with him.
You say he is so felL
BeL Being scarce made up,
1 mean, to man, he had not apprehension 110
Of roaring terrors ; for the effect of jud^ent
Is oft the cause of fear. But, see, tliy brother.
Re-enter OuiBBBitrs, icfffi Clotex's head.
GuL This Cloten was a fool, an empfy
purse;
There was no money in't: not Hercules
Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had
none:
Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne
My head as 1 do Ua
CYMBELINE.
ScKNIS 11.]
Bel. What hast thou done ?
Gui. I am perfect what: cut oil one Cloten's
head,
Son to the queen, after his own report;
Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer, and swore
With his own single hand he'ld take us in 121
Displace our heads where—thank the gods !—
they grow.
And set them on Lud's-town.
Bel. We are all undone.
Gui. Why, worthy father, what have we to
lose.
But that he swore to take, onr lives ? The law
Protects not us : then why should we be tender
To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us,
Play judge and executioner all himself,
For we do fear the law ? What company
Discover you abroad ?
Bel. No single soul 130
Can we set eye on ; but in all safe reason
He must have some attendants. Though his
humor
Was nothing but mutation, ay, and that
From one bad tiring to worse ; not frenzy, not
Absolute madness could so far have raved
To bring him here alone ; although perhaps
It may be heard at court that such as we
Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time
May make some stronger head ; tiic which he
hearing—
As it is like him—might break out, and swear
He id fetch us in ; yet is't not probable 141
To come alone, either he so undertaking.
Or they so suffering : then on good ground we
fear.
If we do fear this body hath a tail
More perilous than the head.
Arv. Let ordinance
Come as the gods foresay it: howsoe'er,
My brother hath done well.
Bel. I had no mind
To hunt this day : the boy Fidele's sickness
Did make my way long forth.
Gui. With his own sword.
Which he did wave against my throat, I have
ta'en 150
His head from him : I'll thi-ow't into the creek
Behind our rock ; and let it to the sea, •
And tell the fishes he's the queen's son, Cloten:
That's all 1 reck. [Exit.
Bel. 1 fear 'twill be revenged :
Would, Polydore, thou hadst not done't!
though valor ,
Becomes thee well enough.
Arv. Would 1 had done't.
So the revenge alone pursued me ! Polydore,
1 love thee brotherly, but envy much
Thou hast vobVd me of this deed : 1 would re¬
venges.
That possible strength might meet, would seek
us through 0 110
And put us to our answer.
Bel. Well, 'tis done :
We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger
Where there's no profit. I prithee, to our rock;
Xott and Fidele play the cooks : I'll stay
10.36
Till hasty Polydore retuni, and bring him
To dinner presently.
Arv. . Poor sick Fidele !
I'll willingly to him : to gain his color
rid lei a parish of such Cloteiis' blood.
And praise myself for charity. [Exit.
Bel. O thou goddess,'^
Thou divine Nature, Aow thyself thou blazon's!
In these two princely boys ! Tliey are as gen¬
tle , 171
As zephyrs h'owing below the viole't.
Not wagging his sweet head ; and yet as
rough.
Their royal blood enchafed, as the rudest
wind.
That by tiie top doth take the mountain pine.
And make him stoop to tlie vale. 'Tis won¬
der
That an invisible instinct should frame them
To royalty unleam'd, honor untaught.
Civility not seen from other, valor 179
That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop
As if it had been sow'd. Yet still it's strange
What Cloten's being here to us portends.
Or what his death will bring us.
Se-enter Gdiderius.
Gui. Where's my brother ?
1 have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream,
In emba.ssy to his mother : his body's hostage
For his return. [Solemn music.
Bel. My ingenious instrument!
Hark, Polydore, it sounds ! But what occa¬
sion
Hath Cadwal now to give it motion ? Hark !
Gui. Is he at home ?
Bel. He went hence even now.
. Gui. What does he mean ? since death of
my dear'st mother 190
It did not speak before. All solemn things
Should answer solemn accidents. The mat¬
ter ?
Triumphs for nothing and lamenting toys
Is jollity for apes and grief for boys..
Is Cadwal mad ?
Bel. Look, here he comes.
And brings the dire occasion in his arms
Of what we blame him for.
Re-enter Arviragus, with Imogen, as dead,
bearing her in his arms.
Arv. The bird is dead
Tliat we have made so much on. 1 had rather
Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to
sixty.
To have tunr d my leaping-time into a crutch,
Than have seen this. 201
Gui. O sweetest, fairest lily !
My brother wears thee not the one half so
well
As when thou grew'st thyself.
Bel O melancholy !
Who ever yet could sound thy bottom ? find
'The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish
Might easiliest harbor in ? Thou blessed
thing I
CYMBELINE.
1036
Jove knows what man thou mightst have made;
but I,
Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy.
How found you him ?
Arv. Stark, as you see':
Thus smiling, as some ily had tickled slumber.
Not >is death's dart, being laugh'd at; his
right cheek 211
Reposing on a cushion.
Gui. Where ?
Arv. ' O' the floor ;
His arms thus leagued : I thought he slept,
and put
My clouted brogues from oft my feet, whose
rudeness
Answer'd my steps too loud.
Oiii. Why, he but sleeps :
If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed ;
Witli female fajries will his tomb be haunted.
And worms will not come to thee.
Arv. With fairest flowers
Whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele,
I'll sweeten thy sad grave : thou shalt not
lack 220
The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose,
nor
The azured harebell, like thy veins, no, nor
The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
Out-sweeten'd not thy breath : the ruddock
would.
With charitable bill,—0 bill, sore-shaming
Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie
Without a monument!—bring thee all this ;
Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers
are none.
To winter-ground thy corse.
Qui. Prithee, have done ;
And do not play in wench-like words with
that 2.30
Which is so serious. Let us bury him.
And not protract with admiration what
Is now due debt. To the grave !
Arv. Say, where shall's lay him ?
Gui. By good Euriphile, our mother.
Arv. Be't so:
And let us, Polydore, though now our voices
Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the
ground,
As once our mother ; use like note and words.
Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.
Gui. Cadwal,
I cannot sing: I'll weep, and word it with
thee ; 240
For notes of sorrow out of tune are worse
Than priests and fanes that lie.
Ai-v. We'll speak it, then.
BeL Great griefs, I see, medicine the less ;
for Cloten
Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys ;
And though he came our enemy, remember
He was paid for that; though mean and
mighty, rutting
Together, have one dust, yet reverence,
That angel of the world, doth make distinction
Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was
princely;
[Act ir.
And though you took his life, as being our foe,
Yet bury Itim as a prince.
Gui. Pray yon, fetch him hither. 251
Thersites' body is as good as Ajax',
When neither are alive.
Arv. If you'll go fetch him,
We'll say our song the whilst. Brother, be¬
gin. [Exit Belarius.
Gui. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head
to the east;
My lather hath a reason for't.
Arv. 'Tis true.
Gui. Come on then, and remove him.
Arv. So. Begin.
SoitG.
Gui. Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages ;
Thou thy woridiy task hast done, 260
Home art gone, and ta' en thy wages;
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
Arv. Fear no more the frown o' the great;
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke ;
Care no more to clothe and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak ;
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come' to dust.
Gui. Fear no more the lightning flash, 270
Arv. Nor the all-dreaded tli under-stone ;
Gui. Fear not slander, censure rash ;
An\ Thou hast fiuish'd joy and moan :
Both. All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust
Gui. No exorciser harm thee !
An\ Nor no witchcraft charm thee !
Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee !
Arv. Nothing ill come near thee I
Both. Quiet consummation have ; 280
And renowned be thy grave t
Re-enter Bepabius, with the body of Clotbm.
Gui. We have done our obsequies: come,
lay him down.
Bel. -Here's a few flowers ; but 'bout mid¬
night. more :
The herbs tliat have on them cold dew o' the
night
Are strewiugs fitt'st for graves.- Upon their
faces.
You were as flowers, now wither'd : even so /
These herblets shall, which we upon you
strew.
Come on, away : apart upon our Icnees.
The ground that gave them first has them
again: 289
Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain.
[Exeunt Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragut,
Jtno. [Awaking\ Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven:
which is the way ?—
I thank you.—By yond bush ?—Pray, how fw
thither ?
'Ods pittikins ! can it be six miie yet?—'
CYMBELINE.
Scene ii.]
I have gone all night. 'Faith, I'll lie down and
sleep.
But, soft! no bedfellow !—O gods and god¬
desses ! \Seeing the body of Cloten.
These flowers are like the pleasures of the
world ;
Tills bloody man, the care on't. I hope I
dream ;
For so I thought I was a cave-keeper,
And cook to honest creatures : but 'tis not so;
'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing.
Which the brain makes of fumes : our very
eyes 301
Are sometimes like our judgments, blind.
Good faith,
I tremble still with fear ; but if there be
Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity
As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it!
The dream's here still : even when I wake, it
is
Without me, as within me ; not imagined, felt
A headless man ! The garments of Posthu-
mus!
I know the shape of's leg: this is his hand ;
His foot Mercurial ; his Martial thigh ; 310
The brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial face
Murder in heaven ?—How !—'Tis gone. Pi-
sanio,
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee ! Thou,
Conspired with that irregulous devil, Cloten,
Hast here cut off my lord. To write and read
Be henceforth treacherous ! Damn'd Pisanio
Hath with his forged letters,—damn'd Pisa¬
nio—
From this most bravest vessel of the world
Struck the main-top ! O Postimmus ! alas,
Wher is thy head ? Where's that ? Ay me !
Where's that ? ' 321
Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart,
And left this head on. How should this be ?
Pisanio ?
'Tis he and Cloten: malice and lucre in them
Have laid this woe here. 0, 'tis pregnant,
pregnant!
The drug he gave me, which he said was pre-
•cious
And cordial to me, have I not found it
Murderous to the senses ? That confirms it
home :
This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's: O !
Give color to my pale cheek with thy blood.
That we the horrider may seem to those 331
Which chance to find us : O, my lord, my
lord 1 [Falls on the body.
Enter Lucius, a Ctmtaln and other Officers,
and a ^othsayer.
Cap, To them the legions garrison'd in
Gallia,
Alter your will, have cross's the sea, attend¬
ing
Yon here at Milford-Haven with your ships :
^ey are in readiness.
Zeie But what from Rome 7
1087
Cap. The senate hath stiri^d up the con-
finers
And gentlemen of Ibily, most willing spirits.
That promi.se noble service : and they come
Under the conduct of bold lachimo, . 340
Syenna's brother.
Luc. When expect you them ?
Cap. With the next benefit o' the wind.
Luc. This forwardness
Makes our hopes lair. Command our present
numbers
Be muster'd ; bid the captains look to't. Now,
sir.
What have you dream'd ol late of this war's
purpose ?
Sooth. Last night the very gods show'd me
a vision—
I fast and pray'd for their intelligence—thus :
I saw Jove s bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd
From the spongy south to this ^rt of the
west.
There vanish'd in the sunbeams : which por¬
tends— 3'SO
Unless my sins abuse my divination—
Success to the Roman host.
Luc. Dream often so,.
And never false. Soft, ho ! what trunk is
here
Without his top ? The ruin speaks that some¬
time
It was a worthy building. How ! a page !
Or dead, or sleeping on him ? But dead
rather ;
For nature doth abhor to make his bed
With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead.
Let's see the boy's face.
Cap. He's alive, my lord.
Luc. He'll then instruct us of this body.
Young one, 300
Inform us of thy fortunes, for it seems
They crave to be demanded. Who is this
Thou makest thy bloody pillow ? Or who was
he
That, otherwise than nojile nature did.
Hath alter'd that good picture ? Wh?.t's thy
interest
In this sad wreck ? How came it ? Who is it ?
What art thou ?
Inu). I am nothing : or if not.
Nothing to be were better. This was my mas¬
ter,
A veiy valiant Briton and a good,
That here by mountaineers lies slain. Alas '
There is no more such masters : I may jvan-
de* 371
From east to Occident, cry out for service.
Try many, all good, serve truly, never
Find such another master.
Luc. 'Lack, good youtli !
Thou movest no less with thy complaining
than
Thy master in bleeding : say hi? name, good
friend.
Imo. Richard dn Champ. [A.eide'\ III do lie
and do
No harm by it, tbongh the gods hear, i hope
CYMBELINE.
1038
They'll pardon it.—Say you, sir ?
Luc. Thy name ?
Imo. Fldele, sir.
Luc. Thou dost approve thyself tlie very
same: 380
Thy name well fits thy faith, thy faith tty
name.
Wilt take thy chance with me ? I will not .say
Thou slialt be so well master'd, but, be sure.
No less beloved. The Roman emperor's let¬
ters.
Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner
Than thine own worth prefer thee : go with
me.
Imo. I'll follow, sir. But first, an't please
the gods,
I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep
As these poor pickaxes <»n dig ; and when
With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha' strew'd
his grave, 390
And on it said a century of prayers.
Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep and sigh ;
And leaving so his service, follow you.
So please you entertain me.
Luc. Ay, good youth !
And rather father thee than master thee.
My friends.
The boy bath taught us manly duties : let us
Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can.
And make him with our pikes and partisans
A grave : come, arm him. Boy, he is pi-e-
ferr'd 400
By thee to ns, and he shall be interr'd
As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes:
Some falls are means the happier to arise.
\Exev.nt.
Scene III. A room in Cymtielim's palace.
Enter Cymbeline, Lords, Pisanio, and
Attendants.
Cym. A^in ; and bring me word how 'tis
with her. [Exit an Attendant.
A fever with the absence of her son,
A madness, of whiclf her life's in danger.
Heavens,
How deeply you at once do touch me ! Imo¬
gen,
Tlie great part of my comfort, gone; my queen
Upon a desperate bed, and in a time
When fearful wars point at me; her son gone.
So needful for this present: it strikes me, past
The hoiie of comfort. But for thee, fellow,
Who needs must know of her departure and
Dost keem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from
thee 11
By a sharp torture.
Pis. Sir, my life is yours ;
> humbly set it at your will; but, for my mis¬
tress,
I nothing know where she remains, why gone.
Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your
highness.
Hold rae your loyal servant.
First Lord. Good my liege.
The day that she vras missing he was here:
[Act IV.
I dare be bound he's true and shall perform
All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten,
There wants no diligence in seeking him, 20
And will, no doubt, be found.
Cym. The time is troublesome
[To Pisanio] We'll slip you for a season ; but
out jealousy
Does yet depend.
First Lord. So please your majesty.
The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn.
Are landed on your coast, with a supply
Of Roman gentlemen, by the senate sent.
Cym. Now for the counsel of my son and
queen !
I am amazed with matter.
First Lord. Good my liege.
Your preparation can affront no less
Than what you hear of: come more, for more
you're ready: 30
The want is but to put those powers in motion
That long to move.
Cym. I thank yon. Let's withdraw;
And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear not
What cau from Italy annoy us ; but
We grieve at chances here. Away !
[Exeunt all but Pisanio.
Pis. I beard no letter from my master since
I wrote him Imogen was slain : 'tis strange :
Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise
To yield me often tidings : neither know I
What is betid to Cloten ; but remain 40
Perplex'd in all. The heavens still must work.
Wherein I am false I am honest; ifot true, to
be true.
These present wars shall find I love my coun¬
try.
Even to the note o' the king, or I'll fall in
them.
All other doubts, by time let them be clear'd :
Fortune brings in some boats that are not
steer'd. [Exit.
Scene IV. Wales: before the cave of Belarius.
.Lnter Belarius, Gcidebius, and Arviragus.
Gui. The noise is round about us.
Bel. Let us from it.
Arv. What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to
lock it
From action and adventure ?
Gui. Nay, what hope
Have we in hiding us ? This way, the Romans
Must or for Biitous slay us, or receive us
For barbarous and unnatural revolts
During their use, and slay us after.
Bel. Sous,
We'll higher to the mountains ; there secure
us.
To the king's party there's no going : newness
Of Cloten's death—we being not known, not
muster'd lo
Among the bands—may drive us to a render
Where we have lived, and so extort from's that
Which we have done, whose answer would be
death
Drawn on with toiture,
CYMBELINE.
CYMBETANE. 1«39
bCENE II.J
Gvi- This is, sir, a doubt
In such a time nothing becoming you,
Nor satisfying ns.
Atv. It is not likely
That when they hear the Roman horses neigh.
Behold their quarteT'4 fires, have both tlieii
eyes
And ears so cloy'd importantly as now.
That they will waste their time upon our note,
To know from whence we are. 21
Bel. O, I am known
Of many in the army: many years,
I'hough Cloten then but young, you see, not
wore him
From my remembrance. And, besides, the
king
Hath not deserved my seiTice nor your loves;
Who find in my exile the want of breeding,
Tlie certainty of this hard life ; aye hopeless
To have the courtesy your cradle'promised.
But to be still hot summer's tanlings and
The shrinking slaves of winter.
Out. Than be so 30
Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to the army:
1 and my brother are not known ; yourself
So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown.
Cannot be question'd,
Arv. By this sun that shines,
I'll thither ; what thing is it that 1 never
Did see man die 1 scarce ever look'd on blood.
But that of coward hares, hot goats, and ven¬
ison !
Never bestrid a horse, save one that had
A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel
Nor iron on his heel I I am ashamed 40
To look upon the holy sun, to have
The benefit of his blest beams, remaining
So long a poor unknown.
Gvi. By heavens, I'll go:
If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave,
I'll take the better care, but if you will pot.
The hazard therefore due fall on me by
The hands of Romans !
Arv. So say I: amen.
Bel. No reason I, since of your lives you
set
So slight a valuation, should reserve
My crack'd one to more care. Have with yon,
boys! 50
If in your country wars you chance to die.
That is my bed too, lads, and there I'll lie :
Lead, lead. [.4sidc] The time seems long ;
their blood thinks scorn,
fill it fly out and show them princes bom.
[Exeunt.
ACT V.
Scene L Britain, The Roman camp.
Enter Posthumus, with a blq^dy handkerchief.
Post. Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee, for
I wish'd
Thou shouldst be color'd thus. You married
ones,
If each of you should take this course, how
many
Must murder wives much better than them¬
selves
For wrying but a little I O Pisanio !
Every good servant does not all commands:
No bond but to do just ones. Gods 1 if you
Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I
never
Had lived to put on this : so had you saved
The noble Imogen to repent, and struck 10
Me, wretch more worth your vengeance. But,
alack, [love,
Yon sngtch some hence for little faults ; that's
To have them fall no more : you some permit
fTo second ills with ills, each elder worse.
And make them dread it, to the doers' thrift.
But Imogen is your own : do your best wills.
And make me blest to obey! I am brought
hither
Among the Italian gentry, and to fight
Against my lady's kingdom : 'tis enough
That, Britain, I have kilTd thy mistress ;
peace! 20
I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good
heavens.
Hear patiently my purpose : I'll disrobe me
Of these Italian weeds and suit myself
As does a Briton peasant; so I'll fight
Against the part I come with ; so 111 die
For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life
Is every breath a death ; and thus, unknown.
Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril
Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know
More valor in me than my habits show. 30
Gods, put the .strength o' the Leonati in me !
"To shame the guise o' the world, I will begin
The fashion, less without and more within.
[Exit
Scene H. Field of battle between the British
and Roman camps.
Enter,fromoneside, Lucius, Iachimo, and the
Roman Army: from the other side, the British
Army; Leonatus Posthumus follotcing,
like a poor soldier. They march over and go
oat. Then enter again, in skirmish, Iachimo
and Posthumus: he vanquisheth and dis-
armeth Iachimo, and then I'aves him.
lach. The heaviness and guilt within my
bosom
Takes off my manhood : I have belied a lady.
The princess of this country, and the air on't
Revengingly enfeebles me ; or could this carl-
A very drudge of nature's, have subdued me
In my profession ? Knighthoods and honors,
borne
As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn.
If that thy gentry, Britain, go before
This lout as he exceeds our lords, the odds
Is that we scarce are men and you are gods. 10
[Exit.
The battle continues; Ike's '.Uma fly; Cymbe-
tiNE is taken: then enter, to his rescue, Bep*
) ARivs, GuiLerius, and Aryibagus.
1040
CYMBELINE.
[Act y
Bd. Stand, stand ! We have the advan¬
tage of the ground;
The lane is guarded : nothing routs us but
The villany of our fears.
I Stand, stand, and nght!
Re-enter Posthcmus, and seconds the Britons:
they rescue Cymbbline, and exeunt. Then
re-enter Lucius, and Iachimo, unth Imogen.
Luc. Away, boy, from the troops, and save
thyself ;
For friends kill friends, and the disorder's
such
As war were hoodwink'd.
lach. 'Tis their fresh supplies.
Luc. It is a day tum'd strangely: or betimes
Let's re-inforce, or fly. [Exeunt.
Scene III. Another part of the field.
Enter Posthumus and a British Lord.
Lord. Camest thou from where they made
the stiind ?
Post. I did :
Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.
Lord. I did.
Post. No blame be to you, sir ; for all was
lost.
But that the heavens fought; the king him¬
self
Of his wings destitute, the army broken.
And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying
Through a straight lane ; the enemy full-
hearted.
Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having
work
More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down
Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some
falling 10
Merely through fear ; that the straight pass
was daram'd
With dead men hurt behind, and cowards liv-
iug
To die with lengthen'd shame.
Lord. Where was this lane ?
Post. Close by the battle, ditch'd, and
wall'd with turf ;
Wliich gave advantage to an ancient soldier.
An honest one, I warrant; who deserved
So long a breeding as his white beard came to.
In doing this for's country : athwart the lane.
He, with two striplings—lads more like to run
The country base than to commit such slaugh¬
ter ; ^20
With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer
Than those for preservation cased, or sliame,—
Made good the passage ; cried to those that
fled,
' Our Britain's harts die flying, not our men:
To darkness fleet souls that fly backwards.
Stand ;
Or we are Romans and will give you that
Like beasts which you shun beastly, and may
save.
But to look back in frown: stand, stand.'
These thr»e,
Three thousand confident, in act as many—
For three performers are the file when all 30
The rest do nothing—with this word ' Stand,
stand,'
Accommodated by the place, more charming
With their own nobleness, which could have
turn'd
A distaff to a lance, gilded pale looks.
Part shame, part spirit renew'd ; that some,
turn'd coward
But by example—O, a sin in war,
IJamn'd in the first beginners !—gan to look
Tlie way that they did, and to grin like lions
Upon tlie pikes o' the hunters. Then began
A stop i' the chaser, a retire, anon 45
A rout, confusion thick ; forthwith they fly
Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles ;
slaves.
The strides they victors made : and now oui
cowards.
Like fragments in hard voyages, became
Tlie life o' the need i having found the back¬
door open
Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, bow they
wound !
Some slain before; some dying; some their
friends
O'er home i' the former wave : ten, chased by
one.
Are now each one the slaughter-man of
twenty :
Those that would die or ere resist are grown
The mortal bugs o' the field. 51
Lord. This was strange chance:
A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys.
♦ Post. Nay, do not wonder at it: you are
made
Rather to wonder at the things you hear
Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon't.
And vent it for a mockery ? Here is one :
' Two^boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane.
Preserved the Britons, was the Romans' bane."
Lord. Nay, be not angry, sir.
Post. "'Lack, to what end ?
Wlio dares not stand his foe, I'll be his friend;
For if he'll do as he is made to do, 61
I know he'll quickly fly my friendship too.
You have put me into rhyme.
Lord. Farewell ; you're angry.
Post. Still going? [Exit Lord.] This is a
lord ! O noble misery.
To he i' the field, and ask ' what news ?' of me!
To-day how many would have given their
honoM [do't.
To have saved their carcases ! took heel to
And yet died too ! 1, in mine own woe
charm'd,
Could not find death -where 1 did hear him
groan.
Nor feel him where he struck : being an ugly
monster, 7'6
'Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft
beds.
Sweet words ; or hath more ministers than we
That draw his knives i' the war. Well 1 will
' find him :
Scene iv.'
CYMBELINE.
1091
For being now a favorer to the Briton,
No more a Briton, 1 have resumed again
The part I came in : fight 1 will no more.
But yield me to the veriest hind that shall
Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter
is
Here made by the Soman ; great the answer
be
Britons must take. For jne, my ransom's
death ; 80
On either side I come to spend my breath;
Which neither here I'll keep nor l^r again.
But end it by some means for Imogen.
Enter two British Captains and Soldiers.
Fint Cap. Great Jupiter be praised! Lucius
is taken. ,
'Tis thought the old man and his sons were
angels.
Sec. Cap. There was a fourth man, in a
silly habit,
That gave the affront with them.
Fint Cap. So 'tis reported :
But none of 'em can be found. Stand f who's
there ?
Post. A Roman,
Who had not now been drooping here, if
seconds
Had answer'd him. 90
Sec. Cap. Lay hands on him ; a dog !
A leg of Rome shall not return to tell
What crows have peck'd them here. He brags
his service
As if he were of note : bring him to the king.
Enter Cymbeline, Belabhts, Guidekics,
Arvieaous, PiSANio, Soldiers, Attendants,
and Roman Captives. The Captains present
PosTHUMUs to Cymbeume, wm delivers him
over to a Gaoler : then exeunt omnes.
Scene IV. A British prison.
Enter Posthu.mus and two Gaolers.
First Gaol. You shall not now be stol'n,
you have locks upon you ;
So graze as you find pasture.
Sec. Gaol. Ay, or a stomach.
(Exeunt Gaolers.
Post. Most welcome, bondage! for thou art
a way, *
I think, to liberty : yet am 1 better
Tlian one that's sick' o' the gout; since he had
rather
Groan so in perpetuity than be cured
By the sure physician, death, who is the key
To unbar these locks. My cpnscience, thou
art fetter'd
More than my shanks 'and wrists : you good
gods, give me
The penitent instrument to pick that boH, 10
Then, free for ever 1 Is't enough I am sorry ?
So cmldren temporal fathers (S> appease ;
Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent?
I cannot do it better than in gyves.
Desired more tliuu constrain'd: to satisfy,
(f of my freedom 'tis the main part, take
No stricter render of me than my all.
I know you are more clement than vile men.
Who of their broken debtors take a third,
A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again 20
On their abatement: that's not my desire:
For Imogen's dear life take mine ; and though-
'Tis not so dear, yet 'tis a life ; you coin'd it:
'Tween man and man they weigh not every
stamp ;
Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake:
Fou rather mine, being yours : and so, great
powers.
If you will take this audit, take this life.
And cancel these cold boii/s. O Imogen !
I'll speak to thee in silenc? .
Solemn music. Enter, ( in an apparition.,
SiciMUS Leonatcs, Jlier to Posthumus,
an old man, attired lih.i a warrior; leading
in his hand an ancient matron, his wife, and
mother to Posthumus, with music before
them : then, after other music, follow the two
yoking Leonati, brothers to Posthumus,
with wounds as they died in the wars. They
circle Posthumus round, as he lies keeping.
Sid. No more, thou thunder-master, show
'Thy spite on mortal flies: 31
With Mars fall out, with Juno chide,
"That thy adulteries
Bates and revenges.
Hath my poor boy done aught but well.
Whose face I never saw ?
I died whilst in the womb he stay'd
Attending nature's law:
Whose father then, as men report
Thou orphans' father art, 40
Thou shonldst have been, and shielded
him
From this earth-vexing smart
Moth. Lucina lent not me her aid.
But took me in my throes ;
That fi-om me was Posthumus ript.
Came crying 'mongst his foes,
A thing of pity !
Sici. Great nature, like his ancestry,
Moulded the stuff so fair.
That he deserved the praise o' the world.
As great Sicilius' heir. 51
First Bro. When once he was mature for man,
In Britain where was he
That could stand up his parallel;
Or fruitful object be
In eye of Imogen, that best
Could deem his dignity 1
Moth. With marriage wherefore was he
mock'd.
To be exiled, and throvrr.
From Leonati seat, and cast 60
From her his dearest one.
Sweet Imogen ?
Sid. Why did you suffer lachimo,
Slight thing of Italy,
To taint his nobler heart and brain
66
1042
CYMBELINE.
[Act v.
With needless jealousy;
And to become the geek and scom
O' th' other's villainy 1
See. Bro. For this from stiller seats we came,
Our parents and us twain, 70
That striking in our country's cause
Fell bravely and were slain.
Our fealty and Tenantius' right
With honor to maintain.
First Bro. Like hardiraent Posthumus hath
To Cymbeline perforra'd:
Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods.
Why hast thou thus adjoum'd
The graces for his merits due.
Being all to dolours tum'd ? 80
Sid. Thy crystal window ope ; look out;
No longer exercise
Upon a valiant race thy harsh
And potent injuries.
Moth. Since, Jupiter, our son is good,
Take on his miseries.
Ski. Peep through thy marble mansion; help;
Or we poor ghosts will cry
To the shining synod of the rest
Against thy deity. 90
Both Bro. Help, Jupiter ; or we appeal.
And from thy justice fly.
Jupiter descends in thunder and lightning,
silting upon an eagle: he throros a thunder¬
bolt. The Ghosts fall on their knees.
Jup. No more, you petty spirits of region
low,
OSend our hearing ; hush I How dare you
ghosts
Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt, you know.
Sky-planted batters all rebelling coasts ?
Poor shadows of Elysium, hence, and rest
Upon your never-withering banks of flowers:
Be not with mortal accidents opprest; 99
No care of yours it is ; you know 'lis ours.
Whom best I love I cross ; to make my gift.
The more delay'd, delighted. Be content;
Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift:
His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent.
Our Jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in
Our temple was he married. Rise, and fade.
He shall be lord of lady Imogen,
And happier much by his affliction made.
This tablet lay upon his breast, wherein
Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine;
And so, away : no further with your din IH
Express impatience, lest you stir up mine.
Mount, eagle, to ray palace crystalline.
[Ascends.
Ski. He came in thunder; his celestial
breath
Was sulphurous to smell: the holy eagle
Stoop'd, as to foot us: his ascension is
More sweet than our blest fields : his royal
bird
Prunes the immortal wing and cloys his beak.
As when his god is pleased.
All. Thanks, Jupiter !
Ski. The marble pavement closes, he is
entePd 120
His radiant roof. Away ! and, to be blest.
Let us with care perform his great behest.
[The Ghosts vanish.
Post. [Waking'] Sleep, thou hast been a
grandsire, and begot
A father to me ; and thou hast cre.vted
A mother and two brotliers: but, O scom !
Gone ! they went hence so soon as they were
bom: [depend
And so I am awake. Poor wretches that
On greatness' favor dream as I have done.
Wake and find nothing. But, alas, I swerve-
Many dream not to find, neither deserve, 130
And yet are steep'd in favors ; so am I,
That have this golden cliance and know not
why.
What fairies haunt this ground ? A book ? O
rare one !
Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment
Nobler than that it covers : let thy effects
So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers.
As good as promise.
[Reads] ' When as a lion's whelp shall, to
himself unknown, without seeking find, and
be embraced by a piece of tender air; and
when from a stately cedar shall be lopped
branches, which, being dead many years,
sliall after revive, be jointed to the old stock
and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end
his miseries, Britiiin be fortunate and flourish
in peace and plenty.'
'Tis still a dream, or else such stuff as madmen
Tongue and brain not; either both or nothing;
Or senseless speaking or a speaking such
As sense cannot untie. Be what it is.
The action of my life is like it, which 130
I'll keep, if but for sympathy.
Re-enter First Gaoler.
First Gaol. Come, sir, are you ready for
death ?
Post. Over-roa.sted rather ; ready long ago.
First Gaol. Hanging is the word, sir; if
you be ready for that, you are well cooked.
Post. So, if I prove a good repast to the
spectators, the dish pays the shot
First Gaol. A heavy reckoning, for yon,
sir. But the comfort is, you shall be called to
no more payments, fear no more tavem-bills ;
which are often the sadness of parting, as the
procuring of mirth : you come in faint for
want of meat, depart reeling with too much
drink ; sorry that you have paid too much,
and sorry that you are paid too much ; purse
and brain both empty-; the brain thb heavier
for being too light, the purse too light, being
drawn of heaviness: of this contradiction you
shall now be quit. O, the charity of a penny
cord ! it sums up thousands in a trice: you
have no true debitor and creditor but it; of
what's past, is, and to come, the discharge:
your neck, sir, is pen, book and counters ; so
the acquittance follows.
Scene v.]
Pott. I am. merrier to die than thou art to
live.
First {jfaol. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels
not tlie tooth-ache; but a man that were to
sleep your sleep, and a hangman to help him
to bed, I think he would change places with
liis officer ; for, look you, sir, you know not
which way you shall go.
Post. Yes, indeed do I, fellow. ,
First Gaol. Your death has eyes in's head
then; I have not seen him so pictured: yon
must either be directed by some that take
iitk>n them to know, or do take upon yourself
tliat which I am sure yon do not know, or
jump the after inquiry on your own peril: and
how you shall speed in your journey's end, I
think you'll never return to tell one. 191
Post. I tell thee, fellow, there are none
want eyes to direct them the way I am going,
but such as wink and will not use them.
First Gaol. What an infinite mock is this,
that a man should have the best use of eyes to
see the way of blindness! I am sure hanging's
the way of winking.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Knock off his manacles ; bring your
prisoner to the king. 200
Post. Thou bring' st good news; I am called
to be made free.
First Gaol. I'll be hang'd then.
Post. Thou shalt be then freer than a
gaoler; no bolts for the dead.
[Exeunt Posthumus and Messenger.
First Gaol. Unless a man would marry a
gallows and beget yoitng gibbets, I never saw
one so prone. Yet, on my conscience, there
are verier knaves desire to live, for all he be a
Koman: and there be some of them too that
die against their wills ; so should I, if I were
one. r would we were all of one mind, and one
mind good; O, there were desolation of
gaolers and gallowses ! I speak against my
(ireseut profit, but my wish hath a preferment
in't [Exeunt.
Scene V. Cymheline's tent.
PiUer Cymbeune, Belarius, Gciderius,
Arviragus, PisANio, Lords, Officers, and
.\ttendauts. «
C'ym. Stand by my side, you whom the gods
have made
I'reservers of my throne. Woe is my heart
Tiiat the poor soldier that so richly fought,
IVhose rags shamed gilded arms, whose naked
breast
Stepp'd before targes of proof, cannot be
found:
lie shall be happy that can find him, if
Onr grace can make him so.
Bd. I never saw
vuch noble fury in so poor a tIKng ;
riuch precious deeds in one that promised
nought
?.ut beggary and poor looks.
Cpn, No tidings of bim ? 10
1043,
. Pis. He hath been search'd among th«
dead and living,
But no trace of him.
Cgm. To my grief, I am
The heir of his reward ; [2o Belanus, Guide-
rius, and Arviragv.s'X which I will add
To you, the liver, heart and brain of Britain,
By whom I grant she lives. 'Tis now the
time '
To ask of whence you are. Report it
Bel. Sir,
In Cambria are we bom, and gentlemen:
Further to boast were neither true nor modest.
Unless I add, we are honest
Cym. Bow your knees.
Arise my knights o' the battle : I create you
Companions to our person and will fit you 21
Witli dignities becoming your estates.
Enter Cornelius and Ladies.
Tliere's business in these faces. Why so
sadly
Greet you our victory ? yon look like Romans,
And not o' the court of Britain.
Cor. Hail, great king !
To sour your happiness, I must report
The queen is dead.
Cym. Who worse than a phvsician
Would tliis rejxu-t become ? But I consider,
By medicine life may be proloiig'd, yet death
Will seize tlie doctor too. How ended she ? 30
Cor. With horror, madly dying, like lier
life.
Which, being cruel to the world, concluded
Slost cruel to herself. What she confess'd
I will report, so please you : tliese her women
Can trip me, if I err ; wlio with wet cheeks
Wei-e present when she finish'd.
Cym. Prithee, say.
Cor. First, she confess'd she never loved
you, only
Affected greatness got by you, not you:
Married your royalty, was wife to your place ;
Abhorr'd your person.
Cym. She alone knew this ; 40
And, but she spoke it dying, I would not
Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed.
Cor. Your daughter, whom she bore in
hand to love
With such integrity, she did confess
Was as a scorpion to her sight ; whose life.
But that her flight prevented it, she had
Ta'en off by poison.
Cym. O most delicate fiend !
Who is't can read a woman ? Is there more ?
Cor. More, sir, and worse. She did con¬
fess she had
For you a mortal mineral; which, being took.
Should by the minute feed on life.and linger¬
ing 51
By inches waste you : in which time she pur¬
posed,
By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to
O'ercome you with her show, and in time.
When she had fitted you with hep craft, tq
work
CYMBEUNE.
1044
CYMBELINE.
[Aqr
Her son into the adoption of the crown :
But, failing of her end by his strange alienee,
, Grew shameless-desperate ; open'd, in despite
Of heaven and men, her purix>ses ; repented
The evils she hatch'd were not effected ; so ^
Despairing died.-
Cym. Heard you all this, her women ?
First Lady. We did, so please your high¬
ness.
Cym. Mine eyes
Were not in fault, for she was beautiful;
Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my
heart.
That thought lier like her seeming; it had
been vicious
To have mistrusted her : yet, O my daughter!
That it was folly in me, thou mayst say.
And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend
all!
Enter Lucius, Iachimo, the Soothsayer, and
other Soman Prisoners, guarded; Posthu-
Mus behind, and Imouen.
Thou comest not, Caius, now for tribute ;
that
The Britons have razed out, though with the
loss 70
Of many a bold one ; whose kinsmen have
made suit
That their good souls may be aliased with
slaughter'
Of you their captives, which ourself have
granted :
So think of your estate.
Luc. Consider, sir, the chance of war : the
day
Was yours by accident; had it gone with us.
We should not, when the blood was cool, have
threaten'd
Our prisoners with the sword. But since the
Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives
May be call'd ransom, let it come : sufflceth 80
A Itoman with a Roman's heart can suffer :
Augustus lives to think on't: and so much
For my peculiar care. This one thing only
I will entreat; my boy, a Briton bom.
Let him be ransom'd: never master had
A page so kind, so duteous, diligent.
So tender over his occasions, true,
' So feat, so nurse-like: let his virtue join
With my request, which I'll make bold your
highness
Cannot deny ; he hath done no Briton harm, 90
Though he have served a Roman : save him,
sir.
And spare no blood beside.
Cym. I have surely seen him:
His favor is familiar to me. Boy,
Thou hast look'd thyself into my grace,
tAud art mine own. I know not why, where¬
fore.
To say ' live, boy:' ne'er thank thy master ;
live :
And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt.
Fitting my bounty and thy state, I'll give it;
Yea, tliough thou do demand a prisoner,
The noblest ta'en.
Imo. I humbly thank your highness. 100
Luc. I do not bid thee beg my life, good.
And yefl know thou wilt.
Imo. No, no : alack.
There's other work in band: I see a thing
Bitter to me as death: your life, good master,
Miist shuffle for itself.
Luc. The boy drains me.
He leaves me, scoms me: briefly die their
joys
Tliat place them on the truth of girls and boys.
Why stands he so perplex'd ?
(^)m. What wouldst thou, boy ?
I love thee more and more : think more and
more
What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st
on ? speak, HC
Wilt have him live ? Is he thy kin ? thy
friend ?
Imo. He b a Roman ; no more kin to me
Than I to your highness ; who, being bom
your vassal.
Am something nearer.
Cym. Wherefore eyest him so t
Imo. I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you
please
To give me hearing.
Cym. Ay, with all heart.
And lend my best attention. What's thy
name ?
Imo. ^idele, sir.
Cynu Thou'rt my good youth, my page ;
I'll be thy master : walk with me ; speak
freely.
[Cymbeline and Imogen converse apart.
Bel. Is not this boy revived from death ?
Arv. One sand another 120
Not more resembles that sweet rosy lad
Who died, and was Fidele. What think you ?
Gul. The same dead thing alive.
Bel. Peace, peace ! see further ; he eyes
us not; forbear ;
Creatures may be alike : were't he, I am sure
He would have spoke to us.
(rid. But we saw him dead.
Bel. Be silent; let's see further.
Pis. [Aside] It is my mistress :
Since she is living, let the time run on
To good or bad.
[Cymbeline and Imogen eome forward.
Cym. Come, stand thou by our side ;
Make thy demand aloud. [2b/acAimo] Sir,
step you forth ; 13 )
Give answer to this boy, and do it freely ;
Or, by our greatness and the grace of it.
Which is our honor, bitter torture shall
Winnow the truth from falsehood. On, siieaa
to him.
Imo. My boon b, that thb gentleman mi.y
render
Of whom he had this ring.
Post. [Aside] What's that to him ?
Cym. That dbmoud upon your flnger, say
S0SN£ v.]
CYMBELINE.
1045
How came it years 1
lack. Thou'It torture me to leave unspoken
that
Which, to be spoke, would torture thee.
Cytn. How ! me ? 140
Jack. I am giad to be coiistraiu'd to utter
that
Which torments me to couceal. By villany
1 goffthis ring : 'twas Leouatus' jewe ;
Whom thou didst biiuish ; and—whicli more
may grieve tliee,
As it doth me—a nobler sir ne'er lived
'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more,
my lord ?
Cym. All that belongs to this.
lack. That ])aragon, thy daughter,—
For whom my heart droiis blood, and my false
spirits
Quail to remember— Give me leave ; I faint.
Cytn. My daughter! what of her ? Re¬
new thy strength ; 150
I had rather thou shouldst live while nature
will
Than die ere I hear more : strive, man, and
speak.
Jock. Upon a time,—unhappy was the
clock
That struck tlie hour!—it was in Rome,—ac¬
cursed
The mansion where !—'twas at a feast,—O,
would
Our viands had been poison'd, or at least
Tliose which I heaved to head !—the good
Posthumns—
What should I say ? he was too good to be
•Where ill men were ; and was the best of all
Amongst the rarest of good ones,—sitting
sadly, IGO
Rearing us praise our loves of Italy
For beauty that made barren the swell'd
boast
Of him that best could speak, for feature, lanr-
inf
The shrme of Venus, or straight-pight Mi¬
nerva.
Postures beyond brief nature, for condition,
A shop of ail the qualities tluit man
lx>ves woman for, besides that liook of wiving.
Fairness wliich strikes the eye—
Cym. 1 stand on fire :
Come to the matter.
lack. All too soon I shall,
Unless thou wonldst grieve quickly. Tliis
Posthumus, 170
Most,like a nobie lord in love and one
That had a royal lover, took his hint;
And, not dispraising whom we praised,—there¬
in
He was as calm as virtue—he began
His mistress' picture ; which by his tongue
being made.
And then a mind put iu't, eithengour brags
Were crack'd of kitchen-trulls, or his de¬
scription
Proved us unspeaking sots.
Cym, Nay, nay, to the purpose.
laclu Your daughter's chastity—there it
. begins. ,
He spake of her, as Dian had hot dreams, 180
And she atone were cold : whereat I, wretch.
Made scruple of his praise ; and wager'd with
him
Pieces of gold 'gainst this which then he wore
Upon his honor'd finger, to attain
In suit the place of's bed and win this ring
By hers and mine adultery. He, true knight.
No lesser of her honor confident
Thau 1 did truly find her, stakes this ring ;
And would so, had it been a carbuncle
Of Phcebus' wheel, and might so safely, had
it 190
Been all the worth of's car. Away to Britain
Post I in this design ; weil may yon, sir.
Remember me at court; where I was tiiught
Of your chaste daughter the wide difference
'Twixt amorous and villauous. Being thus
quench'd
Of hope, not longing mine Italian brain
'Can in your duller Britain operate
Most vilely ^ for my vantage, excellent:
And, to be brief, my practice so prevaii'd.
That I retum'd with simular proof enough
To make the noble Leonatus mad, 201
By wounding his belief in her renown
With tokens thus, and thus ; averring notes
Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her brace¬
let,—
0 cunning, how I got it !—nay, some marks
Of secret on her person, that he could not
But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd,
1 having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon—
Methinks, 1 see him now—
Post. \^A.dvancing\ Ay, so thou dost,
Italian fiend T Ay me, most credulous fool.
Egregious murderer, thief, any thing 211
That's due to all the villains past, in being.
To come ! O, give me cord, or knife, or
poison.
Some upright jusUcer ! Thou, king, send out
For torturers ingenious : it is I [amend
Tliat all tlie abhorred things o' the earth
By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,
That kuT'd thy daughter :—villain-like, I lie—
That caused a lesser villain than myself,
A sacrilegious tliief, to do't: the temple 220
Of virtue was slie ; yea, and she herself.
Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set
The dogs o' the street to bay me: every •
villain
Be call'd Posthumus Leonatus ; and
Be villany less than 'twas ! O Imogen 1
My queen, my life, my wife ! O Imogen,
Imogen, Imogen !
Jmo. Peace, my lord ; hear, hear-
Post. Shall's have a play of this ? Thou
scoi-nful page.
There lie thy part. [Strikina her; she falls.
Pis. O, gentlemen, help !
Mine and your mistress ! O, my lord Post¬
humus ! 230
You ne'erkill'd Imogen till now. Help, help .1
Mine honor'd lady 1
lOde
CYMBELINE.
lA/Jt ▼.
Cym. Does the irorld go round ?
Post. How come these staggers on me ?
Pis. Wake, my mistress !
Cym. If this be so, the gods do mean to
strike me
To death with mortal joy.
Pis. How fares my mistress ?
Inw. 0, get thee from my sight;
Thou gavest me poison: dangerous fellow,
hence!
Breathe no^ where princes are.
Cym. The tune of Imogen !
Pis. Lady, 2^
The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if
That box 1 gave you was not thought by me
A precious thing : I had it from the queen.
Cym. New matter still ?
Imo. It poison'd me.
Cor. O gods!
I left out one thing which the queen confess'd.
Which innsf^piM'ove thee honest: ' If Pisanio
Have,' said she, ' given his mistress that con¬
fection
Which 1 gave him for cordial, she is served
l^s 1 would serve a rat'
Cym. What's this, Cornelius ?
Cor. The queen, sir, very oft importuned
me
To temper poisons for her, still pretending 250
'The satisfaction of her knowledge only
In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs.
Of no esteem : 1, dreading that her purpose
Was of more danger, did compound for her
A certain stuff, which, being ta'en, would
cease
The present power of life, but in short time
All offices of nature should again
Do their due functions. Have you ta'en of it ?
Imo. Most like 1 did, lor 1 was dead.
Bd. My boys.
There was our error.
ffui. This is, sure, Fidele. 260
Imo. • Why did' you throw your wedded
lady from yon ?
+Think that you are upon a rock : and now
Throw me again. [Embracing him.
Post. Hang there like fruit, my soul.
Till the tree die !
Cym. How now, my flesh, my child!
Wliat, rankest thou me a dullard in tliis act ?
Wilt thou not speak to me ?
Imo. [Kneeling'] Your blessing, sir.
Bd. [To Guiderius and Arviragus] Though
you did love this youth, 1 blame ye not;
You had a motive for't.
Cym. My tears that fall
Prove holy water on thee ! Imogen,
Thy mother's dead.
imo. 1 am sorry for't, my lord. 270
Cym. O, she was naught; and long of her
it was
That we meet here so strangely : but her son
Is gone, we know not how nor where.
Pis. My lord,
Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lord
Cloteu,
Upon my lady's missing, came to me
With his sword drawn ; foam'd at the mouth,
and swore.
If I discover'd not which way she was gone,
It was my instant death. By accident,
I had a feigned letter of my master's ,
Then in my pocket; which directed him 280
To seek her on the mountains near to Milford;
Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments,
Which he enforced from me, away he posts
With unchaste purpose and with oath to vio¬
late
My lady's honor : what became of him
I further know not.
Gui. Let me end the story :
I slew him there.
Q/m. Marry, the gods forfend !
I would not thy good deeds should from my
lips
Pluck a hard sentence: prithee, valiant youth,
Deuy't agaiu.
Gui. I have spoke It, and I did it. 290
Cym. He was a prince.
Gui. A most incivil one : the wrongs he
did me
Were nothing prince-like ; for he did provoke
me
With language that would make me spurn the
sea.
If it could so roar to me : I cut ofl's head ;
And am right glad he is not standing here
To tell this tale of mine.
Cym. I am sorry for thee :
By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and
must
Endure our law : thou'rt dead.
Imo. That headless man
I thought had been my lord.
Cym. Bind the offender, 300
And take him from our presence.
Bd. Stay, sir king;
This man is better than the man ho < ieW,
As well descended as thyself ; and hath
More of thee merited than a baud of Clotens
Had ever scar for. [To the Guard^ Let his
arras alone;
They were not bom for bondage.
C^w. Why, old soldier,
Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for,
By tasting of our wrath ? How of descent
As good as we ?
Arv. In that he spake too far.
Cym. And thou shalt die for't.
Bd. We will die all three : 310
But I will prove that two oil's are as good
As I have given out him. My sons, 1 must.
For mine own part, unfold a dangerous speech.
Though, hapiy, well for you.
Arv. Your danger's ours.
Gui. And our good his.
Bd. Have at it then, by leave.
Thou hadst, great king, a subject who
Was call'd Belarius.
Cym. What of him 7 he is
A banish'd traitmr..
Net. He it is that hath
t.]
GYUBELINE.
10i7
Aesnined this age ; indeed a bauish'd man ;
1 know not how a traitor.
Gym. Take him hence : 320
The whole world shall not save him.
£e{. Not too li^t'
First pa;^ me for the nursing of tliy sons ; ''
And let it be confiscate all, so soon
As I hare received it
Cym. \ Nursing of my sons !
Bd. I am too blunt and saucy : here's my
knee :
Kre I arise, I will prefer my sous ;
Then spare not the old father. Mighty sir.
These two young gentlemen, tltot call me
father
And think they are my sons, are none of
mine;
They are the issue of your loins, my liege.
And blood of your begetting. 331
Oym. How ! my issue !
fief. So sure as you your father's. I, old
Moiman, [ish'd:
Am that Belarins whom you sometime ban-
Yo'ir pleasure was my mere offence, my pun¬
ishment
Itself, and all my tieason ; that I suffer'd
Was all the harm 1 did. These gentle princes—
For such and so they are—these twenty years
Have 1 train'd up : those arts they have as I
Could put into them ; my breeding was, sir,
as
Tour highness knows. Their nurse, Euri-
phiie, 310
Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these chil¬
dren
Upon my banishment; I moved herto't.
Having received the punishment before.
For that which I did then: beaten for loy¬
alty
£xcite<- me to treason ; their dear loss.
The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shaped
Unto my end of steulmg them But, gracious
sir.
Here are your sons again ; and i must lose
Two of the sweet'St comimnious in the world.
The fjenediction of these covering heavens 350
FaH on their heads like dew 1 for they are
worthy
To inlay heaven with stars.
Cym. Thbu weep'st, and speak'st.
The service that you three have done is more
Unlike than this thou tell'st; I lost my chil¬
dren :
U fiiese be they, I know not how to wish
Amir of worthier sons.
fief. Be pleased awhile.
This gentleman, whom I call Polydore,
Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guide-
rius;
fhis gentleman, ray Cadwal, Arviragus,
Torn"younger princely son; he, sir, was
lapp'l ^ ' S 360
in a most curious mantle, wrought by the
hand
his queen mother, which for more proba-
I can with ease produce.
Cym. Guiderius had
Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star ;
It was a mark of wonder.
fief. This is he ;
Who hath upon him still that natural stamp :
It was wise nature's end in the donation.
To be his evidence now.
Cfym. O, what, am I
A mother to the birth of three ? Ne'er
mother
Rejoiced deliverance more. Blest pray you
be, 370
TTiat, after this strange starting from your
orbs.
You may reign in them now ! O Imogen,
Thou hast lost by this a kingdom.
Into. No, my lord ;
I have got two worlds by't. O my gentle
brothers.
Have we thus met ? O, never say hereafter
But I am truest speaker ; you call'd me bro¬
ther,
Wuen I was but your sister ; I you brothers.
When ye were so indeed.
Cym. Did you e'er meet ?
Arv. Ay, my good lord.
Gui. And at first meeting Ipved;
Continued so, until we thought he died. 3^
Cor. By the queen's dram she swallow'd.
C'ytn. O rare instinct!
When shall I hear all through ? This fierce
abridgement
Hath to it circmnstantiai branches, which
Distinction should be rich in. Where ? how
lived you ? [tive ?
And when came you to serve our Roman cap-
liaw parted with your brothers ? how first
met them ?
TIFhy Bed you from the court ? and whither ?
These,
And your three motives to the battle, with
I know not how much more, should be de¬
manded ;
And all the other by-dependencies, 390
From chance to cliance : but nor the time nor
. place
Will serve our long inter'gatories. See,
Postlmmus anchors upon Imogen,
And she, like harmless lightning, throws hei
eye
On him, her brothers, me, her master, hitting
^ch object with a joy : the couuterchange
Is severally in all. . Let's quit this ground.
And smoke the temple with our sacrifices.
[To Belarius] Thou art my brother ; so we'll
hold thee ever.
Tmo. You are my father too, and did re¬
lieve me, " 400
To see this gracious season.
Cym. All o'er joy'd.
Save these in bonds : let them be joyful too,
For they shall taste our comfort.
Into. My good master,
I will yet do you service.
Happy he you«
1048
CYMBELINE.
Act r.
Cym. The forlorn soldier, that so nobly
fought, .
He would have well becomed this place, and
graced
The thankings of a king.
Pott. I am, sir,
The soldier that did company these three
III poor beseeming ; 'twas a fitment for 409
The purpose I then follow'd. That I was he,
Speak, lachimo : I had you down and might
Have made you finish.
Inch. {Kmeliny] 1 am down again :
But now my heavy conscience sinks mv knee.
As then your force did. Take that life, be¬
seech you.
Which I so often owe : but your ring first;
And here tlie bracelet of the truest xiriucess
That ever swore her faith.
Post. Kneel not to me :
The xiower that I have on you is to sx>are yon;
The malice towards you to forgive you : live,
And deal with others better.
Cym. Nobly doom'd ! 420
We'll leam our freeness of a son-in-law ;
Pardon's the word to all.
Alt). You holp us, sir.
As you did mean indeed to be our brother ;
.Toy'd are we that you are.
Post. Your servant, princes. Good my lord
of Rome,
Call forth your soothsayer : as I slept, me-
thought
Great Jupiter, ux>on his eagle back'd,
Appear'dto me, with other spritely shows
Of mine own kindred : when I waked, I found
This label on my bosom ; whose containing
Is so from sense in hardness, that I can 431
Make no collection of it : let him show
His .skill in the construction.
Lnc. ' Philarmonus!
Sootk. Here, my good lord.
Iaic. Read, and declare the meaning.
Sooth. [ReaiM\ ' When as a lion's wheli)
shall, to himself unknown, without seeking
find, and be embraced by a pices of tender
air ; and when from a stately cedar shall be
lopxied branches, which, being dead many
years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old
stock, and freshly grow ; then shall Posthn-
mns end his miseries, Britain be fortunate and
flourish in peace and plenty.'
Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp;
Tlie fit and apt construction of thy name,
Being Leo-natus, doth import so much.
[To Cymbeliw] The piece of tender air, thy
virtuous daughter,
Which we call' mollis aer;' and ' mollis aer'
We term it' mnlier :' which ' mulier' I di
vine
Is this most constant wife ; who, even now.
Answering the letter of the oracle, 450
Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd
about
With this most tender air.
Cym. This hath some seeming.
Sooth. Ihe lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline,
Personates thee ; and thy lopp'd branches
point
Thy two sons forth ; who, by Belarius stol'n.
For many years thought dead, are now re¬
vived.
To the majestic cedar join'd, whose issue
Promises Britain x>eace and plenty.
Cym. WeU.;
My i)eace we will begin. And, Caius Lucius,
Although the victor, we submit to Ciesar, 400
And to"the Roman empire ; promising
To i«iy our wonted tribute, from the which
We were dissuaded by our wicked queen ;
Whom heavens, in justice, both on her and
he||k
Have laiMiost heavy hand.
Sooth. The fingers of the xjowers above do
tune
The harmony of this peace. The vision
Which I made known to Lucius, ei-e the stroke
Of this yet scarccTCold battle, at this instant
Is full accoinplish'd ; for the Roman eagle, 470
From south to west on wing soaring aloft,
Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o' the sun
^ vanish'd: which foreshow'd our princely
eagle.
The imperial Caesar, should again unite
His favor with the radiant Cymbeline,
Which shines here in the west.
Cym. I.aud we the gods ;
And let our crooked smokes climb to their
nostrils
From our blest altars. Publish we this peace
To all our subjects. Set we forward: let
A Roman and a British ensign wave 480
Friendly together : so through Lnd's-towu
march:
And In the temple of great Jupiter
Our peace we'll ratify ; seal it with feasts.
Set on there I Never was a war did cease.
Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a
peace. [Exeunt,
THE TEMPEST.
x .'fRITTEN ABOUT 1610.)
INTRODUCTION.
The Tempeat was probably written late in the year 1610. A few incnths previously had appeared
an account of the wreck of Sir George Somers' skip in a tempest olf the Bermudas, entitled A
IMacocery qf the Bermudas, othemeise called, the He qf Dlvels, etc., written by Silvester -Jourdan.
Shakespeare (Act 1., Sc. il., L. 220) makes mention of " the still-vexed Bermootlies ; " and seveial
points of resemblance render it probable that in writing the play he had Jourdan's tract before him.
Beyond the suggestions obtained from this tract no source of the story of the play can be pointed
out. Mention was made by the poet Ckillins of a tale called Aurelis and Isabella containing the
same incidents, but in this point he was mistaken, though he may have seen some other Italian
story which resembled The Tempest. The name Setebos (Sycorax's god) and perhaps other names
of persons Shakespeare found in Eden's History of Travails, published in 1577. The Tempest,
although far from lacking dramatic or human interest, has something in its spirit of tlie nature of a
clear and solemn vision. It expresses Shakespeare's highest and serenest view of life. Prospero,
the great enchanter, is altogether the opposite of the vulgar magician. With command over the
elemental powers, which study has brought to him, he possesses moral grande'ii and a command
over himself, in spite of occasional fits of involuntary abstraction and of intellectual impatience; he
looks down on life, and sees through it, yet will not refuse to take his part in it. .In Shakespeare's
early play of supernatural agencies—A Midsummer Hiyht's Dream—the "human mortals" were
made the sport of the frolic-loving elves; here the supernatural powers attend on and obey their
ruler, man. It has been suggested that Prospero, the great enchanter, is Shakespeare himself, and
that when he breaks his stair, drowns his book, and dismisses his airy spirits, going back to the duties
of hip dukedom, Shakespeare was thinking of his own resigning of his powers of imaginative en¬
chantment, his parting from the theatre, where his attemlant spirits had played their parts, and his
return to Stratford. The persons in this play, while remaining real and living, are conceived in a
more abstract way, more as types than those in any other work of Shakespeare. Prospero is the
highest wisdom and moral attainment; Gonzalo is humorous common-sense incarnated ; all that is
meanest and most despicable appears in the wretched conspirators; Miranda, whose name seems
to suggest wonder, is almost an elemental being, framed in the purest and simplest type of woman¬
hood, yet made substantial by contrast with Ariel, who is an unbodied joy, too much a creature of
light and air to know human affection or human sorrow; Caliban Ghe name formed from cannibal)
stands at tiie other extreme, with all the elements in him—appetites, intellect, even imagination—
out of which man emerges into early civilization, but with a moral nature that is still gross and
malignant. Over all presides Prospero like a providence ; and the spirit of reoonciliaticn, of for-
S'veness, harmonizing the contentions of men, appears in The Tempest in the same noble manner as
The Winter's Tale, Cymieline, and Henry Ylll. 'The action of the play is comprised within three
hours.
DRAMATIS PERSON.®.
Alonso, King of Naples.
Sebastiaiv, his brother. '
Pbospero, the right Duke of Milan.
Amtomio, his brother, the usurping Duke of
I Milan.
Fbrdlnabd, son to the King of Naples.
Gonzalo, an honest old Counsellor.
fSSco,
Caliban, a savage and deformed Slave.
Tkinculo, a Jester.
Stbphano, a drunken Butler.
Master ot a Ship.
Boatswain.
Mariners.
Miranda, daughter to Prospera
Ariel, an airy Spirit.
Ibis,
presented by Spirits.
Ceres,
Juno,
Nymphs,
Reapers,
Other Spirits attending on Prospero.
Scene—A ship at Sea: an island,
(10191
1060
ACT I.
ScEME I. On a ship at sea; a tempestuous
noise of thunder and lightning heard.
Enters, Ship-Master and a Boatswain.
Mast. Boatswain !' *
Boats. Here, master ; what cheer ?
Ma-st. Good, speak to the mariners : fail
to't, yarel^, or we run ourselves aground':
bestir, bestir. [Exit.
Enter Mariners.
Boats. Heigh, my hearts ! cheerly, cheer-
iy, my hearts ! yare, yare ! Take in the top¬
sail. Tend to the master's whistle. Blow, till
thou burst thy wind, it room enough !
Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Fer¬
dinand, Gonzalo, and others.
Alon. Good boatswain, have care. Where's
the master ? Flay the men. 11
Boats. I pray now, keep below.
Ant. Where'is the master, boatswain t
Boats. Do you not hear him ? You mar
our labor: keep your cabins: you do assist
the storm.
Gon. Nay, good, be patient.
Boats. When the sea is. Hence! What
cares these roarers for the name of king?
To cabin: silence ! trouble us not
Gon. Good, yet remember whom thou hast
aboard. 21
Boats. None that 1 more love tlian myself.
You are a coiinselior ; if you can command
these elements to silence, and work the peace
of the present, we will not hand a rope more;
use your authority : if you cannot, give
thanks you have lived so long, and make
yourself ready in your cabin for the mis-
cliance of the hour, if it so hap. Cheerly,
good hearts 1 Out of our way, I say. [Exit.
Gon. I have great comfort from this fel¬
low : methinks he hath no drowning mark
upon him ; his complexion is perfect gallows.
Stand fast, good Fate, to his hanging: make
the rope of his destiny our cable, for our own
doth little advantage. If he be not born to Ik
hanged, our case is miserable. [Exeunt.
Re-enter Boatswain.
Boats. Down with the topmast 1 yare 1
lower, lower ! Bring her to try with main-
course. [A cry within.'] A plague upon this
howling 1 they are louder than the weather
or our office. 40
Re-enter Sebastian, Antonio, and Gon-
zaix>.
Y'et again ! what do you here ? Shall we give
o'er and drown ? Have you a mind to sink ?
Seh. A pox o' your throat, you bawling,
blasphemous, incharitable dog !
Boats. Work you then.
Ant. Hang, cur ! hang, you whoi-eson, in¬
solent noisemaker 1 We are less afraid to be
drowned than thou ait.
[Act i.
Gon. Til warrant him for drowning: though
the ship were no stronger tiiau a nutshell and
as leaky as an unstauched wench.
Boats. Lay her a-hold, a-hold ! set her two
courses off to sea again; lay her off.
Enter Mariners vxt.
Mariners. All lost 1 to prayers, to prayers .'
alllostl
Boats. What, must our mouths be cold 7
Gon. The kii^ and prince at prayers 1 let's
assist them.
For our case is as theirs.
Beb. I'm out of patience.
Ant. We are merely cheated of our lives by
drunkards:
This wide-cliap^'d rascal—would thou mightst
lie drowning (>0
The wasiiing of ten tides !
Gon. He'll be hang'd yet,
Tliough every drop of water swear against it
And gape at widest to glut him.
[A confused noise within: ' Mercy on us !—
' We split, we split 1' Farewell, my wife
and children 1'—
' Farewell, brother 1'—' We split, we split, we
split!']
Ant. Let's all sink with the king.
Beh. Let's take leave of him.
[Exeunt Ant. and Seh.
Gon. Now would I give a thousand fur¬
longs of sea for an acre of barren ground,
long heath, brown furze, any thing. The
wills above be done ! but I would fain die a
dry death. [Exeunt.
Scene U. The island. Before Prosvero's
cell.
Enter Prosfero and Miranda.
Mir. If by your art, my dearest father,
you have
Put the wild waters in this roar, allaj' them.
The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking
pitch.
But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's
cheek.
Dashes the fire out 0,1 have suffered
With those that I saw suffer : a brave vessel.
Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in
her,
Dash'd ail to pieces. O, the cry did knock
Against my very heart. Poor souls, they per-
ish'd.
Had I been any god of ^wer, I would 10
Have sunk the soa witliin the earth or ere
It should the good ship so have swailow'dand
The fraughting souls within her.
Pros. Be collected:
No more amazement: tell your piteous heart
There's no barm done.
Mir. O, woe the day 1
Pros. No harm.
I have done nothing but in care ot thee,
Of thee, my dear one, thee, my danghteii
who
TME TEMPEST.
ScmrB ij.]
THE TEMPEST.
1061
jlrt ignorant of what thou art, nought know¬
ing
Of whence I am, nor that I am more better
Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell, 2C
And tiiy no greater father.
Mir. More to know
Did never meddle with my thoughts.
Pros. 'Tistime
I should Inform thee farther. Lend thy hand.
And pluck my magic garment from me. So ;
\Lays down his mantle.
Lie there, my art. Wipe thou thine eyes ;
have comfort.
The direful spectacle of the wreck, which
touch'd
The very virtue of com^ssion in thee,
I have with such provision iiamine art
So safely ordered that there is no soul—
No, not so much perdition as an hair 30
Betid to any creature in the vessel
Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st
sink. Sit down;
For thou must now know farther.
Mir. You have often
Begun to tell me wliat I am, but stopp'd
And left me to a bootless inquisition.
Concluding ' Stay : not yet.
Pros. The hour's now come ;
The yctj minute bids thee ope thine ear ;
Obey and be attentive. Canst thou remember
A time before we came unto this cell ?
I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast
not 40
Out three years old.
Mir. Certainly, sir, I can.
Pros. By what ? by any other house or
person 7
Oi any thing tlie image tell me that
Hath kept with thy remembrance.
Mir. 'Tis far off
And rather like a dream than an assurance
That my remembrance warrants. Had I not
Four or five women once that tended me 7
Pros. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda.
But how is it
That this lives in thy mind 7 What seest
thou else
In the dark backward and abysm of time 7 60
If thou remember'st aught ere thou earnest
here.
How thou camest here thou mayst.
Mir. But that I do not.
Pros. Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve
year since,
Thy father was the Duke of Milan and
A prince of power.
Mir. Sir, are not yon my father 7
Pros. Thy mother was a piece of virtue,
and
She said thou wast my daughter; and thy
father ^
Was Duke of Milan ; and thou his only heir
And princess no worse issued.
Mir. O the heavens !
What foul play had we, that we came from
thence 7
Or blessed was't we did 7
Pros. Both, both, my girl : 61
By fool play, as thou say'st, were we heaved
thence.
But blessedly holp hither.
Mir. 0, my heart bleeds
To think o' the teen that I have turn'd you to,
Which is from my remembrance ! 'Please
you, farther. [tonio—
Pros. My brotherand thy uncle, call'a An-
I pray thee, mark me—that a brother slould
Be so perfidious !—he whom next thyself
Of all the world .1 loved and to him put
The manage of my state ; as at that time 76
Through all the siguories it was the first
And Prospero the prime duke, being so re¬
pute
In dignity, and for the liberal arts
Without a parallel ; those being all my study.
The government I east upon my biother
And to my state grew stranger, being trans¬
ported
And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle-
Dost thou attend me 7
Mir. Sir, most heedfully.
Pros. Being once perfected how to grant
suits.
How to deny them, who to advance and who ,
To trash for over-topping, new created 81
The creatures that were mine, I say, or
changed 'em.
Or else new form'd 'em ; having both the key
Of officer and office, set all hearts i' the state
To what tune pleased his ear ; that now he
was
The ivy which had hid my princely trunk.
And suck'd my verdure out on't. Thou at¬
tend'st not. .
Mir. O, good sir, I do.
Pros. I pray thee, mark me.
I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated
To closeness and die bettering of my mind 90
With that which, but by being so retired,
O'er-prized all popular rate, in my false
brother
Awaked an evil nature ; and my trust.
Like a good parent, did beget of him
A falsehood in its contrary as great
As my trust was ; which had indeed no limit,
A confidence sans bound. He being thus
lorded.
Not only with what my revenue yielded.
But what my power might else exact, like
one
fWho having into truth, by telling of it, 100
Made such a sinner of his memory.
To credit his own lie, he did believe
He was indeed the duke ; out o' tiie substitu¬
tion.
And executing the outward face of royalty
With all prerogative: hence his ambition
growing—
Dost thou hear 7
Mir. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.
Pros. To have no screen between this part
he play'd
1052
THE TEMPEST.
[Act i.
And bim he play'd it for, he needs will be
Absolute Milan. Me, poor man, my library
Was dukedom large enough: of temporal
royalties 110
He thinks me now incapable; confederates—
So dry he was for sway—wi' the King of
Naples
To give him annual tribute, do him homage.
Subject his coronet to his crown and bend
The dukedom yet unbow'd—alas, poor Milan!—
To most ignoble stooping.
Mir. O the heavens I
Pres. Mark his condition and the event;
ThentcKme *
If this might be a brother.
Mir. I should sin
To think but nobly of my grandmother:
Good wombs have borne bad sons.
Pros. Now the condition. 120
The King of Naples, being an enemy
To me Inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit;
Which was, that he, in lieu o' the premises
Of homage and I know not bow much tribute.
Should presently extirpate me and mine
Out of the dukedom and confer fair Milan
With all the honors on my brother: whereon,
A treacherous army levied, one midnight
Fated to the purpose did Antonio open
The gates of Milan, and, i' the dead of dark-
■ ness, 130
The ministers for the purpose hurried thence
Me and thy crying self.
Mir. Alack, for pity!
1, not remembering how I cried out then.
Will cry it o'er again: it is a hint
That wrings mine eyes to't.
Pros. Hear a little further
And then I'll bring thee to the present
buiness [story
Which now's upon's; without the which this
Were most impertinent.
Mir. Wherefore did they not
That hour destroy us 1
iVog. Well demanded, wench:
My tale provokes that question. Dear, they
durst not, 140
So dear the love my people bore me, nor set
A mark so bloody on the business, but
With colors fairer painted their four ends.
In few, they hurried us aboard a bark.
Bore us some leagues to sea; Where they pre¬
pared
A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg'd.
Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats
Instinctively had quit it: there they hoist us.
To cry to the sea that roar'd to us, to sigh
To the winds whose pity, sighing back again,
Did us but loving wrong. 151
Mtr. Alack, what trouble
Was I then to you!
Pros. O, a cherubin
Thou wast that did preserve me. Thou didst
smile.
Infused with a fortitude from heaven.
When 1 have deck'd the sea with drops full
salt.
Under my burthen gi-oan'd; which raised in
me
An undergoing stomach, to bear up
Against what should ensue.
Mir. How came we ashore ?
Pros. By Providence divine.
Some food we had and some fresh water that
A noble Neapolitan, Gonzaio, IW
Out of his charity, being then appointed
Master of this design, did give us, with
Rich garments, linens, stuffs and necessaries.
Which since have stmded much; so, of his
gentleness.
Knowing I loved my books, he fumish'd me
From mine own library with volumes that
I prize above my duk^om,
Mir. Would I might
But ever see that man!
Pros. Now I arise IRemmes his mantle.
Sit still, and heaf the last of our sea-sorrow.
Here in this island we arrived; and here 171
Have I, thy schoolmaster, made the more
profit [time
Than other princesses can that have more
For vainer hours and tutors not so careful.
Mir. Heaven's thank you for't! And now,
I pray you, sir.
For stili 'tis beating in my mind, your reason
For raising this sea-storm 7
Pros. Know thus far forth.
By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune,
Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies
Brought to this shore; and by my prescience
I find my zenith doth depend upon 181
A most auspicious star, whose influence
If now I court not but omit, my fortunes
Will ever after droop. Here cease more
questions:
Thou art inclined to sleep; 'tis a good dulness.
And give it way: I know thou canst not
choose. [Miranda sleeps.
Come away, servant, come. I am ready now.
Approach, my Ariel, come.
Enter Ariel.
Art. All hail, great master! grave sir,
hail! I come
To answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly, 180
To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride
On the curl'd clouds, to thy strong bidding
task
Ariel and ail his quality.
Pros. Hast though, spirit.
Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade
thee?
Ari. To every article.
I boarded the king's ship now on the beak,
Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin,
I flamed amazement: sometime I'ld divide.
And bum in many places; on the topmast.
The yards and bowsprit, would I flame dis¬
tinctly, 200
Then meet and join. Jove's lightnings, the
precursors
C the dreadful thunder-claps, more moraent-
ary
SCENG II.|
And sight-outruuning were not; the fire and
cmcks
Of sulphurous roaring the* most mighty Nep¬
tune
Seem to besiege and make his bold wares
tremble,
Yea, his dread trident shake.
Pros. My brave spirit!
Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil
Would not infect his reason ?
Art Not a sou
But felt a fever of the mad and play'd
Some tricks of desperation. All but mariners
Plunged in the foaming brine and quit the
vessel, 211
Then all afire with me ; the king's son,
Ferdinand,
With hair tip-stanng,—then like reeds, not
hair,—
Was the first man that leap'd ; cried, ' Hell is
empty.
And all the devils are here.'
Pros. Why, that's my spirit I
But was not this nigh shoi-e ?
Art Close by, my master.
Pros. But are they, Ariel, safe ?
Art Not a hair perish'd ;
On their sustaining garments not a blemish.
But fresher than Mfore : and, as thoubadest
me.
In troops I have dispersed them 'bout tlie isle.
The king's son have I landed by himself ; 221
Whom fleft cooling of the air with sighs
In an odd angle of the i.sle and sitting,
His arms in this sad knot.
Pros. Of the king's' ship
The mariners say how thou hast disposed
And all the rest o' the fleet.
Art Safely in harbor
Is the king's ship ; in the deep nook, where
once
Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew
From the still-vex'd Bermoothes, thpre slie's
hid:
The mariners all under hatches stow'd ; 230
Who, with a charm join'd to their suffer'd
labor,
I have left asleep ; and for the rest o' the fleet
Which I dispersed, they all have met again
And are upon the Mediterranean flote.
Bound sadly home for Naples,
Supposing that they saw the king's ship
wreck'd
And his great person perish.
Pros. Ariel, thy charge
Exactly is perform'd : but there's more work.
What is the time o' the day ?
Art Past the mid .season.
Pros. At least two glasses. The time 'twixt
six and now 240
Must by us both be spent most preciously.
Art Is there more toil ? ^ince thou dost
give me pains.
Let me remember thee what thou hast prom¬
ised,
Which is not yet perform'd me.
1058
Pros. How now ? moody ?
Wlmt is't thou canst demand ?
Ari. My liberty.
Pros. Before the time be out ? no more !
Art / I prithee.
Remember I h.ave done thee worthy service ;
Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings,
served
Without or grudge or grumblings: thou didst
promise '
To bate me a full year.
Pros. Dost thou forget 250
From what a torment 1 did free thee ?
Art No.
Pros. Thou do.st, and think'st it much to
tread the ooze '
Of the salt deep.
To run upon the sharp wind of the north.
To do me bu.siness in the veins o' the earth
When it is baked with frost.
Ari I do not, sir.
Pros. Thou liest, malignant thing ! Hast
thou forgot
The foul witch Sycorax, who with age and
envy
Was grown into a hoop ? hast thou forgot
her ?
Art No, sir.
Pros. Thou hast. Where was she bom ?
s])eak ; tell me. 260
Art Sir, in Argier.
Pros. O, was she so ? I must
Once in a month recount what thou hast been.
Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch
Sycorax,
For mischiefs manifold and sorceries terrible
To enter human hearing, from Argiei-,
Thou khow'st, was banish'd : for one thing
she did
They would not take her life. Is not this true ?
Art Ay, sir.
Pros. Tins blue-eyed hag was hither brought
with child
And here was Iqft by the sailors. Thou, my
slave.
As thou report'st thyself, wast then her ser¬
vant ;
And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate
To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands.
Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee,
, By help of her more potent ministers
And in her most numiti,gable rage.
Into a cloven pine ; within which rift
Imprison'd thou didst painfully remain
A dozen years ; within which space she died
And left thee there -, where tliou didst vent
thy groans 280
As fa.st as mill-wheels strike. Then was this
island—
Save for the son that she did litter here,
A freckled whelp hag-born—-not honor'd with
A human shape.
Ari. Yes, Caliban her son.
P)-os. Dull tiling, I say so ; he, that Caliban
Whom now I keep in service. Thou best
.know'.st
Tff£ TEMPEST.
1054
Whiit torment I did find thee in ; thy groans
Did make wolves howl and irenetrate tlie
breasts
Oi" ever angry bears : it was a torment
To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax 290
Could not again undo : it was muie art,
When I arrived and heard thee, that made
gape
The pine and let tliee out
An. I thank thee, master.
Pros. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend
an oak
A.nd peg thee in his knotty entrails till
Thou h^t howl'd away twelve winters.
Ari. Pardon, master ;
I will be correspondent to command
And do my spiriting gently.
Pros. Do so, and after two dsvys
I Will discharge thee.
Ari. That's my noble master !
What shall I do ? say what ; what shall I do?
Pros. Go make thyself like a nymph o' the
sea : be subject 301
To no sight but thine and mine, invisible
To every eyeball else. Go take this shape
And hither come in't: go, hence with dili¬
gence ! [Exit Ariel.
Awake, dear heart, awake 1 thou hast slept
well;
Awake!
Mir. The strangeness of your story put
Heaviness in me.
Pros. Shake it off. Come on ;
We'll visit Caliban my slave, who never
Yields us kind answer.
Mir. 'Tis a villain, sir,
I do not love to look on.
Pros. But, as 'tis, 310
We cannot miss him : he does make our fire.
Fetch in our wood and serves in offices
That profit us. What, ho ! slave ! Caliban !
Thou earth, thou I speak.
Cat. [IFiYAm] There's wood enough within.
Pros. Come forth, I say ! there's other
business for thee:
Come, thou tortoise I when ?
Se-enter Ariel like a water-nymph
Fine apparition ! My quaint Ariel,
Bark in thine ear.
Ari. My lord, it shall be done. [Exit.
Pros. Thou poisonous slave, got by the
devil himself
Upon thy wicked dam, come forth 1 , 320
Enter Caliban.
Cat. As wicked dew as e'er my mother
brush'd
With raven's feather from unwholesome fen
Drop on you both ! a south-west blow on ye
And blister you all o'er !
Pros. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt
have cramps.
Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up ;
urchins
Shall, for that vast of night that they may
work.
[Act x.
All exercise on thee ; thou shalt be piuch'd
As thick as honeycomb, each pin.ch more
stiiiging
Tlian bees that made 'em.
Cal. 1 must eat my dinner. 330
This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother.
Which thou takest from me. When thou
camest first.
Thou strokedst me and madcst much of me,
wouldst give me
Water with berries in't, and teach me how
To name the bigger light, and how the less.
That burn by day and night: and then Iloved
thee
And show'd thee all the qualities o' the isle.
The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place and
fertile :
Cui-sed be I that did so ! All the charms
Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you !
For 1 am all the subjects that you have, 341
Which first was mine own king : and here you
sty me
In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from
me
The rest o' the island.
Pros. Thou most lying slave.
Whom stripes may move, not kindness ! I h.avo
used thee.
Filth as thou art, with hnman care, and lodged
tliee
In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to vio¬
late
The honor of my child.
Val. O ho, O ho ! wonld't had been done !
Thou didst prevent me ; I had peopled else
This isle-with Calibans. STl
Pros. Abhorred slave,
Wliich any print at goodness wilt not take.
Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee.
Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee
each hour
One thing or other : when thou didst not,
sav,^ge.
Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble
like
A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes
With words that made them known. But thy
vile race.
Though thou didst learn, had that in't which
good natures
Could not abide to be with; therefore wast
thou 3(kl
Deservedly confined into this rock.
Who hadst deserved more than a prison.
Cal. You taught me language ; and my
profit on't
Is, I know how to curse. The ted plague rid
you
For learning me your language I
Pros. Hag-seed, hence!
Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou'rt best.
To answer other business. Shrug'st thou,
malice ?
It thou neglect'stor dost unwillingly
What I command, I'll rack thee with old
cramps,
THE TEMPEST.
SCEKB II.]
FUl all thy bones with aches, make thee roar
That beasts shall tremble at thy din. 371
Col. No, pray thee.
[Atide\ I must obey : his art is of such power.
It would control my dam's god, Setebos,
And make a vassal of him.
Pros. So, slave ; hence ! [Exit Caliban.
Ee-erUer Abiel, invisible, playinf/ and singing;
Fbbuim AND JolXowing.
Asibl's song.
Come unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands:
Courtsied when you have and kiss'd
The wild waves whist.
Foot it featly here and there ; 380
And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear.
Burthen [dtspersed/y]. Hark, hark !
Bow-wow.
The watch-dogs bark:
Bow-wow
Ari. Hark, hark ! I hear
The strain of strutting chanticleer
Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow.
Fer. Trhere should this music be ? i' tlie air
or the earth ?
1( sounds no more : and, sure, it waits upon
Suine god o' the island. Sitting on a bank.
Weeping again the king my father's wreck.
This music crept by me upon the waters, 391
Allaying both their fury and my passion
Witli its sweet air : thence I have follow'd it.
Or it bath drawn me rather. But 'tis gone.
No, it begins again.
Abiei, sings.
Full fathom five thy father lies ;
Of bis bones are coral made ;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Notlting of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change 400
Into something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourlv ring his kneii:
Burthen. Ding-dong.
Ari. Hark! now I hear them,—Ding-dong,
bell.
Fer. The ditty does remember my drown'd
father.
Tiiis is no mortal business, nor no sound
That the earth owes. I hear itnow above me.
Pros. The fringed curtains of thine eye
advance
And say what thou see.st yond.
iiir. What is't ? a spirit ?
I/)rd, how it looks about I Believe me, sir,
it carries a brave form. But 'tis a spirit. 411
Pros. No, wench ; it eats and sleeps and
hath such senses
As we have, such. This gallant which thou
seest
Was in tlie wreck -, and, btft he's sometliing
stain'd
With grief that's beauty's canker, thou mightst
call him
A goodly person : he hath lost his fellows
1056
Arvd strays about to find 'em.
Mir. I might eal! him
A tiling divine, for nothing natural
1 ever saw so noble.
Pros. [Aside] It goes on. I see.
As my soiu prompts it Spirit, fine spirit!
I'll free thee 420
■Witliin two days for this.
Fer. Most sure, the goddess
On whom these airs attend ! Vouclmfe my
prayer
May know if you remain upon this island ;
And that yon will some good instruction give
How I may bear me here : my prime request.
Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder!
If you be maid or no ?
Mir. No wonder, sir ;
But certainly a maid.
Fer. My language I heavens !
I am the best of tliem that speak this speech.
Were I but where 'tis spoken.
Pros. How ? the best ? 430
What wert thou, if the King of Naples heard
tliee ?
Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that
wonders
To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear
me;
And that ho does I weep : myself am Naples,
Who with mine eyes, never since at ebb, be¬
held
The king my father wreck'd.
Mir. Alack, for mercy !
Fer. Yes, faith, and all his lords ; the Duke
of Milan
And his brave sou bemg twain.
Pros. [Aside] The Duke of Milan
And liis more braver daughter could control
thee,
If now 'twere fit to do't. At the first sight 440
They have changed eyes. Delicate Ariel, ,
I'll set thee free for this. [To Fer.] A word,
good sir ;
I fear you have done your-self some wrong ; a
word.
Mir. Why speaks my father so ungently ?
This
Is the third man that e'er I saw, the first.
That e'er I sigh'd for : pity move my father
To be inclined my way I
Fer. O, if a virgin,
And your affection not gone forth, I'll make
you
The queen of Naples.
Pros. Soft, sir! one word more.
[Aside] They are both in either's jiowers ; but
this swift business 450
I must uneasy make, lest too light winning
Make the prize light. [To Fer.] One word
more ; I charge thee
That thou attend me: thou dost here usurp
The name thou owest not; and hast put thy¬
self
Upon this island as a spy, to win it
From me, the lord on't.
Fer. No, as I am a man.
THE TEMPEST.
1056
THE TEitPEST.
[Act ii.
3Iir. There's nothing ill can dwell In such
a temple:
If the 111 spuit have so fair a house,
Good things will strive to dwell with't.
Pros. Follow me.
Spejik not you for him; he's a tpitor. Come ;
I'll manacle tliy neck and feet together ; 401
Sea-water shalt thou drink ; thy food shall be
The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots and
husks
Wherehi the acorn cradled. Follow.
Per. No;
I will resist such entertainment till
Mine enemy has more power.
[Draws, and is charmed from moving.
Mir. O dear father,
Make not too rash a trial of him, for
He's gentle and not fearful.
Pros. What? I say.
My foot my tutor ? Put thy sword up, traitor;
Who makest a show but darest not strike, thy
conscience 470
Is so possess'd with guilt: come from thy ward.
For I can here disarm thee with this stick
And make thy weapon drop.
Mir. Beseech you, father.
Pros. Hence ! hang not on my garments.
Mir. Sir, have jiity ;
I'll be his surety.
Pros. Silence 1 one word more
Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee.
What!
An advocate for an imixistor ! hush !
Thou think'St there is no more such shapes as
he.
Having seen but him and Caliban: foolish
wench !
To the most of men this is a Caliban 480
And they to him are angels.
Mir. My affections
Are then mo.st humble ; I have no ambition
To see a goodlier man.
Pros. Come on ; obey :
Thy nerves are in their infancy again
And have no vigor in them.
Per. So they are ;
My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up.
My father's loss, the weakness which I feel.
Tile wreck of all my friends, nor this man's
threats.
To whom I am subdued, are but light to me.
Might 1 but through my prison onoea day 490
Behold this maid : all corners else o' the earth
Let liberty make use of ; space enough
Have I in such a prison.
Pros. [Aside] It works. [To jPer. ] Coraeon.
Thou ha,st done well, fine Ariel! [To Per.]
Follow me.
[To An.] Hark what thou else shalt do me.
Mir. Be of comfort;
My father's of a better nature, sir.
Than he appears by speech : this Is unwonted
Which now came from him.
Pros. Thou shalt be free
As mountain winds: but then exactly do
All points of ray command.
Art. To the syllable. 500
Pros. Come, follow. Speak not for him.
[Eitevtnt.
ACT II.
Scene I. Another part of (he island.
Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gcn-
zAno, Adrian, Francisco, and others.
Gon. Beseech you, sir, be merry ; you liave
cause,
So have we all, of joy ; for our escape
Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe
Is common ; every day some sailor's wife.
The masters of some merchant and the mer¬
chant
Have just our theme of woe ; but for the mir¬
acle,
I mean our preservation, few in millions
Can speak like us i then wisely, good sir,
weigh
Our sorrow with our comfort.
Alon. Prithee, peace.
Seh. He receives comfort like cold ^rridge.
Ant. The visitor wUl not give him o'er so.
Seh. Look, he's winding up the watch of his
wit; by and by it will strike.
Gon. Sir,—
Seb. One : tell. [offer'd,
Gon. When every grief Is entertaiu'd that's
Comes to the entertainer—
Peb. A dollar.
Gon. Dolour comes to him, indeed ; you
have spoken truer than you purposed. 20
&eb. You have taken it wiselierthan I meant
you should.
Gon. Therefore, my lord,—
Ant. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his
tongue I
Alon. I prithee, spare.
Gon. Well, I have done : but yet,—
Seb. He will be talking.
Atit. Which, of he or Adrian, for a good
wager, first begins to crow ?
Seb. The old cock. 30
Ant. The cockerel.
Seb. Done. The wager 7
Ant. A laughter.
Seb. A match!
Adr. Though this island seem to be
desert,—
Seb. Ha, ha, ha ! So, you're paid.
Adr. Uninhabitable and almost inacces¬
sible,—
Seb. Yet,—
Adr. Yet,—
Ant. He could not nilss't 40
Adr. It must needs be of subtle, tender and
delicate temperance.
Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench.
Seb. Ay, and a subtle ; as he most learn¬
edly delivered.
Adr. The air breathes upon us here most
sweetly.
SCIlN'ii 1.)
THE TEMPEST.
1067
Seh. As if it liad lungs and rotten ones.
Ant. Or as 'twere perfumed by a fen.
Gon. Here is everything advantageous to
life.
Ant. True ; save means to live. i 50
iS'e6. Of that tliere's none, or littie.
Gon. How lush and lusty the grass looks !
how green!
Ant. The ground indeed is tawny.
Seb. With an eye of green in't.
Ant. He missies not much.
Seb. No ; he doth but mistake the truth
totally.
Gon. But the rarity of it is,—which is in¬
deed almost beyond credit,—
Seb. As many vouched rarities are.
Gon. Tliat our garments, being, as they
were, drendied in the sea, hold notwithstand¬
ing their freshness and glosses, being ratlier
new-dyed than stained with salt water.
Ant. If but one of liis pockets could speak,
would it not say he lies 7 [port.
Seb. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his re-
Gon. Methinks our garments are now as
fresh as when we put them on first in Afric,
at the marriage of the king's fair daughter
Ciaribel to the King of Tunis. 71
Seb. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we pros¬
per well in OUT return.
Adr. Tunis was never graced before with
such a paragon to their queen.
(ton. Not since widow Dido's time.
AM. Widow ! a pox o' th.at! How came
that widow in 7 widow Dido !
Seb. What if he had said ' widower i£neas'
too 7 Good Lord, how yon take it!
Adr. ' Widow Dido' said you 7 you make
me study of that: she was of Carthage, not of
Tunis.
' Gon. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage.
Adr. Carthage 7
Gon. I assure you, Carthage.
Seb. His word is more tlraii the miraculous
baro ; he hath raised the wall and Itouses too.
Am. What impossible matter will he make
easy next 7
~Seb. I think he will carry this island home
in his pocket and give it his son for an apple.
AM. And, sowing the kentels of it m the
sea, bring forth wore islands.
Gon. Ay.
Am. Why, in good time.
Gon. Sir," we were talking that our gar¬
ments seem now as fresh as when we were at
Tunis at the marriage of your daughter, who
is now queen.
Am. And the rarest that e'er came there.
Seb. Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido. 100
AM. O, widow Dido I ay, widow Dido.
Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the
first day I wore it 7 I mean, in a sort.
Am.' That sort was wel^shed for.
Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's
marriage?
Alon. You cram these words into mine ears
against
The stomach of my sense. Would I had never
Married my daughter there ! for, coming
thence,
Mv sou is lost and, in my rate, she too,
who is so far from Italy removed 110
1 ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir
Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish
Hath reade his meal on thee 7
Fran. Sir, he may live:
I saw him beat the surges under him.
And ride uimii their backs ; he trod the water,
Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted
The surge most swoln that met him ; his bold
head
'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd
Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke
To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis
bow'd, 120
As stooping to relieve him : I not doubt
He came alive to land.
, Alon. No, no, he's gone.
' Seb. Sir, you may thank yourself for this
grea,t loss.
That would not bless our Europe with your
daughter.
But rather lose her to an African ;
Where she at least is bauish'd from your eye,
Who bath cause to wet the grief on't.
Alon. Prithee, peace.
Seb. You were kneel'd to and importuned
otherwise
By all of us, and the fair soul herself 120
VYeigh'd between loathness and bbedience, at
Which end o' the beam should bow. We have
lost your son,
I fear, for ever ; Milan and Naples have
More widows in them of this business' making
Tliautwe bring men to comfort them :
The fault's your own.
Alo7i. So is the dear'st o' the loss.
Gon. My lord Sebastian,
The truth you speak doth iack some gentle¬
ness
And time to speak it in : you rub the sore.
When you should bring the plaster.
Seb. Very well.
Ant. And most chirurgeouly. 140
Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir,
when you are cloudy.
Seb. Foul weather 7
Ant. Very foul.
Gon. H.ad 1 plantation of this isle, my
lord, —
Ant. He'ld sow't with nettle-seed.
Seb. Or docks, or mallows.
Gon. And were the king on't, what would
I do?
Seb. 'Scape being drunk for want of wine.
Gon. r the commonwealth 1 would by con¬
traries
Execute all things ; for no kind of traffic
Would I admit ; no name of magistrate ;
liCtters should not be known; riches, poverty.
And use of service, none; contract, succession,
Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none ;
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oU;
B7
1058
THE TEMPEST.
[Act II.
No occapation ; all men idle, all:
And women too, but innocent and pare ;
No sovereignty ;—
Seb. Yet he would be king on't.
Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth
fo^ets the beginning.
Gon. All things in common nature should
produce
Without sweat or endeavor : treason, felony.
Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any en¬
gine, 161
IV'ould I not have ; but nature should bring
forth.
Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance.
To feed liiy innocent people.
Set). No marrying 'mong his subjects ?
Ant. None, man ; all idle: whores and
knaves. [sir,
Gon. I would with such peffection govern.
To excel the golden age.
Set). God save his majesty!
Ant. Long live Gonzalo !
Gon. And,—do youmarlc me, sir?
Alon. Prithee, no more : thou dost talk no-
tliiug to me. 171
Gon. I do well believe your highness ; and
did it to minister occasion to these gentlemen,
who are of such sensible and nimble lungs that
they always use to laugh at nothing.
Ant. 'Twas you we laughed at.
Gon. Who in this kind of merry fooling am
nothing to vou : so you may continue and
laugh at nothing still.
Ant. What a blow was there given ! 180
Seb. An it had not fallen flat-king.
Gon. You are gentlemen of brave metal;
you would lift the moon out of her sphere, if
she would continue in it five weeks without
changing.
Enter Abiel, invisible, playing solemn music.
S«5. We would so, and then go a bat-fowl¬
ing.
Ant. Nay, good my lord, be not angry.
Gon. No, I warrant you ; I will not adven¬
ture my discretion so weakly. Will you laugh
me asleep, for I am very heavy ?
Ant. Go sleep, and hear us! 190
[All sleep except Alon., Seb., and Ant.
Alon. Wliat, all so soon asleep ! I wish mine
eyes
AVould, with themselves, shut up my thoughts:
I find
Tliey are inclined to do so.
Seb. , Please you, sir.
Do not omit the heavy offer of it :
It seldom visits sorrow ; when it doth.
It is a comforter.
Ant. We two, my lord.
Will guard your person while you take your
rest.
And watch your safety.
Alon. Thank you. Wondrous heavy.
[Alonso sleeps. Exit Ariel.
Seb. What a strange drowsiness possesses
them!
Ant. It is the quality o' the climate.
Seb. Why 200
Doth it not then our eyelids sink ? I find not
Myself disijosed to sleep.
Ant. Nor 1; my spirits are nimble.
They fell together all, as by consent;
They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What
might.
Worthy Sebastian ? O, what might ?—No
more:—
And yet me tliinks I see it in tliy face.
What thou shouldst be i the occasion speaks
thee, and
My strong imagination sees a crown
Dropping upon thy head.
Seb. What, art thou waking ?
Ant. Do you not hear me speak ?
Seb. I do ; and surely
It is a sleepy language and thou speak'st 211
Out of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say ?
This is a strange repose, to be asleep
With eyes wide open ; standing, speaking,
moving.
And yet so fast asleep.
Ant. Noble Sebastian,
Thou let'st thy fortune sleep—die, rather;
wink'st
Whiles thou art waking.
Seb. Thou dost snore distinctly ;
There's meaning in thy snores.
Ant. I am more serious than my custom :
you
Must be so too, if heed me ; which to do 220
Trebles thee o'er.
Seb. Well, I am standing water.
Ant. I'll teach you how to flow.
Seb. Do so : to ebb
Hereditary sloth instructs me.
Ant. 0,
If you but knew how you the purpose cherish
Whiles thus yon mock it! how, in stripping it.
You more invest it! Ebbing men, indeed.
Most often do so near the bottom run
By their own fear or sloth.
Seb. Prithee, say on :
The setting of thine eye and cheek proclaim
A matter from thee, and a birth indeed 230
Which throes thee much to yield.
Ant. Thus, sir :
Although this lord of weak remembrance,
this.
Who shall be of as little memory
When he is earth'd, hath here almost per¬
suaded,—
For he's a spirit of persuasion, only
Professes to persuade,—the king his son's
alive,
'Tis as impossible that he's undrown'd
As he that sleeps here swims.
Seb. I have no hope
That he's undrown'd.
Ant. O, out of that' no hope'
What great hope have you ! no hope that way
is 240
Another way so liigh a hope that even
Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond.
Scene i.]
But dou1)t discovei-y there. Will yon grant
with me
That Ferdinand is drown'd ?
Seb. He's gone.
Ant. Then, tell me,
Who's the next heir of Naples ?
Seb. Olaribel.
Ant. She that is queen of Tunis ; she that
dwells
Ten leagues beyond man's life ; she tliat from
Naples
Can have no note, nnless the snn were post—'
The man i' the moon's too slow—till new-born
chins
Be rough and razorable ; she that—from
wliom ? 2^
We all were sea-swallow'd, though some cast
again,
And by that destiny to perform an act
Whereof what's past is prologue, what to come
In yours and my discharge.
Seb. What stuff is this ! how say you ?
Tis tme, my brother's daughter's queen of
Tunis ;
So is she heir of Naples ; 'twlxt which regions
There is some space.
Ant. A space whose every cubit
Seems to cry out, ' How shall that Olaribel
Measure us back to Naples ? Keep in Tunis,
And let Sebastian wake.' Say, this were death
That now hath seized them ; why, they were
no worse 261
Than now they are. There be that can rule
Naples
As well as he that sleeps ; lords that can prate
As amply and unnecessarily
As this Gonzalo ; I myself could make
A chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore
The mind that I do ! wliat a sleep were this
For your advancement! Ho you understand
me ?
Seb. Methinks I do.
Ant. And how does your content
Tender your own good fortune ?
Seb. I remember 270
You did supplant your brother Frosirero.
Ant. True :
And look how well my garments sit upon me ;
Much feater than before : my brother's ser¬
vants ■
Were then my fellows ; now they are my men.
Seb. But, for your conscience ?
Ant. Ay, sir ; where lies that ? if 'twere a
kibe,
'Twould put me to my slipper : but I feel not
This deity in my bosom : twenty consciences,
That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be
they
And mdt ere they molest! Here lies your
brother, 280
No better than the earth he lies upon,
If he were that which now^e's like, that's
dead ; [of it.
Whom I, with this obedient steel, three inches
Can lay to bed for evet ; whiles you, doing
thus,
1069
To the perpetual wink for aye might put
'This ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who
Should nut upbraid our course. For all the
rest,
They'll take suggestion as a cat iaps milk
They'll tell the mck to any business that
We say befits the hour.
Seb. Tliy case, dear friend, 200
Shall be my precedent; as thou got'st Milan,
I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword: one
stroke ,
Shall free thee from the tribute which thuu
payest ;
And I the king shall love thee.
Ant. Draw together ;
And when I rear my hand, do you the like,
To fall it on Gonzalo.
Seb. O, but one word. [7%ey talk apart.
Re-enter Ariet., invisible.
Ari. My master through his art foresees
the danger
That you, his friend, are in ; and sends me
forth— '
For else his project dies—^to keep them living.
[Ninfifs in Oonzalo's ear.
While you here do snoring lie, 300
Open-eyed conspiracy
His time doth take.
If of life you keep a care,
Shake off slumber, and beware :
Awake, awake !
Ant. Then let us both be sudden.
Gon. Now, good angels
Preserve the king. [They wake.
Alon. Why, how now ? ho, awake I Why
aie you drawn ?
AVherefore this ghastly looking ?
Gon. What's the matter ?
Seb. Whiles we stood here securing j-our
ropose, 310
Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellow-
ing
Like bulls, or rather lions : did't not wake
you ?
It struck mine ear most terribly.
Alon. I heard nothing.
Ant. 0, 'twas a din to fright a monsters
ear.
To make an earthquake ' sure, it was the roar
Of a whole herd of lions.
Alon. Heard you this, Gonzalo ?
Gon. Upon mine honor, sir, I heard a hum¬
ming.
And that a ctiange one too, which did awake
me;
I shaked you, sir, and cried : as mine eye^
opeu'd,
I saw their weapons drawn: there was a noise, -
That's verily. 'Tis best we stand upon our
guard, 321
Or that we quit this place ; let's draw our
weapons.
Alon. l^ad off this ground ; and let's make
further search
THE TEMPEST.
1060
' THE TEMPEST.
[Act ii.
For my poor son.
Gon. Heavens keep him from these beasts!
For he is, sure, i' the island.
Alon. Lead away.
Art. Prospero my lord .shall know what 1
have done:
So, king, go safely on to seek thy son.
[Exiunt.
Scene II. Another pan of (he vdand.
"Enter Caliban with a burden of wood. A
noise of thunder heard.
Gal. All the. infections that the sun sucks
up
From bogs, lens, flats, on Prosper fall and
make him
By inch-meal a disease ! His spirits hear me
And yet I needs must curse. But they'll nor
pinch.
Fright me with urchin-shows, pitch me i' the
mire,
Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark
Out of my way, unless he bid 'era ; but
For every trifle are they .set upon me ;
Sometime like apes that mow and chatter at
me
And after.bite me, then like hedgehogs which
Lie tumbling in my barefoot way and mount 11
Their pricks at my footfall; sometime am I
All wound with adders who with cloven
tongues
Do hiss me into madness.
Enter Tbinculo.
Lo, now, lo !
Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me
For bringing wood in slowly. I'll fall flat;
Perchance he will not mind me.
Trin. Here's neither bush nor shrub, to
bear off any weather at all, and another storm
brewing ; I hear it sing i' the wind ; yond
same black cloud, yond huge one, looks like a
foul bombard that would shed his liquor. If
it should thunder as it did before, I know not
where to hide my head : yond same cloud
cannot choose but fall by pailfuls. What have
we here ? a man or a fish ? dead or alive ? A
fish : he smells like a fish ; a very ancient and
fi.sh-like smell ; a kind of not of the newest
Poor-John. A strange fish ! Were I in Eng¬
land now, as once I was, and had but this fish
painted, not a holiday fool there but would
give a piece of silver : there would this moii-
.ster make a man ; any .strange beast there
makes a man : when they will not give a doit
to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten
to see a dead Indian. Legged like a man !
and his fins like arms ! Warm o' my troth !
1 do now let loose m.y opinion ; hold it no
longer: this is no fish, but an islander, that
hath lately suffered by a thunderbolt [7%«n-
rfgr.] Alas, the storm is come again ! my best
way is to creep under his gaberdine ; there
is no other shelter hereabouts ; misery ac¬
quaints a man with strange bed-fellows. I
will here shroud till the dregs- of Jthe storm be
past
Enter Stephano, singing: a bottle in his
hand.
Ste. I shall no more to sea, to sea.
Here shall I die ashore—
This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's
funeral: well, here s my comfort. [Drinks.
'rhe master, the swabber, the boatswain and I,
The gunner and his mate
Loved Mail, Meg and Marian and Margery, 50
But none of us cared for Kate ;
For she had a tongue with a tang.
Would cry to a sailor. Go hang !
She loved not the savor of tar nor of pitch.
Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she did
itch ;
Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang !
This is a scurvy tune too : but here's my com¬
fort. * [Dtdnks.
Cd'. Do not torment me : Oh !
Wfc. What's the matter ? Have we devils
here ? Do you put tricks upou's with savages
and men of Ind, ha ? I have not scaped
drowning to be afeard now of your four legs ;
for it hatli been said. As proper a man as ever
went on four legs cannot make him give
ground ; and it snail be said so again while
Stephano breathes at's nostrils.
Gal. The spirit torments me ; Oh !
Ste. This is some monster of the isle with
four legs, who hath got, as 1 take it, an ague.
Where the devil should he learn our language?
I will give hira some relief, if it be but for
that. If I can recover him and keep hira tame
and get to Naples with him, he's a present for
any emperor that ever trod on neat's leather.
Gal. Do not torment me, prithee ; I'll bring
my wood home faster.
Ste. He's in his fit now and does not talk
after the wisest. He shall taste of my bottle :
if he have never drunk wine afore, it will go
near to remove his fit. If I can recover hira
and keep him tame, 1 will not take too much
for him ; he shall pay for him that hath him,
and that soundly.
Gal. Thou dost me yet but little hurt; tliou
wilt anon, I know it by thy trembling : now
Prosper works upon thee.
Ste. Come on your ways ; open your mouth;
here is that which will give language to you,
cat: open your mouth ; this will shake your
shaking, I can tell you, and that soundly: you
cannot tell who's your friend ; open your
chaps again.
Trin. I sliould know that voice : it should
be—but he is drowned ; and these are devils :
O defend me !
Ste. Four legs and two voices : a most del¬
icate monster! His forward voice now is tc
speak well of his friend ; his backward voice
is to utter foul speeches and to detr.act. If all
the wine in my bottle will recover him, 1 wUl
Scene i.]
help his ague. Come. Amen I I will pour
gome in thy other mouth.
Trin. Stephauo 1 100
Ste. Doth thy other mouth call me ? Mercy,
mercy ! Tills is a devil, and uo monster ; I
rvUl leave him ; I have no long spoon.
Trin. Stephano ! If thou beest Stephano,
touch me and speak to me: for I am Trinculo
—be not afeard—thy good friend Trinculo.
Ste. If thou heost Trinculo, come fortli :
I'll pull thee by the lesser legs : if any be
Trinculo's legs, these are they. Thou art very
Trinculo indeed ! How camest thou to be the
siege of this moon-calf ? can he vent Trincu-
los?
Trin. I took him to be killed with a thun¬
der-stroke. But art thou not drowned, Ste¬
phano ? I hope now thou art not drowned.
Is the storm overblown ? I hid me under the
dead moon-calf's gaberdine for fear of the
storm. And art thon living, Stephano? O
Stephano, two Neapolitans 'scaped !
Ste. Prithee, do not turn me about; my
stomach is not constant
Cat. [Aside] These be fine things, an if
they be not sprites. 121
That's a brave god and bears celestial liquor.
I will kneel to him.
Ste. How didst thou 'scape ? How camest
thou hither? swear by this bottle how thou
camest hither. I e.scaped upon b. butt of sack
which the sailors heaved o'erboard, by this
bottle ; which I made of the bark of a tree
with mine own hands since I was cast a.shore.
Cat. I'll swear upon that bottle to be thy
true snlnect; for the liquor is not earthly.
Ste. Here ; swear then how thou escapedst,
Trin. Swum ashore, man, like a duck : I
can swim like a duck, I'll be sworn.
Ste. Here, kiss the book. Though thou
canst swim like a duck, thou art made like a
goose.
Tiin. 0 Stephano, hast any more of this ?
Ste. The whole butt, roan ; my cellar is in
a rock by the sea-side where my wine is hid.
How now, moott-culf ! how does thine ague ?
Cut. Hast thou not dropp'd from heaven ?
Ste. Out o' the moon, I do assure thee ; I
was the mau i' the moon when time was.
Col. I have seen tliee in her and I do adore
thee:
My mistress show'd me thee and thy dog and
thy bush.
Ste. Come, swear to that; kiss the book :
1 will furnish it anon with new contents: swear.
Trin. By this good light, this is a very
sliallow monster ! I afeard of him ! A very
weak monster ! The man i' the moon I A
most poor credulous monster! Well drawn,
monster, in good sooth I
Cal. I'll show thee every fertile inch o' th'
island; #
And I will kiss thy foot: I prithee, be my god.
TVtn. By this light, a most perfidious .nnd
drunken monster ! when's god's asleep, he'll
rob bis bottle.
loei
Cal. I'll kiss thy foot; I'll swear myself thy
subject.
Ste. Come on then ; down, and swear.
Trin. 1 shall laugh myself to death at' this
puppy-headed monster. A most scurvy mon¬
ster ! I could find in my heart to beat him,—
Ste. Come, kiss. IGl
Trin. But tliat the poor monster's in drink:
an abominable monster ! ,
Cal. I'll show thee the best springs ; I'll
, pluck thee berries ;
I'll fish for tliee and get thee wood enough.
A plague upon the tyrant tliat 1 serve !
I'll bear him no more .sticks, but follow thee.
Thou wondrous man.
Trin. A most ridiculous monster, to make
a wonder of a poor drunkard I 170
Cat. I prithee, let me bring thee where
crabs grow ;
And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts;
Show thee a jay's nest and instruct thee how
To snare the nimble marmoset; I'll bring thee
To clustering filberts and sometimes I'll get
thee
Young scamels from the rock. Wilt thou go.
with me ?
Ste. I prithee notv, lead the way without
any more talking. Trinculo, the king and all
our company else being drowned, we will
inherit here: here ; bear my bottle: fellow
Trinculo, we'll fill him by and by again.
Cal. [Smgs driinlcenly]
Farewell, master ; farewell, farewell!
Trin. A howling monster : a drunken
monster I
Cal. No more dams I'll make for fish ;
Nor fetch in firing
At requiring ;
Nor scrape trencher, nor wash dish :
'Ban, 'Ban, Cacaliban
Hiis a new master : get a new man.
Freedom, hey-day! hey-day, freedom! free¬
dom, hey-day, freedom! 191
Ste. O brave monster ! Lead the way.
[Exeunt.
ACT HI.
Scene I. Before Peospero'.s cell.
Enter Ferdinand, hearing a log.
Fer. There be some sports are painful, and
their labor
Delight in them sets off; some kinds of ba.se-
ness
Are nobly undergone and most poor matters
Point to rich ends. This my mean task
Would be as heavy to me as odioius, but
The mistress which I serve quickens what's
dead
And makes my labors pleasures: O, she is
Ten times more gentle than her father's crab-
bed,
And he's composed of harshness. I must re¬
move
THE TEMPEST.
106^
Some thouikands of these lo;;s .nid pile them up,
Upon a sore injuuctlon ; my sweet mistress
Weeps wheu she sees me work, aud says, such
baseness
Had never like executor. I forget:
But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my
labors,
tMost bu.sy lest, when I do it.
Enter Mikanda ; and Prospebo at a distance,
unseen. ,
Mir. Alas, now, pray you,
Work not so hard : I would the lightuiiig had
Burnt up those logs that you are enjoin'd to
pile!
Pray, set it down and rest yon : when this
burns,
'Twill weep for having wearied you. My
father
Is hard at study ; pray now, rest yourself ; 20
He's .safe for these three hours.
Fer. O most dear mistress,
The sun will set before I shall discharge
What I must strive to do.
Mir. If you'll sit down,
I'll bear your logs the while ; pray, give me
that;
1 11 carry it to the pile.
Fer. No, precious creature ;
I had rather crack my sinews, break my back,
Tii:>.u you should such dishonor undergo.
While I sit lazy by.
Mir. It would become me
.\s well as it does you: and I should do it
. /ith much more ease ; for my good will is to
it,
.':.'.id yours it is against
Pros. Poor worm, thou art infected !
'.".lis visitation shows it.
Mir. You look wearily.
Fer. No, noble mistress ; 'tis fresh morning
with me
When you are by at night. I do beseech you—
(Jliiefly that I might set it in my prayers—
Wliat is your name ?
Mir. Miranda.—O my father,
i have broke your hest to say so !
Fer. Admired Miranda!
Indeed the top of admiration ! worth
Wliat's dearest to the world ! Full many a
lady
I have eyed with best regard aud many a time
Tiio harmony of their tongues hath into bond¬
age 41
Brought mytoo diligent ear: for several virtues
Have I liked several women ; never any
With so full soul, but some defect in her
Did quarrel with the noblest grace she owed
Aud put it to the foil : but you, O you,
So perfect and so peerless, are created
Of every creature's best!
Mir. I do not know
Cue of my sex ; no woman's face remember.
Save, from my glass, mine own ; nor have I
seen
More that I may call men than you, good friend,
|Act hi.
And my dear father ; how features are abroad,
I am skilless of ; but, by my modesty.
The jewel in my dower, I would not wish
Any companion in the world but yon.
Nor can imagiuatiou form a shape.
Besides yourself, to like of. But I prattle
Something too wildly and my father's precepts
I therein do forget
Fer. I am in my condition
A prince, Miranda ; I do think, a king ; 60
I would, not so !—^and would no more endure
This wooden slavery than to suffer
The flesh-fly blow my mouth. Hear my soul
speak ;
The very instant that I saw you, did
My heart fly to your service ; there resides.
To make me slave to it; and for your sake
Am I this patient log-man.
Mir. Do you love me ?
Fer. O heaven, O earth, b^r witness to this
sound
And crown what I profess with kind event
If I speak true! if hollowly, invert 70
What best is boded me to mischief I I
Beyond ail limit of what else i' the world
Do'love, prize, iionor you.
Mir. I am a fool
To weep at what I am glad of.
Pros. Fair encounter
Of two most rare affections I Heavens tain
grace
On that which breeds between 'em I
Fer. Wherefore weep you ?
Mir. At mine unworthiness that cmre not
offer I
What I desire to give, and much less take
Wliat I shall die to want. But this is trifling;
And all the more it seeks to hide itself, 80
The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful
cunning I
And x>rompt me, plain and holy imiooence I
I am your wife, if you will marry me ;
If not, I'll die your miOid : to be your fellow
You may deny nie ; but I'll be your servant.
Whether you will or no.
Fer. My mistress, dearest f
And I thus humble ever.
Mir. My husband, then ?
Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing
As bondage e'er of freedom : here's mv hand.
Mir. And mine, with my heart in't; and
now farewell 90
Till half an hour hence.
Fer. A thousand tliousand t
{Fxeuivl Fer. and Mir. severalhji
Pros. So glad of this as they I cannot be,
Who are surprised withal ; but my rejoicing
At nothing can be more. I'll to my book.
For yet ere supper-time must I perform
Much business appertaining. [Exit.
Scene II. Another part of the island.
Enter Cax.iban, Stephano, and Tbinculo.'
Ste. Tell not me ; when the butt is out, we
will drink water ; not a drop before: therefore
THE TEMPEST.
Scene ii.]
bear up, and board 'em. Servant-moustert
drink to me.
Trin, Servant-monster! the folly of thia
island ! They say there's but five upon this
isle: we are three ,of them ; if th' otlier two
be brained like us, the state totters.
Ste. Drink, servant-monster, when I bid
thee : thy eyes are almost set in thy head. 10
Trin. Where should they be set else ? he
were a brave monster uideed, if they were set
in his tiul.
Ste. My man-monster hath drown'd his
tongne in sack ; for my part, the sea cannot
drown ine ; I swam, ere 1 could recover the
shore, five and thirty leagues off and on. By
this light, thou shalt be my lieutenant, mon¬
ster, or my standard.
Trin. Your lieutenant, if you list; he's no
standard. 20
Ste. We'll not run. Monsieur Monster.
Trin. Nor go neither ; but you'il lie like
d<^ and yet say nothing neither.
Ste. Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if
thonbeesta good moon-calf.
Col. How does thy honor ? Let me lick tliy
shoe.
I'll not serve him ; he's not valiant.
Trin. Thou liest, most ignorant monster :
I am in case to justle a constable. Why, thou
deboshed fish, thou, was there ever man a
coward that hath drunk so much sack as I
to-day ? Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, being
but half a fish and half a monster ?
Cal. Lo, how he mocks me I wilt thou let
him, my lord?
Tnn. ' Lord' quoth he 1 That a monster
should be such a natural I
Cal. Lo, lo, again! bite him to death, I
prithee.
Ste. Triuculo, keep a good tongue in your
head: if you prove a mutineer,—the next tree!
The poor monster's my subject and he shall
not suffer indignity.
CaL I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be
pleased to hearken oiice again to the suit I
made to thee ?
Ste. Marry, will I; kneel and repeat it ; I
Will stand, and so sliall Trinculo.
Enter Abiel, invisible.
Cal. As I told thee before, I am subject to a
tyrant, a sorcerer, tltat by his cunning hath
cheated me of the island. 50
,Ari. Thou liest.
Cal. Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou:
I would my valiant master would destroy thee!
I do not lie.
Ste. Triuculo, if you trouble him any more
in's tale, by this hand, I wili supplant some of
your teeth.
Trin. Wliy, I said nothing.
Ste. Mum, then, and no m^re. Proceed.
CcU. I say, by sorcery he got this isle ; 60
From me he got it. If thy greatness will
Revenge it on him,—for I iaiow thou darest.
But tliis thing dare not,—
1063
Ste. That's most certain.
Cal. Thou shalt be lord of it and I'll serve
thee.
Ste. How now shall this be compassed ?
Canst thou bring me to the party ?
Cal. Yea, yea, my lord : I'll yield him thee
asleep,
Where thou mayst knock a nail into his head.
Ari. Thou liest; thou canst not. 70
Cal. What a pied nimiy's this I Thou
scurvy mtch I
I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows
And take his ImtUe from him : when that's
gone
He sliml drink nought but brine ; for I'll not
show him
Where the quick freshes are.
Ste. Trinculo, run into no-further danger :
interrupt the monster one word further, and,
by this hand, I'll turn my mercy out o' doors
and make a stock-fish of thee.
Trin. Why, what did I ? I did nothing.
I'll go farther off. 81
Ste. Didst thou not say he lied 7
Ari. Thou liest.
Ste. Do I so 7 take thou that. [Beats Trin.']
As you like this, give me the lie another time.
Trin. 1 did not give the lie. Out o' your
wits and hearing too ? A pox o' your bottle I
this can sack and drinking do. A murrain on
your monster, and the devil take your fingers!
Cal. Ha, ha, ha ! 60
Ste. Now, forward with your tale. Prithee,
stand farther off.
Cal. Beat him enough : after a little time
I'll beat him too.
Ste. Stand farther. Come, proceed.
Cal. Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custom with
him,
I' th' afternoon to sleep: there thou mayst
brain him, '
Having first seised his books, or with a log
Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake,
Or cut his wezand with thy knife. Remember
First to ])ossess his books ; for without them
He's but a sot, as I am, nor hath not 101
One spirit to command : they all do hate him
As rootedly as I. Burn but his books.
He has brave utensils,—for so he calls them,—
Which, when he has a house, he'll deck withal.
And that most deeply to consider is
The beauty of his daughter ; he himself
Calls her a nonpareil: I never saw a woman.
But only Syeorax my dam and she ;
But she as'far surpasseth Syeorax 110
As great'st does least.
Ste. Is it so brave a lass ?
Cal. Ay, lord ; she will become thy bed, I
warrant.
And bring thee forth brave brood.
Ste. Monster, I will kill this man : his
daughter and I will bo king and queen,—save
our graces I—and Trinculo and thyself shall
be viceroys. Dost thou like tlie plot, Trinculo?
Trin. 'Excellent ,
Ste. Give me thy hand : I am sorry I beat
THE TEMPEST.
1064
thee ; bat, while thou livest, keep a good
tongue in thy head. 121
Cat. Within this half hour will he be
asleep :
Wilt thou destroy him then ?
Ste. Ay, on mine honor.
Ari. This will I tell my master.
Odd. Thou makest me merry ; I am full of
pleasure :
Let us be jocund : will you troll the Catch
You taught me but while-ere ?
8te. At thy request, monster, I will do
reason, any reason. Come on, 'ninculo, let
us sine [Sings.
Flout 'em and scout 'em
And scout 'em and flout 'em ;
Thought is free.
Col. That's not the tune.
[Ariel plays the tune on a tabor and pipe.
Ste. What is this same 1
Trin. This is the tune of our catch, played
by the picture of Nobody.
Ste. If thou beest a man, show thyself in
thy likeness : if thou beest a devil, take't as
thou list.
Trin. O, forgive me my sins !
Ste. He that dies pays all debts: I defy
thee. Mercy upon us ! 141
Ccd. Art thou afeard 1
Ste. No, monster, not I.
Cal. Be not afeard; the isle is full of
noises, [hurt not.
Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight aud
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears, and sometime
voices
Tliat, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again : aud then, in
dreaming,
The clouds methought would open and show
riches 150
Ready to droi> upon me, that, when I waked,
I cried to dream again.
Ste'. This will prove a brave kingdom to
me, where I shall have my music for nothing.
Cal. When Prosper© is destroyed.
Ste. That shall be by and by : I remember
the story.
Trin. The sound is going away ; let's
follow it, and after do our work.
Ste. Lead, monster ; we'll follow. I would
I could see this taborer ; he lays it on. 160
3Via. Wilt come ? I'll follow, Stephano.
[Exeunt.
Scene III. Atiother part of the island.
Enter Au)NSO, Sebastian, Antonio, Gon-
zalo, Adrian, Francisco, and others.
Gon. By'r lakiu, I can go no further, sir ;
My old bones ache : here's a mase trod indeed
fhrough forth-rights and meanders ! By your
patience,
I needs must rest me.
Alon. Old lord, I cannot blame thee,
AVlio am myself attach'd with weariness.
[Act III.
To the dulling of my spirits 1 sit down, and
rest.
Even here I will put off my hope and keep it
No longer for my flatterer: he is drown'd
Whom thus we stray to .find, and the sea
mocks
Our frustrate search on land. Well, let him
go. 10
Ant. [Aside to Seb.] I am right glad that
he s so out of hope.
Do not, for one repulse, forego the purixise
That you resolved to effect.
Seb. [Aside to Ant.^ The next advantage
Will we take throughly.
Ant [Aside to 6'e6.] Let it be to-night;
For, now they are oppress'd with travel, they
Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance
As when they are fresh.
Seb [Aside to Ant.'] I say, to-night: no
more. [Solhnn and strange music.
Alon. What harmony is this ? My good.
friends, hark !
Gon. Marvellous sweet music ! .
Enter Prospero above, invisible. Enter
several strange Shapes, brmging in a ban¬
quet; they dance about it with gentle actions
of salutation; and, inviting the King, Ac.
to eat, they depart.
Alon. Give us kind keepers, heavens !
What were these 1 20
Seb. A living drollery. Now I will believe
That there are unicorns, that in Arabia
There is one tree, the phoeiibc' throne, one
phcenix
At this hour reigning there.
Ant. I'll believe both ;
And what does else want credit, come to me.
And I'll be sworn 'tis true : travellers ne'er
did lie.
Though fools at home condemn 'em.
Gon. If in Naples
I should report this now, would they bebeve
me ?
If I should say, I saw such islanders—
For, certes, these are people of the island—30
Who, though they are of monstrous shape, yet,
note.
Their manners are more gentle-kind tlian of
Our human generation you shall find
Many, nay, almost any.
Pros. [Aside] Honest loid.
Thou hast said well; for some of you there
present
Are worse than devils. ,
Alon. I cannot too much muse
Such shapes, such gesture and such sound,
expressing,
Although they want the use of tongue, a kind
Of excellent dumb discourse.
Pros. [A.?ide] Praise in departing.
Fran. They vanish'd strangely.
Seb. No matter, since 40
They have left their viands behind ; for we
have stomachs.
Wiirt please you taste of what is here ?
Alon. Not I.
THE TEMPEST.
Scene i.J
Gon. Faith, sir, you need not fear. Wlieu
we were boys,
Who would believe that there were moun¬
taineers
Dew-Iapp'd like bulls, whose throats had
hanging at 'em
Wallets of flesh ? or that there were such
men
Whose heads stood in tlieir breasts 7 which
now we find
Each putter-out of five for one will bring us
Good warrant of.
Alon. I will stand to and feed,
Although my last : no matter, since I feel SO
The best is past. Brother, my lord the duke,
Stand to and do as we.
Thunder and Ughtninf/. Enter Ariel, like a
harpy; claps his wings upon the table; and,
with a quaint device, the banquet vanishes.
Art. You are three men of sin, whom
Destiny,
That hath to instrument this lower world
And what is in't, the never-surfeited sea
Hath caused to belch up you ; and on this
island
Where man doth not inhabit; you 'mongst
men
Being most unfit to live. I have made you
mad ;
And even with such-like valor men hang and
drown
Their proper selves.
[Alon., Seb. Ac. draw their swords.
You fools I I and my fellows 60
Are ministers of Fate : the element.s.
Of whom youf swords are temper'd, may as
well
Wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at
stabs
Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish
One dowle that's in my plume: my fellow-
ministers
Are like invulnerable. If you could hurt,
Your swords are now too massy for your
strengths
And will not be uplifted. But remember—
For that's my busuiess to you—that you three
From Milan did supplant good Prospero ; 70
E.xiiosed unto the sea, which hath reqnit it.
Him and his innocent child : for which foul
deed
Hie powers, delaying, not forgetting, have
Incensed the seas and shores, yea, all the
creatures.
Against your peace. Thee of thy son, Alonso,
Tliey have bereft; and do pronounce by me :
Lingering perdition, worse than any death
Can be at once, shall step by step attend
You and your ways ; whose wratlis to guard
you from— •
Which here, in this most desolate isle, else
falls 80
Upon your heads—is nothing but heart-sorrow
And a clear life ensuing.
1065
He vanishes in thunder; then, to soft music,
enter the Shapes again, and dcmce, with
mocks and mows, ahd carrying out the table.
Pros. Bravely the figure of this harpy
hast thou
Perform'd, my Ariel; a grace it had, devour¬
ing :
Of ray instruction hast thou nothing bated
In what thou hadst to say : so, with good life
And observation strange, my meaner minis¬
ters
Tlieir several kinds Imve done. My high
charms work
And these mine enemies are all knit up
In tlieir distractions; they now are in my
power ; ■ 90
And in these fits I leave them, while I visit
Young Ferdinand, whom Uiey suppose is
drown'd.
And his and mine loved darling. [Exit above
Gon. I' the name of sometliing holy, sir.
why stand you
In this strange stare 7
Alon. O, it is monstrous, monstrous :
Methought tlie billows spoke and told me of
it ;
Tlie winds did sing it to me, and the thunder.
That deep and dreadful organ-pijie, pro¬
nounced
Tlie name of Prosper: it did bass my tres¬
pass.
Therefore my son i' the ooze is bedded, and
I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet
sounded 101
And with him tliere lie mudded. [Exit.
Seb. But one fiend at a time,
I'll fight tlieir legions o'er.
Ant. I'll be thy second.
f [Exeunt Seb. and Ant,
Gon. All three of them are desperate:
their great guilt.
Like poison g4ven to work a great time after,
Now gins to bite the spirits. I do beseech
you
Tiiatare of suppler joints, follow them swiftly
And hinder them from what this ecstasy
May now provoke them to.
Adr. Follow, I pray you. [Exeunt.
ACT IV.
Scene I. Before Prospebo's cell.
Enter Prospero, Ferdinand, and Miranda.
Pros. If I have tooansterely punish'd you.
Your compensation makes amends, for I
Have given you here a thrid of mine own life.
Or that for which I live ; who once again
I tender to thy hand: all thy vefx.ations
Were but my trials of thy love, and thou ,
Hast strangely stood the test: here, afore
Heaven,
I ratify this my rich gift. 0 Ferdinand,
Do not smile at me that I boast her off.
THE TEMPEST.
10C6
For thou slialt find she will outstrip all praise
And inake it halt behind her. 11
Fer. I do believe it
A^inst an oracle.
Pros. Tlien, as my gift and thine own
acquisition
Worthily purchased, take my daughter : but
If thou dost break lier virgin-knot before
All sanctimonious ceremonies may
With fail and holy rite be miuister'd,
No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall
To make this contract grow: but barren hate,
Sour-eyed disdain and discord shall be.strew 20
The union of your bed with weeds so loathly
That you sliall hate it both: therefore take
heed.
As Hymen's lamps shall light yon.
Fer. As I hope
' For quiet days, fair issue and long life,
With such love as 'tis now, the murkiest den.
The most opportune place, the strong'st sug¬
gestion
Our worser genius can, shall never melt
Miu^ honor into lust, to take away
The edge of that day's celebration
When 1 shall think, or Phoebus' steeds are
founder'd, 30
Or Night kept chain'd below.
Pros. Fairly spoke.
Sit then and talk with her ; she is thine own.
What, Ariel ! my industrious servant, Ariel!
Enter Ariel.
Ari. What would my potent master? here
I am.
Pros. Thou and thy meaner fellows your
last service
Did worthily perform; and I must use you
In such another trick. Go bring the rqbble.
O'er whom I give thee power, here to this
place:
Incite them to quick motion ; for I must
Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple 40
Some vanity of mine art: it is my promise.
And they expect it from me.
Art' Presentlj' ?
Pros. Ay, with a twink.
Ari. Before you can say ' come' and ' go,'
And breathe twice and cry ' so, so,'
Each one, tripping on his toe,
Will be here with mop and mow.
Do you love me, master ? no ?
Pros. Dearly, my delicate Ariel. Do not
approach
Till thou dost hear me call.
Ari. Well, I conceive. [Exit. 50
Pros. Look thou be true ; do not give
dalliance
Too much the rein : the strongest oaths are
stoaw
To the fire i' the blood : be more abstemious.
Or else, good night your vow !
Fer. I warrant you, sir ;
The white cold virgin snow upon my heart
Abates the ardor of my liver.
Pros. ' t WeU.
{Act iv
Now come, my Ariel! briug a corollary.
Rather than want a spirit: appear, and pertly!
No tongue I all eyes ! be silent. [Soft music.
Enter Iris.
Iris. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich
leas
Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats and
pease ;
Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling
sheep.
And flat meads thatch'd with stover, them to
keep;
Tliy hanks with pioned and twilled brims.
Which spongy April at thy hest betrims,
To make cold nymphs chaste crowns ; and
thy broom-groveSj
Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves.
Being lass-loni ; thy pole-clipt vineyard ;
And thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard.
Where thou thyself dost air ;—the queen o'
the sky, 70
Whose watery arch and messenger am I,
Bids thee leave these, and with her. sovereign
grace,
Here on this grass-plot, in this very place.
To come and sport: her peacocks fly amain :
Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain
Enter Ceres.
Cer. Hail, many-color'd messenger, that
ne'er
Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter ;
Wlio with thy saffron wings upon my flowers
Diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers.
And with each end of thy blue bow dost
crown 80
My bosky acres and my unshrdbb'd down.
Rich scarf to my proud earth ; why hath thy
queen
Summon'd me hither, to this short-grass'd
green?
Iris. A contract of true love to celebrate ;
And some donation freely to estate
On the blest lover.*.
Cer. Tell me, heavenly bow.
If Venus or her son, as thou dost know.
Do now attend the queen ? Since they did plot
Tlie means that dusky Dis my daughter got.
Her and her blind boy's scandal'd company 90
I have forsworn.
Iris. Of her society
Be not afraid : I met her deity [son
Cutting the clouds towards Paphos and her
Dove-drawn with her. Here thought they to
have done
Some wanton charm upon this man and maid.
Whose vows are, that no bed-right shall be
paid
Till Hymen's torch be lighted: but in vain ;
Mars's hot minion is returned again ;
Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows,
Swears he will shoot no more but play with
sparrows too
And be a boy r^ht out
Cer. High'st queen of state,
THE TEMPEST.
SCEMB I.J
THE TEMPEST,
1067
Gteat Juno, eomes ; I know her by her gait
Enter Juno.
, Juno. How does my bounteous sister ? Go
with me
To bless this twain, that they may prosperous
be
And honor'd in their issue. [They sing:
Juno. Honor, riches, marriage-blessing.
Long continuance, and increasing,
Hourljr joys be still upon you !
Juno sings her blessings on yon.
Cer. Earth's increase, foison plenty, 110
Barns and garners never empty,
Vines and clustering bunches grow¬
ing.
Plants with goodly burthen bowing ;
Spring come to you at the farthest
In the very end of harvest I
Scarcity and want shall shun you ;
Ceres' blessing so is on you.
Fer. This is a most majestic visiou, and
Harmonious charmingly. May I be bold
To think these spirits ?
Pros. Spirits, which by mine art 120
I have from their confines call'd to enact
My present fancies.
Fer. Let me live here ever ;
So rare a wonder'd father and a wife
Makes this place Paradise.
[Juno and Ceres whisper, and send
Iris on employment.
Pros. Sweet, now, silence !
Juno and Ceres whisper seriously ;
There's something eise to do: hush,and be
mute.
Or else our spell is marr'd.
Iris. You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the
wiudring brooks.
With your sedged crowns and ever-harmless
looks.
Leave your crisp channels and on this green
land
Answer your summons ; Juno does command:
Come, temperate nymphs, and help to cele¬
brate
A contract of true love ; be not too late.
Enter certain Nymphs.
Yon sunburnt sicklemen, of August weary.
Come hither from the furrow and be merry :
Make holiday ; your rye-straw hats put on
And these fresh nymphs encounter every one
lu country footing.
Enter certain Reapers, properly habited: they
join with the Nymphs in a graceful dance;
towards the end whereof Prospero starts
suddenly, and speaks; after which, to a
strange, hollow, and confused noise, they
heavily vanish. ^
Pros. [Aside] I had forgot that foul con¬
spiracy
Of the beast Caliban and his confederates 140
Against my life: the minute of their plot
Is almost come. [7o ihe Spirits.] Well done t
avoid ; no luoi-e !
Fer. This is strange: yoiu: father's in some
passion
That works him strongly.
Mir. Never till tliis day
Saw I him touch'd with anger so distempePd.
Pros. You do look, my son, in a moved
sort.
As if you were dismay'd : be cheerful, sir.
Our revels now are ended. These our actors.
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air : 150
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision.
The cloud-eapp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it fuherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insnlxstautial pageant f^ed.
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex'd ;
Bear with my wea.kness ; my old brain is
, troubled :
Be not di^turb'd with mj; infirmity: 160
If you be pleiised, retire into my cell
And there repose : a turn or two I'll walk.
To still my beating mind.
Fer. Mir. We wish your peace. [Exeunt.
Pros. Come with a thought I thank thee,
Ariel: come.
Enter Ariei,.
Ari. Thy thoughts I cleave to. What's thy
pleasure ?
Pros. Spirit,
We must prepare to meet with Caliban.
Ari. Ay, my commander : when I pre¬
sented Ceres,
I thought to have told thee of it, but I fear'd
Lest I might anger thee.
Pros. Say again, where didst thou leave
these varlets 1 170
Ari. I told you, sir, they were red-hot
with drinking ;
So full of valor that they smote the air
For breathing in their faces ; beat the ground
For kissing of their feet; yet always bending
Towards their project. Then I beat my tabor ;
At which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd
their ears.
Advanced their eyelids, lifted up their noses
As they smelt music: so I charm'd their ears
That calf-like they my lowing follow'd through
Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss
and thorns, 180
Which entered their frail shins : at last I left
them
r the filthy-mantled pool beyond your cell.
There dancing up to the chins, that the foul
lake
O'erstunk their feet.
Pros. This was well done, my bird.
Thy shape invisible retain thou still:
The trumpery in my house, go bring it hither,
Fur stale to catch these thieves.
Ari. Igo, Igo. [Exit, '
THE
OS. A devil, a bom devil, on whose
nature \
Fnrture can never stick ; on whom my pains,
Humanely taken, aii, all lost, quite lost; 190
And as with age liis tody uglier grows.
So his mind cankers. 1 wiU plague them all,
Kven to roaring.
fe-enter Ariei,, loaden with glistering ap"
parel, £c.
Come, bang them on this line.
PBOsrEBO and Ariel remain invisible. Enter
Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo, ail
wet.
Col. Pray you, tread softly, that the blind
mole may nut
Hear a foot fall: we now are near his cell.
.S'fe. Monster, your fairy, which you say is
a harmless fairy, has done little better than
pl^ed the Jack with us.
Trin. Monster, I do smell all horse-piss ; at
which mv nose is in great indignation. 200
Ste. So is mine. Do you near, monster ?
If I should take a displeasure a^inst you,
look you,—
Tnn. Thou wert but a lost monster.
Vol. Good my lord, give me thy favor still.
Be patient, for the prize I'll bring thee to
Shall hoodwink this mischance: therefore
speak softly.
All's hush'd as midnight yet.
Trin. Ay, but to lose our bottles in the
pool,—
Ste. There is not only disgrace and dishonor
in that, monster, but an infinite loss. 210
Trin. That's more to me than my wetting:
ret this is your harmless fairy, monster.
Ste. I will fetch off my bottle, though 1 be
o'er ears for my labor.
Cat. Prithee, my king, be quiet. See'-st
thou here,
This is the mouth o' the cell: no noise, and
enter.
Do that good mischief which may make this
island
Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban,
For aye tliy foot-licker.
Ste. Give me thy hand. I do begin to have
bloody thoughts. 220
Trin. O king Stephano 1 O peer 1 O worthy
Stephano I look what a wardrobe here is for
thee I
Cal. Let it alone, thou fool; it is but trash.
Trin. O, ho, monster 1 we know what be¬
longs to a frippery. O king Stephano !
Ste. Put off that gown, Trmculo ; by tliis
hand, I'll have that gown.
Trin. Thy grace shall have it.
Cal. The dropsy drown this fool! what do
you mean 230
To dote thus on such luggage ? Let's alone
And do the murder first: if he awake.
From toe to crown he'll fill our skins with
pinches,
|Mb OS strange stuff
[Acf e.
Ste. Be you quiet, monster. Mistress hne,
is not this my jerkin ? Now is the jerkin un¬
der the line : now, jerkin, you are like to lose
your hair and prove a bald jerkin. •
Trin. Do, do : we steal by line and level,
an't like your grace 240
Ste. I thank tha^ for that jest; here's a
garment for't: wit shail not go unrewarded
while I am king of this country. ' Steal by
line and level' is an excelieut pass of pate ;
tliere's another garment for't. -
Trin. Monster, come, put some lime upon
your fingers, and away with the rest.
Cal. 1 will have none on't : we shall lose
our time.
And all be tnrn'd to barnacles, or to apes
With foreheads vilianous low. 250
Ste. Monster, lay-to your fingers ; help to
bear this away where my hogshead of wine
is, or I'll turn you out of my kingdom : go
to, carry this.
Trin. And this.
Ste. Ay, and this.
A noise of hunters heard. Enter divers Spir¬
its, in shape of dogs and hounds, and hunt
them about, Prospeko and Ariel setting
them on.
Pros. Hey, Mountain, hey !
Ari. Silver 1 there it goes. Silver.'
Pros. Fury, Fury I there. Tyrant, .here 1
hark 1 hark ! [Cal., Ste., and Trin. are
driven out.
Go charge my goblins that they grind their
jomts
With dry convulsions, shorten up their sinews
With aged cramps, and more pinch-spotted
make them
"lian pard or cat o' mountain.
Ari. Hark, they roar V
Pros. Let them be hunted soundly. At this'
hour
Lie £ t my mercy all mine enemies:
Shortly shail all my labors end, and thou
Shalt have the air at freedom : for a little
Follow, and do me service. [Exeunt.
ACT V.
Scene I. Before Prospbro's cell.
Enter Prospero ir- his magic robes, and
Ariel.
Pros. Now does my project gatlier to a
head:
My charms crack not; my spirits obey ; and
time
Goes i^right with his carriage. How's tlie
Aj'i. Sa the sixth hour : at which time, my
lord.
You said our work should cease.
Pros. I did say so.
When first I raised the tempest. Say, m|
spirit.
Sonra I.]
THE TEMPEST.
How fares the king and's followers 1
■^Ti. Confined together
In the same fashion as you gave 'u charge,
Just as you left them ; ail prisoners, sir.
In the line-grove which weather-fends your
cell;
They cannot budge till your release. Hie
king.
His brother and yours, abide all three dis¬
tracted
And the remainder mourning over them.
Brimful of sorrow and dismay ; but chiefly
Him that you term'd, sir, 'Tlie good old lord,
Gouzalo ;'
His iears run down nis beard, like winter's
drops
From eaves of reeds. Your charm so strongly
works 'em
That if you now beheld them, your affections
Wouid become tender.
Prot. Post thou think so, spirit ?
Ari. Mine would, sir, were I human.
Pros. And mine shall. 20
Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feel¬
ing
Of their afilictious, and shall not myself.
One of their kind, that relish all as sharply,
fhssion as they, be kindlier moved than thou
art ?
'though with their high wrongs I am struck
to the quick.
Yet with my nobler reason 'gainst my fury
Do I take part: the rarer action is
In virtue thau in vengeance : they being pen¬
itent.
The sole drift of my purpose doth extend 29
Not a frown further. Go release them, Ariel:
My charms I'll break, their senses I'll restore.
And they shall b& themselves.
Ari. I'll fetch them, sir. [Exit.
Pros. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing
lakes and groves.
And ye that on the sands with printless foot
Do chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly him
When he comes back ; you demi-puppets that
By moonshine do the green sour ringlets
make,
Wliereof the ewe not bites, and you whose
pastime
Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice
To hear the solemn curfew ; by whose aid, 40
Weak masters tliough ye be, 1 have bedimm'd
The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous
winds.
And 'twixt the green sea and the azured vault
Set roaring war : to the dread rattling thun¬
der
Have I given fire and rifted Jove's stout oak
'i\''ith his own bolt; tlie strong-based prom¬
ontory
Have I made shake and by the spurs pluck'd
up •
The pine and cedar ; graves at my command
Have waked their sleepers, oped, and let 'em
• forth
ipj ao potoit wt But this rough magic 60
I here abjure, mid, when I have required
Some heavenly music, which even now I do.
To work mine end upon their senses that
This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff.
Bury it ceitain fathoms in the earth.
And deeper than did ever plummet sound
I'll drown my book. [;Sofe»in music.
Re-enter Ariel hefoi-e : then Alonso, with a
frantic gesture, attended by Gouzalo ; Se¬
bastian and Antonio in like manner, at¬
tended by Adrian and Francisco : they all
enter the circle which ProspeRO had made,
and there stand charmed; which Prospero
observing, speaks;
A solemn air and the best comfoi-ter
To an nnsettled fancy cure thy brains.
Now useless, boil'd within thy skull! There
stand.
For you are spell-stopp'd.
Holy Gonzalo, honorable man.
Mine eyes, even sociable to tlie show of thine.
Fall fellowly drops. The charm dissolves
apace.
And as the morning steals upon the night.
Melting the darkness, so their rising senses
Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that man¬
tle
Their clearer reason. O good Gonzalo,
My true preserver, and a loyal sir 69
To him thou foliow'st I I will pay thy graces
Home both in word and deed. Most crheliy
Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter;
Thy brother was a furthercr in the act
Thou .art pinch'd for't now, Sebastian. Flesh
and blood.
You, brother mine, that entertain'd ambition,
Expeli'd remorse and nature ; who, with Se>
bastian.
Whose inward pinches therefore are most
strong,
Would here have kilTd your king ; I do for¬
give thee,
Unnatural though thou art. Their under¬
standing
Begins to swell, and the approaching tide 80
Will jhort'y fill the reasonable shore
That now lies foul and muddy. Not one of
them
That yet looks on me, or would know me :
Ariel,
Fetch me the hat and rapier in ray cell :
I will disease me, and myself present
As I was sometime Milan : quickly, spirit;
Thou Shalt ere long be free.
Ariel sings and helps to attire him.
■Where the bee sucks, there suck I:
In a cowslip's bell I lie ;
There I couch when owls do cry. 00
On the bat's back I do fly
After summer merrily.
Merrily, merrily shall I l-.ve now
Underthe bloss m that hangs on the bough.
Pros. Why, that's my dainty Ariel 1 I
^all miss thee '
1070
But yet thou ghalt have freedom : so, so, so.
To tlie king's ship, invisible as thou art:
There shalt thou find the mariners asleep
Under the hatches ; the master and the boat¬
swain
Being awake, enforce them to this place, 100
And presently, I prithee.
An. I drink the air before me, and return
Or ere your pulse twice beat [£xit.
Oon. All torment, trouble, wonder and
amazement
Inhabits here: some hea. enly power guide us
Out of this fearful country !
Proa. Behold, sir king.
The wronged Duke of Mian, Prospero ;
For more assurance that a living prince
Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body ;
And to thee and thy company I bid 110
A hearty welcome.
Alon. Whether thou be'st he or no.
Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me.
As late I have been, I not Icnow r thy pulse
Bests as of flesh and blood ; and, since I saw
thee.
The affliction of my liiind amends, with which,
I fear, a madness held me : this must crave,
An if this be at all, a most strange story.
Thy dukedom I resign and do entreat
Thou pardon me my wrongs. But how should
Prospero
Be living and be here ?
Proa. First, noble friend, 120
Let me embrace thine age, whose honor can¬
not
Be measured or confined.
Gon. Whether this be
Or be not, I'll not swear.
Proa. You do yet taste
Some subtilties o' the isle, that will not let
you
Believe things certain. Welcome, my friends
all!
[Aside to Seh. and Ant.] But you, my brace
of lords, were I so minded,
I here could pluck his highness' frown upon
you
And justify you traitors: at this time
I will telino tales
Seb. [Aside] The devil speaks in him.
Pros. No.
For you, most wicked sir, whom to call bro¬
ther
Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive
Thy rankest fault; all of them ; and require
My dukedom of thee, which perforce, I know.
Thou must restore.
Alon. If thou be'st Prospero,
Give us particulars of thy preservation ;
How thcu hast met us here, who three hours
since
Were wreck'd upon this shore ; where I have
lost—
How sharp the point of this remembrance
is !—
My dear son Ferdinand.
Proa, I am woe foPt, sir
[Act v.
Alon. Irreparable is the loss, and patience
Says it is past her cure.
Proa. I rather think
You liave not sought her help, of whose soft
grace
Fur the like loss I have her sovereign aid
And rest myseif content.
Alon. You the like loss !
Proa. Xa great to me as late ; and, sup¬
portable
To make the dear loss, have I means much
weaker
Than you may call to comfort yon, for I
Have ost my daughter.
Afort. A daughter ?
0 heavens, that they were living both in
The king and queen there 1 tliat they were, I
wish
Myself were mudded in that oozy bed
Where my son lies. When did you lose your
daughter ?
Proa. In this last tempest I perceive,
these lords
At this encounter do so much admire
That they devour their reason and scarce
think
Their eyes do offices of truth, their words
Are natural breath : but, howsoe'er you have
Been justled from your senses, know for cer¬
tain
That I am Prospero and that very duke
Which was thrust fortli of Milan, who most
strangely ' 160
Upon this shore, where you were wreck'd,
was landed.
To be the lord on't No more yet of this ;
For 'tis a chronicle of day by day.
Not a relation for a breakfast nor
Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir ;
This celi's my court: here have I few attend¬
ants
And subjects none abroad : pray you, look in.
My duk^om since you have given me again,
1 will requite you with as good a thing ;
At least bring forth a wonder, to content ye
As much as me my dukedom. 171
Here Proapa'o diacovera FERDiif AND and Mi-
BAKDA playing at cheaa.
Mir. Sweet lord, you play me false.
Per. No, my dear'st love,
I would not for the world.
Mir. Yes, for a score of kAigdoms you
should wrangle.
And I would call it fair play.
Alon. If this prove
A vision of the Island, one dear son
Shall I twice lose.
Seh. A most high miracle I
Per. Though the seas threaten, they are
merciful;
I have cursed them without cause. \Knedt.
Alon. Now all the blessings
Of a glad father compass thee about! 180
Arise, and say bow thou earnest heie<
THE TEMPEST.
6cbns I.]
Mir. 0, wouder!
How many goodly creatures are there here !'
How beauteous maukiud is ! O brave new
world,
That has such people in't!
Pros. 'Tis new to thee.
Alan. What is this maid with whom thou
wast at play ?
Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three
hours i
Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us.
And brought us thus together ?
Per. Sir, she is mortal ;
Dut by immortal Providence she's mine : 189
I chose her when I could not ask my father
For his advice, nor thought I had one. She
Is daughter to this famous Duke of Milan,
Of whom so often 1 have lieard renown.
But never saw before ; of whom I have
Received a second life ; and second father
This lady makes him to me.
Alon. I am hers :
But, O, how oddly will it sound that I
Must ask my child forgiveness!
Pros. There, sir, stop:
Let us not burthen our remembrance with
A heaviness that's gone.
Qon. X have inly wept, 200
Or should have spoke ere this. Look down,
you gods.
And on this couple drop a blessed crown !
For it is you that have chalk'd forth the way
Which brought us hither.
Alon. I say. Amen, Gonzalo !
Gon. Was Milan thrust from Milan, that
his issue
Should become kings of Naples ? O, rejoice
Beyond a common joy, and set it down
With gold on lasting pillaia: In one voyage
Did Claribel her hustond And at Tunis
And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife 210
Where he himself was lost, Prospero his duke¬
dom
In a poor isle and all of us ourselves
When no man was his own.
Alon. [3b Per. and Mir.] Give me your
hands:
Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart
That doth not wish you joy !
Gon. Be it so ! Amen !
He-enter Ariel, with the Master and Boat¬
swain amazedly following.
0, look, sir, look, sir ! here is more of us :
I prophesied, if a gallows were on land.
This fellow could not drown. Now, blas¬
phemy.
That swear'st grace o'erboard, not an oath on
shore ?
Hast thou no mouth by land ? What is the
news 7 220
Boats. Tlie best news 1^ that we have
safely found
r.xt king and company ; the next, our ship—
'"^'ch, but three glasses since, we gave out
lit—
1071
Is tight and yare and bravely rigg'd as when
We first put out to sea.
Ari. [Aside to Pros.] Sir, all this service
Have I done since I went.
Pros. [Aside to Ari.] My tricksy spirit!
Alon. These are not natural events ; they
strengthen
From strange to stranger. Say, how came
you hither 7
Boats. If I did think, sir, I were well
awake,
I'ld strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep,
And—^liow we know not—all clapp'U under
hatches; [noises
Where but even now with strange and Several
Cf roaring, slirieking, howling, jingiing chains.
And more diversity of sounds, all horrible
We were awaked ; straightway, at liberty;
Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld
Our royal, good and gallant ship, our master
Capering to eye her : on a trice, so please
yon,
Even in a dream, were we divided from then.
And were brought moping hither.'
Ari. [Aside to Pros.] iVas't well done 7 240
Pros. [Aside to Ari.] Bravely, my diligence,
I Thou shall be free.
Alon. Tills is as strange a maze as e'er men
trod ;
And there is in this business more than nature
Was ever conduct of : some oracle
Must rectify our knowledge.
Pros. Sir, my liege.
Do not infest your mmd with beating on
The strangeness of this business ; at pick'd
leisure
Which shall be shortly, single I'll resolve you.
Which to yon shall seem probable, of every
Th .jse happen'd accidents ; till when, be cheer¬
ful 250
.rnd think cf each thing well. [Aside to Ari.]
Come hither, spirit:
Set Caliban and his companions free ;
Untie the spell. [Exit Ariel.] How fares my
gracious sir 7
There are yet missing of your company
Some few odd lads that you remember not.
Re-enter Ariel, driving in Calibah, Ste-
PHANO and Trinculo, in their stolen apparel.
Ste. Every man shift for all the rest, and
let no man take care for himself ; for all is
but fortune. Coragio, bully-monster, coragio !
Trin. If these be true spies which T wear
in my head, here's a goodly sight. 260
Cal. 0 Setebos, these be brave spirits in¬
deed !
How fine my master is ! I am afraid
He will chastise me.
Seh. Ha, ha !
What things are these, my lord Antonio 7
Will money buy 'em 7
Ant. Very like ; one cf them
Is a iilain fish, and, no doubt, marketable.
Pros. Mark but the badges of these men,
my lords,
THE TEMPEST.
1072
Then say if, they be true. This mis-shapen
knave,
His mother was a witch, and one so strong
That could control the moon, make flows and
ebbs, 270
And deal in her command without her power.
These three have robb'd me : and this demi-
devil—
For he's a bastard one—had plotted with them
To take my life. Two of these fellows you
Must know and own ; this thing of darkness I
Acknowledge mine.
Oal' I shall be pinch'd to death.
Alon. Is not this Stephano, my drunken
butler ?
Seb. He is drunk now: where had he wine ?
Alon. And Triuculo is reeling ripe : where
should they
Find this grand liquor that hath gilded 'em ?
How earnest thou m this pickle ? 281
Trin. I have been in such a pickle since I
saw you last that, I fear me, will never out of
my bones : I shall not fear fly-blowing.
Seb. Why, how now, Stephano !
Ste. O, touch me not ; I am not Stephano,
but a cramp.
Pros. You'ld be king o* the isle, sirrah 7
S(e. I should have been a sore one then.
Alon. This is a strange thing as e'er I
looU'd on. [Pointing to Caliban.
Pros. He is as disproportion'd in his man¬
ners 290
As in his shape. Go, sirrah, to my cell;
Take with you your companions ; as yon look
To have my pardon, trim it handsomely.
Col. Ay, that I will; and I'll be wise here¬
after
And seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass
Was I, to take this drunkard for a god
And worship this dull fool!
Pros. Go to ; away!
Alon. Hence, and bestow your luggage
where you found it.
iSeb. Or stole it, rather.
[JSxeunt Cal., Ste., and Trin.
Pros. Sir, I invite your highness and your
tmin 300
To my poor cell, where you shall take your
rest
[Act v.
For this one night; which, part of it, I'll waste
With such discourse as, I not doubt, shall
make it
Go quick away ; the story of my life
And the particular accidents gone by
Since I came to this isie : and in the mom
I'll bring j-ou to your ship and so to Naples;
Where I have hope to see the nuptial
Of these our dear-beloved solemnized ;
And tlieiice retire me to my Milan, where 310
Every third thought shall be my grave.
Alon. I long
To hear the story of your life, which must
Take the ear strangely.
Pros. I'll deliver all;
And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales
And sail so expeditious that shall catch
Your royal fleet far off. [Aside to Ari.] My
Ariel, chick,
Tliat is thy charge : then to the elements
Be free, and fare thou well! Please you,
draw near. [Exeunt.
EPILOGUE.
spoken by prosfebo.
Now my charms are all o'erthrown.
And what strength I have's mine own.
Which is most faint : now, 'tis true,
I must be here confined by you.
Or sent to Naples. Let me not.
Since I have my dukedom got
And pai-don'd the deceiver, dwell
In this bare island by your spell;
But release me from my bands
With the help of your good hands : 10
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails.
Which was to please. Now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant.
And my ending is despair,
Un'ess I be relieved by prayer.
Which pierces so that it assaults
Mercy itself and frees all faults.
As you from crimes would iiardon'd be.
Let your indulgence set me free, 20
THE TEMPEST.
THE WINTER'S TATE.
' (written about 1610-11.)
INTRODUCTION.
Tht Winier'g Tale was seen at the Globe on May 15,1611, by Dr. Fonuan, and Is described in bis
MS. Booke of Plaies and Notes thereof. The versincation is tbat of Shakespeare's latest group of
pli^s : no live-measure lUics are rhymed ; run-on lines and double endings are numerous. Its tone
and feeling place it in tlie same period with The Tempest and Cymbeline; its breezy air is surely
that which blew over Warwickshire ilelds upon Shakespeare now returned to Stratford; its country
lads and lasses, and their junketings, are Uiose with which the poet had in a happy spirit renewed
his acquaintance. 2'he Winter's Tale is perhaps the last complete play that Shakespeare wrote. It
is founded upon Greene's J'andosto tor, as it was afterward named, Dorastus and Nawnia) first
published in 1588. The idea of introducing Time as a chorus comes from Greene, and all the principal
characters, except Pauline and the incomparable rogne Autolycus. After his manner, Shakespeare
drives forward to what chiefly interests him in the subject. The jealousy of Ueontes is not a detailed
dramatic study like the love and jealousy of Othello. It is a gross madness which mounts to the
brain, and turns Leontes' whole nature into unreasoning passion. The character of the noble
sufferer Hermione is that with which the dramatist is above all concerned—this first; and, secondly,
the grace, beauty, and girlish happiness of Perdita ; while of the subordinate persons of the drama,
Shakespeare delights chiefly in his own creation, Autolycus, the most charming of rogues and rovers.
Hermione may be placed side by side with the Queen Katharine of Henry VIII., which play belongs
to this period. Both are noble sufferers, who by the dignity and purity of their natures transcend
all feehng of vulgar resentment. Deep and even quick feeling never renders Hermione incapable
of an adi&able justice, nor deprives her of a true sense of pity for him who so gravely wrongs both
her and himself. The meeting of kindred, with forgiveness and reconciliation, if these are called
for by past offences, forms the common ending of the last plays of Shakespeare. Perdita belongs to
the group of exquisite youthful figures set over against those of their graver and sadder eldera in
the plays of this period. She is one of the same company with Miranda and Marina, and the youth¬
ful sons of Cymbeline. The shepherdess-princess, " queen of curds and cream," is less a vision
than Miranda, the child of wonder, but more perhaps a creature of this eaith. There is nothing
lovelieror more innocently joyous in poetry than Perdita at the rustic merry-making, sharing her
fiowers with old and young. And in ^orizel she has found a lover, full of the innocence and
chivalry of unstained early manhood. Autolycus stands by himself among the creations of the
dramatist. The art of thieving as practised by him is no crime, but the gift of some knavish god.
He does not trample on the laws of morality, but dances or leaps over them with so nimble a foot
tlmt we forbear to stay him. In the s.ad world which contains a Leontes and can' lose a Mamillius,
so light-hearted a wanderer must be pardoned even if he be light-fingered, and sometimes mistakes
for ms own the sheet bleaching on the hedge, which happens to be ours.
DRAMATIS PERSON.®.
Leontes, king of Sicilia.
Mamillius, young prince of Sicilia.
Camillo, 1
Four Lords of Sicilia.
Dion, j
polixenes, king of Bohemia.
Flobizel, prince of Bohemia.
Archidamus, a Lord of Bohemia.
Old Shwherd, reputed fathe^ of Perdita.
Clown, his son.
Autolycus, a rogue.
A Mariner.
68
A Gaoler.
Hermione. queen to Leontes.
Pebdita, daughter to Leontes and Hermi*
one.
Paulina, wife to Antigonus.
Emilia, a lady attending on Hermione.
Vo^AS, 1 Shepherdesses.
Other Lords and Gentlemen, Ladies, Officers,
and Servants, Shepherds, and Shepherdesses.
Time, as Chorus.
Scene : Sicilia, and Bohemia.
(10781
1074
ACT I.
Scene I. Antechamber in Leontes' palace.
Enter CamilI/O and Abchidamcs.
Arch. II yoii shall <chauce, CamiIlo, to visit
Bohemia, on the like occasion whereon my
services are now on foot, you shall see, as I
have said, gr^t difference betwixt our Bohemia
and your Sicilia.
Cam. I think, this coming summer, the
King of Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the visi-»
tation which he justly owes him.
Arch. Wherein our entertainment shall
shame ns we will be justified in our loves i for
indeed— 10
Cam. Beseech yon,—
Arch. Verily, I speak it in the freedom of
my knowledge : we cannot with such magnifi¬
cence—in so rare—I know not what to say.
We will give you sleepy drinks, that your
senses, unintelligent of our insuiflcience, may,
though they canuot praise us, as little accuse
us.
Cam. You pay a great deal too dear for
what's given freely. 19
Arch. Believe me, I speak as my under¬
standing instructs me and as mine honesty puts
it to utterance.
Cam. Sicilia cannot show himself over-kind
to Bohemia. They were trained together in
their childhoods; and there rooted betwixt them
then such an affection, which canuot choose
but branch now. Since their more mature
dignities and royal necessities made separation
of their society, their encounters, though not
personal, have been royally attorneyed with
interchange of gifts, letters, loving embassies ;
that they have seemed to be together, though
absent, shook hands, as over a vast, and
embraced, as it were, from the ends of opposed
winds. The heavens continue their loves !
Ai-ch. I think there is not in the world either
malice or matter to alter it. You have an un¬
speakable comfort of your young prince Mamil-
lius: it is a gentleman of the greatest promise
that ever came into ray note. 40
Cam. I very well agree with you in the
hopes of him : it is a gallant child ; one that
indeed physics the subject, makes old hearts
fresh : they that went ou crutches ere he was
born desire yet their life to see him a man.
Arch. Would they else be content to die ?
Cam. Yes ; if there were no other excuse
why they should desire to Uve.
Arch. If the king had no son, they would
desire to live on crutches till he had one. 50
[Exeunt.
Scene U. A room of ttate in the same.
Enter Leonxes, Hekmione, Mamileius,
PoLiXENES, Camileo, and Attendants.
Pof. Nine changes of the watery star hath
been
The shepherd's note since we have left our
throne
[Act I.
Without a burthen : time as long again
Would be fill'd up, my brother, with our
tlianks ;
And yet we should, for wrpetuity,
Gro hence in debt: and therefore, like a cipher.
Yet standing in rich place, I multiply
With one 'We thank you' many thousands
moe
That go before it.
Leon. Stay your thanks a while ;
And pay them when you part.
Pol. Sir, that's to-morrow. 10
I am question'd by my fears, of what may
cnance
Or breed upon our absence ; that may blow
No sneaping winds at home, to make us say
' This is put forth too truly besides, I'have
stay'd
To tire your royalty.
Leon. We are tougher, brother.
Than you can put us to't
Pol. No longer stay.
Leon. One seven-night longer.
Pol. very sooth, to-morrow.
Leon. We'll part the time between's then ;
and in that
I'll no gainsaying.
Pol. Press me not, beseech you, so.
There is no tongue that moves, none, none i'
the world, 20 •
So soon as yours could win me : so it should
now.
Were there necessity in your request, although
'Twere needful 1 denied it. My affairs
Do even drag me homeward : which to hinder
Were in your love a whip to me ; my stay
To you a charge and trouble : to save both.
Farewell, our brother.
Leon. Tongue-tied, our queeu ? speak you.
Her. 1 had thought, sir, to have held my
peace until
You have drawn oaths from him not to stay.
You, sir.
Charge him too coldly. Tell him, you are
sure 30
All iu Bohemia's well; this satisfaction
The by-gone day proclaim'd: say this to him.
He's beat from his best ward.
Leon. Well said, Hermione.
Her. To tell, he longs to see his sou, were
strong:
But let him say so then, and let him go ;
But let him swear so, and he shall not siny,
We'll thwack him hence with distaffs.
Yet of your royal presence I'll adventure
The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia
You take my lord, I'll give him my commis¬
sion 40
To let him there a month beliind the gest
Prefix'd for's iiarting; yet, good deed, Leontes,
1 love thee not a jar o' the clock behind
What lady-she her lord. You'll stay ?
Pol. No, madaim
Her. Nay, but you will ? -
Pol. 1 may not, verily.
Her. Verily!
THE WINTER'S TALE.
SC£I«£ II.]
You pat me off with limber vows ; but I,
Though you would seek to uusphere the stars
with oaths;
Should yet say ' Sir, no going.' Verily,
You shall not go : a lady's ' Verily''s 50
As potent as a lord's. Will you go yet 7
Force me to keep you as a prisoner.
Not like a guest; so you shall pay your fees
When you depart, and save your thanks. How
say you 7
My prisoner 7 or my guest 7 by your dread
' Verily,'
One of them you shall be.
Pol. Your guest, then, madam:
To be your prisoner should import offending ;
Which is for me less easy to commit
Than you to punish.
Her. Not your gaoler, then.
But your kind hostess. Come, I'll question
you CO
Of my lord's tricks and yours when you were
boys:
You were pretty lordings then 7
Pol. We were, fair queen,
Two lads that thought there was no more be¬
hind
But such a day to-morrow as to-day.
And to be boy eternal.
Her. Was not my lord
The verier wag o' the two 7
Pol. We were as twinn'd lambs that did
frisk i' the sun.
And bleat the one at the other: what we
clianged
Was innocence for innocence ; we knew not
The dociaineof ili-doii^, nor dream'd 70
That any did. Had we pursued that life.
And our weak spirits ne er been higher rear'd
Witii stronger blood, we should have answer'd
heaven
Boldly * not guilty ;' the imposition clear'd
Hereditary ours.
Her'. By this we gather
You Imve tripp'd since.
Pol. O my most sacred lady!
Temptations have since tlien been bom to's ;
tor
In those Unfledged days was my wife a girl;
Your precious self had tlieu not cross'd the
eyes
Of my young play-fellow.
Her. Grace to boot! 80
Of this make no conclusion, lest you say
Your queen and I are devils : yet go on ;
'.riie offences we have made you do we'll
answer, >
If you first sinn'd with us and th.at with us
You did continue fault and that you slipp'd"
not
With any but with us.
Leon. Is he won yet 7
Her. He'll stay, my lord. »
Leon. At my request he would nc^.
Hermione, my dearest, tlion never spokest
To better purpose.
Hzr. Never 7
1076
Leon. . Never, but once.
lier. Wliat! have I twice said well 7 when
was't before 7 90
I prithee tell me; cram's with praise, and
make's
As fat as tame things: one good deed dying
tongueiess
Slaughters a thousand waiting up<m that. <
Our praises are our wages: you may ride's
With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere
With spur we heat an acre. But to the goal:
My last good deed was to entreat his stay:
What was my flrst.7 it has an elder sister.
Or I mistake you: O, would her name were
Grace !
But once before I sjioke to the purpose : when 7
Nay, let me have't •, I long.
Leon. Why, that was when 101
Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves
to death.
Ere I eould make thee open thy white hand
And elap thyself my love : then didst thou
utter ,
• I am yours for ever.'
Her. 'Tis grace indeed.
Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the purpose
twice:
The one for ever earn'd a royal husband ;
The other for some while a friend.
Leon. [Aside'] Too hot, too hot!
To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods.
I Imve tremor cordis on me : my heart dances;
But not for joy; not joy. This eiitertainineiit
May a free face put on, derive a liberty
From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom.
And well become the agent;'t may, I grant:
But to be paddling palms and pinching fingers.
As now they are, and making practised smUes,
As in a looking-glass, and then to sigh, as
'twere
The mort o' the deer ; O, that is entertain¬
ment
My bosom likes not, nor my brows 1 Mamil-
lius.
Art thou my boy 7
Mam. Ay, my good lord.
Leon. V fecks ! 120
Why, that's my bawooek. What, hast smutch'd
thy nose 7
They say it is a copy out of mine. Come, cap¬
tain.
We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, caj)-
tahi :
And yet the steer, the heifer and the calf
Are all call'd neat.—Still virginalling
Uixm his jKiim !—How now, you wanton calf 1
Art thou my calf 7
Mam. Yes, if you will, my lord.
Leon. Thou waut'st a rough pash and the
shoots that I have.
To be full like me: yet they say we are
Almost as like as eggs ; women say so, 130
That will say anything: but were they false
As o'er-dyed blacks, as wind, as waters, false
As dice are to be wish'd by one that fixes
No bourn 'twixthis and mine, yet were it ti-ne
THE WINTER'S TALE.
1076
To say this boy were like me. Come, sir page,
Look on me witii yonr weikin eye: sweet vil-
iaiu !
Most dearest! my collop! Can thy dam ?—
inay't be ?—
Affection I thy intention stabs the centre;
Tliou dost make xiossibie things not so heid,
Communicatest with dreams ;—^how can this
be?— 140
Witii what's nnreai tiiou coactive art,
■And teiiow'stnotiiing : then 'tis very credent
Tliou mayst co-join with something ; and thou
dost.
And that beyond commission, and! find it.
And that to the infection of my brains
And hardening of my brows.
Pol. What means Siciiia ?
Her. He, something seems mi.settled.
Pol. How, my iord I
What cheer ? how is't with you, best brotiier ?
Her. You look
As if you heid a brow of much distraction:
Are you moved, my lord ?
Leon. No, in good eaniest. 150
How sometimes nature will betray its folly,
Its tendeniess, and make itself a pastime
To harder bosoms ! Looking on the lines
Of my boy's face, metiionghts I did recoil
Twenty-three years, and saw myself un-
breech'd.
In my green velvet coat, my dagger muzzled.
Lest it should bite its master^ and so prove.
As ornaments oft do, too dangerous :
How like, inethought, I then was to this
kernel.
This squash, this gentleman. Mine honest
friend, 160
Will you take eggs for money ?
Mam. No, my lord, ITl flght.
Leon. You will! why, happy man he's dole !
My brother.
Are you so fond of yonr young prince as we
Do seem to be of ours ?
Pol. If at home, sir.
He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter.
Now my sworn friend and then mine enemy.
My parasite, my soldier, state.sinan, all :
He makes a July's day short as December,
-And with his varying childness cures in me
Thoughts that would thick my blood. 171
Leon. So stands this squire
OfHced with me; we two will walk, mv lord.
And leave you to your graver steps, ^ermi-
one.
How thou lovest us, show in our brother's
welcome;
Let what is dear in Sicily be dieap :
Next to thyself and my young rover, he's
Ajiparent to my heart.
Her. If you would seek us,
We are yours i' the garden: shall's attend yon
there?
Leon. To your own bents dispose you: you'll
be found,
Be you beneath the sky. [Aside] I am angling
now, 180
[Act t.
Though you perceive me not how I give lino.
Go to, go to 1
How she holds up the neb, the bill to him t
And arms her with the boldness of a wife
To her allowing husband !
[Exeunt PoUxenes, Hermiom. and
Attendants.
Gone already 1
Inch-thick, laiee-deep, o'er head and ears a
fork'd one !
Go, play, boy, play : thy mother plays, and I
Play too, but so disgraced a part, whose issue
Will hiss me to my grave: contempt and chi-
mor '
Will be my knell. Go, play, boy, play. 'ITiero
have been, 190
Or I am much deceived, cuckolds ere now ;
And many a man there is, even at this present.
Now while I speak this, holds his wife by tlie
arm.
That little thinks she has been sluiced In's
absence
And his pond fish'd by his next neighbor, by
Sir Smile, his neighbor : nay, there's comfort
in't
Whiles other men have gates and those gjites
open'd.
As mine, against their will. Should all de¬
spair [kind
That have revolted wives, the tenth of man-
Would hang themselves. Physic for't there is
none; 200
It is a bawdy i>lanet, that will strike
Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis powerful,
think it.
From east, west, north and soutli; be it con¬
cluded.
No barricado for a bellj'; know't;
It will let in and out the euemy
With bag and baggage: many thousand on's
Have the disease, and feel't not. How noti
boy !
Mam. I am like yonj they say. '
Leon. Why that's some comfort
What, Camillo there ?
Cam. Ay, my good lord. 2l(
Leon. Go play, Mamillius : thou'rt an how
est man. [Exit Mamillius.
CamiUo, this great sir will yet stay longer.
Cam. You had much ado to make his an¬
chor hold :
Wlien yon cast out, it still came home.
Leon. Didst note it?
Cam. He would not stay at your petitions:
made
His business more material.
Leon. Didst perceive it ?
[Aside] They're here with me already, whis-
liering, rounding
' Siciiia is a so-forth :' 'tis far gone.
When I shall gust it last. How came't, Ca¬
millo,
That he did stay ?
Cam. At the good queen's entreaty. 220
Leon. At the queen s be't: 'good' should
be pertinent;
THE WINTER'S TALE.
Scene ii.]
THE WINTER'S TALE.
1077
But, so it is, it is not. Was this taken
By any underst^diiig pate but thine ?
For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in
More than the common blocks: not noted, is't,
But of the finer natures ? by some severals
Of head-piece extraordinary ? lower messes
Perchance are to tiiis business purblhid ? say.
Cam. Business, my lord ! 1 think most un¬
derstand
Bohenfia stays here longer.
Leon. Ha |
Cam. Stays here longer. 230
Leon. Ay, but why ?
Cam. To satisfy your highness and the en¬
treaties
Of our most gracious mistress.
Leon. Satisfy!
The entreaties of your mistress ! satisfy !
Let that suffice. 1 have trusted thee, Camillo,
With all the nearest things to my heart, as
well
My chamber-councils, wherein, priest-like,
thou
Hast cleansed my bosom, I from thee departed
Thy penitent reform'd : but we have been
Deceived in thy integrity, deceived 240
In that which seems so.
Cam. Be it forbid, ray lord !
Leon. To bide upou't, thou art not honest,
or.
If thoc inclinest that way, thou art a coward.
Which boxes honesty b^iud, restraining
From course require ; or else thou must be
coniited
A servant grafted in my serious trust
And tlierein negligent ; or else a fool
That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake
drawn.
And takest it all for jest.
Cam. My gracious lord,
I may be negligent, foolish and fearful ; 250
In every one of these no man is free.
But that his negligence, his folly, fear.
Among the infinite doings of the world.
Sometime pats forth. In your afiairs, my
lord.
If ever I were wilful-negligent.
It was my folly; if industriously
I play'd the fool, it was my negligence.
Not weighing well Mio end ; if ever fearful
To do a thing, where I the issue doubted.
Whereof the execution did cry out 200
A^inst tlie noii-performance, 'twas a fear
Which oft infects the wisest: these, my lord.
Are such allow'd infirmities that honesty
Is never free of. But, beseech your giace.
Be plainer with me ; let me know my trespass
By Its own vis^e : if I then deny it,
"Hs none of mine.
Leon. Ha' not you seen, Camillo,—
But that's past doubt, you have, or your eye¬
glass #
Is thicker than a cuckold's horn,—or heard,—
For to a vision so apparent rumor 270
Cannot be mute,—or tliought,—for cogitation
Besides not in that man that does not think,—
My wife is slippery 7 If thou wilt confess.
Or else be iuipudently negative, -
To have nor eyes nor ears nor thought, then
say
My wife's a hobby-horse, deserves a name
As rank as any flax-wench that puts to
Before her trotli-plight: say't and justify't.
Cam. I would not be a stauder-by to hear
My sovereign mistress clouded so, without 280
My present vengeance taken: 'shrew my heart.
You never spoke what did become you less
Thau this ; whicli to reiterate were sin
As deep as that, though true.
Leon. Is whispering nothing 7
Is leaning cheek to cheek 7 is meeting noses 7
Kissing with inside lip 7 stopping the career
Of laughing with a sigh 7—^a note infallible
Of breaking honesty—horsing foot on foot 7
Skulking in comers 7 wishing clocks more
swift 7
Hours, minutes 7 noon, midnight 7 and all
eyes .
Blind with the pin and web but theirs, theirs
only.
That would unseen be wicked 7 is this no¬
thing 7
Why, then the world and all that's in't is no¬
thing ;
The covenng sky is nothing ; Bohemia no¬
thing ;
My wife is nothmg ; nor nothing have these
nothings.
If this be nothing.
Cam. Good my lord, be cured
Of this diseased opinion, and betimes ;
For 'tis most dangerous.
Leon. Say it be, 'tis true.
Cam. No, no, my lord.
Leon. It is ; you lie, you lie:
I say thou liest, Camillo, and 1 hate thee, 300
Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave.
Or else a hovering temporizer, that
Canst with tiiine eyes at once see good and
evil, .
Inclining to them both: were my wife's liver
Infected as her life, she would not live
The ruimiiig of one glass.
Cam. Who does infect her?
Leon. Why, he that wears her like a medal,
hanging
About his neck, Bohemia : who, if I
Had servants true about me, that .bare eyes
To see alike mine honor as their profits, 310
Their own particular thrifts, they would do
that
Which should undo moi-e doing; ay, and thou.
His cup-bearer,—whom 1 from meaner form
Have bench'd and rear'd to worship, who
inayst see
Plainly as heaven sees earth and earth sees
heaven.
How I am galled,—mightst bespice a cup.
To give mine enemy a lasting wink ;
Wliich draught to me were cordial.
Cam. Sir, my lord,
1 could do this, and that with no rash potion.
1078
But with a liugeriug dram that should not
work 320
Maliciously like poison : but I cannot
Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress,
So sovereignly being honorable.
I have lovM thee,—
Leon. fMake that thy question, and go
rot!
Dost think I am so muddy, so unsettled.
To appoint myself in this vexation, sully
The purity and whiteness of my sheets.
Which to preserve is sleep, which being spot¬
ted
Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps.
Give scandal to the blood o' the prince my
son, 3^
Who I do think is mine and love as mine,
Without ripe moving to't ? Would I do this 7
Could man so blench ?
Cam. I must believe you, sir:
1 do ; and vvill fetch off Bohemia for't;
Provided that, when he's removed, your high¬
ness
Wiil take again your queen as yours at first.
Even for your son's sake; and thereby for
sealing
The injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms
Known and allied to yours.
Leon. Thou dost advise me
Even so as I mine own course have set down :
I'll give no blemish to her honor, none. 311
Cam. My lord,
Go then; and with a countenance as clear
As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bo¬
hemia
And witii your queen. I am his cupbearer:
If from me he have wholesome beverage.
Account me not your servant.
Leon. This is all:
Do't and thou hast the one half of my heart;
Do't not, thou split'st thine own.
Cam. I'll do't, my lord.
Leon. I will seem friendly, as thou hast
advised me. . [Exit. 350
Cam. O miserable lady ! But, for me.
What case stand I in 7 I must be the poisoner
Of good Polixenes ; and my ground to do't
Is the obedience to a master, one
Who in rebellion with iiimself will have
All that are his so too. To do this deed.
Promotion follows. If I could find example
Of thousands that had struck anointed kings
And flourish'd after, I'ld not do't; but since
Kor brass nor stone nor parchment bears not
one, 360
Let viiiany itself forswear't I must
Forsake the court: to do't, or no, is certain
To me a break-neck. Happy star, reign now !
Here comes Bohemia.
Ee-enier Polixenes.
Pol. This is strange : methinks
My favor here begins to warp. Not speak 7
Good day, Camillo.
Cam. Hail, most royal sir !
Pol. What is the news i' the court 7
[Act I.
Cam. None rare, my lord.
Pol. The king hath on him such a counte¬
nance
As he had lost some province and a region
Loved as he loves himself: even now I met
him 370
With customary compliment; when he, _
Wafting his eyes to the contrary and failing
A iip of much contempt, speeds from me and
So leaves me to consider what is breeding
That changeth .thus his manners.
Cam. I dare not know, my lord.
Pol. How! dare not I do not Do you know,
and dare not 7
Be intelligent to me : 'tis thereabouts ;
For, to yourself,what you do know, yon must.
And cannot say, you dare not. Good Camillo,
Your changed complexions are to me a mirror
Which shows me mine changed too ; for I
must be
A party in this alteration, finding
Myself thus altePd with'fc
Cam. There is a sickness
Which puts some of us in distemper, but
I cannot name the disease ; and it is caught
Of you that yet are well.
PoL How ! caught of me t
Make me not sighted like the basilisk :
I have look'd on thousands, who have sped the
better
By my regard, but kili'd none so. Camillo,—
As you are certainly a gentleman, thereto 391
Clerk-like experienced, which no less adorns
Our gentry than our parents' noble names,
In whose success we are gentle,—^I beseech
you.
If you know aught which does behove my
knowledge
Thereof to be inform'd, imprison't not
In ignorant concealment.
Cam. I may not answer.
Pol. A sickness caught of me, and yet I
well I
I must be answer'd. Dost thou hear, Camillo,
1 conjure thee, by all the parts of man 400
Which honor does acknowledge, whereof the
least
Is not this suit of mine, that thou declare
What incidency thou dost guess of harm
Is creeping toward me; how far off, how near;
Which way to be prevented, if to be ;
If not, how best to bear it.
Cam. Sir, I will tell you;
Since I am charged in honor and by him
That I think honorable : therefore mark my
coiuisel.
Which must be even as swiftly follow'd as
1 mean to utter it, or both yourself and me
Cry lost, and so good night I
Pol. On, good Camillo.
Cam. I am appointed him to murder you.
Pol. By whom, Camillo 7
Cam. By the king.
PoU For what 7
Cam. He thinks, nay, with all confidence
he swears,
THE' WINTER'S TALE.
Scene i.]
THE WINTER'S TALE.
1079
As he had seen't or been an instrument
To vice you to't, that you liave touch'd his
queen
Forbidd^ly.
Pol. O, then my best blood turn
To an infected icily and my name
Be yoked witli nis that did betray the Best!
Turn then my freshest reputation to 420
A savor that may strike the dullest nostril
Where I arrive, and my approach be shmm'd,
Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infec¬
tion
That e'er was heard or read!
Cam. Swear his thought over
By each particular star in heaven and
By all their influences, yon may as well
Forbid the sea for to obey the moon
As or by oath remove or'counsel shake
The fabric of his folly, whose foundation
Is piled u^n his faith and will continue 430
The standing of his body.
Pol. - How should this grow 7
Cam. I know not: but I am sure 'tis safer to
Avoid what's grown than question how 'tis
born.
If therefore you dure trust my honesty.
That lies enclosed in this trunk wliich yon
Shall bear along irapawn'd, away to-night 1
Tour followers I will whis^r to the business.
And will by twos and threes at several pos¬
terns
Clear tliem o' the city. For myself, I'll put
My fortunes to your service, which are here
By this discovery lost. Be not luicertain ; 441
For, by the honor of my parents, I
Have ntter'd truth; which if you seek to prove,
I dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer
Than one condemn'd by the king's own mouth,
thereon
His execution sworn.
Pol. I do believe thee :
I saw his heart in's face. Give me thy hand;
Be pilot to me and thy places shall
Stiu neighbor mine. My ships are ready and
My people did exjiect my hence departure 450
Two days a^o. 'This jealousy
Is for a precious creature : as she's rare.
Must it be great, and as his person's mighty.
Must it be violent, and as he does conceive
He is dishonor'd by a man which ever
Profess'd to hira, why, his revenges must
In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades
me:
Good expedition be my friend, and comfort
fThe gracious que^i, part of his theme, but
nothing 459
Of his ili-ta'en suspicion ! Come, Camiilo ;
I will respect thee as a father if
Tlioubear'st my life off hence : let us avoid.
Cam. It is in mine authority to command
Tlie keys'of all the posterns: please your high¬
ness •
To take the urgent hour. Come, sir, away.
{Exeunt.
ACT If.
Scene I. A room in Leontes' palace.
Enter Hermione, Mamillius, and Ladies.
Her. Take the boy to you ; he so troubles
me,
'Tis past enduring.
First Lady. Come, n^ gracious lord,
Shall I be your playfellow 7
Mam. No, I'll none of you.
First Lady. Why, my sweet lord 7
Mam. You'll kiss me hard and speak to
me as if
I were a baby still. I love you better.
Sec. Lady. And why so, my lord 7
Mam. Not for because
Your brows are blacker; yet black brows,
they say.
Become some women best, so that there be
not
Too much hair there, but in a semicircle 10
Or a half-moon made with a pen.
Sec. Lady. Who taught yon this 7
Mam. I leamt it out of women's faces.
Pray now
What color are your eyebrows 7
First Lady. Blue, my lord,
Mam. Nay, that's a mock: I have seen a
lady's nose
That has been blue, but not her eyebrows.
First iMdy. Hark ye ;
The queen your mother rounds apace : 'we
shall
Present our services to a fine new.prinice
One of these days ; and then you'ld wanton
with us.
If we would have you.
Sec. Lady. She is spread of late
Into a goodly bulk : good time encounter her!
Her. What wisdom stirs amongst you 7
Come, sir, now 21
I am for you again : pray you, sit by us.
And tell's a tale.
Mam. Merry or sad shall't be 7
Her. As merry as you will.
Mam. A sad tale's best for winter : I have
one
Of sprites and goblins.
Her. Let's have that, good air.
Come on, sit down: come on, and do your
best 21
To fright me with your sprites ; you're power¬
ful at it.
Mam. There was a man—
Her. Nay, come, sit down : theii on.
Mam. Dwelt by a churchyard : I will tell
it softly ; 20
Yond crickets shall not hear it.
Her. Come on, then.
And give't me in mine ear.
Enter Leontes, with Antigoncs, Lords
and others.
Leon. Was he met there 7 his train 7 Cam¬
iilo with him 7
1080
THE WINTER'S TALE.
[Act ii.
First Jjord. Behind the tuft of pines I met
them ; never
Saw I men scour so on their way : I eyed tliem
Even to their ships.
Leon. How blest am I
In my just censure, in my true opinion !
Alack, for lesser knowledge ! how actcursed
In being so blest! There may be in tlie cup
A spider steep'd, and one may drink, depart,
And yet partake no venom, for his knowledge
Is not infected: but if one present
The abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make
known
How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his
sides.
With violent hefts. I have drunk, and seen
the spider.
Camillo was his help in this, his pander :
There is a plot against my life, my crown ;
All's true that is mistrusted : tiiat false villain
Whom I employ'd was pre-eraploy'd by him :
He has discover'd my design, and I SO
Remain a pinch'd thing ; yea, a very trick
For them to play at will. How came the pos¬
terns •
So easily open ?
First Lord. By his great authority :
Which often hatli no less prevail'd than so
On your command.
Leon. I know't too well.
Give me the boy : I am glad you did not
nurse him:
Though he does bear some signs of me, yet
you
Have too mdch blood in him.
Her. What is this ? sport ?
Leon. Bear tlie boy hence ; he shall not
come about her ;
Away with him ! and let her sport herself 60
With that she's big with ; for tis Polixenes
Has made thee swell thus.
Her. But I'ld say he had not.
And I'll be sworn yon would believe my say¬
ing.
Howe'er lean to the nayward.
Leon. You, my lords.
Look on her, mark her well; be but about
To say ' she is a goodly lady,' and
The justice of your hearts will thereto add
' "lis pity she's not honest, honorable :'
I'laise her but for this her without-door fonn,
Which on my faith deserves high speech, and
straight 70
The shrug, the hum or ha, these petty brands
That calumny doth use—O, I am out^
That mercy does, for calumny will sear
Virtue itself: these shrugs, these hums and
ha's,
Wlien you have said ' she's goodly,' come be¬
tween
Ere you can say ' she's lionest :' but be 't
known.
From him that has most cause to grieve it
should be.
She's an adulteress.
Her. Should a villain say so,
Tlie most replenish'd villain in the world,
He were as mucli more villain : you, my lord.
Do but mistake. 81
Leon. You have mistook, my lady,
Poli.xenes for Leontes : O Uiou thing !
Which I'll not call a creature of thy place,
Le.st Imrbarism, making me the precedent.
Should a like lai^uage use to all degrees
And mannerly distiuguislinient leave out
Betwixt the piince and beggar : I have said
She's an adulteress ; I liave said with whom :
More, she's a traitor and Camiilo is
A federary with her, and one that knows 90
What she should shame to know herself ^
But with lier most vile principal, tliat she's
-A. bed-swerver, even as bad as those
That vulgars give bold'st titles, ay, and privy
To this their late escape.
Her. No, by my life, _ .
Privy to none of this. How will this grieve
yon, [that
When you shall come to clearer knowledge.
You thus have publish'd me ! Gentle my lord.
You scarce can right me throughly then to
say
You did mistake.
Leon. No; if I mistake ' 100
In those foundations which 1 build upon,
The centre is not big enough to bear
A school-bov's top. Away with her! to
prison f
He who shall speak for her is afar off guilty
But that he speaks.
Her. There's some ill planet reigns ;
I must be patient till the heavens look
With an aspect more favorable. Good my
lords,
I am not prone to weeping, as our sex
Commonly are ; the want of which vain dew
Perchance shall dry your pities : but I have
That honorable grief lodged here which burns
Worse than tears drown : beseech you all,
my lord^.
With thoughts so qualified as your charities
Shall best instruct you, measure me ; and so
The king's will be perform'd !
Leon. Shall I be heard ?
Her. Who is't that goes with me ? Beseech
your highness.
My women may be with me ; for you see
My plight requires it. Do not weep, good
fools ;
There is no cause ; when you shall know your
mistress
Has deserved prison, then abound in tears 120
As 1 come out; this action I now go on
Is for my better grace. Adieu, my lord :
I never wish'd to see you sorry ; now
I trust I shall. My women, come ; you have
leave.
Leon. Go, do our bidding ; hence !
[Exit Qjieen, guarded; totih Ladies.
First Lord. Beseech your highness, call the
queen again.
Ant. Be certain what yon do, sir, lest your
justice
Scene ii.]
THE WINTER'S TALE.
1081
Prove violence ; in the which three great ones
suiter,
Yourself, your queen,.your son.
Firit Lord. For her, my lord,
I dare my life lay down and will do't, sir, 130
Please you to accept it, that the queen is spot¬
less
r the eyes of heaven and to you ; I mean.
In this which you accuse her.
Ant. If it prove
t She's otherwise, I'll keep my stables where
I lodge my wife ; I'll go in couples with her ;
Thau when I feel and see her no farther trust
her;
For every inch of woman in the worid.
Ay, every dram of woman's flesh is false.
If she be.
Xeon. Hold your peaces.
First Lord. Good my lord,—
Ant. It is for you we speak, not for our¬
selves : 140
You are abused and by .some putter-on
That will be damn'd for't; would I knew the
villatu,
II would land-damn him. Be she honor-
flaw'd,
I have three daughters ; the eldest is eleven ;
The ^econd and the third, nine, and some
five ;
If this prove true, they'll pay for't : by mine
honor,
I'll geld 'em all ; fourteen they shall not see.
To bring false generations : they are co¬
heirs ;
And I had rather glib myself than they
Should not iiroduce fair issue. 149
lAion. • Cease ; no more.
You smell this business with a sense as cold
As is a dead man's nose : but I do see't and
feel't.
As you feel doing thus ; and see withal
The instruments that feel.
Ant. If it be so.
We need no grave to bury honesty :
There's not a grain of it tlie face to sweeten
Of the whole dungy earth.
Leon. . What! lack I credit ?
Fn-st Lord. I had rather you did lack than
I, my lord,
Ulion this ground ; and more it would content
me
To have her honor true than your suspicion,'
Be blamed for't how you might.
Leon. Why, what need we
Commune with yon of this, but rather follow
Our forceful instigation ? Our prerogative
Calls not yoiu: counsels* but our natural goo^r
ness i '
Imparts this; which if you, or stupefied
Or seeming so in skill, cannot or will not
Relish a truth like us, inform yourselves
We need no more of your advite : the matter.
The loss, the gain, the ordering on't, is all
Properly ours.
Ant. And I wish, my liege, 170
You had only in your silent judgment tried it,
Without more overture.' '
Leon. How could that be 7
Either thou art most ignorant bjr age.
Or thou wert bom a fool. Camillo'a flight,
Added to their familiarity,
Wliich was as gross as evertouch'd coiijectnre.
That lack'd sight oniy, nought for approbar
tion
But only seeing, all other circumstances
Made up to the deed, doth push on this pro¬
ceeding :
Yet, for a greater confirmatimi, 180
For in an act of this importance 'twere
Most piteous to be wild, 1 have dispatch'd in
po.st
To siicred Delirhos, to Apollo's temple,
Cleomenes iind I)ion, whom you know
Of stuff d sufficiency : now from the oracle
'Tliey will bring all; whose spiritnal counsel
had.
Shall stem or spur me. Have I done well 7
First Lord. Well done, my lord.
Leoni Though I am satisfied and need no
more
Than what I know, yet shall the oracle 190
Give rest to the minds of others, such as he
Whose ignorant creduiiw will not
Come up to the truth. 8o have we thought it
good
From our free person she should be confined.
Lest tliat the treachery of the two fled hence
Be left her to perform. Come, follow us ; ■
We are to speak in public ; for this business
Will rai.se us all.
Ant. [Aside'] To laughter, as I take it.
If the goM truth were known. [Ezerunt.
Scene II. A prison.
Enter Paulina, a Gentleman, and Attendants.
Paul. The keeper of the prison, call to him;
Let him have knowledge who lam. [Exit Gent.
Good lady,
No court ill Europe is too good for thee j
What dost thou then in prison ?
Re-enter Gentleman, with the Gaoler.,
Now, good sir,
You know me, do you not 7
Gaol. For a worthy lady
And one whom much I honor.
Paul, Pray you then,'
Conduct me to the queen.
Gaol. 1 may not, madam :
To the contrary I have express commandment.
Paul. Here's ado.
To lock up honesty and honor from 10
The access of gentle visitors ! Is't lawful,
pray you.
To see her women ? any of them ? Emilia 7
Gaol. So please you, madam,
To put apart these your attendants, C
Shall bring. Emilia forth.
Paul. ' I pray now, call her.
Withdraw yourselves.
[ExtmH Gentleman and Attendantt,
1082
Oaol. And, madam,
I must be j^sent at your conference.
Paul. Well, be't so, pritheei {Exit Oaoler.
Here's soch ado to make no stain a stain
As passes coloring.
' Re-enter Gaoler, with Emilia.
Dear gentlewoman, 20
How fares our gracious lady ?
Emit. As well as one so great and so for¬
lorn
May hold together : on her frights and griefs,
Which never tender lady hatli born greater.
She is somethiug before her time deliver'd.
Paul. A boy ?
Emil. A daughter, and a goodly babe.
Lusty and like to live ; the queen receives
Mucii comfort in't; says ' My poor prisoner,
1 am inuoceut as you.'
Paul. I dare be sworn :
These dangerous unsafe luues i' tlie king, be-
shrew them ! 30
He must be told on't, and he shall ; the office
Becomes a woman best; I'll take't upon me :
HI provehoney-mouth'd, letmy tongue blister
And never to my red-look'd anger be
The trumpet any more. Pray you, Emilia,
.Commend my best obedience to the queen :
If she dares trust me with her little babe,
I'll show't the king and undertake to be
Her advocate to the lond'st. We do not know
How he may soften at the sight o' the child ;
The silence often of pure innocence 41
Persuades when speaking fails.
Emil. Most worthy madam.
Your honor and your goodness is so evident
That your free undertaking cannot miss
A thriving issue : there is no lady living
So meet for this great errand. Please your
ladyship
To visit the next room, I'll presently
Acquaint the queen of your most noble offer ;
Who but to-day hammer'd of this design.
But durst not tempt a minister of honor, 50
Lest she shouid be denied.
Paul. Tell her, Emilia,
I'll use that tongue I have ; if wit flow fiom't
An boldness from my bosom, let't not be
doubted
I shall do good.
Emil. Now be you blest for it!
I'll to the queen : please you, come somethiug
nearer.
(roof. Madam, if't please the queen to send
the babe,
I know not what I shall incur to pass it,
Having no warrant.
Paul. You need not fear it, sir :
Tliis child was prisoner to the womb and is
By law and process of great nature thence 60
Freed and enfranchised, not a party to
The auger of the king nor guilty of.
If any be, the trespass of the queen.
Gaol. I do believe it.~
Paul. Do not you fear : upon mine honor, I
Will stand betwixt you and danger. {Exeunt.
[Act II.
SCENB III. A room in Leontes' palace.
Enter Leontes, Amtigonus, Lords, and
Servants.
Lemu Nor night nor day no rest: it is but
weakness
To bear the matter thus ; mere weakness. If
The cause were not in being,—part o' the
cause.
She the adulteress for the harlot king
Is quite beyond miiie arm, out of the blank
And level of my brain, plot-proof ; but she
I can hook to me : say tlmt she were,gone.
Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest
Might come to me again. Who s there ?
First Serv. My lord ?
Leon. How does the boy ?
First Serv. He took good rest to-night; 10
'Tis hoped his sickness is discharged.
Leon. To see his nobleness !
Conceiving the dishonor of his mother.
He straight deciined, droop'd, took it deeply,
Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on't in himself.
Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep.
And downright lauguish'd. Leave me solely :
go.
See how he fares. {Exit Serr.] Fie, fie ! no
tlioiight of him :
The very thought of my revenges that Way
Recoil upon me : in himself too mighty, 20
And in his tiarties, his alliance ; let him be
Until a time may ^erve : for present venge¬
ance.
Take it on her. Camillo and Polixeues
l.augh at me, make their pastime at my sorrow:
They should not laugh if I could reach them,
nor .
Shall she within my power.
Enter Paulina, with a child.
First Lord. You must not enter.
Paul. Nay, rather, good my lords, be second
to me:
Fear j'ou his tyrannous passion more, alas.
Than the queen's life ? a gracious innocent
soul.
More free than he is jealous.
Ant. That's enough. 30
Sec. Serv. Madam, he hath not slept to¬
night ; commanded
None should come at him.
Paul. Not so hot, good .sir:
I come to bring him sleep. 'Tis such as you.
That creep like shadows by him and do sigh
At each his needless heavings, such as you
Nourish the cause of his awaking : I
Do come with words as medicinal as true,
Honest as eitiier, to purge him of that humor
That presses him from sleep.
Leon. What noise there, ho ?
Paul No noise, my lord ; but needful con¬
ference 40
About some gossips for your highness. '
Leon. How 1
Away with that audacious lady ! Antigonus,
I charged thee that she should not come about
me;
- THE WINTER'S TALE.
Scene hi.]
THE WINTER'S TALE.
I
1083
I knew she would.
..Int. I told liev so, my lord,
On your displeasure's peril and on mine.
She should not visit you.
Leon. What, canst not rule her ?
Pauh. From all dislionesty he can: in this.
Unless^ he take the course that yon have done.
Commit me for committing honor, trust it.
He shall not rule me.
-Int. La you now, you hear; 50
When she will take the rein 1 let her run ;
But she'll not stumble.
Paul. my liege, 1 come ;
And, I beseech you, hear me, who profess
Myself yonr loyal servant, your physician.
Your most obedient counsellor, yet that dai-e
Less appear so in comforting yonr evils.
Than such as most seem yours : I say, I come
From your good queen.
Leon. Good queen t
I Paul. Good queen, my lord.
Good queen ; I say good queen ;
And would by combat make'her good, so were 1
A man, the worst about you. 61
Leon. Force her hence.
Paul. Let him that makes but trifles of his
eyes
First hand me: on mine own accord I'll off ;
But first I'll do my errand. The good queen.
For she is good, hath brought you forth a
daughter;
Here 'tis ; commends it to your blessing.
[iMyiny down the child.
Leon. Out!
A mankind witch I Hence with her, out o'
.door:
A mo^ intelligenciug bawd !
Paul. Not so:
I am as ignorant in that as you
In so entitling me, and no less honest 70
Than you are mad ; which is enough, I'll war¬
rant,
As this world goes, to pass for honest.
Leon. Traitors!
Will you not push her out ? Give lier the bas¬
tard.
Thou dotard I thou art woman-tired, uuroosted
By thy dame Partlet here. Take up the bastard;
Take t up, I say ; give't to thy croue.
Paul. For ever
Uuvenerable be thy ha<ids, if thou
Takest up the princesf that forced baseness
Which he has put upi
Leon. He dreads his wife.
Patd. So I would you did ; then 'twere
past all doubt 80
Tou'ld call your cliildren yours.
Leon. A nest of traitors !
Ant. I am none, by this good light.
Paul. Nor I, nor any
But one that's here, and that's himself, for he
The sacred honor of himself, liil queen's,
HLs hopeful son's, his balm's, betrays to slaivder,
Whose sting is shariier than the sword's ; and
will not—
For, as the case now stands, it is a curse
He cannot be compell'd to't—once remove
The root of his opinion, which is ititten
As ever oak or stone was sound.
Leon. A callat DO
Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat lier
husband
And now baits me ! This brat is none of mine ;
It is the issue of Poiixenes :
Hence with it, and togetiier witli the dam
Commit them to tlie fire !
Paid. It is yours ;
And, might we lay the old proverb to your
charge.
So like you, 'tis tlie worse. Beliold, my lords,
Although the print be little, tlie whole matter
And copy of the father, eye, nose, lip,
Tlie trick of's frown, his forehead, nay,the vai-
. ley, 100
The pretty dimples of his cliin and cheek.
His smiles.
The very mould and frame of hand, nail, fin¬
ger :
And thou, good goddess Nature, which hast
made it
So like to him that got it, if thou hast
The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all
colors
No yellow in't, lest she suspect, as he does.
Her children not her husband's I
Leon. A gross hag 1
And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd.
That wilt not stay her tongue.
Ant. Hang all the husbands 110
Tiiat cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself
Hardly one subject.
Leon. Once more, take her hence.
Paul. A most unworthy and unnatural lord
Can do no more.
Leoiu I'll ha' thee burnt.
Paul. I care not:
It is an heretic that makes the fire.
Not she which bums in't. I'll not call you
tyrant; -
But this most cruel usage of your queen.
Not able to produce more accusation
Than your own weak-liinged fancy, something
savors
Of tyranny and will ignoble make you, 120
Yea, scandalous to the world.
Leon. On your allegiance.
Out of the chamber with her! Were 1 a
tyrant.
Where were her life ? she durst not call me
so.
If she did know me one. Away witli her !
Paid. I pray you, do not push me ; I'll be
gone.
Look to your babe, my lord ; 'tis yours ; Jove
send her
A better guiding spirit! What needs tiiese
liands ?
You, that are thus so tender o'er his follies,
AVill never do him good, not one of you.
So, so : ^•rewell ; we are gone. [Exit. 1.80
Leon. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to
this.
1084
THE WINTERS TALE.
1
fAcT nr.
My cliild ? away with't [ Even thou, that hast
A heart so tender o'er it, take it heuce
And see it instantly consumed with fire ;
Even thou and none but thou. Take it up
straight:
Within this hour bring me word 'tis done.
And by good testimony, or I'll seize thy life,
With what thou else call'st thine. If thou re¬
fuse
And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so ;
The bastard brains with these my proper
hands
Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire ; liO
For tl»du set'St on thy wife.
" I did not, sir :
The.se lords, ray noble fellows, if they please,
Can clear me in't.
Lords. We can : my royal liege.
He is not guilty of her coming hither.
Leon. You're liars all.
First Lord '. Beseech your highness, give us
better credit :
We have always truly served you, and Iteseech
you i
So to esteem of us, and on our knees we beg.
As recompense of our de.ar services 150
Past and to come, that you do change this pur¬
pose.
Which being so horrible, so bloody, must
Lead on to some foul issue : we all kneel.
Leon. I am a feather for each Wind that
blows :
Shall I live on to see this bustard kneel
And call me father ? better burn it now
Than curse it then. But be it; let it live.
It shall not neither. You, sir, come you
hither ;
You that have been so tenderly officious
With Lady Margery, your midwife thero, 160
To save this bastard's life,—for 'tis a bastard,
So sure as this beard's grey,—what wiil you
adventure
To save this brat's life ?
Ant. Any thing, my lord.
That my ability may nndergo
And nobleness impose : at least thus much :
I'll pawn the little blood which I have left
To save the innocent : any thing possible.
Leon. It .shall be possible. Swear by this
sword
Thou wilt perform my bidding.
Ant. I will, my lord.
Leon. Mack and perform it, see'st thou !
for the fail 170
Of any point in't shall not only be
Death to thyself but to thy lewd-tongued wife.
Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin
thee.
As thou art liege-man to us, that thou carry
This female bastard hence and that thou bear
it
To some remote and desert place fuiite out
Of our dominions, and that there thou leave it.
Without more mercy, to its own protection
And favor of tlie climate. As by strange for¬
tune
It came to us, I do in justice charge thee, ISO
On thy soul's peril and thy body's torture.
That thou commend it strangely to some place
Where chance may nurse or end it. Take it
up.
Ant. I swear to do this, though a pre.sent
death
Had been more merciful. Come on, poor babe:
Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ra-i
veils
To be tliy nurses ! Wolvesand bears, they say.
Casting their sivvageness aside have done
Like offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous
In more than tiiis deed does require ! And
blessing IflO
Against this cruelty fight on thy side, <
Poor thing, condemu'd to loss !
\_Exit with the ehild.
Leon. No, I'll not rear
Another's issue. i
Enter a Servant.
.S'cJT. Please your highness; posts
From those you sent to the oracle are come
An hour since ; Cleomenes and Dion,
Being well arrived from Delphos, are both
landed.
Hasting to the court.
First Lord. So please you, sir, their speed
Hath been beyond accoimt
Lcore. Twenty-three days
They have been absait: 'tis good speed : fore¬
tells
The great Aixrllo suddenly will have 200
The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords ;
Summon a session, that we may arraign
Our most disloyal lady, for, as she hath
Been publicly accused, so shall she have
A just and open tri.al. YVliile she lives
My heart will be a burthen to me. Leave me.
And think upon my bidding. [Exeunt.
ACT HI.
Scene I. A sea-port in SicUia,
Enter Ci/eomenes and Dion.
Cleo. The climate's delicate, the air most
sweet.
Fertile tlie isle, the tc -ole much suipassing
The common praise ars.
Dion. I .shall rejiort.
For most it caught me, tiie celestial habits,
Methinks I so should term tliem, and the rev¬
erence
Of the grave wearers. O, tlie sacrifice !
How ceremonious, solemn and unearthly
It was i' the offering 1
Cleo. But of all, the burst
And the ear-deafening voice o' the oracle.
Kin to Jove's thunder, so surprised my sense.
That I was nothing. n j
Dion- If the event o' the journey
Prove as successful to the queen,—O be'tsol-^
As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy.
Scene li.]
The time is worth the use on't.
C'fco. . Gi'eut Apollo
Tjini all to the best! These {>roclainations.
So forcing faults upon Hermioue,
I little like. i .
Dion. The violent carriage of it
Will clear or end the business: when Uie ora-
• ele,
Thus by A)X)llo's great divine seal'd up,
Shall tlie contents discover, something rare 20
Even then will rush to knowledge. Go : fresh
horses! ,
And gi-acious be the issue I [Exeunt.
■ . Scene II. A court of Justice.
Enter Leontes, Lords, and Officers.
Leon. This se.ssions, to our great grief we
pronounce,
Even pushes 'gainst our heart: the jmrty tried
The daughter of a king, our wife, and one
Of us too ranch beloved. Let us be clear'd
Of being tyrannous, since we so openly
Proceed in justice, which shall have due
course.
Even to the guilt or the purgation.
Produce the prisoner.
Off. It is his highness' pleasure that' the
queen
Appear in person here in court; Silence I 10
.E»(0>' ,Hermionb guarded; Paulina and
Ladies attending.
Leon. Read the indictment.
Off. [Iteads] Herraione, queen to the worthy
Leontes, king of Sicilia, thou art here accused
and arraign^ of high treason, in committing
adultery with Polixenes, king of Uoheraia, and
conspiring witli Camillo to take away the life
of our sovereign lord the king, thy royal husi-
band : the pretence whereof bemg by circum¬
stances partly laid open, tliou, Herraione, con¬
trary to the faith and allegiance of a trne sub¬
ject, didst counsel and aid them, for their
better safety, to fly away*.by night.
Her. Since what I am to say must be but
that
Which contradicts ray accusation and '
The testimony on my t>aTt no other ■
But what comes from myself, it shall scarce
l)00t rae
To say ' not guilty :' mine integrity .
Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it.
Be so received. • But thus : if powers divine ■
Behold our human actions, as they do, 30
1 doubt not then but innocence shall make
False accusation blush and tyranny
Tremble at patience. Ton, my lord, best
know.
Who least will seem to do so, my past life
Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true,
As I am now unhappy ; which is more
Than history can pattern, thoujfli devised
And play'd-'to take spectators. For behold me
A fellow of the royal bed, which owe
A moiety of the throne a great king's daugh¬
ter, ■ 40
1085
The mother to a hopeful prince, here standing
To prate and talk for life and honor 'fore
Who please to come and hear. For life, I
J prize it [honor.
As I weigh grief, which 1 would spare: for
'Tis a derivative from me to mine.
And only that I stand for. 1 appeal
To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes
Came to your court, how 1 was in your grace,
'How merited to be so ; since he came, .
With what encounter so uiicurrent 1 00
Have strain'd to appear thus: if one jot be¬
yond *
The hound of honor, or in act or will
That way inclining, harden'd be the hearts
Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin
Cry lie upon my grave ! i
Leon. I ne'er heaid yet
That any of these bolder vices wanted
Less impudence to gainsay what they did -
Than to perform it first
Her. That's true enough ;
Though 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me.
Ijeon. You will not own it.
Her. tMore than mistress of 60
Which comes to me in name of fault, I must
not
At all acknowledge. For Polixenes,
With whom I am accused, 1 do confess
I loved him as in honor he required.
With such a kind of love as might become
A lady like me, with a love even such.
So and no other, as yourself commanded :
Which not to have done 1 think had been in me
Both disobedience and ingratitude
To you and toward your friend, whose love
had spoke, tO
Even since it could speak, from an infant,
freely
That it was yours. Now, for consiiiracy,
1 know not how it titstes ; though it be dish'd
For me to try how : all I know of it
Is that Camillo was an honest man ;
And why he left your court, the gods them¬
selves.
Wotting no more than I, are ignorant.
. L^on. Yon knew of his departure, as yoii
know
What you have underta'en to do iu's absence.
Her. Sir, 80
You speak a language that I understiind not:
My life stands in the level of your dreams.
Which I'll lay down.
Leon. Your actions are my dreams ;
You Imd a hastai-d by Polixenes,
And 1 but dream'd it. As you were past all
, shame,—
Those of your fact are so—so past all truth :
Which to deny concenis more than avails ; for
as
Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself,
No father owning it,—which is, indeed.
More criminal in thee than it,—so thou 90
Shalt feel our justice, in whose easiest passage
Look for no less than death.
Her, Sir, spare your threats :
THE WINTER'S TALE.
1086
The bug wliich you would fright me with I
seek.
To me can life be no commodity :
The crown and comfort of my life, your favor,
I do give lost; for f do feel it gone,
But know not how it went. My second joy
And first-fruits of my body, from his pre.sence
I am barr'd, like one infections). My third
comfort
Starr'd most unluckily, is from my brcjist, 100
The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth,
Haled out to murder : myself on every post
Proclalified a strumpet: with imraode.st hatred
The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs
To women of all fashion ; lastly, hurried
Here to this place, i' the open air, before
I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege.
Tell rae what blessings I have here alive.
That I should fear to die ? Therefore proceed.
But yet hear this : mi.stake me not; no life,
I prize it not a straw, but for mine honor. 111
Which I would free, if I shall be condemn'd
Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else
But what your jealousies awake, I tell you
'Tis rigor and not law. Your honors all,
I do refer me to the oracle :
Apollo be my judge !
First Lord. This your request
Is altogether just; therefore bring forth.
And in Apollo's name, his oracle.
[Exeunt certain Officers.
Her. The Emperor of Russia was my
father:
O that he were alive, and here beholding
His daughter's trial! that he did but see
The flatness of my misery, yet with eyes
Of pity, not revenge !
Re-enter Officers, with Cpeomekes and Dion.
Of. You here shall swear upon this sword
of justice.
That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have
Been both at Delphos, and from thence have
brought
The seal'd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd
Of great Apollo's priest ; and that, since then.
You have not dared to break the holy seal 130
Nor read the secrets in't
Cleo. Dion. All this we swear.
Leon. Break up the seals and read.
Off. [Reads] Hermione is chaste ; Polix-
enes blameless ; Camillo a true subject; Le-
ontes a jealous tyiant ; his imioeent babe
truly begotten ; arid the king shall live with¬
out an heir, it that which is lost be not found.
Lords. Now blessed be the great Apollo !
Her. _ Praised!
Leon. Hast th'ou read truth ?
Off. Ay, my lord ; even so
As it i.s here set down. 140
I/eOn. There is no truth at all i' the oracle ;
The se.ssions shall proceed : this is mere
falsehood.
Enter Servant.
8erv, My lord the king, the king ! ■
[Act nr.
Leon. What is the business ?
Here. O sir, I shall be hated to report it!
The prince yonr son, witli mere conceit and
fear
Of the queen's speed, is gone.
Leon. How ! gone !
Sere. Is dead.
Leon. Apollo's angry ; and the heavens
themselves
Do strike at my injustice. [Hermione swoons.]
How now tiiere 1
Paul. This news is mortal to the queen :
. look down
And see what death is doing.
Leon. Take her hence : 150
Her heart is but o'ercharged; she will re¬
cover :
I have too much believed mine own suspi¬
cion : ,
Beseech you, tenderly apply to her ,
Some remedies for life.
[Exeunt Paulina and Ladies, with Hermione.
Apollo, ppdon
My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle !
I'll reconcile me to Polixenes,
New woo my queen, recall the good Camillo,
Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy ;
For, being transported by my jealousies
To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose
Camillo for the minister to poison 161
My friend Polixenes : which had been done.
But that the good mind of Camillo tardied
My swift command, though I with death and
with
Reward did threaten and encourage him.
Not doing't and being done: he, most hu¬
mane
And fill'd with honor, to my kingly guest
Unclasp'd my practice, quit his fortunes here,
Which you knew great, and to the hazard
Of all incertainties himself commended, 170
No richer than his honor: bow he glisters
Thorough my rust ! and how his piety
Does my deeds make the blacker f
Re-enter Paulina.
Paul. Woe the while !
O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it.
Break too.
First Lord. What fit is this, good lady ?
Paul. What studied torments, tyrant,' hast
for me ? , ,
What wheels 1 racks 1 fires ? what flaying ?
boiling?
In leads or oils ? what old or newer torture
Must I receive, whose every word deserves
To taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny 180
Together working with thy jealousies.
Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle
For girls of nine, O, think what they have
done
And then run mad indeed, stark mad ! for all
Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it.
That thou betray'dst Polixenes,'twas nothing;
That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant
And damnable ingrateful: nor was't much,
THE WINTER'S TALE.
Scene hi.]
Tboa woiildst have posiou'd good Camillo's
honor,
To have him kill a king ; poor trespasses, 190
More inoiustroas standing by : whereof I reck¬
on
The casting forth to crows thy baby-daughter
To be or none or little ; though a devil
WonW have shed water out of Are ere done't:
Nor is't directly laid to thee, tlte death
Of the young prince, whose hononible
thoughts,
Tlioughts nigh for one so tender, cleft the
heart
That could conceive a gross and foolish sire
Bleniish'd his gracious dam : this is not, no,
I.aid to thy answer: but the last,—O lords,
When I have said, cry ' woe!' the queen, the
queen, 201
The sweet'st, dear'st creature's dead, and ven¬
geance for't
Not droTO'd down yet.
First Lord. The higher powers forbid!
PoeuL I say she's dead ; I'll swear't. If
word nor oath
Prevail not, go and see: it you can bring
Tincture or lustre in her lip, her eye,
Heatoutwardly or breath within, I'll serve you
As I would do tlie gods. But, O thou tyrant!
Do not repent these things, for they are heav¬
ier [thee
Tlian all thy woes can stir ; therefore betake
To nothing but despair. A thousand knees 211
Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting.
Upon a barren mountain, and still winter
In storm perpetual, could not move the gods
To look thaft way thou wert.
Xeon. Go on, go on :
Thou canst not speak too much ; I have de¬
served
Ail tongues to talk their bitterest.
First Lord. Say no more:
Howe'er the business goes, you have made
fault
I' the boldness of your speech:
Paul. I am sorry for't :
All faults I make, when I shall come to know
them, 220
I do repent. Alas ! I have show'd too much
The rashness of a woman : he is touch'd
To the noble heart. What's gone and what's
past help
Should bepMt grief: do not receive alWiction
At my petition ; I be.seech you, tather
Let me TO pnnish'd, that have minded yon
Of what yon should forget. Now, good my
liege.
Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman :
The love I bore your queen—lo, fool again !—
I'll speak of her no more, nor of your chil¬
dren ; 230
I'll not remember you of my own lord.
Who is lost too ! t^e your patience to you.
And I'll say nothing.
Leon. Thou didst speak but well
When most the truth; which I receive much
better
1087
Than to be pitied of thee. Pritliee, bring me
To the dead bodies of my queen and son :
One grave shall be for both : upon tliem shall
The causes of their death appear, unto
Our shame periietual. Once a day I'll visit
The chapel wliere they lie, and tears shed
there < 240
Shall be niy recreation : so long as nature
Will bear up with this exercise, so long
I daily vow to use it Come and lead me
Unto these sorrows. {Exeunt.
% *
Scene III. Bohemia. A desert country near
the sea.
EnterAvTiGO'siJS with a Child, and a Mariner.
Ant. Thou art perfect then, our sliip hath
touch'd ujxm
The deserts of Bohemia ?
Mar. Ay, my lord ! and fear
We have landed in ill time : the skies kiok
grimly
And threaten present blusters. In my con¬
science,
The heavens with that we have in baud are
angry
And frown upon's.
Ant. Their sacred wills be done ! Go, get
aboard ;
Look to thy bark : I'll not be long before
I call upon thee.
Mar. Make your best haste, and go not 10
Too far i' the laud : 'tis like to be loud
weather ;
Besides, this place is famous for the creatures
Of prey that keep upon't.
Ant. Go thou away :
I'll follow instantly.
Mar. I am glad at heart
To be so rid o' the business. [Exit.
Ant. Come, poor babe :
I have heard, but not believed, the spirits o'
the dead
May walk again : if such thing be, thy motlier
Appear'd to me last night, forne'er was dream
So like a waking. To me comes a creature.
Sometimes her head on one side, some an¬
other ; 20
I never saw a vessel of like sorrow,
So hll'd and so becoming: in pure white robes.
Like very sanctity, she did approach
My cabin where I lay ; thrice bow'4 before
me, •
And gasping to begin some speech, her eyes
Became two sixmts : the fury spent, anon
Did this break from her: ' Good Autigonus,
Since fate, against thy better disposition,
Hath made thy person for the thrower-out
Of my poor babe, according to thine oath, 30
Places remote enough are in Bohemia,
There weep and leave it crying ; and, for the
babe
Is counted lost for ever. Perdita,
I prithee, call't. For this ungentle business
Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shaltsee
Thy wife PauUna more.' And so, with shrieks.
TEE WINTER'S TALE.
1088
She melted iiito air. Aflrighted much,
I did in time coiiect myself and tiiought
This was soaud no slumber. Dreams are toys;
Yet lor tiiis ouce, yea. superstitiousiy, 40
1 will be squared by this. I do believe
Hermsoue hath sufi'er'd death, and tliat
Apollo would, this being indeed the issue
Of King Pollxeues, it slmuld here be laid.
Either for life or death, upon the earth
Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well!
There lie, and there thy character : therei
these; t
Which may, if fortune please, both breed
thee, pretty.
And still rest thine. The storm begins ; poor
wretch.
That for thy mother's fault art thus exposed
To loss and what may follow ! Weep I can¬
not, 61
But my heart bleeds ; and most accursed am I
To be by oath enjoin d to tliLs. Farewell !
The day frowns more and more : thon'rt like
to have
A lullaby too rough: I never saw
The heavens so dim by day. A savage clam¬
or !
Well may I get aboard ! This is the chase:
1 am gone for ever. [Exit, pursued by a bear.
Enter a Shepherd.
Skep. I would there were uo age between
sixteen and three-and-twenty, or that youth
would sleep out the rest; for there is nothing
in the between but getting wenches witli
child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, light¬
ing—Hark you now ! Would any but these
boiled brains of nineteen and two-and-twenty
hunt this weather ? They have scared away
two of my best slieep, which 1 fear the wolf
will sooner find than the master : if anywhere
I have them, 'tis by the seaside, browsing of
ivy. Good luck, an't be thy will! what have
we here ! Me'rcy on's, a barne ; a very pretty
barue ! A boy or a child, I wonder ? A pretty
one; a very pretty one : sure, some 'scape :
though I am not bookish, yet I can read wait¬
ing-gentlewoman in tlie 'scape. This has
been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some
behind-door-work : they were warmer that
got this than the poor thing is here. I'll take
It up for pity : yet I'll tarry till my son come ;
he hallooed but even now. AVlioa, ho, hoa !
Enter Clown.
Ok>. Hilloa, loa ! 80
Shep. What, art so near ? If thou'lt see a
thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten,
come hither. What ailest thou, man 1
Clo. I have seen two such sights, by sea
and by land ! but I am not to say it is a sea,
for it is now the sky : betwixt the firmament
and it you cannot thrust a bodkin's point.
Shep. Why,' boy, how is it 1
Clo. I would you did but see how it chafes,
how it rages, how it takes up the shore ! but
that's not to the point. O, the most piteous cry
[Act iv.
of the poor souls I sometimes to see 'em, and
not to see 'em ; now the ship boring the moon
witli her main-mast, and anon swallowed with
yest and froth, as you'ld thrust a cork into a
iiogsiiead. And then for the land-service, to
see how the bear tore out bis shoulder-bone ;
how he cried to me for help and said his name
was Autigmius, a nobleman. Buttomakeau
end of tiie ship, to see how the sea flap-
dnigoned it: but, first, bow the poor souls
roared, and the sea mocked them ; and how
the poor gentleman roared and the bear
mocked him, both roaring louder than the
sea or weather.
Shep. Name of mercy, when was this, boy ?
Clo. Now, now : 1 have not winked since I
saw these sights : the men are not yet cold
imder water, nor the bear half dined on the
gentleman: he's at it now.
Shep. Would I had been by, to have helped
the old man ! Ill
Clo. I would yon had been by the ship
side, to have helped her; there your charity
would have lacked footing.
Shep. Heavy matters I heavy matters ! but
look thee here. boy. Now bless thyself: thou
mettest with tilings dying, I with things new¬
born. Here's a sight for thee ; look thee, a
bearing-cloth for a squire's child ! look thee
here ; take up, take up, boy ; opeu't. So,
let's see : it was told me I should be rich by
the fairies. This is some changeling : open't.
What's witliiu, boy ?
Clo. You're a made old man : if the sins of
your youth are forgiven you, you're well to
live. Gold ! all gold !
Shep.. This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill
prove so : up with't, keep it close : home,
home, the next way. We are lucky, boy ; and
to be so still requires nothing but secrecy.
Let my sheep go; come, good boy, the next
way home.
Clo. Go you the next way with your
findings. I'll go see if the bear be gone Itom
the gentleman and how much he hath eaten :
they are never curst but when they are
hungry : if there be any of him left, I'll
bury it.
Shep. Tliat's a good deed. If thou mayest
discern by tliat which is left of him what he
is, fetch me to the sight of him.
Clo. Marry, will I ; and you shall help to
put him i' the ground. 141
Shep. 'Tis a lucky day, boy, and we'll do
good deeds on't. lExeunt.
ACT IV, Sc£irE L
Enter Time, the Chorus.
Time. I, that please some, try all, both joy
and terror
Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds
error.
Now take upon me, in the name of Time,
THE WINTER'S TALE.
scenk iii.]
THE WINTER'S TALE.
1089
To use my wings. Imi>ato it not a crime
To me or my swilt psissage, tliat I slide
O'er sixteen years and leave the growth
untried
Of that wide gap, since it is in my power
To o'erthrow law and in one self-bom hour
To idiwt and o'erwhelm custom. Let me pass
The same I am, ere ancient'st order was 10
Or w^t is now received: I witness to
The times that brought them m ; so shall I do
To the fresliest things now reigning and make
stale
Tlie glistering of this present, as my tale
Now seems to it. Yourpatience tins allowing,
I turn my glass and give my scene such grow¬
ing
As you had slept between: Leoutes leaving.
The effects of his fond jealousies so grieving
That he shuts up himself, imagine me.
Gentle spectators, that I now may be 20
In fair Bohemia ; and remember well,
I mentioned a son o* the king's, whish Florizel
I now name to you ; and with speed so pace
To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace
Equal with wondering : what of her ensues
I list not prophesy ; but let Time's news
Be known when 'tis brought forth. A shep¬
herd's daughter.
And what to her adheres, which follows after.
Is the argument of Time. Of this allow.
If ever yon have spent time worse ere now; 30
If never, yet that 'Time himself doth say
He wishes earnestly you never may. [Exit.
Scene II. Bohemia. ThepalaocofVo^ixxass.
Enier Polixenbs and Camileo.
Pol. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no inore
importunate : 'tis a sickness denying thee any
thmg ; a death to grant this.
Cam. It is fifteen years smce I saw my
country : though I have for the most part
been aired abroad, I desire to lay my bones
there. Besides, the penitent king, my master,
hath sent for me ; to whose feeling sorrows I
might besome allay, or I o'erweeu to think so,
whieh is another spur to my departure. 10
Pol. As thou lovest roe, Camillo, wipe not
out the rest of tliy services by leaving me
now ; tlie need I have of thee thine own
goodness hath made; better not to have
had thee than thus to want thee: thou, hav¬
ing made me businesses which none without
thee can sufficiently manage, must either stay
to execute them thyself or take away with
thee the very services thou hast done ; which
if I have not enough considered, as too much
1 cannot, to be more thankful to thee shall be
my study, and my profit therein the heaping
friendships. Of tliat fatal country, Sicilia,
prithee speak no more ; wimse very naming
punishes me with the remembrance of that
penitent, as thou callest him, and reconciled
King, my brother ; whose loss of his most pre¬
cious queen and children are even now to be
afresh lamented- Say to iqe, when sawest
thou the Prince Florizel, my son ? Kings are
no less unhappy, their issue not being gracious,
than tliey are in losing them when- tiiey have
approved their virtues. .
Cam. Sir, it is three days since I saw tlie
prince. What his happier affairs may be, are
to me unknown: but I have missingly noted,
he is of late much retired from court and is
less frequent to his princely exercises tlian
formerly he hath appeared.
Pol. I have considered so much, Camillo,
and with some care ; so far that I have eyes
under my service which look upon his re-
movedness; from whom I have this intelli¬
gence, tliat he is seldom from tlie house of a
most homely shepherd; a man, they say, that
fiom very nothing, and beyond the imagina¬
tion of his neighbors, is grown into an
unspeakable estate.
Cam. I have heard, sir, of such a man,
who hath a daughter of most rare note : the
rei>ort of her is extended more than can be
thought to begin from such a cottage. 50
Pol. That's likewise part of ray intelli¬
gence ; but, I fear, the angle 'that plucks our
son thither. Thou shalt accompany ns to the
place ; where we will, jiot appearing what we
arc, have some question witli the shepherd ;
from whose simplicity I think it not uneasy
to get the cause of my son's resort thither.
Prithee, be my present jiartner in this business,
and lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia.
Cam. I willingly oc«y your command.
Pol. My best Camillo I We must disguise
ourselves. [Exeunt.
Scene IIL A road near the Shepherd's
cottage.
Enter Autoltcus, singing.
When daffodils begin to peer,
■yVith heigh ! the doxy over the dale.
Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year ;
For the red blood reigns in the winter's j^le.
The white sheet bleaching on the hedge.
With heigh ! the sweet birds, O, how they
sing I
Doth set my pugging tooth on edge j
For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.
The lark, that tirra-lyra chants,
Witli heigh I with heigh ! the thrush and
tlie jay, 10
Are summer songs for me and my aunts,
While we lie tumbling in the hay.
I have served Prince Florizel and in my time
wore three-pile ; but now I am out of service :
But shall I go mouni for that, my dear »
■Tlie pale moon shines by night:
And when I wander here and there,
1 then do most go right.
If tinkers may liave leave to live,
And bear the sow-skin budget, 20
Then my account I well may give,
And in the stocks avouch it. >
e9
1090
THE WINTERS TALE.
[Act IV.
My traffic is sheets ; when the hite builds,
look to'lesser linen. My fatlier named mo
Autolycus ; who being, as I am, littered under
Mercury, was likewise a suapiier-up of uncon¬
sidered trifles. With die and drab f purchased
this cai>arison, and my revenue is the silly
cheat. Gallows and knock are too powerful
on the highway: beating and hanging are
terrors to me: for the life to come, I sleep out
the thought of it A prize ! a prize I
Enter Clown.
Clo. Let me see: every 'leven wether tods;
every tod yields pound and odd shilling;
fifteen hundred shorn, what comes the wool
to ? [mine.
Ant. [Aside] If the spnnge hold, the cock's
Clo. I cannot do't without counters. Let
me see ; what am I to buy for our sheep-
shearing feast ? Three ixmnd of sugar, five
pound of currants, rice,—what will this sister
of mine do with ricfe ? But my hither hath
made her mistress of the feast, and she hij-s
it on. She hath made me four and twenty
nosegays for the shearers, three-man-song-
men all, and very good ones ; but they are
most of them means and bases ; but one puri¬
tan amongst them, and he sings psalms to
horn-pipes. I mu.st have saffron to color the
■warden pies ; mace ; dates ?—none, that's out
of my note ; nutmegs,, seven ; a race or two of
ginger, but that I may beg ; four pound of
prunes,, and as many of raisins o' the sun.
Aut. O that ever I was bom !
[Grovelling on the ground.
Clo. I' the name of me—
Aut. O, help me, help me 1 pluck but off
these rags; and then, death, death 1
Clo. Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of
more rags to lay on thee, rather than have
these off.
Aut. O sir, the loathsomeness of them
offends me more than the stripes I have
received, which are mighty ones and millions.
Clo. Alas, poor man 1 a million of beating
may come to a great matter.
Aut. I am robbed, sir, and beaten ; my
money and apparel ta'en from me, and the.se
detestable tliiims put upon me.
Clo. What, by a horseman, or a footman ?
Aut. A footman, sweet sh-, a footman.
Clo. Indeed, he should be a footman by
the garments he has left with thee : if this be
a horseman's coat, it hath seen very hot ser¬
vice. Lend me thy hand, I'll help thee :
come, lend me thy hand,
Aut. O, good sir, tenderly, 0 !
Clo. Alas, poor soul!
Aut. O, good sir, softly, good sir I I fear,
sir, my shoulder-blade is out
Clo. How now 1 canst stand ?
Aut. [Picking his pocket] Softly, dear sir;
good sir, softly. You W done me a charitable
office. 81
Clo. Dost lack any money ? I have a little
money for thee.
Aut. No, good sweet sir ; no, I beseech
you, sir: 1 have a kinsman not past three
quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was
going ; I shall there have money, or any thing
I want: offer me no money, 1 pray you ; that
kills my heart. ^
Clo. What manner of fellow was he tliat
robbed you ? !K)
Aut. A fellow, sir, that I have known to
go about with troll-my-dames ; I knew him
once a servant of the prince ; I cannot tell,
good sir, for which of his virtues it was, bat
lie was certainly whipped out of the court
Clo. His vices, you would say ; tliere's no
virtue whipped out of the court: they cherish
it to m<ake it stay there ; and yet it will no
more but abide. 99
Ant. Vices, 1 would say, sir. I know this man
well: he liath been since an ape-bearer ; then
a process-server, a bailiff ; then he com]:»6sed
a motion of the Prodigal Son, and married a
tinker's wife within a mile where my land
and living lies ; and, having flown over many
knavish professions, he settled only in rogue :
some call him Autolycus.
Clo. Out upon him I prig, for my life, prig:
he haunts wakes, fairs and bear-baitings.
Aut. Very true, sir ; he, sir, he ; that's the
rogue that put me into tliis ap^rel. Ill
Clo. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bo¬
hemia : if you had but lookM big and spit at
him, he'ld have run.
. Aut I must confess to you, sir, I am no
fighter : I am false of heart that way ; and
that he knew, I warrant him.
Clo. How do you now ? ,
Aut. Sweet sir, much better than I was ; I
can stand and walk : I will even take my
leave of yon, and pace softly towards my kinsr
man's.
. Clo. Shall 1 bring thee on the way ?
Aut. No, good-faced sir ; no, sweet sir.
Clo. Then fare thee well: I must go buy -
spices for our sheep-sliearing.
Aut. Prosper you, sweet sir! [Exit Clown.]
Your purse is not hot enough to purciiase your
.spice. I'll be with you at your sheep-shearing
too: if I make uotthis cheat bring outanother
and tlie shearers prove sheep, let me be un¬
rolled and my name put in the book of virtue!
[Sings] Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,
And merrily bent the stile-a :
A merry heart goes all the day.
Your sad tires in a mile-a. [Exit.
Scene H''. The Shepherd's cottage.
Enter Feorizel and Perdita.
Flo. These your unusual weeds to each
part of you
Do give a life : no shepherdess, but Flora
Peering in April's front. This your sheep-
shearing
Is as a meeting of the petty gods,
And you the queen on't.
Per. Sir, my gracious lord.
Scene iv.]
To chide at your extremes it not becomes me:
0, pardon, that 1 name them ! Your lilgh
self,
The gracious mark o' the land, you have ob¬
scured
With a swain's wearing, and me, poor iowly
maid.
Most goddess-like prank'd up : but that our
l^ts 10
In every mess have lolly and the feeders
Digest It with a custom, I should blush
To see you so attired, sworn, I think.
To show myself a glass.
Flo, I bless the time
When my good falcon made her flight across
Thy father s ground.
Per. Now Jove afford you cause !
Tome the difference forges dread; your great¬
ness
Hath not been used to fear. Even now I
tremble
To think your father, by some accident,
Should pdss this way as you did : O, the
Fates! 20
How would he look, to see his work so noble
Vilely bound up 1 What would he say ? Or
how
Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts,
behold
The sternness of his presence 7
Flo. Apprehend
Nothing but joUity. The gods themselves.
Humbling their deities to love, have taken
The sliapes of beasts upon them ; Jupiter
Became a bull, and beilow'd ; the green Nep¬
tune
A ram, and bleated ; and the fire-robed god.
Golden Apollo, a poor liumble swain, 30
As I seem now. Their transformations
Were never for a piece of beauty rarer.
Nor in a way so chaste, since my desires
Run not before mine honor, nor my lusts
Burn hotter than my faith.
Per. O, but, sir,
Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis
Opposed, as it mu.st be, by tlie jwwer of tlie
king :
One of these two must be necessities.
Which then will speak, that you must change
this purpose.
Or I my life.
Flo. Thou dearest Perdita, 40
Witli these forced thoughts, I prithee, darken
not
The mirth o' the feast. Or I'll be thine, my
fair.
Or not my father's. For I cannot be
Mine own, nor any thing to any, if
I be not thine. To tliis I am most constant,
Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle ;
Strangle such thoughts as these with any
thing «
That you behold the while. Your guests are
coming:
Lift up your countenance, as it were tlie day
Of celebration of that nnptial which 60
1091
We two have sworn shall tome.
Per. O lady Fortune,
Stand 3'ou auspicious!
Flo. See, your guests approach :
Address yourself to entertain them sprightly.
And let's be red with mirth.
Enter Shepherd, Clown, Mop.sa, Dorcas, and
others, with Polixenbs and CamiijLO dis-
fjuised.
Shep. Fie, daughter ! when my old wife
lived, upon
This day she was both pantler, butler, cook,
Both dame and servant; welcomed all, served
all;
Would sing her song and dance her turn; now
here, ,
At upper end o' the table, now i' the middle ;
On his shoulder, and his ; her face o' fire M
With labor and the thing she took to quench
it,
She would to each one sip. You are retired.
As if you were a feasted one and not
The hostess of the meeting : pray you, bid
These unknown friends to's welcome; for itis
A way to make us better friends, more known.
Come, quench your blushes and present your¬
self
That which you are, mistress o' the feast;
come on.
And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing.
As your good flock shall prosper.
Per. [To Po/. J Sir, welcome : 76
It is my father's will I should take on me
Tlie hostess-ship o' the day. [To Cam.]
You're welcome, sir.
Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. Rever¬
end sirs.
For you there's rosemary and rue ; these keep
Seeming and savor all the winter long :
Grace and remembrance be to you both.
And welcome to our shearing !
Pol. Shepherdess,
A fair one are you—well you fit our ages
With flowers of winter.
Per. Sir, the year growing ancient,
Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth
Of trembling winter, the faire,st flowers o' the
season 81
Are our carnations and streak'd gillyvors.
Which some call nature's bastards : of that
kind
Our rustic garden's barren ; and I care not
To get slips of them.
Pol. Wherefore, gentle maiden,
Do you neglect them 7
Per. For I have heard it said
There is an art which in their piedness shares
With great creating nature.
Pol. Say there be ;
Yet nature is made better by no mean
But nature makes that mean : so, over that
art 90
Wliich you say adds to nature, is an art
That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we
marry
THE WINTERS TALE.
1092
A gentler scion to the wildest stock,
And make conceive a bark of baser kind
By bud of nobler race : this is an art
Which does mend nature, change it rather,
but
The art itself is nature.
Per. ' So it is.
Pol. Then make yonr garden rich in gilly-
vors.
And do not call them bastards.
Per, I'll not put
The dibble in earth to set one slip of them ;
No more tlian were I painted I would wish 101
This youth should say 'twere well and only
tlierefore
Desire to breed by me. Here's flowers for
you ;
Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram ;
Tlie marigold, that goes to bed wi the sun
And with him rises weeping: tlie.se are flow¬
ers
Of middle summer, and I think they are given
To men of middle age. You're very welcome.
Com. 1 should leave grazing, were I of yopr
flock.
And only live by gazing.
Per. Out, alas! 110
You'd be so lean, that blasts of .lanuary
Would blow you through and through. Now,
my fai^st friend,
I would 1 had some flowers o' the spring that
miglit
Become your time of day; and yours, and
yours.
That wear upon your virgin branches yet
Your maidenheads growing : O Proserpina,
For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st
fall
From Dis's waggon ! daffodils.
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty ; violets dim.
But sweeter than tlie lids of Juno's eyes 121
Or Cytherea's breath ; pale immroses.
That die unmarried, ere they can behold
Bight Phcebns in his strength—a malady-
Most incident to maids ; bold oxiips and
The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds.
The flower-de-luce being one ! O, the.se I
lack,
To make yon garlands of, and my sweet
friend.
To strew hira o'er and o'er ! •
Flo. What, like a corse?
Per. No, like a bank for love to lie and
play on ; 130
Not like a corse ; or if, not to be buried.
But quick and in mine arms. Come, take your
flowers :
Methinks 1 play as I have seen them do
In Wliitsiin pastorals : sure this robe of mine
Doe.s change my disposition.
Flo. What yon do
Still betters what is done. Wlien yon speak,
sweet,
rid have you do it ever : when you sing,
I'ld have you buy and sell so, so give alms.
[Act .'v.
Pray so ; and, for the ordering your affairs.
To sing them too : when you do dance, 1 wish
you 140
A wave o' tlie sea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that; move still, still so.
And own no other function: each your doing.
So singular in each (larticular.
Crowns what you are doing in the present
deed,
Tliat all your acts are queens.
Per. O Doricles,
Your praises are. too large: but tliat your
youth,
And the true blood which peepeth fairly
through't.
Do plainly give you out an iinstain'd sheii-
herd,
With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, 150
You woo'd me the false way.
Flo. • 1 think you have
As little skill to fear as 1 have purpose
To put you to't. But come ; ouy dance, 1
pray:
Your hand, my Perditii : so turtles pair.
That never mean to part.
Per. I'll swear for 'em.
Pol. This is the iirettiest low-bom lass that
ever
Ran on the green-sward: nothing she does or
seems
But smacks of something greater than herself.
Too noble for this place.
Cam. He tells her something
That makes her blood look out: good sooth,
she is Iw
The queen of curds and cream.
Clo. Come on, strike up !
Dor. Mopsa must be your mistress: marry,
gtirlic.
To mend her kissing with !
Mop. Now, m good time!
Clo. Not a word, a word ; we stand upon
our manners.
Come, strike up I
[Music. Here a dance of Shepherds and
Shepherdesses:
Pol. Pray, good shex>herd, what fair swain
is this
lYhich dances with your daughter ?
Shep. They call Him Doricles ; and boasts
himself
To have a worthy feeding : but 1 have it
Upon his own report and I believe it; 170
He looks like sooth. He says he loves my
daughter:
1 think so too ; for never gazed the moon
Upon the water as he'll stand and read
As 'twere my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain,
1 think there is not half a kiss to choose
Who loves another best.
Pol. She dances featly.
Shep. So she does any thing ; though 1 re¬
port it,
Tliat should be silent : if young Doricles
Do light upon her, she shall bring him that
Which he not dreams of. 180
THE WINTER'S TALE.
SCBNB IV.]
Enter Servant.
fiere. O master, if you did but hear tlie
pedlar at the door, you would never dance
again after a tabor and pipe ; no, the bagpipe
could not move you ; he siug.s seveml tunes
hister than you'll tell money ; he utters them
as he had eaten ballads and all men's ears grew
to his tunes.
Clo. He could never come better ; he shall
come ill. I love a ballad but even too well, if
it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very
pleasant thing indeed and sung lamentably.
(krv. He hath songs for man or womaii, of
all sizes ; no milliner can so fit his customers
with gloves : he has the prettiest love-songs
for maids j so without "bawdry, which is
strange; with such delicate burthens of dil-
dos and fadings,' jump her and thump her ;'
and where some stietcn-mouthed rascal would,
as it were, mean mischief and break a foul g.ap
into the matter, he makes the maid to answer
'Whoop, do me no harm, good man puts him
off, slights him, witli' Whoop, do me no harm,
good man.' 201
Pol. This is a brave fellow.
CU>. Believe me, tlioutalkest of an admira¬
ble conceited fellow. Has he any iiubraided
wares?
Sere. He hath ribbons of all tlie colors i'
the rainbow ; points more tlian all tlie lawyers
in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they
come to him by the gross : inkles, caddisses,
cambrics, lawns : why, he sings 'em over as
they were godsorgod'desses ; you would think
a smock were a she-angel, he so chants to the
sleeve-hand and the work about the square
out [proach singing.
Clo. Prithee bring him in ; and let him ap-
Per. Forewarn him that he u.se no scurril¬
ous words in's tunes. \Eiit Semant.
Clo. You have of these iiedlars, that have
more in ttiem than you'ld think, sister.
Per. Ay, good brother, or go about to think.
Enter Autolycus, singing.
Lawn as white as driven snow ; 220
Cyprus black as e'er was crow ;
Gloves as sweet as damask roses ;
Masks for faces and for noses ;
Bugle bracelet, necklace amber,
Penume for a lady's chamber ;
Golden qnoifs and stomachers.
For my lads to give their dears :
Pius and pohing-sticks of steel,
IVbat maids lack from head to heel;
Come buy of me, come; come buy, come buy;
Buy, lads, or else your lasses oij : 231
Come buy.
Clo. If I were not in love witli Mopsa, thou
shouldst take no money of me ; tut being en¬
thralled as I am, it -will also be the bondage of
certain ribbons and gloves. •
Mop. I was promised them against the
feast; but they come not too late now.
Dor. He hath promised you more than that,
or there be liai-s. 240
1093
Mop. Heliathpaid you all he promised you;
may be, he has paid you more, which will
shame you to give him again.
Clo. Is tliere no manners left among maids?
will they wear their plackets where thc-y
should bear tlieir faces ? Is tliere not niilking-
time, wlien you are going to bed, or kiln-hole,
to whistle off tliese secrets, but you must be
tittle-tattling before all our gues^ 7 'tis well
they are whispering : clamor your tongues,
and not a word more. 251
Mop. 1 have done. Come, you promised
me a tawdry-lace and a iiair of sweet gloves.
Clo. Have I nut told thee how4 was cozened
by the way and lost all my money ?
Ant. And indeed, sir, there are cozeners
abroad ; tlierefore it behoves men to be wary.
Clo. Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose
notliing here.
Ant. I hope so, sly ; for I have about me
many parcels of cliarge. 261
Clo. What hast here ? bi^ads ?
Mop. Pray now, buy some : I love a ballad
ill print o' life, for then we are sure they are
true.
Aut Here's one to a very doleful tune, how
a usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty
money-bags at a burthen and how she longed
to eat adders' heads and toads carbonadoed.
Mop. Is it true, think you ?
Ant. Very true, and but a month old. 270
Dor. Bless me from marrying a usurer!
Ant. Here's the midwife's name to't, one
Mistress Tale-porter, and five or six honest
wives that were present. Why should I carry
lies abroad 7
Mop. Pray you now, buy it.
Clo. Come on, lay it by: and let's first see
moe ballads ; we'll buy the other things anon.
Ant. Here's another ballad of a fish, tliat
appeared upon the coast on W ednesday the
four-score of April, forty thousand fathom
above water, and sung this ballad against the
hard hearts of maids ; it was thought she was
a woman and was turned -into a cold fish for
she would not exchange flesh with one that
loved her : the ballad is very pitiful and as true.
Dor. Is it true too, think you ?
Aut. Five justices' hands at it, and wit¬
nesses more than my pack will hold.
Clo. Lap it by too : another. 290
Aut. This is a merry ballad, but a very
pretty one.
Mop. Let's have some merry ones.
Aut. Why, this is a passmg merry one and
goes to the tune of' Two maids wooing a man;'
here's scarce a maid westward but she sings
it ; 'tis in request, I can tell you.
Mop. We can both sing it; if thou'lt bear
a part, thou shalt hear ; 'tis in three parta 299
Dor. We had the tune on't a month ago.
Aut. I can bear my part; }-oa must know
'tis my occupation ; have at it with yon.
SONO.
A. Get you hence, for I must go
THE WINTERS TJiLE.
1094
Where it fits not you to know.
D. Whither ? M. 0, whither ? D.
Whither ?
M. It becomes thy oath lull well,
Thou to me thy secrets tell.
D. Me too, let me go thither.
M. Or thou goest to tlie grange or mill.
Di If to either, thou dost ill. 310
A. Neither. D. What, neither? A. Neither.
D. Thou hast sworn my love to be.
M. Thou hast sworn it more to me :
Then whither goest ? say, whither ?
Clo. We'll have this song out anon by our¬
selves : my father and the gentlemen are in
sad talk, and we'll not trouble them. Come,
bring away thy pack after me. Wenches, I'll
buy for you botli. Pedlar, lef s have the first
choice. Follow me, girls. [EiUt with Dorcas
and Sfopsa.
Aut. And you shall pay well for 'em.
[Follows singnig.
Will you buy any tape,
Or lace for your cape,
My dainty duck, my dear-a ?
Any silk, any thread.
Any toys for your h^.
Of the new'st and finest, finest wear-a ?
Come to the pedlar ;
Money's a medler.
Thatdoth utter all men's ware-a. [Exit. 330
Be-enter Servant.
Serv. Master, there is three carters, three
shepherds, three neat-herds, three swine-herds,
that have made themselves all men of hair,
they call themselves Saltiers, and they have a
dance which the wenches say is a gallimaufry
of gambols, because they are nut in't; but
they themselves are o' the mind, if it be not
too rough for some that knoiw little but bowl- .
ing, it wiil please ifieiitifully. 339
Shep. Away ! we'll none on't; here has
been too much homely foolery already. I
know, sir, we weary you.
Pol. You weary those that refresh us:
pray, let's see these four threes of herdsmen.
Serv. One three of them, by their owu re¬
port, sir, hath danced before the king ; and
not the worst of the three but jumps twelve
loot and a half by the squier.
Shep. Leave your prating: since these good
men are pleased, let them come in ^ but quick¬
ly now. 361
Serv. Why, they stay at door, sir. [Exit.
Here a dance of twelve Satyiy.
Pol. 0, father, you'll know more of that
hereafter.
[To Cam.'] Is it not too far gone? 'Tis time
to part them.
He's simple and tells much. [To Flor.] How
now, fair shepherd !
Your heart is full of something that does take
Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was
young
And handed love as you do, I was wont
[Act iv.
To load my she with knacks : I would have
ransack'd 300
Thepedlar's silken treasury and have pour'd it
To her acceptance ; you have let him go
And uotliiug marted with him. If your lass
Interpretation should abuse and call this
Your lack of love or bounty, you were straited
For a reply, at least if you make a.care
Of happy holding her.
Flo. Old sir, I know
She prizes not such trifles as these are :
The gifts she looks from me are pack'd and
lock'd 369
Up in my heart: which I have given already.
But not deliver'd. O, hear me breathe my life
Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem. _
Hath sometime loved I I take thy hand, this
hand.
As soft as dove's down and as white as it.
Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow that't
bolted
By the northern blasts twice o'er.
Pol. What follows this ?
How prettily the young swain seems to wash
The hand was fair before ! I have put you out:
But to your protestation ; let me hear
What you profess.
Flo. Do, and be witness to't 380
Pol. And this my neighbor too ?
Flo. And he, and more
Than he, and men, the earth, the heavens, and
all:
Thatjwere I crown'd the most imperial monarch,
Thereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth
'That ever made eye swen'e, had force and
knowledge
More than was ever man's, I would not prize
them
Without her love ; for her employ them all;
Commend them and condemn them to her
service
Or to their own perdition.
Pol. Fairly offer'd.
Cam. This shows a sound affection.
Skep. But, my daughter, 390
Say you the like to him ?
Per. I cannot speak
So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better;
By the pattern of mine owu thoughts 1 cut out
The purity of his.
Shep. Take hands, a bargain I
And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness
to't:
I give my daughter to him, and will make
Her portion equal his.
Flo. O, that must be
r the virtue of your daughter: one being dead,
I shall have more than yon can dream of yet;
Enough then for your wonder. But, come on.
Contract us 'fore these witnesses. 401
Shep. Come, your hand ;
And, daughter, yours.
PoL Soft, swau), awhile, beseech you ;
Have you a father ?
Flo. I have : but what of him ?
Pol. Knows he of this ?
THE WINTER'S TALE.
Scene iv.]
Flo. He neither does nor sliall.
Pol. Methiuks a father
Is at the nuptial of his son a guest
That best becomes the table. Pray you once
more,
Is not your father grown incapable
Of reasonable affairs ? is he not stupid
With age and altering rheums ? can he speak ?
hear ? 410
Know man from man ? dispute his own estate ?
Lies he not bed-rid ? and again does nothing
But what he did being childish ?
Flo. No, good sir ;
He lias his health and ampler stren^h indeed
Tlian most have of his age.
Pol. By my white beard.
You ofier'him, if this be so, a wrong
Something unnlial: reason my sou
Should choose himself a wife, but as good'
reason
Tlie father, all whose joy is nothing else
But fair irasterity, should hold some counsel
In such a business. 421
Flo. I yield all this ;
But for some other reasons, my grave sir,
Wliiuh 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint
My father of this business.
Pol. Let him know't.
Flo. He shall not
Pol. Prithee, let him.
Flo. No, he must not
Hhep. Let him, my son : he shall not need
to grieve
At knowing of thy choice.
Flo. Come, come, he must not.
Mark our contract
Pol. Mark your divorce, young sir,
[Discoverinr/ himself.
Wiioin son 1 dare not call; thou art too base
To be acknowledged : thou a sceptre's heir,
Tliat tliiis affect'St a sheep-hook ! Thou old
traitor, 431
1 am sorry that by hanging thee I can
But sliorten tliy life one week. And thou,
fresh piece
Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must
know
Tlie royal fool thou copest with,—
iS'/jep. O, my heart!
Pol. I'll have thy beauty Scratch'd with
briers, and made
More homely than thy state. For thee, fond
boy.
If I may ever know tliou dost but sigh
Tliat thou no more shalt see this knack, as
never
I mean thou shalt, we'll bar thee from suc¬
cession ;
Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin,441
Far than Deucalion off: mark thou my wonls:
Follow us to the court. Thou ^url, for this
time.
Though full of our displeasure, yet we free
thee
From the dead blow of it. And you, enchant¬
ment.—
1095
Worthy enough a herdsman ; yea, him too.
That makes himself, but for our honor therein.
Unworthy thee,—if ever henceforth tliou
Tliese rural latches to his entrance,open.
Or hoop his body more with thy embraces,
I will devise a death as cruel for tiiee. 431
As thou art tender to't. {Exit.
Per. Even here undone!
I was not much afeard ; for once or twice
I was about to speak and tell him plainly.
The selfsame suu that shines upon his court
Hides not his visage from our cottage but
Looks on alike. WiB't please you, sir, bo
gone ? .
I told you what would come of this : beseech
you.
Of your own state take care : tliis dream of
mine,— [ther.
Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch far-
But milk my ewes and weep. 461
Cam. Why, how now, father I
Speak ere thou dlesb
Shep. I cannot speak, nor think,.
Nor dare to know that which I know. O sir I
You have undone a man of fourscore three,
Tliat thought to fill his grave in qniet, yea.
To die upon the bed my father died.
To lie close by his honest bones! but now
Some hangman must put on my shroud and
lay me
Where no priest shovels in dust O cursed
wretch.
That knew'st this was -the prince, and wouldst
adventure 470
To mingle faith with him ! Undone I undone !
If I might die witliiu tliis hour, I have lived
To die when I desire. {Exit.
Flo. Why look yon so upon me ?
I am but sorey, not afeard ; delay'd.
But nothing alter'd : what I was, I am ;
More straining on for plucking back, not fob
lowing
My leash unwilluigly.
Cam. Gracious my lord,
You know your father's temper : at this time
He will allow no speech, which I do guess
You do not purpose to him ; and as hardly
Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear ! 481
Then, till the fury of his highness settle.
Come not before him.
Flo. I not purpose it.
I think, Camillo ?
Cam. Even he, my lord.
Per. How often have I told you 'twould be
thus I
How often said, my dignity would last
But till 'twere known I
Flo. It cannot fail but by
The violation of my faith ; and then
Let nature crush tlie sides o' the earth together
And mar the seeds within ! Lift up thy looks:
From my succession wipe me, father ; I 491
Am heir to my affection.
Cam. Be advised.
Flo. I am, and by my fancy,: if my rea¬
son
THE WINTER'S TALE.
1096
Will thereto be obedient, I have reason ;
If not, my senses, better pleased with mad¬
ness.
Do bid it welcome.
Cam. This is desperate, sir.
Flo. So call it; bnt it does fulfil my vow ;
I needs must think it honesty. Caraillo,
Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may
Be thereat glean'd, for all the snn sees or 500
The close earth wombs or the profound sea
hides '
III unknown fathoms, will I break my oath
To this my fair beloved : therefore, I pray
you.
As you liave ever been my father's honor'd
friend,
When he shall miss me,^-as, in faith, I mean
not
To see him any more,—cast your good coun¬
sels
UlKjn his^Sion ; let myself and fortune
Tug for tlie time to come. This you may
know
And so deliver, I am ]mt to sea *
Witli her whom here I cannot hold on shore ;
And most opportune to our need 1 have 511
.4. vessel rides fast by, but not prejiared
For this design. What course I mean to hold
Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor
Concern me the reporting.
Cam. ' O my lord !
I would your spirit were easier for advice.
Or stronger for your need.
Flo. Hark, Perdita [Drawing her aside.
I'll hear you by and by.
Cam. ' He'sirremoveable,
Resolved for flight. Now wore 1 happy, if
His going I could frame to serve my turn, 520
Save him from danger, do him love and
honor,
Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia
And that unhappy king, my master, whom
1 so mudi thirst to see.
Flo. Now, good Camillo ;
I am so fraught with curious Dusiness that
I leave out ceremony.
Cam. Sir, I think
You have heard of my poor services, i' the
love
That I have home your father ?
Flo. Very nobly
Have you deserved : it is my fathoms music
To speak your deeds, not little of his care 530
To have them recompensed as thought on.
Cam. Well, my lord.
If you may please to think 1 love the king
And through him what is nearest to him, which
is
Your gracious self, embrace but my direction:
If your more ponderous and settled project
May suffer alteration, on mine honor,
I'll point you where you shall have such re¬
ceiving
As shall become your highness ; where you
may •
Enjoy your mistress, from the whom, I see.
[Act iv.
There's no disjunction to be made, but by—
As heavens forefend !—your ruin; marry her.
And, with my best endeavors in your absence,
Your discontenting father strive to qualify
And bring him up to liking.
Flo. .. How, Camillo,
May this, almost a miracle, be done ?
That I may call thee, something more than
man
And after tliat trust to thee.
Com. Have you thought on
A place whereto you'll go 7 > ,
Flo. ■ Not any yet:
But as the nuthought-on accident is guilty
To what we wildly do, so we profess 550
Ourselves to be the slaves of chance and flies
Of every wind that Mows.
Cam. ■ Then list to me :
This follows, if you will not change your pur¬
pose
But undergo this flight, make for Sicilia,
And there xiresent. yourself and your fair
princess.
For so I see she most be, 'fore Leontes :
She shall be habited as it becomes
'The partner of your bed. Methinks I see
Leontes opening his free arms and weeping
His welcomes forth ; asks thee the son for¬
giveness, 560
As 'twere i' the father's person ; kisses the
hands
Of your fresh princess ; o'er and o'er divides
him
'Twixt his nnkindness and his kindness ; the
one
He chides to hell and bids the other grow
Faster than thought or time.
Flo. Worthy Camillo,
What color for my visitation shall I *
Hold up before him?
Cam. ■ Sent by the king your father
To greet him and to give him comforts. Sir,
The manner of your bearing towards him,
with 569
AVhat you as from your father shall deliver.
Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you
down :
The which shall point you fortli at every sit¬
ting
What you must say ; that ne shall not per¬
ceive
But that you have your father's bosom there
And speak his very heart.
Flo. I am bound to yon:
There is some sap in this.
Cam. A cause more promising
Than a wild dedication of yourselves
To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores, most
certaiu
To miseries enough ; no hope to help you.
But as you shake off one to take anotiier; 580
Nothing so certain as your anchors, who
Do their best office, if they can bnt stjiy you
Wliere you'll be loath to be : besides you
know
Prosperity's the very bond of love",
THE WINTER'S TALE.
Scene iv.]
I'lIE WINTER'S TALE.
1097
Whose fresh complexion and whose heart to¬
gether
Affliction alters.
Per. On6 of these is tme :
I think Affliction may subdue the cheek,
But not take in the mind.
Cam. ' Yea, say you so ?
There sltall not at your father's house these
seven years
Be born auotlier such.
Flo. My good Camillo, 590
She is as forward of her breeding as
fSbe is i' the rear our birth.
Cam. I cannot say 'tis pity
She lacks instructions, for she seems a mis¬
tress
To most that teach.
Per. Your pardon, sir ; for this
rn blnsh you tlianks.
Flo. My prettiest Perdita I
But 0, the thorns we stand upon! CamUlo,
Preserver of my father, now of me.
The medicine of our house, how shall we do ?
We are not fumish'd like Boliemia's son,
Nor shall appear in Sicilia. '
Cam. My lord, 600
Fear none of this : I tiiink you know my for¬
tunes
Do all lie there ; it shall be so my care
To have you royally appointed as it
The scene you play were mine. For instance,
sir,
Ihat you may know you shall not want, one
word. [Tltey talk aside.
Re-enter Autolycus.
Attt. Ha, ha I what a fool Honesty is land
Trust, his sworn brother, a very simple gen¬
tleman ! I have sold all my trumpery ; not
a counterfeit stone, not . a ribbon, glass, pom¬
ander, brooch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape,
glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring, to keep my
pack from fasting: tiiey throng who should
buy first, as if my trinkets had been hallowed
and brought a benediction to the buyer: by
which means I saw whose purse was best in
picture; and wliat I saw, to my good use I re¬
membered. My clown, who wants but some¬
thing to be a reasonable man, grew so in
love with the wenches' song, that he would
not stir his iiettitoes till he had both tune and
words ; which so drew tiie rest of the herd to
me that all their other senses stuck in ears :
you might have pinched a placket, it was
senseless ; 'twas nothing to geld a codpiece of
a purse ; I could have filed keys off that hung
in chains: no hearing, no feeling, but my
sir's song, and admiring the nothing of it.
So that in this time of lethargy I picked and
cut most of their festival purses; and had not
the old m:in come in with a wlroo-bub against
his daughter and the king's son and scarikl my
choughs from the chaff, I had not left a purse
alive'hi the whole army. 631
[Camillo, Florixel, an4 Perdita come forward.
Cam. Nay, but my letters, by this means
being there
So .soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt.
Flo. And those that you'll procure from
King Leontes—
Cam. Shall satisfy your father.
Per. Happy be yon I
All that yon speak shows fair.
Com. Who have we here?
[Seeing Autolycus.
We'll make an instrument of this, omit
Nothing may give us aid.
AuU If tliey liave overheard me now, why,
hanging. 6l0
Cam. How now, good fellow! why shakest
thou so ? Fear not, man ; here's no harm in¬
tended to thee.
Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir.
Cam. Why, be so still; iiere's nobody will
steal that from tiiee: yet for the outside of thy
ix)verty we must make an exchange ; there¬
fore disease thee instantly,—thou must think
there's a necessity in't,—and change garments
with this gentieman : though the pennyworth
OH his side be the worst, y^ hold thee, there's
some boob
Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir. [Aside} I
know ye well enough. .
Cam'. Nay, primee, dispatch : the gentle¬
man is half flayed already.
Aut. Are you in earnest, sir? [Aside} I
smell the trick ou't.
Flo. Dispatch, I prithee. ^
Aut. Indeed, I have had earnest: but I
cannot with conscience take lb 660
Cam. Unbuckle, unbuckle.
[Florizel and Autolycus ezchange garments.
Fortunate mistress,—^let my prophecy
Come home to ye !—you must retire yourself
Into some covert: take your sweetheart's hat
And pluck it o'er your brows, muffle your
face.
Dismantle you, and, as you cas^ dislikeu
The truth of your own seeming; that you
may—
For I do fear eyes over—^to shipboard
Get undeseried.
Per. I see the play so lies
That I must bear a part.
Cam. No remedy. 670
Have you done there ?
Fh. Should I now meet my father.
He would not call me son.
Cam. Najf, you shall have no hat.
[Giving it to Perdita.
Come, lady, come. Farewell, my friend.
Aut. Adieu, sir.
Flo. O Perdita, what have we twain for¬
got!
Pray yon, a word.
Cam. [Aside] What I do next, shall be to
tell the king
Of this escape and whither they are bound;
Wherein my hope is I shall so prevail
To force him after : in whose company
1 shall review Sicilia, for whose sight 680
1098
THE WINTER'S TALE.
\
[Act IV.
I have a woman's longing.
Flo. Fortune speed us !
Tims we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side.
Cam. The swifter speed the better.
[Exeunt Florixei, Perdita, and Camillo.
Aut. I understand the business, I hear it :
to have an open ear, a quick eye, and a nim¬
ble liand, is necessary for a cut-purse ; a good
nose is requisite also, to smell out work for
the other senses. I see this is the time that
the unjust man doth thrive. Wiiat an ex-
cltange had this been without boot ! What a
boot is here with this exchange ! Sure the
gods do tliis year connive at ns, and we may
o any thing extempore. The prince himself
Is about a piece of iniquity, stealing away
from his father with his clog at his heels : if
1 thought it were a piece of honesty to ac¬
quaint the king withal, I would not do't; I
hold it the more knavery to conceal it; and
therein am 1 constant to my profession.
Be-enter Clown and Shepherd.
Aside, aside ; here is more matter for a hot
brain : every lane's end, ■ every shop, church,
session, hanging, yields a careful man work.
Clo. See, see ; what a man you are now !
There is no other way bnt to tell the king
she's a changeling and none ol your flteh and
blood.
' Shep. Nay, but hear me
Clo. Nay, but hear me.
Shep. Go to, then. T09
do. She being none of your flesh and
blood, your flesh and blood has not offended
the king ; and so your flesh and blood is not
to be punished by him. Show those things
you found about her, those secret things, ail
but what siie has with her : this being done,
let the law go whistle: I warrant you.
Shep. I will tell the king all, every word,
yea, and his son's pranks too ; who, I may
say, is no honest man, neither to his father
nor to me, to go about to make me the king's
brother-in-law. 721
Clo. Indeed, brother-in-law was the farth¬
est off you could have been to him and then
your blood had been the dearer by I know
how much an ounce.
" Aut. [Asitfe] Very wisely, puppies!
Shep. Well, let us to the king : there is
that in this fardel will make him scratch his
beard.
Aiit. I know not what impediment
this complaint may be to the fligm of my
master.
Clo. Pray heartily he be at palace. 731
Aut. [A.iide] Though I am not naturally
honest, I am so sometimes by chance : let me
pocket up my pedlar's excrement. [Takes off
his false beard.\ How now, rustics 1 whither
are you bound ?
Shep. To the palace, an it like your wor¬
ship.
Aut. Tour affairs there, what, with whom,
the condition of that fardel, the place of your
dwelling, your names, your ages, of what
having, breeding, and any thing that is fitting
to be known, discover.
Clo. We are bnt plain fellows, 'sir.
Aut. A lie ; yon are rough and hairy. Let
me have no lying: it becomes none but
tradesmen, and they often give ns soldiers
the lie: but we pay them, for it with stamped
coin, not stabbing steel; therefore they do
not give ns the lie.
Clo. Ypnr worship had like to have mvcn
us one, if you had not taken yonrself with the
manner.
Shep. Are yon a oonrtier, an't like you, sir ?
Aut, Whether it like me or no, I am a
courtier. Seest thou not the air of the court
in these enfoldings ? hath not my gait in it
the measure of the court ? receives not thy
nose courtodor from me ? reflect I not on thy
baseness court-contempt ? Thinkest thon, for
that I insinuate, or t toaze from thee thy
business, I am therefore no courtier ? I am
courtier cap-a-pe ; and one that will either
push on or pluck back thy business there:
whereupon I command thee to open thy af¬
fair. I
My business, sir, is to the king.
Aut. What advocate hast thou to hmi ?
Shep. I know not, an't like you.
Clo. Advocate's the court-word for a pheas¬
ant ; say you have none.
Shep. None, sir ; I have no pheasant, cock
nor hen. 771
AuU How blessed are we that are not sim¬
ple men !
Yet nature might have made me as these are,
Tlierefore T will not disdain.
Clo. This cannot be bnt a great courtier.
Shep. His ^rmeuts are rich, bnt he wears
them not handsomely.
Clo. He seems to be the more noble in be¬
ing fantastical: a great man, I'll warrant; I
know by the picking on's teeth. 780
Aut. The fardel there ? what's i' the far¬
del-?
Wherefore that box ? .
Shep. Sir, there lies such secrets in this
fardel and box, which none must know bnt
the king ; and which he shall know -within
this hour; if I may come to the speech of him.
Atft. Age, thou hast lost thy labor.
Shep. Why, sir ?
Aut. The king is not at the palace ; he is
gone aboard a new ship to purge melancholy
and air himself; for, if thou beest cajiable of
things serious, thou must know the king is
full of grief.
Shep. So 'tis said, sir ; about his son, that
should have married a shepherd's daughter.
Aut. If that shepherd be not in hand-fast,
let him fly : the curses he shall have, the tor¬
tures he shall feel, will break the back ot
man, the heart of monster.
Clo. Think yon so, sir ? 799
Aut. Not he alone shall suffer what wit
can make heavy and vengeance bitter ; bni
SOENB I.]
thase that are germane to him, though re¬
moved dfty times, shall all come under the
hangman : irhich though it be great pity, yet
it is necessary. An old sheep-whistling rogue,
a ram-tender, to offer to hare his daughter
come into grace ! Some say he shall be stoned;
but that deiith is too soft for him, say 1: draw
our throne into a sheep-cote ! all deaths are
too few, the sharpest tim easy.
Clo. Has the old man e er a son, sir, do
you hear, an't like yon, sir ? 811
Aitt. He has a son, who shall be flayed
alive; then 'uointed over with honey, set on
the head of a wa.sp's nest ; then stand till he
be three quarters and a dram dead ; then re¬
covered again with aqua-vit«e or some other
hot infusion ; then, raw as he is, and in the
hottest day prognostication prociaims, shall
he be set against a brick-wall, the sun look¬
ing with a southward eye upon him, where
he is to behold him with flies blown to death.
But what talk we of these traitorly rascals,
whose miseries are to be smiled at, their of¬
fences being so capital? Tell me, for you
seem to be honest plaui men, what you have
to the king: being something gently consid¬
ered, I'll bring you where he is aboard, ten¬
der your persona to his iireseuce, whisper him
in your behalfs ; and if it be in man besides
the king to effect your suits, here is man
shall do it. 829
Clo. He seems to be of great authority :
close with him, give him gold ; and though
authority be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led
by the nose with gold : show the inside of
your purse to the outside of his hand, and no
more ado. Remember ' stoned,' and ' flayed
alive.'
Sliep. An't please you, sir, to undertake
the business for us, here is that gold 1 have:
I'll make it as much more and leave this
young man in pawn till I bring it you.
ArU. After I have done what I promised ?
Shep. Ay, sir. 841
Atit: Well, give me the moiety. Are you
a party in this business ?
C?o. In some sort, sir ; but though my case
be a pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flayed
out of it
Aut. O, that's ttie case of the shepherd's
son ; hang him, he'll be made an example.
Clo. Comfort, good comfort! We must to
the king and show our strange sights : he
must know 'tis none of your daughter nor my
sister ; we are gone else. Sir, I will give you
as much as this old man does when the buri-
ness is performed, and remain, as he says,
your pawn till it be brought you.
Aut 1 will trust you. Walk before toward
the seahside ; go on the right hand: I will but
look ui)on the hedge and follow you.
Clo. We are blest in thi» man, as I may
say, even blest.
Shep. I^et's before as he bids us : he was
provided to do us good. 861
lExeunt Shepherd and Cloion.
1099
Aut. If I had a mind to be honest, I see
Fortune would not suffer me ; she dro]>s
booties in my mouth. I am courted now with
a double occasion, gold and a means to do
the prince my mgster good; which who knows
how tliat may turn back to my advancement?
I will bring these two moles, these blind ones,
aboard him : if be think it fit to shore them
again and that the complaint they have to the
king concerns him nothing, let him call me
rogue for being so far officious ; for I am
proof against that title and what shame else
belongs to't. To him will I present them:
there may be matter in it. [Exit.
ACT V. '
Scene I. A room in t.vxoiTT.s'palace.
Enter Leontes, Ci.eomenes, Dion, PAtJtiNA,
and Servants.
Cleo. Sir, you have done enough, and have
perform'd
A saint-like sorrow: no fault could you make.
Which you have not redeem'd ; indeed, paid
dbwii
More penitence than done trespass : at the
last.
Do as the heavens have done, forget your
evil;
With them forgive yourself.
Leon. Whilst I remember
Her and her virtues, I cannot forget '
Hy blemishes in them, and so stnl think of
The wrong 1 did myself ; which was so much,
That heirless it hath made my kingdom and
Dostroy'd the sweet'st companion that e'er
man 11
Bred his hopes out of.
Paul. True, too true, my lord :
If, one by one, you wedded all the world.
Or from the all'that are took something good,
To make a perfect woman, she you kill'd
Would be uuparallel'd.
Leon. I think so. Kill'd I
She I kill'd 1 I did so : but.thou strikest me
Sorely, to say I did ; it is as bitter
Upon thy tongue as in my thought :,now,
good now.
Say so but seldom.
Cleo. Not at all, good lady: 20
You might have spoken a tliousand things that
would
Have done the time more benefit and graced
Your kindness better.
Paul. You are one of those
Would have him wed again.
Dion. If you would not so,
You pity not the state, nor the remembrance
Of his most sovereign name ; consider little
What dangers, by his highness' fail of issue,
May drop upon his kingdom and devour
Incertain lookers on. What were more holy
Than to rejoice the former queen is well ? 30
THE WINTER'S TALE.
1100
What holier than, for royalty's repair,
For present conit'ort and for future go^.
To bless the bed of majesty again
With a sweet fellow to't ? -
Paul: There is none worthy.
Respecting her that's ^one. Besides, the gods
Will have fulfill'd their secret purposes ;
For has not the divine Apollo said,
Is't not the tenor of his oracle,
Tliat King Leontes shall not have an heir
Till his lost child be found ? which that it
shall, 40
Is all as monstrous to our human reason
As ray Antigonus to break his grave
And come again to me ; who, on my life.
Did perish with the infant. 'Tis your counsel
My lord should to the heavens be contrary.
Oppose against their wills. [To Leontes.']
Care not for Issue ;
Tiie crown will find an heir : great Alexander
Left his to the worthiest; so his successor
Was like to be the best
Leon. Good Paulina,
Who hast the memory of Heriuione, 50
I know, in honor, O, that ever I
Had squared me to thy counsel ! then, even
now,
I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes,
Have taken treasure from her lips—
Paul. And left them
More rich for -yvhat they yielded.
Leon. Thou speak'st truth.
No more such wives ; therefore, no wife: one
worse.
And better used, would make her saluted
spirit
Again Assess her corpse, and on this stage.
Where we're offenders now, appear soul-vex'd,
fAnd begin, ' Why to me ?'
Paul. Hiid she such power, 60
She had just cause.
Leon. She had ; and would incense me
To murder her I married.
Paul. I should so.
Were I the ghost that walk'd, I'ld bid you
mark
Her eye, and tell me for what dull part in't
Yon chose her ; then I'ld shriek, that even
your ears
Should rift to hear me ; and the words that
follow'd
Should be ' Remember mine.'
Leon. Stars, stars.
And all eyes else dead coals ! Fear thou no
wife ;
I'll have no wife, Paulina.
Paul. Will you swear
Never to marry but by my free leave ? 70
Leon. Never, Paulina; so be blest my
sjMrit!
Paul. Then, good my lords, bear witness
to his oath.
CleoL You tempt him over-much.
Paul. Unless another,
As like Hermione as Is her picture,
Affront his eye.
[Actv.
CTeo. Good madam,—
Paul. L have done.
Yet, if my lord will marry,—^if you will, sir.
No remedy, but you will,—give me the office
To choose you a' queen : slie shall not be so
young
As was your former ; but she shall be such
As, walk'd your first queen's ghost, it should
take joy 80
To see her in your arms.
Leon. My true Paulina,
We shall not marry till thou bld'st us.
Paul. . Tliat.
Shall be when your first queen's agalu In
breath ;
Never till then.
Enter a Gentleman.
Gent. One that gives out himself Prince
Florizel,
Son of Pollxenes, with Ids princess, slie
The fairest 1 have yet beheld, desires access
To your higli presence.
Leon. What with him 1 he comes not
Like to his father's greatness : his approacli,
out of circumstance and sudden, tells its IK)
'Tis not a visitation framed, but forced
By need and accident. What train ?
Gent. But few,
And those but mean.
Leon. His princess, say you, with him ?
Gent. Ay,, the most peerless piece of earth,
I think.
That e'er the sun shone bright on.
Paul. O Hermione,
As every present time doth boast Itself
Above a better gone, so must thy grave
Give way to wlwt's seen now ! Sir, you your¬
self
Have said and writ so, but your writing now
Is eolder than that theme, ' She iiad not been,
Nor was not to be equall'd ;'—thus your verse
Flow'd with her b^uty once: 'tis shrewdly
ebb'd.
To say you liave seen a better.
Gent. Pardon, madam :
The one I have almost forgot,—your pardon,—
The other, when she has obtain'd your eye.
Will have your tongue too. Tlus is a creature.
Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal
Of all professors else, make proselytes
Of who she but bid follow.
Paul. How ! not women?
Gent. Women will love her, that she Is a
woman 110
More woith than any man ; men, that she is
The rarest of all women.
Leon. Go, Cleomenes ;
Yourself, assisted with your honor'd friends,
Brmg them to our embracemeut Still, 'tis
strange [Exeunt Cleomenes and others.
He thus should steal upon us.
Paul. Had our prince.
Jewel of children, seen tins hour, he had paii'd
Well with this lord ; there was not full a
month
THE WINTER'S TALE.
Scene I.J
Between their births.
Leon. Prithee, no more; cease; thou
know'st
He dies to me again when talk'd of: sure, 120
When I shail see this geutlemnn, thy speMhes
Will bring me to consider that which may
Untumish me of reason. They are come.
Re-enter CLBOitEMES and others, with
Fix>bizel and Pebdita.
Your mother was tnost true to wedlock,
prince;
For she did print your royal fathra off,
Conceiving you : were I but twenty-one.
Your 'fatlier's image is so hit in you,
His veiy air, that X should call you brother.
As I did him, and speak of something wildly
By us perform'd before. Most dearly wel-
■ come! 130
And your fair princess,—goddess !—O, alas !
1 lost a couple, that 'twixt heaven and earth
Might thus have stood begetting wonder as
Youj gracious couple^ do : and then 1 lost—
All mine own folly—tlie society,
Amity too, of your brave father, whom.
Though bearing misery, I desire my life
Once more to look on him.
Flo. By his command
Have I here touch'd Sicilia and from him .
Give you all greetings that a king, at friend.
Can send his brother : and, but infirmity 141
Which waits upon worn times hath something
seized
His wish'd ability, he had himself
The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and
his
Measured to look upon yon ; whom he-loves—
He bade me say so—^more than all tlie sceptres
And those that bear tliem living.
Leon. O my brother,
Good gentleman I the wrongs I have done thee
stir
Afresh within me, and these thy offices.
So rarely kind, are as interpreters 130
Of my behind-hand slackness. Welcome
hither.
As is the spring to the earth. And hath he
too
Exposed this paragon to the fearful usage,
At least ungentle, of the dreadful Neptune,
To greet a man not worth her pains, much
less
The adventure of her person ?
Flo. Good my lord,
She came from Libya.
/.eon. Where tlie warlike Smalns,
That noble honor'd lord, i.s fear'd and loved ?
Flo. Most royal sir, from tlience ; from
him, whoso daughter
His tears proelaim'd liis, partii>g with her ;
thence, 160
A prosperous south-wind frkMidly, we have
cross'd,
To execute the charge my father gave me
For visiting your highness : my best tmin
t have from your SicUiau shores dismiss'd ;
1101
Who for Bohemia bend, to signify
Not only my success in Libya, sir.
But my arrival and my wife's in safety
Here where we are.
Leon. The blessed gods
Purge all infection from our air whilst yon
Do climate here 1 You have a holy father,
A graceful gentleman ; against whose person,
So sacred as it is, I have done sin ;
For which tiie lieavens, taking angry note,
Have left me issueless; turn your Other's
blest,
As he from heaven merits it, with yon
Worthy his goodness. What might I have
been.
Might 1 a son and daughter now have look'd
on.
Such goodly things as you !
Enter a Lord.
Lord. Most noble sir.
That which I shall report will bear no credit.
Were not the proof so nigh. Please yon, great
sir, 180
Bohemia greets you from himself by me ;
Desires you to attach his sou, who has—
His dignity and duty both Ciist off—
Fled from his fatlier, from his hopes, and
with
A shepherd's daughter.
Leon. Where's Bohemia ? speak.
' Lord. Here in your city ; 1 now came from
him :
I speak amazedly ; and it becomes
My marvel and my message. To your court
Whiles he was hastening, in the chase, it
seems.
Of this fair couple, meets he on the way 190
The father of this seeming lady and
Her brother, having both tiieir country quitted
With this young prince.
Flo. Camillo has betray'd me;
Whose honor and whose honesty till now
Endured all weathers.
Lord. Lay't so to his charge :
He's with the king your father. «
Ijeon. Who ? Oamillo ?
Lord. Camillo, sir; I spake with him ; who
now
H:is these poor men in question. Never saw I
Wretches so quake : they kneel, they kiss the
earth; 109
Forswear themselves as often as they speak :
Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them
AVith divers deaths in death.
Per. O my poor father !
The heaven sets spies upon us, will not have
Our contract celebrated.
Leon. You are married 7
Flo. We are not, sir, nor are we like to be;
The stars, I see, will kiss the vallej-s 6rst:
The odds for high and low's alike.
Leon. My lord.
Is this the daughter of a king ?
( Flo. i She is,
] When once she is my wife.
THE WINTER'S TALE.
1102
Leon. That ' once,' I see by yoiw good
father's speed, 210
Will come on very slowly. I am sorry,
Jlost sorry, you have broken from his liking
Where you were tied in duty, and as sorry
Your choice is not so rich iu worth as beauty.
That you might well enjoy her.
Flo.- Dear, lookup:
Though Fortune, visible an enemy.
Should chase us with my father, power no jot
Hath she to change our loves. Beseech yon,
sir.
Remember since you owed no more to time
Than I do now : with thought of such affec¬
tions, 220
Step forth mine advocate ; at your request
My father will grant precious things as trifles.
Leon. Would he do .so, I'ld beg your pre¬
cious mistress.
Which he counts bufa trifle.
Paul. Sir, my liege.
Your eye hath too much youth in't : not a
month
'Fore your queen died, she was more worth
such gazes
Than what you look on now.
icoji. I thought of her.
Even in these looks I made. [To Florizel.]
But your petition
Is yet unan.swer'd. I will to your father :
Your honor not o'erthrowu by your desires,
1 am friend to them and you : upon which
errand' 231
I now go toward him ; therefore follow me
And mark what way I make : come, good my
lord. [Exeunt.
Scene II. Before Lbontes' palace.
Enter Actolvcus and a Gentleman.
Aut. Beseech you, sir, were you present at
this relation ?
First Gent. I was by at the opening of the
fardel, heard the old sliepherd deliver the
manner how lie found it; whereupon, after a
little ai^zedness, we were all commanded out
of the cnamber ; ouly this methought I heard
the shepherd say, he found the child.
Aut. I would most gladly know the issue
of it
First Gent. I make a broken delivery of
the business ; but tlie changes I perceived in
the king and Camillo were very notes of ad¬
miration : they seemed almost, with stariug
on one another, to tear the cases of their eyes ;
there was speech iu their dumbness, language
ill their very gesture ; they looked as they
had heard of a world ransomed, or one de¬
stroyed : a notable passion of wonder appear¬
ed in them ; but the wisest beholder, that
knew no more but seeing, could not say if the
importance were joy or sorrow ; but iu the
extremity of the one, it must needs be.
Enter another Gentleman.
Here comes a gentleman that haply knows
more.
[Act v.
The news, Rogero ?
Sec. Gent. Nothing but bonfires: tlit
oracle is fulfilled ; the king's daughter u
found ; such a deal of wonder is brweu out
within this hour that balLad-makers cannot be
able to express it. <
Enter a third Gentleman.
Here comes the Lady Paulina's steward : he
cau deliver you more. How goes it now, sir?
this news which is called true is so like an old
tale, that the verity of it is in strong suspicion;
has the kuig found his heir ?
Third Gent. Most true, if ever truth were
{iregnant by circumstance : that which you
lear you'll swear you see, there is such unity
in the proofs. The mantle of Queen Her-
mione's, her jewel about the neck of it, the
letters of Autigonus found with it whidi they
know to be his character, the majesty of the
creature iu resemblance of the mother, the
affection of nobleness wliich nature shows
above h^ breeding, and many other evidences
proclaim her with all certainty to be the king's
daughter. Did you see the meeting of we
two kings ?
Sec. Gent. No.
Third Genu Then have you lost a sight,
which was to be seen, cannot be spoken of.
There might you have beheld one joy crown
another, so and in such manner that it seem¬
ed sorrow wept to take leave of them, for
their joy waded in tears. There was casting
up of eyes, holding up of hands, 'wiffi coun¬
tenances of such distraction that they were to
be known by garment, not by favor. Our
king, being ready to leap out of himself for
joy of his found daughter, as if that joy were
now become a loss, cries ' O, thy mother, thy
mother !' then asks Bohemia forgiveness ;
then embraces his son-in-law; then again
worries he his daughter with clipping her;
now he thanks the old shepherd, which stands
by like a weather-bitten conduit of many
kings' reigns. I never heard of such auothei
encounter, which lames report to follow it and
undoes description to do it.
Sec. Gent. Wha^ pray you, became ol
Autigonus, that carried hence the child ?
Third Gent. Like an old tale still, which
will have matter to rehearse, though credit be
asleep and not an ear open. He was torn to
pieces with a bear : this avouches the shep¬
herd's son ; who has not only his innocence,
which seems much, to justify him, but a hand¬
kerchief and rings of his that Paulina knows.
First Gentt What became of his bark and
his followers ?
mrd Gent. Wrecked the same instant of
their master's death and in the view of the
shepherd : so that all the instruments which
aided to expose the child were even then lost
when it was found. But O, the noble combat
that twixt joy and sorrow was fought in
Paulina! She had one eye declined for the
loss of her husband, another elevated that the
THE WINTER'S TALE.
Scene hi.]
THE WINTER'S TALE.
, 1108
oracle was fulfilled ; she lifted the princess
from the earth, and so locks her in embracing,
as if she would pin her to her heart that i^e
might no more be in danger of losing.
Fint Gent. The dignity of this act was
worth the audience of kings and princes ; for
by such was it acted.
Third Gent. One of the prettiest touches of
all and that which angled for mine eyes, caught
the water though not the fish, was when, at
the relation of the queen's death, with the
manner how she came to't bravely confessed
and lamented by the king, how attentiveness
wounded his daughter ; till, from one sign of
dolour to another, she did, with an ' Alas,' I
would fain say, bleed tears, for I am sure mj'
heart wept blood. Who was most marble
there changed color ; some swooned, all sor¬
rowed : if all the world could have seen't,
the woe had been universal. 100
First Gent. Are tliey returned to the court?
. 7%^ Gent. No ; the princess hearing of
her mother's statue, which is in the keeping of
l^ulina,—^a piece many years in doing and
now newiy performed by that rare. Italian
master, Julio Romano, who, had he himself
eternity and could put breath into his work,
would beguile Nature of her custom, so per¬
fectly he IS her ape ; he so near to Hermione
hath done Hermione that tliey say one would
speak to her and stand in hope of answer:
thither with all greediness of affection are
they gone, and there they intend to sup.
1^. Chnt. 1 thought she had some great
matter there in hand ; for she hath privately
twice or thrice a day, ever since the death of
Hermione, visited that removed house. Shall
we thither and with our company piece the
rejoicing ?
First Gent. Who would be thence that has
the benefit of access ? every wink of an eye
some new grace will be bom: our absence
makes us unthrifty to our knowledge. Let's
along. [Exeunt Gentlemen. 121
AxU. Now, had I not the dash of my former
life in me, would'prefermeut drop on my head.
I brought the old man and his sou aboard the
prince ; told him I heard them talk of a fardel
and I know not what; but he at that time, over-
fond of the shepherd's daughter, so he then
took her to be, who began to be much sea¬
sick, and himself little better, extremity of
weather continuing, this mystery remained
undiscovered. But'tis all one to me ; for had
I been the finder out of this secret, it would
not have relished among my other discredits.
Enter Shepherd and Clown.
Here come those I have done good to against
my will, and already appearing, in the blos¬
soms of their fortune. ♦
Shep. Come, boy ; I am pastmoechildreui
but thy sons and daughters will be all gentle¬
men bom. „ . . .
Clo. You are well met, sir. You denied
to fight with me this other day, because I was
no gentleman born. See you these clothes ?
say you see them not and think me still no
gentleman born : you were best say these
robes are not gentlemen bom : give me the
lie, do, and try whether 1 am not now a
gentleman bom.
Aut. I know you are now, sir, a gentleman
bom.
Clo. Ay, and have been so any time these
four hours.
Shep. And so have I, boy. 149
Clo. So you have : but I.was a gentleman
bom before my father ; for the king's son
took me by the liand, and called me brother ;
and then the two kings called my father
brother ; and then the prince my brother and
the princess my sister called my father father;
and so we wept, and there w.ts the firstgentle-
man-like tears that ever we shed.
Shep. We may live, son, to shed many
more.
Clo. Ay ; or else 'twere hard luck, being in
so preposterous estate as we are. 169
Aut. I humbly be.seech you, sir, to pardon
me all the faiilte I have committed to your
worship and to give me your good report to
the prince my master.
Shep. Prithee, son, do; for we must be
gentle, now we are gentlemen.
Clo. Thou wilt amend thy life 1
Aut. Ay, an it like your good worship.
Clo. Give me thy hand: I will swear to the -
prince thou art as honest a true fellow as
any is in Bohemia. 170
Shep. You may say it, but not swear it.
Clo. ■ Not swear it, now I am a gentleman ?
Let boors and franklins say it, I'll swear it,
Shep. How if it be false, son 7
Clo. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman
may swear it in the behalf of his friend ; and
I'll swear to the prince tliou art a tall fellow
of thy hands and that thou wilt not be drunk;
but I know thou art no tall fellow of thy
hands and that thou wilt be drunk : but I'll
swear it, and I would thou wouldst be a tall
fellow of thy hands.
Axit. I will prove so, sir, to my power.
Clo. Ay, by any means prove a tall fellow:
if I do not wonder how thou darest venture to
be drunk, not being a tall fellow, trust me not.
Hark ! the kings and the princes, onr kindred,
are going to see the queen's picture. Come,
follow us : we'll be thy good masters.
I [Exeunt.
Scene IH. A chapel in Pacuna's house.
Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Feorizel, Per-
dita, Camillo, Paulina, Lords, and At
tendants.
Leon. O grave and good Paulina, the great
comfort
Tliat I have had of thee !
Paul. What, sovereign sir,
I did not well I meant well. All my services
1134 ,
Yoa have paid home: but that you have
voudtsafed,
With your crown'd brother and these your
contracted
Heirs o{ your kingdoms, my poor house to
visit,
It is a suqjUis of your grace, which never
My life may last to answer.
Leon. O Paulina,
We honor you with trouble < but we came
To see the statue of our queen : your galleiy
Have we pass'd through, not without much
content . IX
In many singularities ; but we saw not
That which my daughter came to look upon,
Tlio statue of her mother.
Paul. ■* As she lived peerless.
So Iter dead likeness, I do well l)clieve.
Excels whatever vet you look'd upon
Or hand of man hath done ; therefore 1 keep
it
Lonely, apart. But here it is : preimre
To see the life as lively mock'd as ever
Still sleep mock'd death : behold, and say 'tis
well. 20
[Pawfinrt draws a curtain, and discovers
IlTtnione sUmdinf/like a statue.
I like your silence, it the more shows off
Your wonder : but yet speak ; first, you, my
liege.
Comes it not something near ?
Leon, Her natural posture !
Chide me, dear stone, that 1 may say indeed
Tliou art Hermione ; or rather, thou art she
In thy not chiding, for she was as tender
As infancy and grace. But yet, Paulina,
Hermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing
So aged as this seems.
Pcd. O, not by much.
Paul. So much the more our carver's ex¬
cellence ; 30
Which lets go by some sixteen years and
makes her
As she lived now.
Leon. As now she might have done.
So much to my good comfort, as it is
Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood.
Even with such life of majesty, warm life.
As now it coldly stands, when first I woo'd
her!
I am ashamed : does not the stone rebuke me
For being more stone than it ? O royal piece.
There's magic in thy majesty, which has
My evils conjured to remembrance and 40
From thy admiring daughter took the spirits.
Standing like stone with thee.
Per. And give me leave.
And do not say 'tLs superstition, that
I kneel and then implore her blessing. Lady,
Dear queen, that ended when I but Mgan,
Give me that hand of yours to kiss.
Paul. O, patience !
The statue is but newly fix'd, the color's
Not dry.
Cam. My lord, your sorrow was too sore
laid on,
[Act v-
Wliich sixteen winters cannot blow away, 50
So many summers dry ; scarce any joy
Did ever so long live ; no sorrow
But kill'd itself much sooner.
Pol. Dear my brother.
Let him that was tlie cause of this have power
To take off so much grief from you as he
Will piece np in himself.
Pcttd. Indeed, my lord.
If I had thought the sight of my poor image
Would thus have wrought you,—fox the stone
is mine—
I'Id not have show'd it.
Leon. Do not draw the curtain.
Paul. No longer shall you gaze on't, lest
your fancy CO
May think anon it moves.
Leon. Let be, let be.
Would I were dead, but that, methinks, aL
ready—
Wliat was he that did make it ? See, my lord.
Would you not deem it breathed 1 and that
those veins
Did verily bear blood ?
Pol. Masterly done:
The vmy life seems warm upon her lip.
Leon. The fixture of her eye has motion
in't.
As we are mock'd with art
Paul. I'll draw the curtain :
My lord's almost so far transported that
He'll think anon it lives.
Leon. O sweet Paulina, 70
Make me to think so twenty years together!
No settled senses of the world can match
The pleasure of that madness. Let't alone.
Paul. I am sorry, sir, 1 have thus far stirr'd
you : but
I could affiict you farther.
Leon. Do, Paulina ;
For this affliction has a taste as sweet
As any cordial comfort. Still, methinks.
There is an air comes from her: what fine
chisel
Could ever yet cut breath 7 Let no man mock
me,
For I will kiss her. -
Paul. Good my lord, forbear : 80
The ruddiness upon her lip is wet ;
You'll mar it if you kiss it, stain )'our own
With oily painting. Shall I draw the cur¬
tain ?
Leon. No, not these twenty years.
Per. So long could I
Stand by, a looker on.
Paul Either forbear.
Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you
For more amazement. If you can behold it,
I'll make tlie statue move indeed, descend
And t:«ke yon by the hand ; but tlien you'll
. think-7-
Which I protest against—I am assisted 90
By wickM powers.
Leon. What you can make her do»
I am content to look on : what to speak,
1 am content to hear ; for 'tis as easy
THE WINTER'S TALE.
ScEXE HI.]
To make her speak as move.
I'mtl. It is required
You do awake your faith. Theu all stand
still ;
On ; those that think it is unlawful business
I am about, let theju depart. . ' | t
Ijeon. • ' Proceed:
No foot sliall stir.
Pwil. Music, awake her ; strike ! [Music.
'Tis time ; descend ; be stone no mure ; ap¬
proach ; 99
Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come, ,
I'll flu your grave up: stir, nay, come away,
Bequeath to death your numbness, for from
him
Dear life redeems you. You perceive she stirs:
[Hermione comes down.
Start not; her actions shall be holy as
You hear my sjiell is lawful: do notshun her
Until you see her die again ; for then
You kill her double. Nay, present your hand:
When she was young you woo'd her; now in
age
Is she become the suitor ?
Leon. O, she's warm I
If this be magic, let it be an art 110
Lawful as eating.
Pol. She embraces him.
Cam. She han^ about his neck :
If she pertain to life let her siieak too.
Pol. Ay, and make't manifest where she
' has lived.
Or how stolen from the dead.
Paul. That she is living.
Were it but told you, should be hooted at
Like an old tale : but it appears she lives,
Though yet she speak not. Mark a little
while.
Please you to interpose, fair madam: kneel
And pray your mother's blessing. Turn, good
lad y; 120
Our Perdita is found.
Her. You gods, look down
And from your sacred vials pour your graces
1105
Upon my daughter's head ! Tell me, mine
own.
Where hast thou been preserved? where
lived ? how found
Thy father's court? for thou shalt hear that I,
Knowing by Paulina that tdie oracle
Gave lK>pe thou wast in being, t^ve preserved
Myself to see the issue.
Paul. There's time enough for that;
'Lest they desire upon this push to trouble
Your joys with like relation. Go togetiier, 130
You precious winners all ; your exultation
Partake to every one. 1, an old turtle.
Will wing me to some wither'd bough and there
My mate, that's never to be found again.
Lament till 1 am lost.
Leon. ' O, peace, Paulina!
Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent,
As I by thine a wife : this is a match,
And made between's by vows. Thou hast
found mine ;
But how, is to be question'd ; for I saw her.
As I thought, dead, and have, in vain said
many 140
A prayer upon her grave. I'll not seek far—
For him, I partly know his mind—to find thee
An honoiable husband. Come, Camillo,
And take her by the hand, whose worth and
. honesty
Is richly notra and here justified
By us, a pair of kings, l.ot'8 from this place.
What! look upon my brother : both your par¬
dons.
That e'er 1 put between your holy looks
My ill suspicion. Tliis is vour son-in-law
And son unto the king, who, heavens direct¬
ing, 150
Is troth-plight to your daughter. Gopd Pau¬
lina,
Lead us from hence, where we may leisurely
Each one demand and answer to his i)art
Perfonn'd in this wide gap of time since first
We were dissever'd : hastily lead away.
[Ezestnk
70
THE WINTER'S TALE.
KING HENEY VIII.
(written about 1612-13.)
INTKODUCTION.
This pUj, as we learn from Sir Henry Wotton and from T. Lorking, was being enacted as a new
play at the Oiohe Theatre, under the name of All ia True, in June, 1613, when some burning paper
shot oil from a cannon set fire to the thatch and occasioned the destruction of the bailding. It has
been shown conclusively by Mr. Spedding that the play is in part from Shakespeare's hand, in part
from Fletcher's. The latter's verse had certain strongly-marked characteristics, one of which is the
very frequent occurrence of double endings. Going over the play, scene by scene, and applying the
various tests, Mr. Spedding arrived at the following result; Shakespeare's part: Act 1., Sc. 1. II.;
Act I., Sc. III. IV.; Act HI., Sc. ii. (to exit of the king); Act V., Sc. i. The rest of the play is by
Fletcher. A German critic (Hertzberglhas described Henry VIII. as " a chronicle-history with three
and a half catastrophes, varied by a niarrii^e and a coronatiou pageant, ending abruptly with the
baptism of a child." It is indeed incoherent in structure. After all our sympathies have been
engaged upon the side of the wronged Queen Katharine, we are calied upon to rejoice in the mar¬
riage triumph of her rival, Anne Bmeyn. " The greater part of the fifth act, in which the interest
ought to be gathering to a head, isocciipied with matteis in which we have not been prepared to take
any interest by what went before, mid on which no interest is reflected by what comes after." But
viewed from another side, that of its metrical workmanship, the play is equally deficient in unity,
and indeed betrays unmistakably tlie presence of two writers. Nevertheless, there are three great
figures in the play clearly and strongly conceived by Shakespeare ; The King, Queen Katharine, and
Cardinal Wolsey. The Queen is one of the noble, long-enduring sufferers, just-minded, disinterested,
truly charitable, who give their moral gravity and grandeur to Shakespeare's last plays. She has
clear-sighted penetration to see through the Cardinal's cunning practice, and a lofty indignation
against what is base, but no imworthy personal resentment. Henry, if we judge him sternly, is cruel
and self-indulgent; but Shakespeare will hardly allow us to judge Henry sternly. He is a lordly
figure, with a full, abounding strength of nature, a self-confidence, an ease and mastery of life, a
power of effortless sway, audi seems oom to pass on in triumph over those who have fallen and are
afflicted' Wolsey is drawn with superb power: ambition, fraud, vindictiveness, have made him
their own, yet cannot quite ruin a nature possessed of noble qualities. It is hard at first to refuse to
Shakespeare the authorship of Wolsey's famous soliloquy in which he bids his greatness farewell,
but it is certainly Fletcher's, and when one has perceived this one perceives also mat it was an error
ever to suppose ft written in Shakespeare's manner. The scene in which the vision appears to the
dying Queen is also Fletcher's, and in his highest style. We can see from this play that if Shake¬
speare had returned at the age of fifty to the historical drama, tlie works written then would have
been greater in moral grandeur than those written from his thirtieth to his thirty-fifth years.
DRAMATIS
Ktxo Henry the Eighth
Cardinal Wolsey.
Cardinal Cajipeius. '
Capdcius. Ambassador from the Emperor
Charles V.
Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury
Duke of Norfolk.
Duke of Buckingham. .
Duke of Suffolk.
Earl of Surrey.
Lord Chamberlain.
Lord Chancellor.
Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester.'
Bishop of Lincoln. ' i
liord AcEUGAVENNY
(1100)
PERSON.®.
Lord Sands.
Sir Henry Guildford.
Sir Tho.mas Lovell.
Sir Anthony Denny.
Sir Nicholas Vaux.
Secretaries to Wolsey.
Cromwell, Serv.mt to Wolsey. [rine.
Griffith, Gentleman-usher to Queen Katha-
Three Gentlemen.
Doctor Butts, Physician to the King.
Garter King-at-Arms.
Surveyor to the Duke of Buckingham. '
Brandon, and a Sergeant-at-Arms.
.Door-keeper of the Council-chamber. Porter,
and his Man.
Scene i.'
laNG HENRY VIII.
Page to Gardiuer. A Crier.
QuEKjf Katharine, wife to Kiug Henry,
afterwards divorced.
Anne Bueeen, her Maid of Honor, afterwards
QiieeiE
An old Lady, friend to Anne Bullen.
Patience, woman to Queen Katharine.
Several Ixirds and Ladies in the Dumb Shows:
Women attending upon the Queen; Scribesj
Officers, Guards, and other Attendants.
Spirits.
Scene: London] Westminster; Kimbolton,
■ THE PROLOGUE.
I come no more to make you Laugii : tilings
now.
That bear a weighty and a serious brow.
Sad, high, and working, fuil of state and woe.
Such nobie scenes as draw the eye to flow,
We now present. Those that can pity, here .
May, if they think it well, let fall a tear ;
The subject will deserve it. Sucli as give
Their money out of hope they may believe.
May here find truth too. Those tliat come to
see
Only a show or two, and so agree 10
The play may pass, if they be still and wil¬
ling,
I'll undertake may see away tlieir shilling
Richly in two short iioius. Only tliey
That come to hear a merry bawdy play,
A noise of targets, or to see a fellow
In a long motley coat guarded with yellow.
Will bo deceived ; for, gentle hearers, know.
To rank our chosen truth with such a show
As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting
Our own brains, aud the opinion that we
bring, 20
To make that only true we now intend,
Will leave us never an understanding friend.
Therefore, for goodness' sake, and as you are
known
The first and liappiest liearers of the town,
Be sad, as We would make ye : think ye see
The very persons of our noble story
As they were living; think you see them great,
And foliow'd with tlie general throng and
sweat
Of tliou.sand friends ; then in a moment, see
How soon tills mightiness meets misery : 30
And, if you can be iBerry then, I'll say
A man may weep upon his wedding-day
ACT I.
Scene I. London. An ants-chamber in the
palace.
Enter the Duke of Norfoek at one door; at
the other, the Duke of Buckingham and the
Lord anekgavenkr.
Buck. Good morrow, and will met. How
have ye done
-•1^0 last we saw in France ?
I thank yonr grace.
Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer
Of what 1 saw there.
Buck. An untimely ague
Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber wiien
Those suns of glory, those two ligiits of men.
Met in the vale of Andren.
Nor. 'Twixt Guynes and Arde :
1 was then present, saw them salute on horse¬
back ;
Beheld them, when they lighted, how they
clung
In their embracement, as they grew togetiier;
Wiiich had they, what four throned ones could
have weigh'd 11
Such a compounded one"?
Buck. Ail the whole time
I was my chamber's prisoner.
Nor. Then you lost
The view of earthly glory : men might say.
Till this time pomp was single, hut now mar¬
ried
To one above itself. Each following day
Became the next day's master,-till the last
Made former wonders its. To-day the French,
Ail clinquant, ail in gold, like heathen gods.
Shone down, the English ; and, to-morrow,
they 20
Made Britain India : every man that stood
Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages
were
As cherr.bins, all gilt: the madams too.
Not used to toil, did almost sweat to bear
The pride upon them, that their very labor
Was to them as a painting : now this ma.sque
Was cried incomparable ; and the ensuing
night
Made it a fool and beggar. The two kings.
Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst.
As presence did present them ; him in eye, t")
Stiii him in praise : and, being present both,
'Twas said they saw but one ; aud no discerner
Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these
suns—
For so they phrase 'era—by their heralds chal¬
lenged
The noble spirits to arms, they did perform
Beyond thought's compass ; that former fab¬
ulous story.
Being now seen possible enough, got credit.
That Bevis was believed.
Buck. O, you go far.
Nor. As I belong to worship and affect
In "-.onor honesty, the tract of every thing •
Would bv a good discourser lose some V •
1108
Which action's self was tongue to. Ail was
royal;
To the disposing of it nought rebell'd,
Order gave each tiling view ; the office did
Distinctly his full function.
Buck. Who did guide,
I mean, who set the hody and the limbs
Of this great sport together, as you guess ?
Nor. One, certes, that promises no element
In sucli a business.
Buck. Ipray you, who, my lord ?
Nor. All this was order'd by the good dis¬
cretion SO
Of the right reverend Cardinal of York.
- Buck. The devil speed liim ! no man's pie
is freed
From his ambitious finger. Wliat had he
To do in these fierce vanities ? I wonder
Tliat such a keech can with his very bulk
Take up the rayso' the beneficial sun
And keep it from the earth.
Nor. Surely, sir,
There's in him stuff that pats him to these
ends; [grace
For, being not propp'd by ancestry, whose
Chalks successors flieir way, nor cali'd upon
For high feats done to the crown ; neither
allied 61
To eminent assistants ; but, spider-like,
tOut of his .self-drawing web, he gives ns note.
The force of his own merit makes his way ;
A gift that heiiven gives for liim, which buys
A place next to the king.
Aher, I cannot tell
What heaven hath given him,—let some graver
eye
I^erce into that ; but I can see his pride
Peep through each part of him : whence has
he tliat,
If not from hell ? the devil is a niggard, 70
Or has given all before, and he begins
A new hell in himself.
Buck. Why the devil,
Upon this French gorng out, took he upon
him.
Without the privity o' the king, to apixiint
Who should attend on him ? He makes up the
file
Of all the gentry ; for the most part such
To whom as great a charge as little honor
He meant to lay upon : and his own letter,
The honorable board of council out,
tMust fetch him in the papers. •
Aber. I do know 80
Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have
By this sosicken'd their estates, that never
They shali abound as formerly. ,
Buck. O, many
Have broke their backs with laying manors on
'em
For this great journey. What did this vanity
But minister communication of
A most poor issue ?
Nor. Grievingly i think,
The peace between the French and us not
values
. (Act 1.
The cost that did conclude it.
Buck. Every man.
After the hideous storm that follow'd, was 90
A thing inspired ; and, Wt consulting, broke
Into a general prophecy ; That this tempest,
D.ashing the garment of tliis peace, aboded
The sudden breach on't.
Nor. Which is budded out ,
For France hath flaw'd tlie league, and hath
.attach'd
Our merchants' goods at Bourdeaux.
Aber. Is it therefore
The ambassador is silenced ?
Nor. Marry, is't.
Aber. A proper title of a peace ; and pur¬
chased
At a superfluous rate !
Buck. Why, all this business
Our reverend cardinal carried.
Nor. Like it your grace, 100
The state takes notice of tlie private difference
Betwixt you and the cardinal. I advise you—
And take it from a heart that wishes towards
you
Honor and plenteous safety—that yon read
The cardinal's malice and his potency
Together ; to consider further that
What his high hatred would effect wants not
A minister in his power. Yon know his nature.
That he's revengeful, and I know his sword
Hath a sharp edge : it's long and, 't miiy l^e
said, no
It reaches far, and where 'twill not extend.
Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel.
You'll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes
that rock
That I advise your shunning.
Enter Cardinal Wolsey, tJie purxe borne be¬
fore him, certain of the Guard, and tioa Sec¬
retaries with papers. The Cardinal in his
passage fixeth his eye on Buckinoham, and
Buckingham on him, both full of disdain.
Wol. The Duke of Buckingham's surveyor,
ha ?
Where's his examination ?
First Sea". Here, .so please you.
Wol. Is he in person ready ?
Fi7'st Seer. Ay, please your grace.
Wol. Well, we shall then know more ; and
Buckingham
Shall lessen this big look.
\_Exexint Wolsey and his Train-
Buck. This butcher's cur is venom-raouth'd,
and I 120
Have not the ixjwer to muzzle him ; therefore
best
Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's
book
Outworths a noble's blood.
Nor. What, are you chafed ?
Ask God for temjierance ; that's the appliance
only
Which your disease requires.
Buck.' I read in's looks
Matter against me ; and his eye reviled
KING HENRY VIII.
ScBNB I.]
Me, as his abject object; at this instant
He bores me with some trick : he's gone to the
king;
I'll follow and outstare him.
Nor. Stay, my lord, 129
And let yonr reason with your clioler question
What 'tis you go about: to climb steep hills
Requires slow pace at first; auger is like
A full-hot horse, who being alfow'd his way,
Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England
> Can advise me like you : be to yourself
As you would to your friend.
Buck. I'il to the king ;
And from a mouth of honor quite cry down
This Ipswich fellow's insolence ; or proclaim
There s difference in no persons.
Nor. Be advised;
Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot 140
That it do sin|;e yourself : we may outrun.
By violent swiftness, that which we run at.
And lose by over-running. Know you no^
The fire that mounts the liquor tiil't run o'er.
In seeming to augment it wastes it ? Be
advised :
I say again, there is no English soul
More stronger to direct you than yourself.
If with the sap of reason you would quench.
Or but allay, the fire of passion.
Buck. Sir,
I am thankful to you ; and I'll go along 150
By your prescription : but this top-proud fel¬
low.
Whom from the flow of gali I name not but
From sincere motions, by intelligence.
And proofs as clear as founts in July when
We see each grain of gravel, I do know
To be corrupt and treasonous.
Nor. Say not' treasonous.'
Buck. To the king I'll say't; and make my
vouch as strong
As shore of rock. Attend. This holy fox.
Or wolf, or both,—for he is equal ravenous
As he is subtle, and as prone to mischief 160
As able to perform't; his mind and place
Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally—
Only to show his pomp as well in France
As here at home, suggests the king our master
To this last costly treaty, the interview.
That swallow'd so much treasure, and like a
glass
Did break i' the rinsing.
Nor. Faith, and so it did.
Buck. Pray, give me favor, sir. This cun¬
ning cardinal
The articles o' the combination drew 169
As himself pleased ; and they were ratified
As he cried ' Thus let be': to as much end
As give a crutch to the dead : but our count-
cardinal
Has done this, and 'tis well; for worthy Wol-
sey, •
Who cannot err, he did it Now this foiiows,—
Which, as I take it, is a kind of puppy
To the old dam, treason,—Charles the em¬
peror.
Under pretence to see the queen his aunt,—
II09
For 'twas indeed his color, but he came .
To whisper Woisey,—here makes visitation :
His fears were, that the interview betwixt IM
England and France might, through their
amity, [league
Breed him some prejudice ; for from fills
Peep'd harms that menaced him : he privily
Deals witli our cardinal; and, as I trow,—
Which I do well; for I am sure the emperor
Paid ere he promised ; whereby his suit was
granted
Ere it was ask'd ; but when the way was made.
And paved with gold, tlie emperor thus de¬
sired.
That he would please to alter the king's course.
And break the foresaid peace. Let the king
know, IM
As soon he shall by me, that thus the cardinal
Does buy and sell his honor as he pleases.
And for his own advantage.
Nor. I am sorry
To hear this of him ; and could wish he were
Something mistaken in't.
Buck. No, not a syllable :
I do pronounce him in that very shape
He shall appear in proof.
Enter Bbanpon, o Sergeant-at-arms before
him, and two or three of the Guard.
Bran- Your oflice, sergeant; execute it.
Serg. Sir,
My lord the Duke of Buckingham, and Earl
Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I
Arrest thee of high treason, in the name 201
Of our most sovereign king.
Buck. Lo, you, my lord.
The net has fall'n upon me ! I shall pensh
Under device and practice.
Bran. I am sorry
To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on
The business present: 'tis his highness' pleas¬
ure
You shall to the Towers-
Buck. ' It will help me nothing
To plead mine innocence ; for that dye is on
me
Which makes my whitest part black. The
will of heaven
Be done in this and all things ! I obey. 210
O my Lord Abergavenny, fare you well I
Bran. Nay, he must bear you company.
The king [To Abergavenny.
Is pleased you shall to the Tower, till you know
How he determines further.
Aber. As the duke said.
The will of heaven be done, and the king's
pleasure
By me obey'd !
Bran. Here is r- warrant from
The king to attach Lord Montacute ; and the
bodies
Of the duke's confessor, John de la Car,
One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor,—
Buck. So, so •>
These are the limbs o' the plot: no more, 1
hope. 2^
KING BENRY VIIL
{110
Bran. A monk o' the Chartreux.
Buck, O, Nicholas Hopkins ?
Bran, He.
Buck, My surveyor is false ; the o'er-great
cardinal
Hath show'd him gold ; my life is spaun'd
aiready :
I am the shadow of poor Buckingham,
Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on,
By darkening my clear sun. My lord, farewell.
[Exeunt.
Scene 11. The same. The council-chamber.
Cornets. Enter the King, leaning on the Car-
otnal's shoulder, the Nobles, and Sir
Thomas Lovell ; the Cardinal places
himself under the King's/eet on his right
side.
King. My life itself, and the best heart of
it.
Thanks you for this great care ; I stood i' the
ievel
Of a full-charged confederacy, and give thanks
To you that choked it. Let be call'd before us
That gentleman of Buckiugham's ; in person
I'ii hear him his confessions justify;
And point by imiiit the treasons of bis master
He shall again relate.
A noise loithin, crying ' Room for the Queen!'
Enter Queen Katharine, ushered by the
Duke or nohfolkj^arad the Duke of Suf¬
folk: she kneels. The King risethfrom his
stale, takes her up, kisses and placeth her by
Mm.
Q. Kath. Nay, we must longer kneel: I am
a suitor.
King. Arise, and take place by us : half
your suit 10
Never name to us ; you have half our power t
The other moiety, ere you ask, is given ;
Repeat your will and take it.
Q. Kath. Thank your majesty.
That you would love yourself, and in that love
Not uncousider'd leave your honor, nor
The dignity of your office, is the point
Of my petition.
King. Lady mine, proceed.
Q. Kath. I am solicited, not by a few.
And those of true condition, that your subjects
Are in great grievance : there hare been com¬
missions 20
Sent down among 'em, which hath flaw'd the
heart
Of all their loyalties : wherein, although, •
My good lord cardinal, they vent reproaches
Most bitterly on you, as putter on
Of these exactions, yet the king our master—
Whose honor heaven shield from soil 1—even
he escapes not
Language unmannerly, yea, such which breaks
The sides of loyalty, and almost appears
In loud rebellion.
Kor. Not almost appears,
h doth appear; for, upon these taxations, 30
[Act i.
The clothiers ail, not able to maintain
The many to them longing, have put off
The spinsters, carders, f uliers, weavers, who,
Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger
And lack of other means, in desperate manner
Daring the event to tlie teeth, are all in up.
roar.
And danger serves among them.
King. Taxation !
Wherein ? and what taxation ? My lord car¬
dinal.
You that are blamed for it alike with us.
Know you of this taxation ?
Wol. Please you, sir, 40
I know but of a single part, in aught
Pertains to the slate; and front but in that file
Where others tell steiis with me.
Q. Kath. No, my lord.
You know no more than others; but you frame
Things that are known alike ; which are not
wholesome
To tliose whicli would not know them, and yet
must
Perforce be their acquaintance. These exac¬
tions.
Whereof my sovereign wouid have note, they
are ['em.
Most pestilent to the hearing; and, to bear
The back is sacrifice to the load. They say 50
They are devised by you ; or else you suffer
Too hard an exclamation.
King. Still exaction !
The nature of it ? in what kind, let's know.
Is this exaction ?
Q. Kath. I am much too venturous
In tempting of your patience; but am bolden'd
Under your promised pardon. The subjects'
grief
Comes through commissions, which compel
from each
The sixth part of his substance, to be levied
Without delay; and the pretence for this
Is named, your wars in France: this makes
bold mouths : 60
Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts
freeze
Allegiance in them ; their curses now
Live where their prayers did : and it's come to
pass.
This tractable obedience is a slave
To each incensed will. I would your highness
Would give it quick consideration, for
There is no primer business.
King. By my life.
This is against our pleasure.
Wol. And for me,
I have no further gone in this than by
A single voice ; and that not pass'd me but 70
By learned approbation of the judges. If I am
Traduced by ignorant tongues, which neither
know
My faculties nor person, yet will be
The chronicles of my doing, let me say
'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake
That virtue must go through. We must not
stint
KING HENRY Vffi,
Sc£NE Il.j
Our necessary actious, in the fear
To cope malicious censurers; wliich ever,
As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow
That is new-trimm'd, but benefit no fuj-ther 80
Than vainly longing. What we oft do best.
By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is
Not ours, or notallow'd ; what worst, as oft,
Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up
For our best act. If we shall stand still.
In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at.
We should take root here where we sit, or sit
State-statues only.
Kiny. Things done well.
And with a care, exempt themselves from fear;
Things done without example, in their issue
Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent 91
Of this commission ? I believe, not any.
We must not rend our subjects from our laws.
And stick them in our will. Sixth part of
each ?
A trembling contribution ! Why, we take
From every tree lop, bark, and part o' the
timber ;
And, though we leave it witli a root, thus
hack'd.
The air will drink the sap. To every county
Where this is question'd send our letters, with
Free pardon to each man that has denied 100
The force of this commission : pray, look to't;
I put it to your care.
Wol. A word with you.
[J'o the Secretary.
Let there be letters writ to every .shire.
Of the king's grace and pardon. ^ The grieved
commons
Hardly conceive of me ; let it be noised
That through our intercession this revokement
knd pardon comes : I shall anon advise you
Further in the proceeding. [Exit Secretary.
Enter Surveyor.
Q. Kath. I am sorry that the Duke of Buck¬
ingham
Is run in your displeasure.
Kiny. It grieves many; 110
The gentleman is learu'd, and a most rare
speaker;
To nature none more bound; his training such.
That he may furnish and instruct great teach¬
ers, •
And never seek for aid out of himself. Yet
see.
When these so noble benefits shall prove
Not well disposed, the mind growing once cor¬
rupt.
They turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly
Than ever they were fair. This man so com¬
plete.
Who was enroll'd 'mongst wonders, and when
we, 119
Almost with ravish'd listening, could not find
His hour of speech a minute h*, my lady.
Hath into monstrous habits pnt the graces
That once were his, and is become as black
As if besmeaFd in hell. Sit by us: yon shall
hear—
liU
This was his gentleman in trust—of him
Things to strike honor sad. Bid him recount
The fore-recited practices ; whereof '
We cannot feel too little, hear too mudi.
M'ol. Stand forth, and with bold spirit re¬
late what you.
Most like a careful subject, have collected 130
Out of the Duke of Buckingham.
Kiny. Speak freely.
Sw-v. First, it was usual witli him, every
day
It would infect his speech, that if the king
Should without issue die, he'll carry it so
To make the sceptre his : these very words
I've heard him utter to his son-in-law.
Lord Abergavenny ; to whom by oath he
menaced
Revenge upon the cardinaL
Wol. Please your nighness, note
Tills dangerous concet>tion in this point. 139
Not friended by his wish, to your high person
His will is most malignant; and it stretches
Beyond you, to your friendsi
Q. Kaih. My learu'd lord cardinal.
Deliver all with charity.
Kiny. Speak on :
How grounded he his title to the crown.
Upon our fail 1 to this point hast thou heard
him
At any time speak aught ?
Surv. He was brought to this
By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins.
Kiny. What was that Hopkins ?
Swrv. Sir, a Chartrenx friar,
His confessor, who fed him every minute
With words of sovereignty.
Kiny. How knbw'st thou this ? 150
Surv. Not long before your highness sped
to France,
The duke being at the Rose, within the parish
Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand
What was the speech among the Londoners
Concerning the French journey: I replied.
Men fear'd the French would prove perfidious.
To the king's danger. Presently the duke
Said, 'twas the fear, indeed ; and that he
doubted
'Twould prove the verity of certain words 159
Spoke by a holy monk ; ' that oft,' says he,
' Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit
John de la Car, my chaplain, a choice hour
To hear from him a matter of some moment:
Whom after under the confession's seal
He solemnly had sworn, that what be spoke
My chaplain to no creature living, but
To me, should utter, with demure confidence
This pausingly ensued: neither the king nor's
heirs.
Tell you the duke, shall prosper; bid him strive
To gain the love o' the commonalty: the duke
Shall govern England.' 171
Q. Kath. If I know yon well.
You were the duke's surveyor, gnd lost your
office
On the complaint o' the tenants : take good
heed
KING BENRT Vltt.
1112
You oharge uot lu your spleen a noble person
And spoil jirour nobler soul: I say, take heed ;
Yes, heartily beseech you.
Kitig. Let him on.
Go forward.
Surv. On ray soul, I'll speak but truth.
I told my lord the duke, by the devil's illusions
Tlie monk might be deceived ; and that 'twas
dangerous for him
To ruminate on this so far, until 180
It forged him some design, which, being be¬
lieved.
It was much like to do : he answer'd, ' Tush,
It can do me no damage ;' adding further,
That, had the king hi his last sickness fail'd,
The cardinal's and Sir Thomas Ixrvell's heads
Should have gone off.
King. Ha ! whait, so rank ? Ah ha!
There's mischief in this man: canst thou say
further ?
Surv. I can, my liege.
King. Proceed.
Surv. " Being at Greenwich,
After your highness had reproved the duke
About Sir WlTllam Blomer,—
King. I remember 190
Of iuch a tune ; being my sworn servant.
The duke retain'd mm his. But on ; what
hence ?
Surv. ' If,' quoth he, ' I for this had been
committM, [play'd
As, to the Tower, I thought, I would have
The part my father meant to act upon
Tlie usurper Richard; who, being at Salisbury,
Made suit to come in's presence ; which if
granted.
As .he made semblance of his duty, would
Have put his Jmife into him.'
King. A giant traitor !
Wbl. Now, madam, may his highness live
in freedom, 200
And this man out of prison ?
Q. Katk. God mend all !
King. There's something more would out
of thee ; what say'st ?
Surv. After 'the duke his father,' with
' the knife,'
He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his
dagger.
Another spread on's breast, mounting his eyes
He did discharge a horrible oath ; whose tenor
Was,—were he evil used, he would outgo
His father by as much as a performance
Does an irresolute purpose.
King. There's his period.
To sheathe his knife in us. He is attach'd ;
Call him to present trial: if he may 211
Find mercy in the law, 'tis his; if nope.
Let him not seek't of us : by day and night.
He's traitor to the height. [Exeunt.
Scene IH. An antechamber in the palace.
Ent^ the Lord Chamberlain and Lord
• Sands.
Uham. Is't possible the spells of France
should juggle
[Act i.
Men into such strange mysteries. ?
Satids. New customs,
Tliough they be never so ridiculous.
Nay, let 'em be unmanly, yet are follow'd.
Cham. As far as I see, all the good out
English
Have got by the late voyage is but merely
A fit or two o' the face ; but they are shrewd
ones ;
For when they hold 'em, you would swear
directly
Their very noses had been counsellors
To Pepin or Clothariiis, they keep state so. 10
Sands. They have all new legs, and lame
ones : one would take it.
That never ""w 'em pace before, the sjiavin
Or springhajt reign'd among 'em.
Cham. Death ! my lord.
Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too.
That, sure, they've worn out Christendom.
Enter Sir Thomas Lovell.
How now!
What news. Sir Thomas Lovell ?
Lov. Faith, my lord,
I hear of none, but the new proclamation
That's clapp'd upon the court-gate.
Cham. AVhat is't for?
Lov. The reformation of our travell'd
gallants.
That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and
tailors. 20
Cham. I'm glad 'tis there : now I would
pray our monsieurs
To think an English courtier may be wise.
And never see the Louvre.
Lov. They must either,
For so run the conditions, leave those rem¬
nants
Of fool and feather that they got in France,
With all their honorable points of ignorance
Pertaining thei'eunto, as fights and fireworks.
Abusing better men than they can be,
Out of a foreign wisdom, renouncing clean
The faith they have in tennis, and tall stock¬
ings, 30
Short blister'd breeches, and tho.se types of
travel,
And understand again like honest men ;
Or p.ack to their old playfellows : there, I take
it,
They may, cum privilegio,' wear away
The lag end of their lewdness and be* laugli'd
at.
Sands. 'Tis time to give 'em physic, their
diseases
Are grown so catching.
Cham. What a loss our ladies
Will have of these trim vanities !
Lov. Ay, marrv.
There will be woe indeed, lords : the sly
whoresons ^
Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies }
A French song and a fiddle has no fellow.
Sands. The devil fiddle 'era t I am glad
tiiey are going.
KINO HENRY VHl
Scene iv.]
For, sure, there's no converting of 'em : now
An honest country lord, as 1 am, beateu
A long time out of play, may bring his plahi-
song
And have an hour of hearing ; and, by'rlady.
Held current music too.
Cham. \Vell said, Lord Sands ;
Your colt's tooth is not cast yet.
Sands. No, my lord ;
Nor shall not, while I have a stump.
Cham. Sir Thomas,
Whither were you a-going ?
Iiov. To the cardinal's : 50
Your lordship is a guest too.
Cham. ^ O, 'tis true:
This night he makes a supper, and a great
one.
To many lords and ladies ; there will be
'file beauty of this kingdom, I'll assure you.
Lov. That churchman bears a bounteous
mmd indeed,
A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us ;
His dews fail every where.
Cham. No doubt he's noble ;
He had a black mouth that said other of him.
Sands. He may, my lord ; has wherewithal:
in him
Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doc¬
trine : GO
Men of his way should be mo.st liberal;
They are set here for examples.
Cham. True, they are so :
Bi/ few now give so great ones. My barge
stays ;
Your lordship shall along. Come, good Sir
Thomas,
We shall be late else ; which I would not be,
For I was spoke to, with Sir Henry Guildford
This night to be comptrollers.
SanS. I am your lordship's. [Exeunt.
Scene IV. A Hall in York Place,
Hautboys. A small table under a state for the
Cardinai,, a longer table fm- the guests.
Then enter Anne Bcllen and divers other
Ladies and Gentlemen as gu sts, at one door;
at another door, enter Sir Henry Guild¬
ford.
Guild. Ladies, a gfeneral welcome from his
grace
Salutes ye all ; this night he dedicates
To fair content <tud you : none here, he hopes.
In all tliis noble bevy, has brought with her
One care abroad ; he would have all as merry
As, first, good company, goqd wine, good wel¬
come,
Can make good people. O, my lord, you're
tardy :
Enter Lord Chamberlain, Lord Sands, and
Sir Thomas LovEi.as
The very thought of this fair company
Clapp'd wings to me.
Cham. You are youn.g. Sir Harry Guildford.
Sands, Sir Thomas Lavell, had the cardinal
7it3
But half my lay tlioughts m him, some of
these 11
Should find a running bau^aet ere they rested,
I think would better please 'em : by my life.
They are a sweet society of fair ones.
Lov. 0. that your lordship were but now
confessor
To one or two of these !
Sands, I would i were ;
They should find easy penance.
Lov. Faith, how easy.
Sands, As easy a» a do^n-bed would affoiA
it.
Cham. Sweet ladies, will it please you sii?
Sir Harry, ,
Place you that side ; I'll take the charge of
this : 20
His grace is entering. Nay, you must not
freeze ;
Two women placed together makes co)^
weather:
My Lord Sands, you are one will keep 'em
waking ;
Pray, sit between these ladies.
Sands. By my faith.
And thank your lordship. By your leave,
sweet ladies:
If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me ;
I had it from my father.
Anne. Was he mad, sir ?
Sands. O, very mad, exceeding mad, in
love too ;
But he would bite none ; just as I do now.
He would kiss you twenty with a breath.
[Kis.<ies her.
Cham. Well said, my lord. 30
So, now you're fairly seated. Gentlemen,
The penance lies on yon, if these fair ladies
Pass away frowning.
Sands. For my little cure.
Let me alone.
Hautboys. Enter Cardinal Wolsev, and
takes his state.
Wbl. You're welcome, my fair guests : that
noble lady.
Or gentleman, tliat is not freely merry.
Is not my friend : this, to confirm my wel¬
come ;
And to you all, good health. [Drinks,
Sands. '^'our grace is noble :
Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks.
And save me so much talking.
Wol, My Lord Sands, 40
I am beholding to you : cheer your neighbors.
Ladies, you are not merry ; gentlemen.
Whose fault is this ?
Sands. The red wine first must rise
In their fair cheeks, my lord ; tlien we shall
have 'em
Talk us to silence. ,
Anne. Y'ou are a merry gamester
My Lord Sands.
Stinds, Y'es, if I make my play.
Here's to your ladyship ; ana pledge It,
madam.
KING HENRY VUt
1114
KING BBNRt Vtll.
{Act ii.
For 'tis to such a thing,—
Anne. Yon cannot show me.
Sands. I told your grace they would talk
anon.
[Drum and trumpet, chambers discharged.
WoL What's that ?
Cham. Look out there, some of ye.
[Exit Servant.
WoL What warlike voice, 50
And to what end is this ? Nay, ladies, fear
not;
By ail the laws of war you're privileged.
Re-enter Servant
Cham, How now ! what is't ?
Serv. A noble troop of strangers :
For so they seem : they've left their barge and
landed ;
And hither make, as great ambassadors
From foreign princes.
Wol. Good lord chamberlain.
Go, give 'em welcome ; you can speak the
French tongue ;
And, pray, receive *em nobly, and conduct
em
Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty
Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend
him.
[Exit Chamberlain, attended. All rise,
and tables removed.
You have now a broken banquet; but we'll
mend it. 61
A good digestion to yon all: and once more
1 snower a welcome on ye ; welcome all.
Hautboys. Enter the Kino and others, as
tnasquers, habited like shepherds, ushered by
the Lord Chamberlain. They pass arectly
before the Cardinal, and gracefully salute
him.
A noble company ! what are their pleasures ?
Cham. Because they speak no English, thus
they pray'd
To tell your grace, th.at, having heard by fame
Of this so noble and so fair assembly
This night to meet here, they could do no less
Cut of the great respect they bear to beauty.
But leave their flocks ; and", under your ^air
conduct, 70
Crave leave to view these ladies and entreat
An hour of revels with 'em.
Wol. Say, lord chamberlain,
fhey have done my poor house grace ; for
which T pay 'em
A thousand tluRiks, and pray 'em take their
^ensures.
\They choose Ladies for the dance. The
King chooses Anne Bullen.
King. The fairest hand I ever touch'd ! 0
"beauty,
Till now 1 never knew thee I [Jfirsfc. Dance.
Wot. My lord!
Cham. Your gr..!e ?
Wot. Pray, tell 'em thus much from me :
There should be one amongst 'em, by his per>
son,
More worthy this place than myself ; to whom.
If I but knew him, with my love and duty 80
I would surrender it
Cham. I will, my lord.
[ Whispers the Masquers.
Wol. What say they ?
Cham. Such a one, they all confess.
There is indeed ; which they would have your
grace
Find out, and he will take it.
Wol. Let me see, then.
By all your good leaves, gentlemen ; here I'll
make
My royal choice.
King. Ye have found him, cardinal •.
[Unmasking.
You hold a fair assembly ; you do well, lord:
You are a churchman, or, I'll tell you, eardi«
nal,
I should judge now unhappily.
Wol. I am glad
Your grace is grown so pleasant.
King. My lord chamberlain, 90
Prithee, come hither ; what fair lady's that'!
Cham. An't please your grace. Sir Thomas
Bullen's daughter,—
The "Viscount Rochford,—one of her highness'
women.
King. By heaven, she is a dainty one.
Sweetheart,
I were unmannerly, to take you out.
And not to kiss you. A health, gentlemen I
Let it go round.
Wol. Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet
ready
r the privy chamber ?
Lov. Yes, my lord.
Wol. Tour grace,
I fear, with dancing is a little heated. 100
King. I fear, too much.
Wol. There's fresher air, my lord.
In the next chamber.
King. Lead in your ladies, every one;
sweet partner,
I must not yet forsake you : let's be merry :
Good my lord cardinal, I have half a dozen
healths
To drink to these fair ladies, and a measiu-e
To lead 'em once again ; and then let's dreaic
"Who's best in favor. Let the music knock it.
[Exeunt with trumpets
Scene I.
ACT 11.
Westminster.
A street.
Enter two Gentlemen, meeting.
First Gent. Whither away so fast 7
Sec Gent O, God .save ye
Even to the hall, to hear what shall become
Of the great Duke of Buckingham.
First Gent. I'll save yon
rha . labor, sir. All's now done, but the cere
mony
Of bringing back the'prisoner
ScBm; I.]
i^ec. Gent. Were you there ?
Firgi Gent Yes, indeed, was I.
See, Cfent. Pray, speak what has happeu'd.
first Gent. You may guess quickly what.
Sec. Gent. Is he found guilty ?
First Gent. Yes, truly is he, and condemu'd
UTOU't.
Sec. Gent. I am sorry for't.
First Gent. So are a number more.
Sec. Gent. But, pray, how pass'd it ? 10
First Gent. I'll tell you iu a little. The
great duke
Came to the bar ; where to his accusations
lie pleaded still not guilty and alleged
Many sharp reasons to defeat the law.
The king's attorney on the contrary
Urged on the examinations, proofs, confessions
Of"divers witnesses ; which the duke desired
To have brought viv4 voce to his face :
At which appear'd agaiust hira his surveyor ;
SirGilbeit Peck his diancellor; and John Car,
Confessor to him ; with that devil-monk, 21
Hopkins, that made this mischief.
Sec. Gent. That was he
That fed him with his prophecies ?
First Gent. The same.
All these accused him strongly ; which he fain
Would have flung from him, but, indeed, he
could not:
And so his peers, upon this evidence.
Have found him guilty of high treason. Much
He spoke, and learnedly, for life ; but all
Was either pitied in him or forgotten.
See. Gent. After all this, how did he bear
himself ? 80
First Gent. When he was brought agaiu to
the bar, to hear [stirr'd
His knell rung out, his judgment, he was
With such an agony, he sweat extremely.
And something spoke iu choler, ill, and hasty:
Bi;t he fell to himself again, and sweetly
In all the rest show'd a most noble patience.
Sec. Gent. 1 do not think he fears death.
Fa-st Gent. Sure, he does not:
He never was so womanish ; the cause
He may a little grieve at.
Sec. Gent. Certainly
The cardinal is the end of this.
First Gent. 'Tis likely, 40
all conjectures : first, Kildare's attainder.
Then deputy of Ireland ; who removed.
Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in baste too.
Lest he should help his father.
Sec. Gent. That trick of state
Was a deep envious one.
First Gent. At his letum
Ho doubt he wiU requite it. This is noted.
And generally, whoever the king favors,
Tlie cardinal instantly will find employment.
And far enough from court too.
Sec. Gent. All the commons
Bate him perniciously, and, o' my conscience,
Wish him ten fathom deep: this duke as
much 51
Ikey love and dote on ; call him bounteous
Bnckingbsm,
The mirror of all courtesy ;—
First Gent. Stay there, sir.
And see the noble ruiu'd man yon speak of.
Enter Buckingham from his arraignment;
t^-staves be 'we him; the axe leith the edge
towards him; halberds on each aide : ac¬
companied with Sir Thomas Lovell, Sib
Nicholas Vaux, Sir William SanuS, and
common people.
Sec. Gent. Let's stand close, and behold hiia
Buck. All good people,
You that thus far have come to pity me.
Hear what 1 say, and then go hoitie and lose
me.
1 have this day received a traitor's judgment,
And by that name must die : yet, heaven beat
witness.
And if 1 have a conscience, let it sink me, 60
Even as the axe falls, if 1 be not faithful !
The law 1 bear no malice for my death ;
'T has done, upon the premises, but justice:
But those that sought it 1 could wisli more
Christians:
Be what they will, 1 heartily forgive 'em i
Yet let 'era look they glory not in mischief,
Nor build their evils on the graves of great
men ;
For then my guiltless blood must cry against
'em.
For further life iu this world 1 ne'er hope.
Nor will 1 sue, although tlie king have mer¬
cies 70
More than 1 dare make faults. You few that
loved me.
And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham,
His noble friends and fellows, whom to leave
Is only bitter to him, only dying.
Go with me, like good angels, to my end ;
And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me.
Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice,
And lift my soul to heaven. Lead on, o' God's
name.
Lov. 1 do beseech your grace, for charity.
If ever any malice in your heart 80
Were hid againvt me, now to forgive me
frankly.
Buck. Sir Thomas Lovell, 1 as free forgive
you
As I would be forgiven : 1 forgive all;
There cannot be those numberless offences
'Gainst me, that 1 cannot take peace with : no
black envy
Shall mark my grave. Commend me to his
grace ; [him
And, if he speak of Buckingham, pray, tell
You met him half in heaven: my vows and
prayers
Yet are the king's : and, till my soul forsake.
Shall cry for blessings on him : may he live 90
Longer than 1 have time to tell his years !
Ever beloved and loving may his rule be 1
And when old time shall lead him to his end.
Goodness and be fill up one monument!
Lov. To the water side I roust conduct your
grace;
KING HENRY Vtll.
KING HENRY VIU.
fit
Oien give my charge up to Sir Nicholas Vaux,
Who undertakes you to your end.
Faua!. Prepare there.
The duke is coming ; see the barge be ready ;
And fit it with such furniture as suits
The greatness of his person.
Buck. Nay, Sir Nicholas, 100
Let it alone; my state now will but mock me.
When I came hither, I was lord high constable
And Duke of Buckingham ; now, poor Edward
Bohun :
Yet I am richer than my base accusers.
That never knew what truth meant: I now
seal it;
And with that blood will make 'era one day
groan for't.
My noble father, Henry of Buckingham,
Who first raised head against usurping Rich¬
ard,
Flying for succor to his servant Banister,
Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray'd,
And without trial fell; God's peace be with
him! Ill
Henry the Seventh succeeding, truly pitying
My father's loss, like a most royal prince,
Be.stored me to my honors, and, out of ruins.
Made my name once more nobie. Now his
son,
Henry the Eighth, life, honor, name and all
That made me happy at one stroke lias taken
For ever from the world. I had ray trial.
And, must needs say, a noble one ; which
makes me
A little liappier than my wretched father : 130
Yet thus far we are one in fortunes : both
Fell by our servants, by those men we loved
most;
A most unnatural and faithless service !
Heaven has an end in all: yet, you that hear
me.
This from a dying man receive as certain :
Where you are liberal of your loves and coun--
sels
Be sure you be not loose ; for those you make
friends
And give your hearts to, when they once per¬
ceive
The least rob in your fortunes, fail away
Like water from ye, never found asain 130
But where they mean to sink ye. All good
people,
Pray lor me ! I must now forsake ye : the last
hour
Of my long weary life is come upon me.
Farewell :
Aud when you would say something that is
sad.
Speak how I fell. I have done ; and God for¬
give me 1 [Exeunt Duke and Train.
First Gent. O, this is full of pity ! Sir, it
calls,
I fear, too many curses on their heads
That were the authors.
Sec. Gent. If the duke be guiltless,
"lis full of woe : yet I can give you inkling
Ot an ensuing evil, if it fa( 111
Greater than this.
First Gent. Good angels keep it from us 1
Wliat may it be ? You do not doubt my faith,
sir ?
Sec. Gent. Tliis secret is so weighty, 'twilj
require
A strong faith to conc<"<l it
First Gent. Let me have it;
I do not talk mucli.
Sec. Gent I am confident;
Y'on shall, sir: did you not of late days hea
A buzzing of a separation
Between tiie king and Katliariue ?
First Gent. Yes, but it held not.
For when the king once heard it, out of anger
He sent command to the lord mayor straight
To stop the rb.iior, and allay those tongues
That durst disperse it.
Sec. Gent. But that slander, sir.
Is found a truth now : for it grows again '
Fresher than e'er it was ; and held for certain
The king will venture at it. Either the cardi¬
nal.
Or some about him near, have, out of malice
To the good queen, possess'd him with a scm*
])le
That will undo her : to confirm this too.
Cardinal Campeius is arrived, and lately ; 160
As all think, for this business.
First Gent. 'Tis the cardinal;
And merely to revenge him on the emperor
For not bestowing on him, at his asking.
The archbishopric of Toledo, this is purposed.
Sec. Gent 1 think you have bit the mark :
but is't not cruel
That she should feel the smart of this ? The
cardinal
Will have his will, and she must fall.
First Gent. 'Tis woful
We are too open here to argue this ;
Let's think in private more. [Exeunt.
Scene II. An ante-chamber in the palace.
Enter the Lord Chamberlain, reading a
letter.
Cham. ' My lord, the horses your lordship
sent for, with all the care I hsid, I saw well
chosen, ridden, and furnished. They were
young and handsome, and of tlie best breed in
tlie north. When tliey were ready to set out
for London, a man of my lord cardinal's, by
commission and main power, took 'em from
me ; with this reason : His master would be
served before a subject, if not before the king:
which stopped our mouths, sir.' 10
I fear he will indeed: well, let .him,have them
He wiU have all, I think.
Enter, to the Lord Chamberlain, the Dukes
of Norfolk and Suffolk.
Nor. Well met, my lord chamberlain.
Cham. Good day to both your graces.
Suf. How is the king employ'd f
Cliam. 1 left him private
Full of sad thoughts aud troubles-
KING BENRY Vltl.
mi'
SCGNK It.]
JVoj*. • What's the cause?
Cham. It seems the marriage witli his bro¬
ther's wife
Has crept too near his conscience.
<S'm/. No, his conscience
Has crept too near another lady.
Nor. 'Tis so :
This is the cardinal's doing, the king-cardinal:
That blind priest, like the eldest son ot for¬
tune, ' 21
Turns what he list. The king will know him
one day.
Snf. Pray God he do ! he'll never know
himself else.
Nor. How holily he works in all his bnsi-
ne^ !
And with what zeal! for, now he has crack'C
the league
Between us and the emperor, the queen's great
nephew,
"He dives into the king's soul, and there scat¬
ters
Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience,
Fears, and despairs ; and all these for his mar-
• riage :
And out of all these to restore the king, 30
He counsels a divorce ; a loss of her
That, like a jewel, has hung twenty years
About his neck, yet never lost her lustre ;
Of her that loves him with that excellence
That angels love good men with ; even of her
Tiiat, when the greate.st stroke of fortune falls,
Will bless the king : and is not this course
pious ? I
Cham. Heaven keep me from such counsel!
'Tis most true
These news are every where ; every tongue
speaks 'em.
And every true heart weeps for't: all that
dare ' 40
Look into these affairs see this main end.
The French king's sister. Heaven will one
day open
The king's eyes, that so long have slept upon
Tills bold bad man.
ffuf. And free us from his slavery.
Nor. We had need pray.
And heartily, for our deliverance ;
Or this imperious man "will work ns all
From princes into pages : all men's honors
Lie like one lump before him, to be fashion'd
Into what pitch he please.
Suf. For me, my lords, 50
I love him not, nor fear him ; there's my
freed :
As I am made without him, so I'll stand.
If the king please ; his curses and his bless¬
ings
Touch me alike, they're breath I not "believe
in.
I knew him, and I know him ; so" leave him
To him that made him proud, the pope.
Nor. Let's in ;
And with some other business put the king
From these sad thoughts, that work too much
upra bim:
My lord, you'll bear us company ?
Cham. Excuse me :
The king has sent me otherwhere : besides,GO
You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him :
Health to vour lordships.
Nor. 'Thanks, my good lord chamberlain.
[Exit Lord Chamberlain; and the
King draws the curtain, and fits
reading pensively,
iiuf. How sad he looks 1 siire, he is much
afflicted.
King. Who's there, ha 7
Nm\ Pray God he be not angry.
King. -Who's there, ! say ? How dare you
thrust yourselves
Into my private meditations ?
Who am I ? h..?
Nor. A gracious king tliat pardons all of¬
fences
Malice ne'er meant: our breach of duty this
way
Is business of estate ; in which we come 70
To know yonr royal plea.sure.
King. Y'e are too bold :
Go to ; I'll make ye know your times of
business :
Is this an hour for temporal affairs, ha ?
Enter WonsEV and Campeius, with a com¬
mission.
Who's there 7 my good lord cardinal? O my
Wolsey,
The quiet of my wounded conscience ;
Thou art a core fit for a king. [To Camp.'\
You're welcome.
Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom :
Use us and it [To IToL] My good lord, have
great care
I be not found a talker.
Wol. Sir, you cannot.
I would your grace would give us but an hour
Of private conference. 81
King. [To Nor. and Su/.] We are busy ;
go.
Nor. [Aside to <S*w/.] This priesihas no pride
in him 7
Suf. [Aside fo Afor,] Not to speak of :
I would not be so sick though for his idace :
But this cannot continue.
Nor. [Aside to Suf.] If it do,
I'll venture one have-at-him.
Suf. [Aside to Nor.] I another.
[Exeunt Nor. and Srtf.
Wol Your grace has given a nrecedent of
wisdom
Above all princes, in committing freely
Your scruple to the voice of Christendom .
Who can be angry now? what envy reach
you 7 89
The Sjianiard, tied by blood and favor to her,
Must now confess, if they have any goodness^
The trial inst and noble. All the clerks,
I mean the learned ones, in Christian king¬
doms
Have their free voices : Rome, the nurse ot
judgment,
1118
Invited by yoar noble seU, hatb sent
One general tongue unto us, this good man,
Tills just and learned priest, Cardinal Campe-
ius ;
Whom once more I present unto your high¬
ness.
King. And once more m mine arms I bid
him welcome.
And thank the holy conclave for their loves :
They Iiave sent me such a man I would have
wisli'd for. 101
Cam. Your grace must needs deserve all
strangers' loves.
You are so noble. To your highness' hand
£ tender ray commission ; by whose virtue.
The court of Rome commanding, you, ray
lord
Cardinal of York, are join'd wiib fie theirser-
vant
In the uniiartial judging of this business.
King. Two equal men. The queen shall be
acquainted
Forthwith for what you come. Where's Gar¬
diner ?
Wol. I know your majesty has always loved
her 110
So dear in heart, not to deny her that
A woman of less place might ask by law:
Scholars allow'd freely to argue for her.
King. Ay, and the best she shall liave; and
ray favor
To him that does best: God forbid else. Car¬
dinal,
Prithee, call Gardiner to me, my new secre¬
tary :
I find him a fit fellow. [Exit Wolsey.
Re-enter Wolsey, with Gardiner.
Wol. [Aside to Gard.] Give me your hand:
much joy and favor to you ;
You are the king's now.
Gard. [Aside to Wol.] But to l.e com¬
manded
For ever by your grace, whose hand has raised
me. 120
King. Come hither, Gardiner.
[ Walks and whispers.
Cam. My Lord of York, was not one Doctor
Pace
In this man's place before him ?
Wo'. Yes, lie was.
Cam. Was he not held a learned man ?
Wol. Yes, surely.
Cam. Believe me, there's an ill opinion
spread then
Even of yourself, lord cardinal.
Wol. How ! of me ?
Cam. They will not stick to say you envied
him.
And fearing he would rise, lie was so virtuous.
Kept him a foreign man still; which so grieved
hiin.
That he ran mad and died.
Wol. Heaven's peace be with him !
That's Christian care enough: for living mur-
mureis 131
(Acv It.
There's places of rebuke. He vsas a fool ;
For he would needs be virtuous: that good fel¬
low.
If I command him, follows my appointment:
1 will have none so near else. Learn this, bro¬
ther.
We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons.
King. Deliver this with modesty to the
queen. [Exit Gardiner.
The most convenient place tliat I can think of
For such receipt of learning's Black-Friars ;
There ye shall meet abot.t this weighty busi¬
ness. 140
My Wolsey, see it furnish'd. O, m.y lord.
Would it not grieve an able man to leave
So sweet a bedfellow 1 But, conscience, con¬
science !
0, 'tis a tender place ; and I must leave her.
[Exeunt.
Scene IH. An ante-chamber of the Queen's
apartments.
Enter Anne Bullen and an Old Lad}^
Anne. Kot for that neither : here's tlie pang
that pinches :
His highness having lived so long with her,
and she
So good a lady that no tongue could ever
Pronounce dishonor of her ; by my life.
She never knew harm-doing : O, now, after
So many courses of tlie sun enthroned.
Still growing in a majesty and iximp, cue
which I
To leave a thousand-fola more bitter than
'Tis sweet at firs to acquire,—after this pro¬
cess.
To give her the avaunt! it is a pity 10
Would move a monster.
Old L. Hearts of most hard temper
Melt and lament for her.
Anne. O, God's will 1 much better
She ne'er had known pomp: though't be tem¬
poral.
Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce
It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance panging
As soul and body's severing.
Old L. Alas, poor lady I
She's a stranger now again.
Anne. So much the more
Must pity drop upon her. Verily,
i swear, 'tis better to be lowly bom.
And range with humble livers in content, 20
Than to be perk'd up in a gli.steriug grief.
And wear a golden sorrow.
Old L. Our content
Is our best having.
Amw. By my troth and maidenhead,
I would not be a queen.
Old L. Beshrew me, I would.
And venture maidenhead for't; and so would
you.
For all this spice of your hypocrisy:
You, that have so fair parts of woman on you,
Have too a woman's heart; which ever yet
Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty ;
RING HRNRY Vttl.
ficbnb it.]
Which, to say sooth, are blessings; and which
gilts, 30
Saving your mincing, the capacity
01 your soft cheveril conscience would re¬
ceive.
If you might please to stretch it
Anne. Nay, good troth.
Old L. Yes, troth, and troth ; you would
not be a queen ?
Anne. No, not for all the riches under
heaven.
Old L. 'Tis strange ; a three-pence bow'd
would hire me.
Old as I am, to queen it : but, I pray you,
What think you of a duchess 7 have you limbs
To bear that load of title ?
Anne. No, in truth.
Old L. Then you are weakly made : pluck
off a little ; 40
I would not be a young count in your way,
For more than blushing comes to : if your
back
Cannot vouchsafe this burthen, 'tis too weak
Ever to get a boy.
Anne. How you do talk !
I swear again, I would not be a qneen
For all the world.
Old L. In faith, for little England
You'ld venture an emballing : 1 myself
Would for Carnarvonshire, although there
iong'd
No more to the crown but that. Lo, who
comes here 7
Enter the Lokd Chamberlain.
Cham., Good morrow, ladies. What were't
worth to know 50
The secret of your conference 7
Anne. My good lord,
Not your demand ; it values not your ask-
ing :
Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying.
Cham. It was a gentle business, and be¬
coming
The action of good women :■ there is hope
All will be well.
Anna. Now, I pray God, amen !
Cham. You bear a gentle mind, and heav¬
enly blessings
Follow such creatures. That you may, fair
lady.
Perceive I speak sincerely, and high note s
Ta'en of your many virtues, the king's maj¬
esty tiO
Commends his good opinion of you, and
Does purpose honor to .vou no less flowing
Than Marchioness of Pembroke : to which
title
A thousand pound a year, annual support.
Out of his grace he adds.
Anne. I do n«t know
What kind of my obedience I should tender ;
More than my all is nothing : nor my prayers
Are not words duly hallow'd, nor my wishes
More worth than enapty vanities ; yet prayers
and wishes
Hit
Are all I can return. Beseech your lordship.
Vouchsafe to speak my thanks and my ob^
dience, 71
As from a blushing handmaid, to his high¬
ness ;
Whose health and royalty I pray for.
Cham. Lady,
I shall not fail to approve the fair conceit
The king hath of you. [Aside] I have pe¬
rused her well ;
Beauty and honor in her are so mingled
That they have caught the king ; and who
knows yet
But from this lady may proceed a gem
I'o lighten all this isle 7 I'll to the king.
And say I spoke with you.
{Exit Lord Chamberlain.
Anna. My honor'd lord. 80
Old L. Why, this it is ; see, see!
I have been begging sixteen years in court.
Am yet a courtier beggarly, nor could
Come pat betwixt too early and too late
For any suit of pounds ; and you, O fate I
A very fresh-flsh here—fie, fie, fie upon
This compell'd fortune !—have your mouth
fill'd up
Before you open it.
Ann& This is strange to me.
Old L. How tastes it 7 is it bitter 7 forty
pence, no.
There was a lady once, 'tis an old story, 90
That would not be a queen, that would she
not,
For all the mud in Egypt: have you heard
it 7
Anna. Come, you are pleasant.
Old L. With your theme, I could
O'ermouut the lark. The Marchioness of Pem¬
broke !
A thousand pounds a year for pure respect 1
No other obligation ! By my life.
That promises moe thousands ; honor's train
Is longer than his foreskirk By this time
I know your back will bear a duchess : say.
Are you not stronger than you were 7
Anne. Good lady, 104
Make yourself mirth with your particulal
fancy.
And leave me out on't. Would I had no be¬
ing,
If this salute my blood a jot : it faints me.
To think what follows.
The queen is comfortless, and we forgetful
In our long absence : pray, do not deliver
What here you've heard to her.
Old L. What do you think me ?
[Exeunt.
Scene IV. A hall in Black-Eriars.
Trumpets, sennet, and cornets. Enter two
Vergers, with short silver wands; next them,
two Scribes, in the habit of doctors; after
them, the Archbishop or Canterbury
alone; after him, the Bishops of Lincoln,
Ely, Eochestbr, and Saint Asaph ; next
them, with soma small distance, follows a
KING HENRY VIII.
1120
KING HENRY Yin.
[Aot It.
Gentleman hearing the purse, with the great
seal, and a cardinal's luU; then two Priestsf,
hearing each a silver cross; then a Gentle-
man-uslier bare-lteaded, accompanied with
a Sergeaut-at-arms hearing a silver mace;
then two Gentlemen hearing two great silver
pillars; after them, side hy side, the two
c'akdinals ; two Noblemen with the sword
and mace. The Kino takes jdace under the
cloth of state; the two Cardinals sit under
him as judges. The Queen takes place some
distance from the Kino. The Bi.shops place
themselves on each side the court, in manner
of a consistory; helow them, the. Scribes.
The Lords sit next the Bishops. The rest of
the Attendants stand in convenient ordei'
ahout the stage.
Wol. Whilst our commission from Rome is
read,
Let silence be commanded.
King. What's tlie need ?
It hath already publicly been read,
And on all sides the authority aliow'd ;
You may, then, spare that time.
Wol. Be't so. Proceed.
Scribe. Say, Henry King of England, come
into the court.
Urier. Henry King of England, &c.
King. Here.
Scribe. Say, Katharine Queen of England,
come into the court. 11
Crier. Katharine Queen of England, &c.
IThe Queen makes no answer, rises out
of her chair, goes about the court,
comes to the King, and kneels at his
''feet; then speaks.
Q. Kath. Sir, I desire you do me right and
justice ;
And to bestow your pity on me : for
I am a most poor woman, and a stranger.
Born out of your dominions ; having here~
No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance
Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas,
sir,
In what have I offended you ? what cause 19
Hath my behavior given to your displeasure.
That thus you should proceed to put me off.
And take your good grace from me ? Heaven
witness,
I have been to you a true and humble wife.
At all times to your will conformable ;
Ever in fear to kindle your dislike.
Yea, subject to your countenance, glad or
sor^
As I saw it inclined : when was the hour
I ever contradicted your desire.
Or made it not mine too ? Or which of your
friends
Have I not strove to love, although I knew 30
He were mine enemy ? what friend of mine
That had to him derived your anger, did I
Continue in my liking ? nay, gave notice
He was from thence discharge Sir, call to
mind
rhat I have been your wife, in this obe¬
dience,
Upward of twenty years, and have been blest
W^ith many children by you : if, in the course
And process of this time, you can report,
And prove it too, against mine honor aught,
Mj' bond to wedlock, or my love and duty, 4b
Against your sacred person, in God's name.
Turn mo away ; and let the foul'st coutemi>t
Shut door uixm me, and so give me up
To the sharp'st kind of justice. Please j'ou,
sir.
The king, your father, was reputed for
A prince most prudent, of an excellent
And unmatch'd wit and judgment; Ferdi¬
nand,
My father, king of Spiiin, was reckon'd one
The wisest prince that there had reigu'd by
many
A year before : it is not to b'e questiou'd 50
That they had gather'd a wise council to them
Of every realm, that did debate this business.
Who deem'd our marriage lawful: wherefore
I humbly
Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I may
Be by my friends in Simiu advised ; whose
counsel
I will implore : if not, i' the name of God,
Your pleasure be fulliird !
Wol. You have here, lady.
And of your choice, these reverend fathers ;
men
Of singular integrity and learning.
Yea, the elect o' the land, who are assembled
'To plead your cause : it shall be therefore
bootless 61
That longer you desire the court ; as well
For j'our own quiet, as to rectify ,
Wiiat is unsettled in the king.
Cam. His grace
Hath spoken well and justly: therefore, mad¬
am.
It's fit this royal session do proceed ;
And that, without delay, their arguments
Be now produced and heard.
Q. Kath. Lord cardinal.
To you 1 speak.
Wol. Your pleasure, madam ?
Q. Kath. Sir,
I am about to weep ; but, thinking that '70
We are a queen, or long have dream'd so,
cerbiiu
The daughter of a king, my drops of tears
I'll turn to sparks of fire.
Wol. Be patient yet.
Q. Kath. I wiU, when you are humble ;
nay, before.
Or God will punish me. I do believe,
Induced by potent circumstances, that
You are mine enemy, and make my challenge
You shall not bo my judge : for it is yon
Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and
me;
Which God's dew quench ! Therefore I say
again, 80
I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul
Refuse you for my judge; whom, fet cuoe
more.
'icESF :Y.J
1 hold my meet n>a.->«ioBg roe, aad think not
At all a friend tn truth.
Wei, I do profess
You speak not like yourself ; who ever vet
Have stood to charity, and display'd the ef¬
fects
Of disposition gentle, and of wisdom
O'eitrjving woman's power. Madam, you do
•>xe wrong;
I r. ~ no spleen against you; nor injustice
Fc -ft r>r any : how far I have pruceeded,90
Or ,itw far further shall, is warranted
By a commission from the consistory.
Yea, the whole consistory of Some. You
charge me
That I have blown this coal: I do deny it:
The king is present: if it be known to him
That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound.
And worthily, my falsehood ! yea, as much
As yon have done my truth. If he know
That I am free of your report, he knows
I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him 100
It lies to cure me : and the cure is, to
Bemove these thoughts from you : the which
before
His highness shall speak in, I do beseech
You, gracious madam, to uuthink your speak¬
ing
And to say so no more.
Q. Kath. My lord, my lord,
I am a simple woman, much too weak
To oppose your cunning. You're meek and
humble-mouth'd; [lug.
You sign your place and calling, in full seem-
lYith meekness and humility ; but your heart
Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride.
You have, by fortune and his highness' fa¬
vors, 111
Gone slightly o'er low steps and now are
momited
Where powers are your retainers, and your
words,
Domestics to you, serve your will as't please
Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell
you.
You tender more your person's honor than
Y'our high profession spiritual: that again
I do refuse you for my judge; and here.
Before you all, appeal unto the poi)e.
To bring my whole cause 'fore his holiness.
And to be judged by him. 121
[She curUtes to the Kinq, and offers to depart.
Cam, The queen is obstiuatej
Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and
Disdainful to be tried by't: 'tis not well.
She's going away.
Kirg, Call her again.
Crier. Katharine Queen of England, come
into the court
Madam, you are call'd back.
xth. What need youwnote it ? pray
you. Keep your way:
When you are call'd, return. Kow, the Lord
help.
They vex mo past my patience i Pray you,
pass on * 130
1121.
I will not tarry ; no, nor ever more
Upon this business my appearance make
lu any of tlieir courts.
[Exeunt Queen and her AttendarUs,
King, Go thy ways, Kate :
That man i' the world who shall report he has
A better wife, let him in nought he trusted,
For speaking false in that: thou art, alone.
If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness.
Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like govern¬
ment.
Obeying in commanding, and thy parts
Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out.
The queen of earthly queens: she's noble
born; 141
And, like her true nobility, she has
Carried herself towards me.
Wol, Most gracious sir.
In humblest manner I require your highness.
That it shall please you to declare, in hearing
Of all these ears,—for where I am robb'd and
bound.
There must I be imloosed, although not there
At once and fully satisfied,—whether ever I
Did broach tills business to your highness ; or
Laid any scruple in your way, which might
Induce you to the question on't t or ever 161
Have to you, but with thanks to God for such
A royal lady, spake one the least word that
might
Be to the prejudice of her present state.
Or toucli of her good person ?
King, My lord cardinal,
I do excuse you ; yea, upon mine honor,
I free you from't. You are not to be taught
That you have many enemies, that know not
Why they are so, but, like to village-curs.
Bark when their fellows do: by some of these
The queen is put in auger. You're excused :161
But will you be more justified ? you ever
Have wish'd the sleeping of this business;
never desiied
It to be stirr'd ; but oft have hinder'd, olt.
The passages made toward it: on my honor,
I speak my good lord cardinal to this point.
And thus far clear him. Now, what moved
me to't,
I will be bold with time and your attention :
Then mark the inducement. Thus it came ;
give heed to't:
My conscience first received a tenderness,' 170
Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utter'd
By the Bishop of Bayonne, then French am¬
bassador ;
Who had been hither sent on the debating
A marriage 'twixt the Duke jf Orleans and
Our daughter Mary : i' the progress of this
business.
Ere a determinate resolution, he,
I mean the bishop, did r^uire a respite ;
Wherein he might the king his lord advertis*
Whether our daughter were legitimate,
Kespectiug this our marriage with the dowa¬
ger, 180
Sometimes our brother's wife. This respdis
shook
n
KING HENRY VIII,
1122
KING HENRY XYH.
[ACT III.
The boEom of my conscience, enter'd me,
Yea, with a splitting power, and made to
tremble
The region of my breast ; which forced such
way,
That many mazed considerings did throng
And press'd in with this caution. First,
methouglit
I stood not in the smile of heaven ; who had
Commanded nature, that my lady's womb,
If it conceived a male child by me, should
Do no more offices of life to't than 190
The grave does to the dead; for her male
issue
Or died where they were made, or shortly
after
This world had air'd them: hence I took a
thought.
This was a judgment on me ; that ray king¬
dom.
Well worthy the best heir o' the world, should
not
Be gladded lu't by me: tlien follows, that
I weigh'd the danger which my realms stood in
By this my issue's fail; and that gave to me
Many a groaning throe. Thus hulling in
The wild sea of my conscience, I did steer 200
Toward this remedy, whereupon we are
Now present here together : that's to say,
I meant to rectify my conscience,—which
I then did feel lull sick, and yet not well,—
By all the reverend fathers of the land
And doctors leani'd: first I began in private
With you, my Lord of Lincoln ; you remem¬
ber
How under my oppression I did reek.
When I first moved yon.
Lin. Very well, my liege.
Kinff. I have spoke long : be pleased youiv
self to say 210
How far you satisfied me.
Lin. So please your highness.
The question did at first so stagger me.
Bearing a state of mighty moment in't
And consequence of dread, tliat I committed
The daring St counsel which I had to doubt;
And did entreat your highness to this course
Which you are rnnuing here.
King. I then moved you.
My Lord of Canterbury ; and got your leave
To make this present summons : unsolicited
I left no reverend person in this court; 220
But by particular consent proceeded
Underyourhands and seals : therefore, go on ;
Fur no dislike i' the world against the person
Of the good queen, but the sharp thorny points
Of my allegM reasons, drive this forwaid :
Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life
And kingly dignity, we are contented
To wear our mortal state to come with her,
Katharine our queen, before the primest crea¬
ture
That's paragon'd o' the world.
Cam. So please your highness, 230
The queen being absent, 'tis a netful fitness
That tve adjourn this court till further day :
Meanwhile must be an earnest motion
Made to the queen, to call back her appeal
She intends unto his holiness.
King. [Aside] I may perceive
These cardinals trifle with me: I abhor
This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome.
My learn'd and well-beloved servant, Crap-
mer.
Prithee, return: with thy approach, I know.
My comfort comes along. Break up the court:
I say, set on. 241
[Exeunt in manner as they entered.
ACT m.
Scene I. London. The Qtjeku'a apartments.
Enter the Queen and her Women, as at work.
Q. Kath. Take thy lute, wench : my soul
grows sad with troubles ;
Sing, and disperse 'em, if thou canst: leave
workhig.
Song.
Orpheus with his lute made trees.
And the mountain tops that freeze.
Bow themselves when he did sing:
To Ills music plants and flowers
Ever sprung ; as sun and showers
There liad made a lasting spring.
Every thmg that heard him play.
Even the billows of the sea, 10
Hung their heads, and theii lay by.
In sweet music is such art.
Killing care and grief of heart
Fall asleep, or hearing, die.
Enter^a Gentleman.
Q. Kath. How now 1
Gent. An't please your grace, the two
great cardinals
Wait in the presence.
Q. Kath. Would they speak with me ?
GenC They will'd me say so, madam.
Q. Kath. Pray their graces
To come near. [Exit Gent.] What can be
their business
With me, a poor weak woman, fall'u from
favor ? 20
I do not like their coming. Now I think on't.
They should be good men ; their affairs as
righteous :
But all hoods make not monks.
Enter the tioo Cardinals, Wolsev and Caji-
peius.
Wol. Peace to your highness !
Q. Kath. Your graces find me here part of
a housewife,
I would be all, against the worst may happen.
What are your pleasures with me, reveread
lords ?
Wol. May it please you noble madam, to
withdraw
ScHJiU 1.]
Into your private chamber, we shall give you
The full cause of our comlug.
Q. Kath. Speak It here :
There's uotlilng I have done yet, o' my con¬
science, 80
Deserves a comer : would all other women
Could si)eak this with as free a soul as I do I
My lords, I care not, so much I am happy
Above a number. If my actions
Were tried by every tongue, every eye saw
'em.
Envy and base opinion set against 'em,
I know my life so even. If your business
Seek me out, and that way I am wife In,
Out with It boldly : truth loves open dealing.
IKof. Tanta est erga te mentis Integrltas,
reglna serenlsslma,— 4)
Q. XafA. 0, good my lord, no Latin ;
I am not such a truant since my coming,
As not to know the language I have lived In :
A strange tongue makes my cause more
strange, suspicious ;
Pray, speak In English ; here are some will
thank you.
If you speak truth, for their poor mistress'
.sake ;
Believe me, she has had much wrong: lord
cardinal.
The willing'st sin I ever yet committed
May be absolved In English.
IPof. Noble lady, 50
I am sorry my Integrity should breed.
And service to his majesty and yon.
So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant.
We come not by the way of accnsatlon.
To taint that honor every good tongue blesses.
Nor to betray yon any way to .sorrow.
You have too much, good lady ; but to know
How yon stand minded In the weighty dlf-
, ference
Between the king and you ; and to deliver.
Like free and honest men, our just opinions
And comforts to your cause. 61
Cam. Most honor'd madam,
My Lord of Y'ork, out of his noble nature.
Zeal and obedience he still bore your grace.
Forgetting, like a good man your late censure
Both of his truth and him, which was too far,
Offers, as I do, In a sign of peace,
His service and his counsel.
Q. Kath. [Aside] To betray me.—
My lords, I thank you both for your good
wills ;
Ye speak like honest men'; iiray God, ye
prove so!
But how to make ye suddenly an answer, 70
Jfi sucha point of weight, so near mine honor,—
More near my life, I fear,—with my weak wit.
And to such men of gravity and learning.
In truth, I know not. I was set at work
Amoitg my maids : full little, God knows,
looking *
Either for such men or such business.
For her sake that I have been,—for I feel
The last fit of my greatness,—good your
graces,
1123
Let me have time and counsel for my cause :
Alas, I am a woman, friendless, hopeless ! 80
Wol. Madam, you wrung the king's love
with these fears :
Your hopes and friends are Infinite.
Q. Kath. In England
But little for my profit: can yon think, lords,
That any Englishman dare give me counsel'!
Or be a known friend, 'gainst his highness'
Sleasure,
he be grown so desperate to be honest,
And live a subject? Nay, forsooth, my friends.
They that must weigh out my afflictions.
They that my 1;ynst must grow to, live not
here:
They are, as all my other comforts, far hence
In mine own country, lords. 91
Cam. I would your grace
Would leave your griefs, and take my counseL
O. Kath. How, sir ?
Clam. Put your main cause Into the king's
protection ;
He's loving and most gracious: 'twill be much
Both for your honor better and your cause ;
For If the trial of the law o'ertake ye.
You'll part away disgraced.
Wol. ■ He tells yon rightly.
Q. Kath. Ye tell me what ye wish for both,
—my ruin :
Is this your Christian counsel ? out upon ye !
Heaven Is above all yet; there sits a judge
That no king can corrupt. 101
Cam. Your rage mistakes ns.
Q. Kath. The more shame for ye : holy
men I thought ye.
Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues;
But cardinal sins and hollow hearts I fear ye;
Mend 'era, for shame, my lords. Is this yon,,
comfort ?
The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady,
A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scom'd ?
I will not wish ye half my miseries ;
I have more charity : but say, I waru'd ye ;
Take heed, for heaven's sake, take heed, lest
at once 110
The burthen of my sorrows fall upon ye.
Wol. Madam, this Is a mere distraction ;
Yon turn the good we offer Into envy.
Q. Kath. Ye tnm me into nothing : woe
upon ye
And all such false professors ! would you have
me—
If you have any justice, any pity ;
If ye be any thing but churchmen's habits—
Put my sick cause Into his hands that hates
me ?
Alas, has banlsh'd me bis bed already.
His love, too long ago I I am old, my loixls, 120
And all the fellowship I hold now with him
Is only my obedience. What can happen
To me above this wretchedness? ail your
studies
Make me a curse like this.
Cam. Your fears are worse.
Q. Kath. Have I lived thus long—let me
speak myself,
KING HENRY 17//,
1124
Since virtue finds no friends—a wife, a true
one?
A woman, I dare say witliout vain-glory.
Never yet branded with snspicion ?
Have I with all my full affections
Still met tlie king ? loved him next heaven ?
obey'd him ? 130
Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him ?
Almost forgot my pravers to content him ?
And am I thus rewarded ? 'tis not well, lords.
Bring me a constant woman to her husband,
One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his
pleasure ;
And to that woman, vdien she has done most.
Yet will I add an honor, a great patience.
Wol. Madam, you wander from the good
we aim at.
Q. Kath. My lord, I dare not make myself
so guilty.
To give up willingly that noble title • 140
Your master wed me to: nothing but death
Shall e'er divorce my dignities.
Wol. Pray, hear me.
Q. Kath. Would I had never trod this
English earth.
Or felt the flatteries that grow upon It 1
Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows your
hearts.
What will become of me now, wretched lady !
I am the most unhappy woman living.
Alas, poor wenches, where are now your for¬
tunes !
Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity.
No friends, no hope ; no kindred weep for me;
Almost no grave allow'd me: like the lilv.
That once was mistress of the field and fiour-
ish'd,
I'll hang my head and perish.
Wol. If your grace
Could but be brought to know our ends are
honest,
You'ld feel more comfort: why should we,
good lady.
Upon what cause, wrong you ? alas, our places.
The way of our profession is against it:
We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow 'em.
For goodness' sake, consider what you do ;
How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly 160
Grow from the king's acquaintance, by this
carriage.
TIte hearts of princes kiss obedience.
So much they love It; but to stubborn spirits
They swell, and grow as terrible as storms.
I know you have a gentle, noble temper,
A soul as even as a calm ; pray, think us
Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and
servants.
Cam. Madam, you'll find It so. You wrong
your virtues
With these weak women's fears: a noble
spirit,
As yours was put Into you, ever casts 170
Such doubts, as false coin, from It. The king
' loves you;
Beware you lose it not: fo4 us. It you please
To trust us in your business, we are r^uly
[Act 111.
To use our utmost studies in your service.
Q. Kath. Do what ye will, my lords : and,
pray, forgive me.
If I have used myself unmannerly ;
You know I am a woman, lacking wit
To make a seemly answer to such persons.
Pray, do my service to his majesty :
He has my heart yet; and shall have my
prayers 1^
While I shall have my life. Come, reverend
fothers.
Bestow your counsels on me ; she now begs,
That little thought, when she set footing here.
She should have bought her dignities so dear.
[Eveunt.
Scene II. Ante-cJuxrnbcr to the Kino's
apartment.
EtUer the Duke op Norfolk, the Duke of
Suffolk, the Earl of Surrey, and the
Lord Chamberlain.
Kor. If you will now unite In your com¬
plaints.
And force them with a constancy, the cardinal
Cannot stand under them : If you omit
The offer of this time, I cannot promise
But that you shall sustain raoe new disgraces.
With these you bear already.
Sur. I am joyful
To meet the least occasion th-it may give me
Remembrance of my father-in-law, the duke.
To be revenged on him.
Nu/. Which of the peers
Haveuncontemn'd gone by him, or at least 10
Strangely neglected ? when did he regard
The stamp of nobleness In any person
Out of himself ?
Cham. My lords, you speak your pleasures;
What he deserves of you and me I know ;
What we can do to him, though now the time
Gives way to us, I much fear. If you cannot
Bar his access to the king, never attempt
Any thing on him ; for he hath a witchcraft
Over the king in's tongue.
Nor. O, fear him not;
His spell In that Is out: the king hath found
Matter against him that for ever mars 21
The honey of his language. No, he's settled,
Not to come oft, in his displeasure.
Sur. Sir,
I should be glad to hear such news as this
Once every hour.
Nor. Believe H, this is true :
In the divorce his contrary proceedings
Are all unfolded ; wherein he appears
As I would wish mine enemy.
Sur. How came
His practices to light ?
Suf. Most strangely.
Sur. O, how, how ?
Suf. The cardinal's letters to the pope mis¬
carried, 30
And came to the eye o' the king : wherein
was read.
How th.at the cardinal did entreat his holiness
KING HENRY nil.
Scene u.J
To stay the judgment o' the divorce ; for if
It did take place, ' I do,' quoth he, ' perceive
My king is tangled in affection to
A creature of the queen's, Ladj' Anne Bnlleii.'
Sur. Has the king this ?
Suf. Believe it.
Stir. Will this work ?
Cham. The king in this perceives him, how
he coasts
And hedges his own way. But in this point
All his tricks founder, and he brings his physic
After his patient's death : the king already 41
Hath married the fair lady.
Stir. Would he had !
Suf. May you be happy in your wish, my
lord !
For, I profess, you have it.
Sur. Now, all my joy
Trace the conjunction !
Suf. My amen to't!
Nor. All men's !
Suf. There's order given for her coronation:
Marry, this is yet but young, and may be left
To some ears unrecouhted. But, my lords.
She is a gallant creature, and complete
In mind and feature : I persuade me, from her
Will fall some blessing to this land, which
shall 51
In it be memorized.
Sur. But, will the king
Digest this letter of the cardinal's ?
The Lord forbid !
Nor. Marry, amen !
Suf. No, no;
Tliere be moe wasps that buzz about his nose
Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal
Campeins
Is stol'n away to Rome ; hath ta'en no leave ;
Has left the cause o' the king nnhandled ; and
Is posted, as the agent of our cardinal,
To second all his plot I do assure you 60
The king cried Ha ! at this.
Cham. Now, God incense him,
And let him cry Ha! louder !
Nor. But, my lord,
When returns Cranmer 7
Suf. He is return'd in his opinions ; which
Have satisfied the king for his divorce.
Together with all famous colleges
Almost in Christendom : shortly, I believe.
His second marriage shall be publish'd, and
Her coronation. Katharine no more
Shall be eall'd queen, but princess dowager
And widow to Prince Arthur. 71
Nor. This same Cranmer's
A wortby fellow, and hath ta'en much pain
In the king's business.
Suf: He has ; and we shall see him
For It an archbishop.
Nor. So 1 hear.
Suf 'Tta so.
The cardinal!
Enter WotsEV and Cbomwele.
Nor. Observe, observe, he's moody.
Wol. The packet, Cromwell.
112o
Gave't you the king 7
Crom. To his own hand, ill's bedchamber.
Wol. Look'd he o' the inside of the paper?
Crom. Presently
He did unseal them : and the first he view'd,
He did it with a serious mind; a heed ^
Was in bis countenance. You he bade
Attend him here this morning.
Wol. Is he ready
To come abroad 7
Crom. I think, by this he is.
Wol. Leave me awhile. [Exit Cromtoell.
[.Isiifc] It shall be to the Duchess of Alencon,
The French king's sister : he shall marry her.
Anne Bullen ! No ; I'll no Anne Bullens for
him :
There's more in't than fair visage. Bullen I
No, we'll no Bullens. Speedily I wish
To hear from Rome. The Marchioness of
Pembroke! 90
Nor. He's discontented.
Suf. May be, he hears the king
Does whet his anger to him.
Sur. Sharp enough.
Lord, for thy justice !
Wol. [Aside] The late queen's gentlewoman,
a Icnight's daughter.
To be her mistress' mistress I the queen's
queen! [it;
This candle burns not clear : 'tis I must snuff
Then out it goes. What though I know her
virtuous
And well deserving 7 yet I know her for
A spleeny Lutheran ; and not wholesome to
Our cause, that .she should lie i' the bosom of
Our hard-ruled king. Again, there is sprung
up 101
An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer ; one
Hath crawl'd into the favor of the king,
And is his oracle.
Nor. He is vex'd at something.
Sur. I would 'twere something that would
fret the string.
The master-cord on's heart!
Enter the King, reading of a schedule, and
Loveli,.
Suf. The king, the king !
King. What jiiles of wealth hath he accu¬
mulated
To his own portion I and what expense by the
hour
Seems to flow from him I How, i' the name
of thrift.
Does he rake this together I Now, my lords.
Saw you the cardinal 7 111
Nor. My lord, we have
Stood here observing him ; some strange
commotion
Is in his brain he bites his lip, and starts ;
Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground,
Then lays his finger on' his temple, stniight
Springs out into fast gait ; then stops again.
Strikes his breast hard, and anon he casts
, His eye against the moon : in most strange
"postniB?
IIEXRY 17//.
1126
KING HENRY nit.
[ACT III.
We have seeu him set himself.
Kinq. It may well be ;
There is a mutiny in's mind. This morning
Papers of state he stent me to peruse, 121
As I required : and wot you what 1 found
There,—on my conscience, put unwittingly ?
Porsooth, an inventory, thus importing ;
The several parcels of his plate, his treasure.
Rich stuffs, and ornaments of household ;
which
T find at such proud rate, that it out-speaks
Possession of a subject.
iVort. It's heaven's will :
Some spirit put this paper m the packet.
To bless your eye withal.
King. ' If we did think 130
His contemplation were above the earth.
And fix'd on spiritual object, he should still
Dwell in his musings: but I am afraid
His thinkings are below the moon, not worth
His serious considering.
[King takes his seat; v}hispers Lovell, who
goes to the Cardinal.
Wol. Heaven forgive me !
Ever God bless your highness !
King. Good my lord,
You are full of heiiveuly stuff, and bear the
inventory
Of your best graces in your mind ; the which
You were now running o'er : you have scarce
time
To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span 140
To keep your earthly audit: sure, in that
I deem you an ill husband, and am glad
To have you therein my companion.
Wol. , Sir,
For holy offices I have a time ; a time
To think upon the part of business which
I bear i' the state ; and nature does require
Her times of preservation, which perforce
I, her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal.
Must give my tendence to.
King. You have said well.
Wol. And ever may your highness yoke
together, " 150
As I will lend you cause, my doing well
With my well saying !
King. 'Tis well said again ;
And 'tis a kind of good deed to say well :
And yet words are no deeds. ' My father
loved you :
He said he did ; and with his deed did crown
His word upon you. Since I had my office,
I have kept you next my heart; have not
* alone
Employ'd you where high profits might come
home.
But pared my present havings, to bestow
My bounties upon you.
Wol. [Aside] What should this mean ? 160
Sur. [Aside] The Lord increase this busi¬
ness ! -
King. Have I not made you.
The prime man of the state ? I pray yon, tell
me,
■ 11 what I now pronotmce you have found true:
And, if you may confess it, say withal.
If you are bound to us or uio. What say you f
Wol. My sovereign, I confess your royal
graces.
Shower'd on me daily, have been more than
could
My studied purposes requite ; which went
Beyond all man's endeavors : my endeavors
Have ever come too short of my'desires, 170
Yet filed with my abilities: mine own ends
Have been mine so that evermore they pointed
To the good of your most sacred person and
Tl)e profit of the state. For your great graces
Heap'd upon me,- poor undeserver, I
Can nothing render but allegiaut thanks,
My prayers to heaven for you, my loyalty.
Which ever has and ever shall be growing.
Till death, that winter, kill it.
King. Fairly answer'd ;
A loyal and obedient subject is 180
Therein illustrated: the honor of it
Does pay the act of it; as, i' the contrary.
The foulness is the punishment. I presume
That, as my hand has opeu'd bounty to you,
My heart dropp'd love, my power rain'd
honor, more
On you than any ; so your hand and heart,
Your brain, and every function of your power.
Should, notwithstanding that your bond of
duty.
As 'twere in love's particular, be more
To me, your friend, than any.
Wol. I do profess 190
That for your higlmess' good I ever labor'd
Moi-e than miue own ; t that am, have, and
will be-
Though all the world .should crack their duty
to you.
And throw it from their soul; though perils did
Abound, as thick as thought could make 'em,
and
Appear in forms more horrid,—yet my duty.
As doth a rock against the chiding flood.
Should the approach of this wild river break
And stand unshaken yours.
King. 'Tis nobly spoken :
Take notice, lords, he has a loyal breast, 200
For you have seen him opeh't. Read o'er
this ; [Giving him papers.
And after, this : and then to breakfast with
What appetite you have.
[Exit King, frowning upon Cardinal
Wolsey: the Nobles throng after
him, srgiling and whispering.
Wol. What should this mean ?
What sudden anger'sthis ? how havel reap'd
it ?
He parted frowning from me, as if ruin
Leap'd from his eyes : so looks the chafed
lion
Upon the daring huntsman that has gall'd
him ;
Then makes him nothing. I must read this
paper;
I fear, the story of his anger. 'Tis so;
This ]^per has undone me ; 'tis account
Scene ii.]
Of all that world of wealth I have drawn to¬
gether 211
For mine own ends ; indeed, to gain the pope¬
dom,
And fee my friends in Rome. O negligence !
Fit for a fool to fall by : what cross devil
Made me put this main secret in the packet
1 sent the king ? Is there no way to cure
this ?
No new device to beat this fi-om his brains ?
I know 'twill stir him strongly ; yet I know
A way, if it take right, in spite of fortune
Will bring me oft again. What's this ? ' To
the Pope !' 220
The letter, as I live, with all the business
I writ to's holiness. Nay then, farewell!
I have touch'd the highest point of all my
greatness ;
And, from that full meridian of my glory,
I haste now to my setting : 1 shall fall
Like a bright exhalation in the evening.
And no man see me more.
Re-enter to Womey, the Dckes of Nobfolk
and Suffolk, the Eabl of Sukkey, and
the Lord Chamberlain.
Nor. Hear the king's pleasure, cardinal :
who commands you
To render up the great seal presently
Into our hands ; and to confine yourself 230
To Asher House, my Lord of Winchester's,
Till you hear further from his highness.
Wol. Stay :
Where's your commission, lords ? words can¬
not carry
Authority so weighty.
Suf. Who dare cross 'em.
Bearing the king's will from his mouth ex¬
pressly ? ■
Wol. Till I find more than will or words to
do it,
I mean your malice, know, officious lords,
I dare and must deny it. Now I feel
Of what coarse metal ye are moulded, envy :
How ^erly ye follow my disgraces, 24C
As if it fed ye ! and how sleek and wanton
Ye appear in every thing may bring my ruin I
Follow your envious courses, men of malice ;
You have Christian warrant for 'em, and, no
doubt.
In time will find their fit rewards. That seal.
You ask with such a violence, the king.
Mine and your master, with his own hand
■ gave me;
Bade me enjoy it, with the place and honors.
During my life ; and, to confirm his goodness,
Tied it by letters-imtents: now, who'll take it?
Stir. The king, that gave it
Wol. It must be himself, then. 251
Stir. Thou art a proud traitor, priest.
Wol. Proud l»rd, thou liest:
Within tiiese forty hours Surrey durst better
Have burnt that tongue than said so.
Stir. Thy ambition.
Thou scarlet sin, robb'd this bewailing land
Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law :
nsr
Tlie heads of all thy brother cardinals.
With thee and all thy best parts bound to¬
gether,
Weigh d not a hair of his. Plague of your
policy !
You .sent me-deputy for Ireland ; 260
Far from his succor, from the king, from all
That might have mercy on the fault thou
gavest him ;
Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity.
Absolved him with an axe.
Wol. This, and all else
This talking lord can lay upon my credit,
I answer is most faise. The duke by law
Found his deserts : how innocent I was
, From any private malice in his end.
His noble jury and foul cause can witness.
If I loved many words, lord, I should tell you
You have as little honesty as honor, 271
That in the way of loyalty and truth
Toward the king, my ever royal master.
Dare mate a sounder man than Surrey can
be.
And all that love his follies.
. Stir. ' By my soul.
Your long coat, priest, protects you ; thou
shouldst feel
My swoi-d i' the life-blood of thee else. My
lords.
Can ye endure to hear tliis arrogance ?
And from this fellow? If we live thus tamely,
To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet, 280
Farewell nmility ; let his grace go forward.
And dare us with his cap like larks.
Wol. All goodness
Is poison to thy stomach.
Sur. Yes, that goodness
Of gleaning all the laud's wealth into one.
Into your own hands, cardinal, by extortion ;
Tlie goodness of your intercepted packets
You writ to the pope against the king : your
goodness.
Since you provoke me, shall be most notorious.
My Lord of Norfolk, as you are truly noble.
As you respect the common good, the state
Of our despised nobility, our issues, 291
Who, if he live, will scarce be gentlemen.
Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articles
Collected from his life. I'll startle you
Worse tlian the scaring bell, when the brown
wench
Lay kissing in your arms, lord cardinal.
Wol. How much, methinks, I could despise
this man.
But that I am bound in charity against it!
Nor. Those articles, my lord, are in the
king's hand:
But, thus much, they ate foul ones.
Wol. So much fairer 300
And spotless shall mine innocence arise,
When the king knows my truth.
Sur. This cannot save you :
I thank my memory, I yet remember
Some of these artides ; and out they shall.
Now, if you can blush and cry ' guilty,' cardi-|
KING HENRY VIII.
1128
You'll show a little honesty.
Wol. Speak on, sir ;
I dare your worst objections : if I blush,
It is to see a nobleman want manners.
Snr. I had rather want those than my
head. Have at you !
First, that, without the king's assent or knowl¬
edge, 310
You wrought to be a legate ; by which power
You maim'd the jurisdiction of all bishoiis
jfor. Then, that in all you writ to Rome,
or else
To foreign princes, ' Ego et Rex mens
Was still inscribed ; in which you brought the
king
To be your servant. >
Suf. Then that, without the knowledge
Either of king or council, when you went
Ambassador to the emperor, you made bold
To carry into Flanders the great seal.
Snr. Item, you sent a large commission
To Gregory de Cassado, to conclude, 321
Without the king's will or the state's allowance,
A league between his higlmess and Ferrara.
Suf. That, out of mere ambition, you have
caused
Your holy hat to be stamp'd on the king's coin.
Sur. Then that you have sent innumerable
substance—
By what means got, I leave to your own con¬
science—
To furnish Rome, and to prepare the ways
You have for dignities ; to the mere undoing
Of all the kingdom. Many more there are ;
Which, since they are of you, and odious, 331
I will not taint my mouth with.
Cham. O my lord,
Press not a falling man too far ! 'tis virtue :
His faults lie open to the laws ; let them.
Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see
him
So little of his great self.
Sur. I forgive him.
Suf. Lord cardinal, the king's further pleas¬
ure is.
Because all those things you have done of late.
By your power lega.tine, within this kingdom.
Fall into the compass of a prsemunire, 3M
That therefore such a writ be sued against you;
To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements.
Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be
Out of the king's protection. 'This is my
charge. [tatlons
Nor. And so we'll leave you to your raedi-
How to live better. For your stubborn answer
About the giving back the great seal to us,
The king shall know it, and, no doubt, shall
thank you.
So fare you well, my little good lord cfirdinal.
{Exeunt all but Wblseit.
Wol. So farewell to the little good you be.ar
me. 350
Farewell ! a long farewell, to all my greatness!
This is the state of man : to-day he puts forth
Tlie tender leaves of hopes j to-morrow bios--
soms.
[Act hi.
And bears his blushing honors thick upon him;
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost.
And, when he thinks, good easy man, full
surely
His greatness is a-ripeniug, nips his root,
And then he falls, as 1 do. I have ventured,
Like little wanton bo^s that swim on bladdei^
This many summers m a sea of glor^y, 3(10
But far beyond my depth : my high-blown
pride
At length broke under me and now has left me.
Weary and old with service,- to the mercy
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye :
I feel my heart new open'd. how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors !
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to.
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin.
More pangs and fears than wars or women
have; 370
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.
Enter Croktwioli,, and stands amazed.
Why, how now, Cromwell!
Crom. I have no power to speak, sir.
Wol. . What, amazed
At my misfortunes ? can thy spirit wonder
A great man should decline ? Nay, an you
weep,
I am fall'u indeed.
Crom. How does your grace ?
Wol. Why, well;
Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.
I know myself now ; and I feel within me
A peace above all earthly dignities,
A still and quiet conscience. The king has
cured me, 380
I humbly thank his grace ; and frmn these
shoulders.
These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken
A load would sink a navy, too much honor:
O, 'tis a burthen, Cromwell, 'tis a burthen
Too heavy for a man thiit hopes for heaven 1
Crom. I am glad your grace has made that
right use of it.
Wol. I hope I have : I am able now, me-
thinks.
Out of a foititude of soul I feel.
To endure more miseries and greater far
Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer, 390
What news abroad ?
Crom. The heaviest and the worst
Is your displeasure with the king.
Wol. ■ God bless him!
Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas More
is chosen ■
Lord chancellor in your place.
Wol. That's somewhat sudden:
But he's a learned man. May he continue
Long in his highness' favor, and do justice
For truth's sake and his conscience ; tliat his
bones, [iugs.
When he has run his course and sleeps in bless-
May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on
'em I
KING HENRY VIIL
KING HENRY VIII.
112«
SCBNB I.]
What Qiore ? ' 400
Crotn. That Craumer is return'd with wel¬
come,
lustall'd lord archbishop of Canterbury.
Wol. That's news indeed.
Crotn. Last, tliat the Lady Auue,
Whom the king hath in secrecy long married.
This day was view'd in open as his queen,
Going to chapel ; and the voice is now
Only about her coronation.
Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me
down. O Cromwell,
The king has gone beyond me : all my glories
In that one woman 1 have lost for ever : 410
No sun shall ever usher forth mine honors.
Or gild again the noble troops that waited
Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Crom¬
well ;
1 am a poor fallbi man, unworthy now
To be thy lord and master : seek the king ;
That sun, 1 pray, may never set! 1 have told
him
What and how true thou art : he will advance
thee;
Some little memory of me will stir him—
I know his noble nature—not.to let
Thy hopeful service perish too: good Crom¬
well, 420
Neglect him not; make use now. and provide
For thine own future safety.
Crom. O my lord.
Must I, then, leave you ? must I needs forego
So good, so noble and so true a master ?
Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron.
With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord.
The king shall have my service : but my pray¬
ers
For ever and for ever shall be yours.
Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a
tear 429
In all my miseries ; but thou hast forced me.
Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman.
Let's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me,
Cromwell ;
And, when I am forgotten, as I shall be.
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no men¬
tion
Of me more must be heard of, say, I taught
thee, •
Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory.
And sounded all the depths and shoals of
honor.
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise iii;
A sure and safe one, though thy master mlss'd
it. 439
Mark but my fall, and that that ruiu'd me.
Cromwell, I char^ thee, ding away ambition:
By that siu fell the angels ; how can man,
then.
The Image of his Maker, hope to win by it ?
Love thyself last: cherish thole hearts that
hate thee ;
Corruption wins not more than honesty.
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,
To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear
not;
Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's.
Thy God's, and truth's ; theu if thou fall'st, C
Cromwell,
Thou fall'st a blessed martyr ! Serve the king :
And,—prithee, lead me in : 451
There take an inventory of all I have.
To the last penny ; 'tis the king's : my robe,'
And my integrity to heaven, is all
I dare now call mine own. 0 Cromwell
Cromwell!
Had I but served my God with half the zeal
I served my king, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.
Crom. Good sir, have patience.
Wol. So I have. Farewell
The hopes of court! my hopes in heaven do
dwell. [ETXunt. 4t)0
ACT IV.
Scene I. A street in Westminster.
Enter two Gentlemen, meeting one another.
First Gent. You're well met once again.
Sec. Gent. So are you.
First Gent. You come to take your stand
here, and behold
The Lady Anne pass from her coronation ?
Sec. Cent. "Lis all my business. At our
last encounter.
The Duke of Buckingham came from his trial.
First Gent. 'Tis very true ; but that time
offer'd sorrow ;
This, general joy.
Sec Gent. 'Tis well: the citizens,
I am sure, have shown at full their royal
minds—
As, let 'em have their rights, they are ever for¬
ward—
In celebration of this day with shows, 10
Pageants and sights of honor.
First Gent. Never greater.
Nor, I'll assure you, better takeu, sir.
Sec. Gent. May I be bold to ask what that
contains.
That paper in j-our hand ?
First Gent. Yes ; 'tis the list
Of those that claim their offices this day
By custom of the coronation.
Tiie Duke of Suffolk is the first, and claims
To be high-steward ; next, the Duke of Not-
folk,
He to be earl marshal : you may read the rest.
Sec. Gent. I tliank you, sir : had I not
known those customs, 20
I should have been beholding to your ympcr.
But, I beseech you, what's become of Katharine,
The princess dowager ? how goes her busi¬
ness ?
First Gent. That I can tell you too. The
Archbishop
Of Canterbury, accompanied with other
Learned and reverend fathers of his order.
Held a late court at Dunstable, six miles off
1130
KING HENRY VIII.
"iAct ir.
From Ampthill where the princees lay ; to
which
She was often cited by them, but appear'd not:
And, to be sliort, for not appearance and 30
The king's late scruple, by the main assent
Of all these learned men she was divorced,
And the late marriage made of none effect;
Since which she was removed to Kimbolton,
AVhere she remains now sick.
Sec. Gent. Alas, good lady!
[Trumpets.
The trumpets sound : stand close, the queen
is coming. [Hautboys.
the obder of the cohonation.
1 A lively flourish of Trumpets.
2. Then, two Judges.
3. Lord Chancellor, with the purse and mace
before him.
4. Choristers, singing. [Music.
5. Mayor of Loudon, bearing the mace. Then
Garter, in his coat of aims, and on his
head a gilt copper- crown.
6. Marquess Dorset, bearing a sceptre of gold,
on his head a dmi-coronal of gold. With
him, the Earl of Sprrev, bearing the rod
of .silver with the dove, crowned with an
earl's coronet. Collars of S8.
7. Duke of Suffolk, in his robe of estate, his
coronet on his head, bearing a long white
wand, as high-steward. With him, the
Duke of Norfolk, with the rod of mar-
shalship, a coronet on his head. Collars
ofSS.
8. A canopy borne by four of the Cinque-
ports ; under it, the Queen in her robe;
in her hair richly adorned with peart,
croioned. On each side her, the Bishops
of London and Winchester.
9. The old Duchess of Norfolk, in a coronal
of gold, wrought with flowers, bearing
the Queen's train.
10. Certain Ladies or Sountesses, with plain
circlets of gold without flowers.
They pass over the stage in order and state.
Sec. Gent A royal train, believe me.
These I know:
Who's that that bears the sceptre ?
First Gent. Marquess Dorset:
And that the Earl of Surrey, with the rod.
Sec. Gent. A bold brave gentlemau. That
should be 40
The Duke of Suffolk ?
First Gent. 'Tis the same : high-steward.
Sec. Gent. And that ray Lord of Norfolk ?
First Gent. Yes.
Sec. Gent. Heaven bless thee !
[Looking on the Queen.
Thou hast the sweetest face I aver look'd on.
Sir, as I have a soul, she is an angel ;
Our king has all the Indies in his arms.
And more and richer, when he strains that
lady :
I cannot blame his consdence.
First Gent. They that bear
The cloth of honor over her, are four barons
Of the Cinque-ports.
Sec. Gent. Those men are happy ; and so
are all are near her. 60
I take it, she that carries up the train
Is that old noble lady. Duchess of Norfolk.
First Gent. It is ; and all the rest are connt-
Sec. Gent. Their coronets say so. These
are stars indeed ;
And sometimes falling ones.
First Gent. No more of that.
[Exit procession, and then a great flourish oj
trumpets.
Enter a third Gentleman.
First Gent. God save you, sir ! where have
you been broiling ?
Third Gent. Among the crowd i' the Abbey*
where a finger
Could not be wedged in more : I am stifled
With the mere rankness of their joy.
Sec. Gent. You saw
The ceremony ?
Third Gent. That I did.
First Gent. How was it ? 60
Third Gent. Well worth the seeing.
Sec. Gent. Good sir, speak it to us.
Third Gent. As well as I am able. The rich
stream
Of lords and ladies, having brought the queen
To a prepared place in the choir, fell off
A distance from her; while her grace sat
down
To rest awhile, some half an hour or so.
In a rich chair of state, opposing freely
The beauty of her person to the people.
Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest wom.an
That ever lay bv man : which when the peo¬
ple 70
Had the full view of, such a noise arose
As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest.
As loud, and to as many tunes : hats, cloaks,—
Doublets, I think,—flew up ; and had their
faces
Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such
joy
I never saw before. Great-bellied women.
That had not half a week to go, like rams
In the old time of war, would shake the press.
And make 'em reel before 'em. No man liv¬
ing
Could say ' This is my wife' there ; ail were
woven
So strangely in one piece.
Sec. Gent. But, what foUow'd? 81
Third Gent. At length her grace rose, and
with modest paces
Came to the altar ; where she kneei'd, and
saint-like
Cast her fair eyes to heaven and pray'd de¬
voutly.
Then rose again and bow'd her to the people:
When by the Archbishop of Canterbury
She had all the royal makings of a queen ;
As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown.
ScENfi 11.]
The rod, end bird of peace, and all such em¬
blems
laid nobly on her: which perform'd, the
choir, 90
With all the choicest music of the kingdom,
Together sung' Te Deum.' So she parted.
And with the same full state paced back again
lo York-place, where tlie fea.st is held.
First Gent Sir,
You must no more call it York-place, that's
past;
For, since the cardinal fell, that title's lost:
'Tis now tlie king's, and call'd Whitehall.
Third Gent. I know it ;
But tis so lately alter'd, that the old name
Is fresh about me.
Sec. Gent. What two reverend bishops
Were those that went on each side of the
queen ?
Third Gent. Stokesly and Gardiner ; the
one of Winchester, 101
Newly preferr'd from the king's secretary,
The other, London.
Sec. Gent. He of Winchester
Is held no great good lover of the archbishop's.
The virtuous Cranmer.
Third Gent. All the land knows that:
However, yet there is no great breach ; when
it comes,
Cranmer will find a friend will not shrink from
him.
Sec. Gent. Who may that be, I pray you ?
Ihird Gent. Thomas Cromwell ;
A man in much esteem with the king, and
truly
A worthy friend. The king has made him mas¬
ter 110
O' the jewel house.
And one, already, of the privy council.
Sec. Gent. He will deserve more.
Third Gent. Yes, without all doubt.
Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which
Is to the court, and there ye shall be my guests:
Something I can command. As I walk thither,
I'll tell ye more.
Both. You may command us, sir. [Exeunt.
Scene II. Kimbolton.
ffnfer Katharine, Dowa.oer, sick; led between
Griffith, her gentleman usher, and Pa¬
tience, aer woman. •
Grif. How does your grace ?
Kath. O Griffith, sick to death !
My legs, like loaden branches, bow to the
earth.
Willing to leave their burthen. Reach a chair:
So ; now, methinks, I feel a little ease.
Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led'st
me, [sey.
That the great child of bono*. Cardinal Wol-
Was dead ?
Grif. Yes, madam ; but I think your grace.
Out of the i»in you suffer'd, gave no ear to't.
Kath. Prithee, good Griffith, tell me how
be died:
1131
If well, he stepp'd before me, happily 10
For my example.
Gr[f'. Well, the voice goes, madam:
For after the stout Earl Northumberlaud
Arrested him at York, and brought him for¬
ward.
As a man sorely tainted, to his answer.
He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill
He could not sit his mule.
Kath. Alas, poor man !
Grif. At last, with easy roads, be came to
Leicester,
Lodged in the abbey ; where the reverend
abbot.
With all his covent, honorably received him;
To whom he gave these words, ' O, father
abbot, 20
An old man, broken with the storms of state.
Is come to lay his weary bones among ye ;
Give him a little earth for charity !'
So went to bed ; where eagerly his sickness
Pursued him still; and, three nights after this.
About the hour of eight, which lie himself
Foretold should be his last, full of repentance.
Continual meditations, tears, and sol.'ows.
He gave his honors to the world again.
His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace.
Kath. So may he rest; his faults lie gently
on him ! 31
Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak
him.
And yet with charity. He was a man
Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking
Himself with princes ; one that, by suggestion.
Tied all the kingdom : simony was fair-play ;
His own opinion was his law: i' the presence
He would say untruths ; and be ever double
Both in his words and meaning: he was never,
But where he meant to ruin, pitiful : 40
His promises were, as he then was, mighty ;
But his performance, as he is now, nothing :
Of his own body he was ill, and gave
The clergy ill example.
Grif. Noble madam.
Men's evil manners live in brass ; their virtues
We write in water. May it please your high¬
ness
To hear me speak his good now ?
Kath. Yes, good Griffith ;
I were malicious el.se.
Grif. This cardinal.
Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly
Was fashion'd to much honor from his cradle.
He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one ;
Exceeding wise, fair-spoken, and persuading :
Lofty and sour to them that loved him not;
But "to those men that sought him sweet as
summer.
And though he were unsatisfied in getting.
Which was a sin, yet in bestowiirg, madam.
He was most princely: ever witness for him
Those twins of learning that he raised in you,
Ipswich and Oxford 1 one of which fell with
him.
Unwilling to outlive the good that did it ; 60
The other, though uufinish'd, yet so famous,
KING HENRY Vltt
1132
So excellent in art, and still so rising.
That Christendom shali ever speak his virtue.
His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him ;
For tlien, and not till then, he felt nimseU,
And found the blessedness of being little;
And, to add greater honors to his age
Than man could give him, he died fearing
God.
Kath. After jny death I wish no other her-
aid.
No other speaker of my living actions, 70
To keep mine honor from corruption,
But such an honest chronicler as Griffith.
Whom I most hated living, thou iiast made
me.
With thy religious truth and modesty,
Now in his ashes honor ; peace be with him !
Patience, be near me still ; and s t me lower:
I have not long to trouble thee. Good Grif¬
fith,
Cause the musicians play me that sad note
1 named my knell, whilst 1 sit meditating
On that celestial harmony I go to. 80
[6'aci and solemn miisie.
Gr{f. She is asleep : good wench, let's sit
down quiet.
For fear we wake her : softly, gentle Patience.
5t%e vision. Enter, solemnly tripping one after
anotiter, six personages, clad in white robes,
ivearing on their heads garlands of bays, and
golden vizards on their faces ; branches of
bays or palm in their hands. They first con¬
gee ttnto her, then dance; and, at certain
changes, the first two hold a spare garland
over her head; at lohich the other four make
reverent curtsies; then the two that held the
garland deliver the same to the other next
two, who observe the same order in their
changes, and holding the garland over her
head: which done, they deliver the same gar¬
land to the last two, who likewise observe
the same order: at ichich, as it were by in¬
spiration, she makes in her sleep sighs of
rejoicing, and holdeth up her hands to heaven:
and so in their dancing vanish, carrj/ing the
garland with them. The music continues.
Kath. Spirits of peace, where are ye ? are
ye all gone.
And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye ?
Grif. Madam, we are here.
Kath. It is not you I call for :
Saw ye none enter since I slept'?
Grif. None, madam.
Katlu No ? Saw you not, even now, a
blessed troop
Invite me to a banquet; whose bright faces
Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun ?
They promised me eternal happiness ; 90
And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel
I am not worthy yet to wear : I shall, as¬
suredly.
Grif. I am most joyful, madam, such good
dreams
Possess your fanqy.
KaXh, Bid the music leave,
[Act iv.
They are harsh and heavy to me.[A/'usi'c ceases.
Pat. Do you note
How much her grace is alter'd on the sudden?
How long her face is drawn ? how pale she
looks.
And of an earthy cold ? Mark her eyes !
Grif. Slie is going, wench : pray, pray.
Pat. Heaven comfort her i
Enter a Me.s.senger.
Mess. An't like your grace,—
Kath. ybu are a saucy fellow : 100
Deserve we no more reverence ?
Grif. You are to blame.
Knowing she will not lose her wonted great¬
ness.
To use so rude behavior ; go to, Imeel.
Mess. I humbly do entreat your highness'
pardon ;
My haste made me unmannerly. There is stay¬
ing
A gentleman, sent from the king, to see you.
Kalh. Admit him entrance, Griffith : but
this feilow
Let me ne'er see again.
[Exeunt Griffith and Messenger.
Re-erder Geiffith, with Capucius.
If my sight fail not,
You should be lord ambassador from the em¬
peror, 109
My royal nephew, and your name Capnciics.
Cap. Madam, the same ; your servant
Kath. O, my lord.
The times and titles now are alter'd strangely
With me since first you knew me. But, I pray
you.
What is your pieasure with me ?
Cap. Noble lady.
First mine own service to your grace; the next.
The king's request that I would visit you ;
AVho grieves much for your weakness, and by
me
Sends you his princely commendations.
And heartily entreats you take good comfort.
Kath. O my good lord, that comfort comes
too late ; 120
'Tis like a pardon after execution ;
That gentle physic, given in time, had cured
me ;
But now I am past all comforts here, but pray¬
ers. .
How does his highness ?
Cap. Madam, in good health.
Kath. So may he ever do! and ever flourish.
When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor
name
Banish'd the kingdom ! Patience, is that letter,
I caused you write, yet sent away ?
Pat. No, madam.
[Giving it to Katharine.
Kath. Sir, I most humbly pray you to de¬
liver
This to my lord tlie king.
Cap. Most willing, madam. 130
Kath. In which I have commended to his
goodness
KING HENRY VIIl.
scbhe.i.]
KING HENRY VIII.
1133
The model ol our chaste loves, his young
daughter;
The dews ot heaven fall thick in blessings on
herl
Beseeching him to give her virtuous breed-
. '"S—
she IS young, and of a noble modest nature,
I hope she will deserve well,—and a little
To love her for her mother's sake, that loved
him.
Heaven knows how dearly. My next iraor
petition
Is, that his noble grace would have some pity
Uix>n my wretched women, that so long 140
Have follow'd both my fortunes faithfully:
Of which there is not one, I dare avow.
And now I should not lie, but will deserve,
For virtue and true beauty of the soul,
Fur honesty and decent carriage^
A right good husband, let him he a noble:
And, sure, those men are happy that shall have
'em.
The last is, for my men ; they are the poorest.
But poverty could never draw 'era from me ;
That they may have their wages duly paid
'em, 150
And something over to remember me by:
If heaven had pleased to have given me longer
life
And able means, we had not parted thus.
These are the whole contente: and, good my
lord.
By that you love the dearest in this world,
As you wish Christian peace to souls departed.
Stand these pour people's friend, and urge the
king
To do me this last right.
Cap. By heaven, I will.
Or let me lose the fashion of a man ! '
Kallu I thank you, honest lord. Remem¬
ber me 160
In all humility unto his highness:
Say his long trouble now is passing
Out of this world ; tell him, in death I bless'd
him,
For so I wili. Mine eyes grow dim. Farewell,
My lord. Griffith, farewell. Nay, Patience,
You must not leave me yet: 1 must to bed ;
Call in more women. When I am dead, good
wench.
Let me be used with honor: strew me over
With maiden flowers, that all the world may
know
I was a chaste wife to my grave: embalm me.
Then lay me forth: although unqueen'd, yet
like
A qneen, and daughter to a king, inter me.
I can no more. [Eceunf, leading Katharine.
ACT V. ff
Scene I. London. A gallery in the palace.
Enter Gardinek, Bishop of Winchester, a
Page with a torch be/ore him, met by 6m
Thomas lovehh.
Gar. It's one o'clock, boy, is't not ?
Boy. It hath stnick.
Gar. These should be hours for necessities.
Not for delights ; times to repair our nature
With comforting reijose, and not for us
To waste these times. Good hour of night.
Sir Thomas I
Whither so late ?
Lov. Came you from the king, my lord ?
Gar. I did. Sir Thomas ; and left him at
primero
With the Duke of Suffolk.
Lov. I niu.st to him too.
Before he go to bed. I'll bike my leave.
Gar. Not yet, Sir Thomas Lovell. What's
the matter ? 10
It seems you are in haste : an if there be
No great offence belongs to't, give your friend
Some touch of your late business: affairs, that
walk.
As they say spirits do, at midnight, have
In them a wilder nature than the business
That seeks dispatch by day.
Lov. My lord, I love you ;
And durst commend a secret to your ear
Much weightier than this work. The queen's
in labor.
They say, in great extremity; and fear'd
She'll with the labor end.
Gar. The fruit she goes with 20
I pray for heartilyj that it may find
Good time, and live : but for the stock. Sir
Thomas,
I wish it grubb'd up now.
Lov. Methinks I could
Cry the amen ; and yet my conscience says
She's a good creature, and, sweet lady, does
Deserve our better wishes.
Gar. But, sir, sir,
Hear me. Sir Thomas : you're a gentleman
Of mine own way; 1 know you wise, religious;
And, let me tell you, it will ne'er be well,
'Twill not. Sir Thomas Lovell, take't of me.
Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and
she, 31
Sleep in their graves.
Lov. Now, sir, you speak of two
The most reraark'd i' the kingdom. As for
Cromwell,
Beside that of the jewel house, is made master
0' the rolls, and the king's secretary; further,
sir,
Stands in the gap and trade of moe x>refer-
ments.
With which the time will load him. The arch¬
bishop
Is the king's hand and tongue ; and who dare
One syllable against him ?
Gar. Yes, yes. Sir Thomas,
There are that dare ; and I myself have ven¬
tured 40
To sjieak my mind of him : and indeed this
day.
Sir, I may tell it you I think I have
Incensed the lords o' the eouncil, that he 'is,
1134
KING HENRY VHI.
[Act T.
For so I know he is, they know he is,
A most arch heretic, a pestilence
That does infect the land: with which they
moved
Have broken with the king ; who hath so far
Given ear to our complaint, of his great grace
And princely care foreseeing those fell mis¬
chiefs
Our reasons laid before him, hath commanded
To-morrow morning to the council-board 51
He be convented. He's a rank weed. Sir
Thomas,
And we must root him out. From your affairs
1 hinder you too long: good night. Sir Thomas.
Lov. Many good nights, my lord : I rest
your servant.
[Exeunt Gardiner and Page.
Enter the King and Suffolk.
King. Charles, I will play no more to-night;
My mind's not on't; you are too hard for me.
Suf. Sir, I did never win of you before.
King. But little, Charles ;
Nor shall not, when my fancy's on my play.
Now, Lovell, from the queen what is tlie
news 1 61
Lov. I could not personally deliver to her
What you commanded me, but by her woman
1 sent your message; who return'd her thanks
In the great'st humbleness, and desired your
highness
Most heartily to pray for her.
King. What say'st thou, ha ?
To pray for her ? what, is she crying out ?
LOv. So said her woman ; and that her
sufferance made
Almost each pang a deatli.
King. Alas, good lady!
Suf. God safely quit her of her burthen,
and 70
With gentle travail, to the gladding of
Tour highness with an heir !
King. , 'Tis midnight, Charles;
Prithee, to bed ; and in thy prayers remember
The estate of iny poor queen. Leave me alone;
For I must think of that which company
Would not be friendly to.
Suf . I wish your highness
A quiet night; and my good mistress will
Remember in my prayers.
King. Charles, good night. [Exit Suffolk.
Enter Sir Anthony Denny
Well, sir, what follows ?
Den. Sir, I have brought my lord the arch¬
bishop, 80
As vou commanded me.
ffing. Ha ! Canterbury ?
Den. Ay, my good lord.
King. "Tis true: where is he, Denny ?
Den. He attends your highness' pleasure.
King. Bring him to us.
[Exit Denny.
Lov. [Aside] This is about that which the
bi^op spake :
I am happily come hither.
Re-enter Denny, with Cranmer.
King. Avoid the gallery. [Lovell teems to
stay.'] Ha ! Iiiave said. Be gone.
What! [Exeunt Lovell ana Denny.
Cran. [Aside] I am fearful: wherefore
frowns he thus ?
'Tis his aspect of terror. All's not well.
King. How now, my lord ! you desire to
know 90
Wherefore I sent for you.
Cran. [Kneeling] It is my dtity
To attend your highness' pleasure.
King. Pray you, arise.
My good and gracious Ixird of Canterbury.
Come, you and I must walk a turn together ;
I have news to tell you : come, come, give me
your hand.
Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak.
And am right sorry to repeat what follows :
I have, and most linwillingly, of late
Heard many grievous, I do say, my lord.
Grievous complaints of you ; which, being
considerd, 100
Have moved us and our council, tliat you shall
This raoniiug come before us ; where, I know.
You cannot with such freedom purge yourself.
But that, till further trial in those charges
Which will require your answer, yon must
take
Your patience to you, and be well contented
To make your'house our Tower: you a brother
of us.
It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness
Would come against you. [highness ;
Cran. [Kneeling] I humbly thank your
And am right glad to catch this good occasion
Most throughly to be winnow'd, where my
chaff 111
And com shall fly asunder: for, I know.
There's none stands under more calumnious
tongues
Tliau I myself, poor man.
King. Stand up, piood Canterbury:
Thy truth and thy integrity is rooted
In us, thy friend : give me thy hand, stand up:
Prithee, let's walk. Now, by my holidame,
What manner of man are you ? My lord, 1
look'd
You would have given me your petition, that
I should have ta'en some pains to bring to¬
gether 120
Yourself and your accusers ; and to have
heard you.
Without indurance, further.
Cran. Most dread liege,
Tlie good I. stand on is my truth and honesty:
If they shall fail, I, with mine enemies.
Will triumph o'er my person ; which I weigh
not,
Being of those virtues vacant. I fear nothing
What can be said against me.
King. Know you not
How your state stands i' the world, with the
whole world 1
Your enemies are many, and not small; their
practiceg
ScENt; ii.]
Mast bear the same proportion ; and not ever
The justice and the truth o' the question car¬
ries 131
Tlie due o' the verdict with it: at what ease
Might corrupt minds procure knaves as cor¬
rupt
To swear against you ? such things have been
done.
Tou are potently opposed ; and with a malice
Of as gTMt size. Ween you of better luck,
I mean, in ^iqured witness, than your master,
Whose minister you are, whiles here he lived
Upon this naughty earth ? Go to, go to ;
You take a precipice for no leap of danger, 140
And woo your own destruction.
Oran. God and your majesty
Protect mine innocence, or I fall into
The trap is laid for me !
King. Be of good cheer ;
They shall no more prevail than we give way
to.
Keep comfort to you ; and this morning see
You do appear before them : if they shall
chance.
In charging you with matters, to commit you.
The best xiersuasions to the contrary
Fail not to use, and with what vehemency
Tlie occasion shall instruct you: if entreaties
Will render you no remedy, tliis rhig 151
Deliver them, and your appeal to us
There make before them. I..ook, the good
man weeps!
He's honest, on mine honor. God's blest
mother !
I swear he is true-hearted ; and a soul
None better in my kingdom. Get you gone.
And do as I have bid you. [Exit Cranmer.']
He has strangled
His language in his tears.
Enter Old Lady, 'Lovn.i.i, following.
Gent. [Within\ Come back : what mean
you 7
Old L, I'll not come back ; the tidings that
I bring 160
Will make my boldness manners. Now, good
angels
Fly o'er thy royal head, and shade thy person
Under their blessed wings !
King. Now, by thy looks
I guess thy message. Is the queen deliver'd 7
Say, ay ; and of a boy.
Old 'L, Ay, ay, my liege ;
And of a lovely boy: the God of heaven
Both now and ever bless her ! 'tis a girl,
Promi.ses boys hereafter. Sir, your queen
Desires your visitation, and to be _ 169
Acquainted with this stranger: 'tis as like you
As cherry is to cherry.
King.' Lovell!
Lov. Sir 7
King. Give her an hundrea marks. I'll to
the queen. [Exit.
Old L. An hundred marks ! By this liglit,
I'll ha' more.
An ordinary groom is for such payment.
VJA
I will have more, or scold it out of him.
Said I for this, the girl was like to him 7
I will have more, or else unsay't; and now.
While it is liot, I'll put it to the issue.
[Exeunt.
Scene H. Before the council-chamber.
Pursuivants, Pages, &c. attending.
Enter Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury.
Cran. I hope I am not too late ; and yet
the gentleman.
That was sent to me from the council, pray'd
me
To make great haste. All fast 7 what means
this 7 Ho!
Who waits there 7 Sure, you know me 7
Enter Keeper.
Keep. Yes, my lord;
But yet I cannot help you.
Cran. Why 7
Enter Doctor Butts.
Keep. Your grace must wait tiU yon be
call'd for.
Cran. So.
Butts. [Aside] This is a piece of malice. I
am glad
I came this way so happily : the king
Shall understand it presently. [Exit.
Cran. [Aside] 'Tis Butts, 10
The king's physician: as he pass'd along.
How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me !
Pray heaven, he sound not my disgrace ! For
certain,
This is of purpose laid by some that hate me—
God turn their hearts ! I never sought their
malice—
To quench mine honor : they would shame to
make me
Wait else at door, a fellow-counsellor,
'Moug boys, grooms, and lackeys. But their
pleasures
Must be fulfill'd, and I attend with patience.
Enter the King and Butts at a window above.
Butts. I'll show your grace the strangest
sight—
King. What's that. Butts 7 20
Butts. I think your highness saw this
many a day.
King. Body o' me, where is it 7
Butts. Tliere, my lord :
Tiie high promotion of his grace of Canter¬
bury ;
Who holds his state at door, 'mongst pursui¬
vants.
Pages, and footboys.
King. Ha ! 'tis he, indeed
Is this the honor they do one another 7
''TIS well there's one above 'em yet. I had
thought
They had parted so much honesty among 'em
Xt least, good manners, as not thus to suffer
A man of his place, and so near our favor, 30
KING HENRY VIII.
1L86
KING UENltY VIII.
[Act V.
To dance attendance on their lordships' pleas¬
ures,
' And at the door too, like a post with packets.
By holy Mary, Butts, there s knavery.:
Let 'em alone, and draw the curtain close :
We shall hear more anon. [7!.'wwn^.
Scene lit. The Council-Chamber.
Enter Lord Chancellor ; places himself at
the upper end of the table on the left hand; a
seat being left void above him, as for Can¬
terbury's «ea<. Duke of Suffolk, Duke
of Norfolk, Surrey, Lord Chamber¬
lain, Gardiner, seat themselves in order
on each side. Cromwell at lower end, as
secretary. Keeper at the door.
Chan. Speak to the business, master-.secre-
tary:
Why are we met in council t
Crom. Please your honors.
The chief cause concerns his grace of Canter¬
bury.
Gar, Has he had knowledge of it ?
Crom. Yes.
Nor. Who waits there ?
Keep. Without, my noble lords ?
Gar. Yes.
Keep. My lord archbishop ;
And has done half an hour, to know your
pleasures. '
Chan. Let him come in.
Keep. ' Your grace may enter now.
[Cranmer enters and approaches
the eouncil-table.
Chan. My good lord archbishop, I'm very
sorry
To sit here at this present, and behold
That chair stand empty: but we all are men,
tin our own natures fraik and capable 11
Of our flesh ; few are angels : out of which
frailty
And want of wisdom, you, that best should
teach us.
Have misdemeau'd yourself, and not a little,
Toward the king first, then his laws, in filling
The whole realm, by your teaching and your
chaplakis,
For so we are inform'd, with new opinions.
Divers and dangerous ; which are heresies.
And, not reforra'd, may prove pernicious.
Gar. Which reformation must be sadden
too, 20
My noble lords ; for those that tame wild
horses
Pace 'em not in their hands to make 'em
gentle.
But stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and
spur 'em.
Till they obey the manage. If we suffer.
Out of our easiness and childish pity
To one man's honor, this contagious sickness.
Farewell all physic : and what follows then ?
Commotions, uproars, with a general taint
Of the whole state: as, of late days, our
neighbors,
The upper Germany, can dearly .witness, 30
Yet freshly pitied ia our memories.
Cran. My good lords, hitherto, in all the
progress
Both of my life and office, I have labor'd,
And witli no little study, that my teaching
And the strong course of my authority
Miglit go one way, and safely ; and the end
IVas ever, to do well : nor is tliere living,
I speak it with a single heart, my lords,
A man that more detests, more stirs against.
Both in his private conscience and his place,
Defacers of a public iieace, than 1 do.. 41
Pray heaven, the king may never find a heart
With le.ss allegiance in it! Men that make
Envy and crooked malice nourishment
Dare bite the best. .1 do beseech your lord¬
ships.
That, in this case of justice, my accusers,
Be what they will, may stand forth face to
face.
And freely urge against me.
Suf. Nay, my lord.
That cannot be: you are a counsellor.
And, by that virtue, no man dare accuse
yon. 50
Gar. My lord, because we have business
of more moment.
We will be short with you. 'Tis his high-
ne.ss' ifieasure.
And our consent, for better trial of you.
From hence you be committed to the Tower ;
Where, being but a private man again.
You shall know many dare accuse you boldly.
More than, I fear, you are provided for.
Cran. Ah, my good Loid of Winchester, I
thank you ;
You are always my good friend ; if your will
I shall both find your lordship judge and juror.
You are so merciful: I see your end ; 61
'Tis my undoing: love and meekness, lord,
Become a churaiman better than ambition:
Win straying souls with modesty again.
Cast none away. That I shall clear myself,
Lay all the weight ye can npon my patience,
I make as little doubt, as you do conscience
In doing daily wrongs. I could say more.
But reverence to your calling 'makes me
modest.
Gar. My lord, my lord, you are a sectary.
That's the plain truth: your painted gloss dis¬
covers, 71
To men that understand you, words and
weakness.
Crom. My Lord of Winchester, you are a
little.
By your good favor, too sharo ; men so noble,
However faulty, yet should find respect
For what they have been: 'tis a cruelty
To load a falling man.
Gar. Good master secretary,
I cry your honor mercy ; you may, worst
Of all this table, say so.
Crom. Why, my lord ?
Gar. Do not 1 know you for a favorer 80
KING HENRY VHI.
1187
.^CBNB iir.J
Of this new sect ? ye are not sound.
■ Crom. jjot sound ?
Gar. Not sound, I say.
Crom. Would you were half so honest !
Men's prayers then would seek you, not their
fears.
Gar. 1 shall remember this bold language.
Crom. Do.
Remember your bold life too.
Chan. "ITiis is too much ;
Forbear, lor shame, my lords.
Gar. I have done.
Crom. And I.
Chan. Then thus for you, my lord : it
stands agreed,
I take it, by all voices, that forthwith
You be convey'd to the Tower a prisoner ; 89
There to remain till the king's further pleasure
Be known unto us: are you all agreed, lords ?
All. We are.
Cran. Is there no other way of mercy.
But I must needs to the Tower, my lords ?
Gar. What other
Would you expect? you are strangely ti-ouble-
some.
Let some o' the guard be ready there
Enter Guard.
Cran. For me ?
Must I go like a traitor thither ?
Gar. Receive him.
And see him safe i' the Tower.
Cran. Stay, good my lords,
I have a little yet to say. Look there, my
lords ;
By virtue of that ring, I take my cause 99
Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it
To a most noble judge, the king my master.
Cham. This is the king's ring.
Sur. 'Tis no counterfeit.
Sxif. 'Tis the right ring, by heaven : I told
ye all.
When we first put this dangerous stone a-
rolling,
'Twould fall upon ourselves.
Nor. Do you think, my lords.
The king will suffer but the little finger
Of this man to be vex'd ?
Chan. 'Tis now too certain ;
How much more is his life in value with him ?
Would I were fairly out on't!
Crom. My mind gave me,
In seeking tales and informations 110
Against this man, whose honesty the devil
And his disciples only envy at.
Ye blew the fire that burns ye : now have at
ye !
Enter King, frowning on them; takes his
seat.
Gar. Dread sovereign, how much are we
bound to heaven •
In daily thanks, that gave us such a jirince ;
Mot only good and wise, but most religious :
One that, in all obedience, makes the church
The chief aim of his honor; and, to strengthen
That holy dut^, out of dear respect.
His royal self in judgment comes to hear 120
The cause betwixt her and this great offender.
King. You were ever good at sudden com¬
mendations.
Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not
To hear such flattery now, and iii my pres-^
ence ;
They are too thin and bare to hide offences.
To me you cannot reach, you play the span¬
iel, ,
And think with wagging of your tongue to
win me ;
But, whatsoe'er thou takest me for, I'm sure
Thou hast a cruel nature and a bloody.
[2*0 Cranmer] Good man, sit down. ■ Now
let me see the proudest 180
He, that dares most, but wag his finger at
^thee :
By all that's holy, he had better starve
Thau but once think this place becomes thee
not.
Sur. May it please 3'our grace,—
King. No, sir, it does not please me.
I had thouglit I had had men of .some under¬
standing
And wisdom of my council; but I find none.
Was it discretion, lords, to let this man.
This good man,—few of you deserve that
title,—
This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy
At charaber-doof ? and one as great as you
are ? 140
Why, what a shame was this 1 Did my com¬
mission
Bid ye so far forget yourselves ? I gave ye
Power as he was a counsellor to try him.
Not as a groom : there's some of ye, 1 see.
More out of malice than integrity.
Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean ;
Which ye shall never liave while I live.
Chan. Thus far.
My most dread sovereign, may it like your
grace
To let my tongue excuse all. What was pur¬
posed
Concerning his imprisonment, was rather, 150
If there be faith in men, meant for his trial,
And fair imrgation to the world, than malice,
I'm sure, in me.
King. Well, well, my lords, respect him ;
Take him, and use him well, he's worthy of
it.
I will say thus much for him, if a in-ince
May be beholding to a subject, 1
Am, for his love and service, .so to him.
Make me no more ado, but all embrace him :
Be friendsi for shame, my lords ! My Lord of
Canterbury, 168
I have a suit which you must not deny me ;
That is, a fair young maid that yet wants
baptism,
Y'ou must be godfather, and answer for her.
Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may
glory
In such an honor ; how may 1 deserve it,
72
1138
KING HENRY YIIL
[Act v.
That am a poor and humble subject to you ?
King. Come, come, my lord, you'Id spare
your spoons : you shall have two noble pait-
ners with you ; the old Duchess of Norfolk,
and I^dy Marquess Dorset: will these idease
you ? 170
Once more, my Lord of Winchester, I charge
you>
Embrace and love this man.
' Gar. With a true heart
And brother-love I do it.
Gran. And let heaven
Witness, how defir I hold this confirmation.
King. Good man, those joyful tears .show
thy true heart :
The common voice, I see, is verified
Of thee, which says thus, ' Do my Lord of
Canterbury
A shrewd turn, and he is your friend for
ever.' .
Come, lords, we trifle time away ; I long
To have this young one made a Christian. 180
As I have made ye one, lords, one remain ;
So I grow stronger, you more honor gain.
[Exeunt.
Scene IV. The palace yard.
Noise and tumult within. Enter Porter and
his Man.
Port. You'll leave your noise anon, ye
rascals : do you take the court for Paris-gar¬
den ? ye rude slaves, leave your gaping.
[ WCthiii] Good master porter, I belong to
the larder.
Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hanged,
ye rogue ! is this a place to roar in ? Fetch
me a dozen crab-tree staves, and strong ones:
these are but switches to 'em. I'll .scratch
your heads : you mu.st be seeing christen¬
ings ? do you look for ale and cakes here,
yon rude rascals ? 11
Man. Pray, sir, be patient; 'tis as much
impossible—
Unless we sweep 'em from the door with can¬
nons—
To scatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em sleep
On May-day moniing ; which will never be :
We may as well push against Powle's, as stir
'em.
Port: How got they in, and be hang'd ?
Man. Alas, 1 know not; how gets the tide
in ?
As much as one sound cudgel of four foot—
You see the poor remainder—could distrib¬
ute, 20
I made no spare, sir.
Port. You did nothing, sir.
Man. I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor
Colbraud, Lf"'y
To mow 'em down before me: but if I spared
That had a head to hit, either young or old.
He or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker.
Let me ne'er hope to see a chine again ;
And that I would not for a cow, God save
her!
[ Within'l Do you hear, master porter ?
Port. I shall be with you presently, good
master puppy. Keep-the door clo.se, sirrah. 30
Man. What would you have me do ?
Port. What sliould you do, but knock 'em
down by the dozens ? Is this Moorflelds to
muster in ? or have we some strange Indian
with the great tool come to court, the women
so besiege us ? Bless me, what a fry of for¬
nication is at door! On my Christian con¬
science, this one christening will beget a
thousand ; here will be father, godfather, and
all together. 39
Man. The spoons will be the bigger, sir.
There is a fellow somewhat near the door, he
should be a brazier by his face, for, o' my
conscience, twenty of tiie dog-days now reigh
ill's nose ; all that stand about him are under
the line, they need no other pemance ; that
fire-drake did I hit three times on the head,
and three times was his nose discharged,
against me ; he stands there, like a mortar-
piece, to blow us. There was a haberdasher's
wife of small wit near him, that railed upon
me till lier pinked porringer fell off her head,
for kindling such a combustion in the state.
I missed the meteor once, and hit that wo¬
man ; who cried out' Clubs !' when I might
see from far some forty truncheoners draw to
her succor, which were the hope o' the Strand,
where she was quartered. They fell on ; I
made good my place : at length they came to
the broom-.staff to me ; I defied 'em still :
when suddenly a file of boys behind 'em,
loose shot, delivered such a shower of peb¬
bles, that I was fain to draw mine honor in,
and let 'em win the work : the devil was
amongst 'em, I think, surely.
Port. Tliese are the youths that thunder
at a playhouse, and fight for bitten jmples;
tliat no audience, but the tribulation of 'Tower-
hill, or the limbs of Limehouse, their dear
brothers, are able to endure. 1 have some of
'em in Limbo Patrum, and there they are like
to dance these three days ; besides the run¬
ning banquet of two beadles that is to come.
Enter Lord Chamberdain.
Cham. Mercy o' me, what a multitude are
here 1 [coming.
They grow still too ; from all parts they are
As if we kept a fair here ! Where are these
porters.
These lazy knaves ? Ye have made a fine
hand, fellows :
There's a trim rabble let in : are all these
Your faithful friends o' the suburbs 7 We
shall have
Great store of room, no doubt, left for the
ladies.
When they pass back from the christening.
Port. An't please your honor.
We are but men ; and what so many may do.
Not being torn a-pieces, we have done : 80
An army cannot rule 'em.
Cham. As I live,
Scene t.]
II the king blame me for't. I'll lay ye all
By the heels, and suddenly : and on your
heads
Clap round fines for neglect: ye are lazy
knaves ;
And here ye He baiting of bombards, when
Te should do service. Hark ! the trumpets
sound ;
Tliey're come already from the christening :
Go, break among the press, and find a way
out
To let the troop pass fairly ; or I'll find
A Harshalsea shall bold ye play these two
months. 90
Port. Make way there for the princess.
Man. You great fellow.
Stand close up, or I'll make your head ache.
Port. You i' the camlet, get up o' the rail;
I'll peck you o'er the pales else. [Exeunt.
Scene V. Tlie palace.
Enter trumpets, sounding; then two Alder¬
men, Lord Mayor, Garter, Cranmer,
Duke op Norfolk with his marshal's staff,
Duke op Suffolk, two Noblemen bearing
great standing-bowls for the christening-
gifts ; then four Noblemen bearing a can¬
opy, under which the Duchess of Nor¬
folk, godmother, bearing the child richly
habited in a mantle, &c., train borne by a
Lady ; then follows the Marchioness Dor¬
set, the other godmother, and Ladies. The
troop pass once about the stage, and Gar¬
ter speaks.
Gart. Heaven, from thy endless goodness,
send prosperous life, long, and ever happy, to
the high and mighty princess of England,
Elizabeth !
Flourish. Enter King and Guard.
Cran. [Kneeling'] And to your royal grace,
and the good queen.
My noble partners, and myself, thus pray:
All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady,
Heaven ever laid up to make parents hapjiy.
May hourly fall upon ye !
King. Thank you, good lord archbishop ;
What is her name ?
Cran. Elizabeth.
King. Stand up, lord. 10
[The King kisses the child.
With this kiss take my blessing : God protect
thee !
Into whose hand I give thy life.
Cran. Amen.
King. My noble gossips, ye hate been too
prodigal :
I thank ye heartily ; so shall this lady.
When she has so much English.
Cran. Let me speak, sir.
For heaven now bids me ; and the words I
utter •
Let none think flattery, for they'll find 'em
truth.
This royal Infant—heaven StlU move about
her !—
11S0
Though In her cradle, yet now promises
Upon this laud a thousand thousand blessings,
AVhlch time shall bring to ripeness : she shall
be— 21
But few now living can behold tliat good¬
ness—
A pattern to all princes living with her.
And all that shall succeed : Saba was never
More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue
Than this pure soul shall be: all princely
graces,
That mould up such a mighty piece as this is.
With all the virtues that attend the good.
Shall still be doubled on her : truth shall
nurse her,
Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her;
She shall be loved and fear'd; her own shall
bless her ; 111
Her foes shake like a fiejd of beaten corn.
And hang their heads with sorrow : good
grows with her :
In her days every man .shall eat In safety,
Under his own vine, what he plants ; and sing
The merry songs of peace to ail his neighbors:
God shall be truly known ; and those about
her
From her shall read the perfect ways of honor.
And by those claim their greatness, not by
blood.
Nor shall this peace sleep with her : but as
when 40
The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix.
Her ashes new create another heir.
As great In admiration as herself ;
So shall she leave her blessedness to one.
When heaven shall caU her from this cloud of
darkness.
Who from the sacred ashes of her honor
Shall star-Uke rise, as great In fame as she
was.
And so stand fix'd: peace, plenty, love, truth,
terror.
That were the servants to this chosen Infant,
Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to
him : 50
AVherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine.
His honor and the greatuess of hi^ name
Shall be, aud make new nations : he shall
flourish.
And, like a mountain cedar, reach his
branches
To all the plains about him: our chUdren''s
children
Shall .see this, aud bless heaven.
King. Thou speakest wonders.
Cran. She shall be, to the happiness of Eng¬
land,
An aged princess ; many days slmll see her,
And yet no day without a deed to crown It.
Wouid I had known no more ! but she mu.'^t
die, 1^0
She must, the saints must have her ; yet a
virgin,
A most unspotted lily shall she pass
To the ground, and all the world shaH mourn
her,
KING HENRY 17//.
1140
KIXG JIEXKY VIH.
[Act v.
King. 0 lord archbishop,
Thou hast made me now a man ! never, be¬
fore
This happy child, did I get any tiling:
This oracle of comfort has so pleased me,
Tiiat when I am in heaven I shall desire
To see what this child does, and praise my
Maker.
I thank ye all. To you, my good lord mayor.
And your good bretiireu, I am much behold¬
ing ; 71
I have received much honor by your presence.
And ye shaU find me thankful. Lead the way,
lords :
Ye must all see the queen, and she must
thank ye.
She will be sick else. This day, no man think
Has business at hi.s house ; for all shall stay :
This little one shall make it holiday. {Eveunt.
EPILOGUE.
'Tis ten to one this play can never please
All that are here: some come to take their
ease.
And sleep an act or two ; but those, we fear.
We have frighted with our trumpets ; so, 'tis
clear.
They'll say 'tis naught: others, to hear tlie
city
Abused extremely, and to. ciy ' That's witty !'
Which we have not done neither : that, I fear.
All the expected good we're like to hear
For this puy at this time, is only in
The mercifcH construction of good women ; 10
For such a one we show'd 'era : if they smile.
And say 'twill do, I know, within a while
All the best men are outs ; for 'tis ill hap.
If they hold when their ladies bid 'em dap.
VENUS AND ADONIS.
(WRITTKN ABOUT 1592.)
INTRODUCTION.
yenut and Adonis was entered in the Stationers' register on April 18,1693, and was published the
same year. The poem became popular at once, and l>erore the close of 16^ it had been reprinted no
fewer than six times. " As the soul of Euphorbus," wrote Meres in his ffiCs Treasury (1898), " was
thought to live in Pythagoras, so the sweete wittie soule of Grid lives in mellifluous and hony-
tongued Shakespeare; witness his Ten us and Adonis, his Luereee, his sugred Sonnets among his
private ftleuds, &c." Ovid has told the story of the love of Venus for Adorns and the death of the
beautiful hunter by a wild boar's tusk ; the coldness of Adonis, his boyish disdain of love, was an
invention of later times. It is in this later form that Shakespeare imagines the subject; and in his
treatment of it he has less in common with Ovid than with a short poem by a contemporary writer
of sonnets and lyrical poems, Henry Constable, which appeared in a collection of verse published in
1600, under the name of Enyland's Helicon. It is uncertain which of the two poems. Constable's or
Shakespeare's, was the earlier written. When Venus and Adonis appeared Shakespeare was twenty-
nine years of age; the Earl of Southampton, to whom it was dedicated, was not yet twenty. In the
dedication tlie poet speaks of these " unpolisht lines " as " the first heire of my invention." Did he
mean by this that Venus and Adonis was written before any of his plays, or before any plays that
were strictly original—his own " invention ? " or does he, setting plays altogether apart, which were
not looked upon as literature, in a high sense of the word, c^l it his first poem because he had
written no earlier narrative or lyrical verse ? We cannot be sure. It is possible, but not likely, that
he may have written this poem before he left Stratford, and have brought it up with him to London.
More probably it was written in London, and perhaps not long before its publication., The year
1593, in which the poem appeared, was a year of plague ;'the London theatres were closed : it may
be that Shakespeare, idle in London, or having returned for a while to Stratford, then wrote the
poem. Whenever written, it was elaborated with peculiar care. The subject of the poem is sensual,
but with Shakespeare it becomes rather a study or analysis of passion and the objects of passion,,
than in itself passionate. Without being dramatic, the poem contains the materials for dramatic
poetry, set forth at large. The descriptions of English landscape and country life are numerous, and
give a spirit of breezy life and health to portions of the poem which could ill afford to lose anything
wat Is treib and healthfid.
' Villa miretur vulgns; mihi flavus Apollo
Pocula Castalia plena mlnistret aqua.*
TO THE
RIGHT HONORABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,
earu of 80uthamfton, and baron of tichfikld.
Right Honorable,
I know not how 1 shall offend in dedicating my unpolished lines to your lordship, nor
how the world will censure me for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burden ; only, if
your honor seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle
hours, till I have honored you with some graver labor. But if the first heir of my invention prove
deformed, I shall be sorry it had m noble a god-father, and never after ear so barren a land, for fear
it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it to your honorable survey, and your hoiujr to your
heart's content; which I wish may always answer your own wish and the world s hopeful expectar
tion.
Tour honor's in all duty,
William Shakespeare.
(1141)
1142
VENUS AND ADONIS.
Even as the sun with purple-color'd face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping mom,
Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase ;
Hunting he loved, but love he laugh'd to
scorn ;
Sink-thoughted Venus makes amain unto
him, I . f
And like a hoM-fdced stiitoT 'pus to woo
him.
' Thrice-fairer than myself,' thus she began,
' "The field's chief flower, sweet above compare.
Stain to ail nymphs, more lovely than a man.
More white and red than doves or roses are ;
Nature that made tliee, with herself at strife,
Saith that the world hath ending with thy
life.
' Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed.
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow ;
If thou wilt deign this favor, for thy meed
A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know:
Here come and sit, where never serpent
hisses,
And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses ;
' And yet not cloy thy lips with loathed sar-
tiety.
But rather famish them amid their plenty, 20
Making them red and pale with fresh variety.
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty :
A summer's day will seem an hour but
short.
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.'
With this she selzeth on his sweating palm.
The precedent of pith and livelihood.
And trembling in her p:is.sion, calls it balm.
Earth's sovereign s.alve to do a goddess good :
Being so enraged, desire doth lend her force
Courageously to pluck him from his horse.
Over one arm the lusty courser's rein, 31
Under her other was tlie tender boy.
Who biusii'd and pouted in a dull disdain,
With leaden appetite, unapt to toy ;
She red and hot as coals of glowing fire.
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.
The studded bridle on a ragged bough
Nimbly she fastens :—O, how quick is love !—
Tlie steed is stalled up, and even now
To tie the rider she begins to prove: 40
Backward she push'd him, as she would be
thrust.
And govem'd him in strength, though not
in lust
So soon was she along as he was down.
Each leaning on their elbows and their hips:
Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he
frown,
And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips ;
Ana kissing speaks, with lustful language
broken,
'If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never
open.'
He bums with bashful shame : she with her
tears
Doth quench the maiden burning of his
cheeks; 50
Tlien with her windy sighs and golden hairs
To fan and blow them dry again she seeks :
He saith she is immodest, bkimes her 'niissr
What follows more she murders with a kisa
Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast.
Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and
bone.
Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste.
Till either gorge be stuff'd or prey be gone ;
Even so she kissed his brow, his cheek, his
i ' ' chin.
And where she ends she doth anew begin.
Forced to- content, but never to obey, 61
Panting he lies and breatheth in her face ;
She feedeth on the steam as on a prey.
And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace ;
Wishing her cheeks were gardens foil of
flowers.
So they were dew'd with such distilling
showers-
Look, how a bird lies tangled in a net.
So fasten'd in her arms Adonis lies ;
Pure shame and awed resistance made him
fret,
Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes: 70
Rain added to a river that is rank
Perforce will force it overflow the bank.
Still she entreats, and prettily entreats.
For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale ;
Still is he sullen, still he lours and frets,
'Twixt crimson shame and anger ashy-pale :
Being red, she loves him best; and being
white.
Her best is better'd with a mote delight.
Look how he can, she cannot choose but love;
And by her fair immoital hand she swears, 80
From his soft bosom never to remove.
Till he take truce with her contending tears.
Which long have rain'd, making her cheeks
all wet;
And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless
debt.
Upon this promise did he raise his chin.
Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave,
Wlio, being look'd on, ducks as quickly in ;
So offers he to give what she did crave ;
But wlien her lips were ready for his pay.
He winks, and l^urns his lips another waj'. 90
Never did passenger in summer's heat
More tliirst for drink than she for this good
turn.
Her help she sees, but help she cannot get;
She bathes in water, yet her fire niu.st burn :
' O, pity,' 'gan slie cry, ' flint-hearted bovl
'Tie but a kiss I beg ; why art thou coy f
VENdS AND ADONIS.
1143
' 1 have been woo'd, as I entreat thee now,
Even by the stem and direful god of war,
Whose sinewy neck in battle ne'er did bow.
Who conquers where he comes in every jar;
Yet hath he been my captive and my slave,
And begg'd for that w^icu thou iiuask'd shaft
have.
' Over my altars hath he bung his lanoe,
His batter'd shield, his uncontrolled crest.
And for' my sake hath learn'd to sport and
dance.
To toy, to wanton, dally, smile and jest.
Scorning his churlish drum and ensign red,
Making my arms his field, his tent my bed.
Thus he that overruled I oversway'd,
Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain; 110
Strong-tempered steel his stronger strength
obey d.
Yet was he servile to my coy disdain.
O, be not proud, nor brag not of thy might,
Eor mastering her that foil'd the god of
fight!
'Touch but my lips with those fair lips of
thine,—
Though mine be not so fair, yet are they
red—
The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine.
What seest thou in the ground ? hold up thy
head :
Look in mine eye-balls, there thy beauty
lies ;
Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in
eyes ? 120
' Art thou ashamed to kiss ? then wink again,
And I will wink; so shall the day seem night ;
Love keeps his revels where they are but
twain ;
Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight:
These blue-vein'd violets whereon we lean
Never can blab, nor know not what we
mean.
' The tender spring upon thy tempting lip
Shows thee unripe ; yet mayst thou well ^ be
tasted :
Make use of time, let not advantage slip ;
Beauty within itself should not be wastM: 130
Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their
prime
Rot and consume themselves in little time.
' Were I hard-favor'd, foul, or wrinkled-old.
Ill-nurtured, crooked, churlish, harsh iu voice,
O'erworn, despised, rheumatic and cold.
Thick-sighted, barren, lean and lacking juice.
Then mightst thou pause, for then I were
not for thee ;
But having no defects, why^ost abhor me?
. h
'Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow ;
Mine eyes are gray and bright and quick in
turning; 140
My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow,
My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow bum-
iug ;
My smooth moist hand, were it with thy
hand felt,
Would iu thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt
' Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear,
Or, like a fairy, trip upon the green.
Or, like a nymph, with long dishevell'd hair,
Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen :
Love is a spirit all compct of fire, .
Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.
' Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie; 161
These forceless flowers like sturdy trees sup¬
port me ;
Two strengthless doves will draw me through
the sky.
From morn tiU night, even where I list to sport
me :
Is love so light sweet boy, and may it be ■
That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee?
' Is thine own heart to thine own face affected 7
Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left ?
Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected.
Steal thine owii freedom and complain on
theft. 160
Narcissus so himself himself forsook.
And died to kiss his shadow in the brook.
' Torches are made to light, jewels to wear.
Dainties to taste, fresh Mauty' for the use.
Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to
bear :
Things growing to themselves are growth's
abuse;
Seeds spring from seeds and beauty breedeth
beauty ; ,
Thou wast begot ; to get it is thy duty.
' Ulion the earth's increase why shouldst thou
feed.
Unless the earth with thy increase be fed? 170
By law of nature thou art bound to breed.
That thine may live when thou-thyself art
dead ;
And so, in spite of death, thou dost survive.
In that thy likeness still, is left alive.'
By this the love-sick queen began to sweat,
For where they lay the shadow had forsook
them,
And Titan, tired m the mid-day heat,
Witli burning eye did hotly overlook them ;
Wishing Adonis had his team to guide.
So he were like him and by Venus' side. 180
And now Adonis, with a lazy spright.
And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye.
His louring brows o'erwhelming his fairsight,
Lilce misty vapors when they blot the sky.
Souring his cheeks cries ' Fie, no more of
love !
The sun doth burn my face : I must re¬
move.'
1144
VENUS AND ADONIS.
' Ay me,' qnoth Venus,' young, and so un¬
kind ?
Wliat bare exeuses makest thou to be gone !
I'll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind
Shall cool the heat of this descending sun: 100
I'll make a shadow for thee of niy hairs ;
If they burn too, I'll quench them with my
tears.
' The sun tliat shines from heaven shines but
warm.
And, lo, I Me between that sun and thee :
The neat I have from thence doth little harm.
Thine eye darts forth the fire that bumeth me;
And were I not immortal, life were done
Between this heavenly and earthly sun.
'Artthou obdurate, flinty, hard'as steel.
Nay, more than flint, for stone at rain relent-
eth ? '
Art thou a woman's son, and canst not feel 200
■Vl^t 'tis to love ? how want of love torraent-
' eth ?
O, had thy mother home so hard a mind.
She had not brought forth thee, but died un¬
kind.
' What am I, that thou shouldst contemn me
this ?
Or what great danger dwells uix>u my suit ?
What were thy lips the worse for one poor
kiss ? [mute :
Speak, fair ; but speak fair words, or else be
Give me one kiss, I'll give it thee again, 209 '
And one for interest, if thou wilt have twain.
* Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone.
Well-painted idol, image dull and dead,
Statue contenting but the eye alone,
Thing tike a man, but of no woman bred !
Thou art no man, though of a man's com¬
plexion.
For men will kiss even by their own direc¬
tion.'
This said, impatience chokes her pleading
tongue.
And swelling passion doth provoke a pause ;
Bed cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her
wrong ;
Being judge in love, she' cannot right her
cause; 220
And now she weeps, and now she fain would
speak.
And now her sobs do her intendments break.
Sometimes she shakes her head and then his
hand.
Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground ;
Sometimes her arms infold him like a band :
She would, he will not in her arms.be bound.;
And when from thence he straggles to be
gone.
She locks her lily fingers one in one.
'Fondling,' she saith, 'since I bavehemm'd
thee here
Within the circuit of this ivory pale, 230
I'll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer :
Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale:
Graze on my lips ; and if those hills be di^^,
Stra^lower, where the pleasant fountains
' Within this limit is relief enough.
Sweet bottom-grass and high delightful plain.
Bound rising hillocks, brakes obscure and
rough.
To shelter thee from tempest and from rain
Then be my deer, since I am such-a park ;
No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand
bark.' 240
At this Adonis smiles as in disdain.
That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple ;
Love made those hollows, if himself were
slain.
He might be buried in a tomb so simple ;
Foreknowing well, if there he came to lie.
Why, there Love lived and there he' could
not die.
These lovely caves, these round enchanting
pits,
Open'd their mouths to swallow Venus' liking.
Being mad before, how doth she now for wits?
Struck dead at first, what needs a second
striking ? 250
Poor queen of love, in thine own law for¬
lorn.
To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn!
\
Now which way shall she turn ? what shail she
say ?
Her words are done, her woes are more in¬
creasing ;
The time is spent, her object will away.
And from her twining arms doth urge releas¬
ing.
' Pity,' she cries, ' some favor, some re¬
morse !'
Away he springs and hasteth to his horse.
But, lo, from forth a copse that neighbors by,
A breeding jennet, lusty, young and proud,
Adonis' trampling coui-ser doth espy, 2fil
And forth she rushes, snorts and neighs .aloud:
The strong-neck'd steed, being tied unto a
tree,
Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes
he.
Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds.
And now his woven girths he breaks asunder;
The bearing earth with his hard hoof he
wounds.
Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven's
^ thunder;
The iron bit he crusheth 'tween his teeth,
CoutroUing what he was eontrolled with. Z!0
His ears np-prick'd; his braided hanging mane
Upon his compass'd crest now stand on end ;
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again.
As from a furnace, vapors doth he send :
His eye, which scornfuily glisters like fire,
Shoivs his hot courage and his high desire.
VENUS AND ADONIS.
1145
Sometime he trots, as if he told the steps,
With gentle majesty and modest pride ;
Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps.
As who should say ' Lo, thus my strength is
tried, 280
And this I do to captivate the eye
Of the fair breeder that is standmg by.'
What recketh he his rider's angry stir.
His flattering ' Holla,' or his ' Stand, I say' ?
What cares he now for curb or inickmg spur?
For rich cai^risons or trapping gay ?
He sees his love, and nothing else he sees.
For nothing else witli his proud sight agrees
Ix)ok, when a i^ainter would surpass the life.
In limning out a well-proportion d steed, 290"
His art with nature's workmanship at strife,
ka if the dead the living should exceed ;
So did this horse excel a common one
In shape, in courage, color, pace and bone.
Kound-hoof'd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and
long, ■
liroad breast, full eye, small head and nostril
wide,
^igh crest, short ears, straight legs and jjass-
ing strong,
fhin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender
hide:
Look, what a horse should have he did not
lack.
Save a proud rider on so proud a back. 300
Sometime he scuds far off and there he stares;
Anon he starts at stirring of a feather ;
To bid the wind a base he now prepares.
And whether he run or fly they know not
whether;
For through his mane and tail the high wind
sings,
Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather'd
winga
lie looks upon his love and neighs imto her ;
She answers him as if she knew bis mind :
Being proud, as females are, to see him woo
her, [kind.
She puts on outward strangeness, seems un-
Spums at his love and scorns the heat he
feels.
Beating his kind embracemeuts with her
heels.
Tlien, like a melancholy malcontent.
He veils his tail tliat, like a failing plume,
'Jool shadow to his melting buttock lent :
He stamps and bites the poor flies in his fume.
His love, perceiving how he is enraged.
Grew kinder, and bis fury was assuaged.
His testy master gocth about to take him ; 319
iVlien, lo, the uuback'd brc.;.', v full of fear,
leiilous of catching, swiftly u wh forsake him.
With her the horse, and left Adonis there:
As they were mad, unto the wood they hie
them.
Out-stripping crows that strive to over-fly
them.
All swoln with chafing, down Adonis sits.
Banning his boisterous and unruly beast:
And now the happy season once more fits.
That love-sick Love by pleading may be blest;
For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong
When it is barr'd the aidauce of the tongue.
An oven that.is stopp'd, or river stay'd, 331
Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage:
So of concealed sorrow ra^ be said ;
Free vent of words love's fire doth assuage ;
But when the heart's attorney once is mute,
'The client breaks, as desperate in his suit.
He sees her coming, and begins to glow.
Even as a dying coal revives with wind,
And with his Imiinet hides his angry brow;
Ixmks 0)1 the dull earth with disturbed mind.
Taking no notice that she is so nigh, 311
For all askance he holds her in his eye.
O, what a sight it was, wistly to view
How she came stealing to the wayward boy I
To note the fighting conflict of her hue.
How white and red each other did destroy !
But now her cheek was pale, and by and by
It flash'd forth fire, as lightning from the
sky.
Now was she just before him as he sat.
And like a lowly lover down she kneels ; SM
With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat.
Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels :
His tenderer cheek receives her soft hand's
pruit.
As apt as new-fall'n snow takes any dint.
O, what a war of looks was then between
them ! i
Her eyes petitioners to his eyes suing ; >
His eyes saw her eyes as uiey had not seen
them ;
Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdain'd the
wooing:
And all this dumb play had his acts made
plain
With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did
rain. 3M
Full gently now she takes him by the hand,
A lily prison'd in a gaol of snow.
Or ivory in an alabaster band ;
So white a friend engirts so white a foe ;
This beauteous combat, wilful and unwil-
hng,
Show'd like two silver doves that sit a-bill-
ing.
Once more the engine of her thoughts began :
' 0 fairest mover on this mortal round.
Would thou wert as I am, and I a man, .
My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my
wound ; 370
For one sweet look thy help I would assure
thee.
Though nothing but my body's bane would
cure thee!'
1146
VENUS AND ApONlS.
' Give me my hand,' saitli he, ' why dost thou
feel it ?'
' Give me m^'^ heart,' saith she, ' and thou shalt
have It:
O, give it me, lest thy hard heart do steel it,
And being steel'd, soft sighs can never grave
it; ■
Then love's deep groans I never shall re¬
gard.
Because -Adonis' heart hath made mine
hard.'
' For shame,' he cries, ' let go, and let me go ;
My day's delight is past, my horse is gone, 380
And 'tis your fault 1 am bereft him so:
1 pray you hence, and leave me here alone ;
For all my mim, my thought, my busy care.
Is how to get my palfrey from the mare.'
Thus she replies : ' Thy palfrey, as he should.
Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire:
Affection is a coal that must be cool'd ;
Else, suffer'd, it will set the heart on fire :
The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath
none ;
'Therefore no marvel though thy horse be
gone. 390
' How like a jade he stood, tied to the tree.
Servilely master'd with a leatliern rein !
But when he saw his love, his youth's fair fee.
He held such petty bondage in disdain ;
Throwing the base thong from his bending
crest.
Enfranchising his mouth,' his back, his
breast
' Who sees his true-love in her naked bed.
Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white.
Bat, when his glutton eye so full hatli fed.
His other agents aim at like delight ? 400
Who is so faint, that dare not be so bold
To toucli the fire, the weather being cold ?
' Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy ;
And learn of him, 1 heartily beseech thee,
To take advantage on presented joy ;
Though 1 were dumb, yet his proceedings
teach thee ;
O, learn to love ; the lesson is but plain,
And once made perfect, ne ver lost again.'
'I know ncd; love,' quoth he, 'nor will not
know it.
Unless it be a boar, and then 1 chase it ;' 410
'Tis much to borrow, and 1 will not owe il ;
Mv love to love is love but to disgrace it ;
For I have heard it is a life in death,
That laughs and weeps, and all but with a
breath.
'Wlio wears a garment shapeless and unfinish'd
Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth ?
If springing things be any jot dirainish'd,
They wither in'their prime, prove nothing
worth ;
The colt that's back'd and burden'd being
young
Loseth his pride and never waxeth strong.
' You hurt my hand with wringing ; let us
part, 421
And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat :
Remove your siege from my unyielding heart;
To love's alarms it will not ope the gate:
Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your
flattery ;
For where a heart is hard they make no
battery.'
' What! canst thou' talk ?' quoth she, ' iiast
thou a tongue 1
O, would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing 1
Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double
wrong ;
I had my load before, now press'd vgth bear¬
ing : * 430
Melodious discord, heavenly tune harsh-
sounding, [sore wounding.
Ear's deep-sweet music, and heart's deep-
' Had I no eyes but eai-s, my ears would love
That inward beauty and invisible ;
Or were I deaf, thy outward parts would move
Each part in me that were but sensible :
Tliough neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor
see.
Yet should I be in love by touching thee.
' Say, that the sense of feeling were bereft me,
And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch.
And nothing but the very smell were left me.
Yet would my love to thee be still as much ;
For from the stillitory of thy face excelling
Comes breath perfumed tliat breedeth love
by smelling.
' But, O, what banquet wert thou to the taste.
Being nurse and feeder of the other four !
Would they not wish the feast might ever last.
And bid Suspicion double-lock the door.
Lest Jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest,
Should, by his stealing in, disturb the feast?*
Once more the ruby-color'd portal open'd, 451
Which to his speech did honey passage yield ;
Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken'd
AVreck to the seaman, tempest to the field.
Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds.
Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to
herds.
This ill presage advisedly she marketh :
Even as the wind is hush'd before it raineth, '
Or as the wolf doth grin before he barketh.
Or as the berry breaks before it staineth, 460
Or like the deadly bullet of a gun.
His meaning struck her ere his words begun.
And at his look she flatly falleth down.
For looks kill love and love by looks reviveth;
X smile recures the wounding of a frown ;
But blessed bankrupt, that by love so thriveth!
The silly boy, beueving she is dead.
Claps her pale cheek, till clapping m.akes it
red ;
And all amazed brake off his late intent.
For sharply he did think to reprehend her, 470
VENUS AND ADONIS.
1147
Which cnuniiig love did wittily prevent:
Fair fall tlie wit that can so well defend her !
For on the grass she lies as she were slain, '
Till his breath breatheth life in her again.
He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the
cheeks.
He bends her lingers, holds her pulses hard.
He chafes hei lips ; a thonsand ways be seeks
To mend the hurt that his nnkindness marr'd;
He kissso her ; and she, by her good will.
Will neves rise, so he will kiss her still. 480
The night of sorrow now is tum'd to day ;
Her two blue windows faintly she up-heaveth.
Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array
He cheers the mom and all the earth relleveth;
And as the bright sun glorifies the sky.
So is her face illumined with her eye ;
Whose beams upon his hairless face are iix'd.
As if from thence they borrow'd all their
shine.
Were never four such lamps together mix'd.
Had not his Clouded with his brow's repine ;
But hers, which through the crystal tears
gave light, 4i»l
Shone like the moon in water seen by night.
' O, where am I ?' quoth she, ' in earth or
heaven.
Or in the ocean drench'd, or in the fire ?
What hour is this ? or morn or weary even ?
Do I delight to die, or life desire ?
But now I lived, and life was death's annoy;
But now I died, and death was lively joy.
' O, thou didst kill me: kill me once again:
Thy eyes' shrewd tutor, that hard heart of
thine, 500
Hath taught them scornful tricks and such
disdain ,
That they have murder'd this poor heart of
mine ;
And these mine eyes, true leaders ts tlieir
queen,
But for thy piteous lips no more had seen.
'Long may they kiss each other, for this cure!
O, never let their crimson liveries wear I
And as they last, their verdure still endure,
To drive infection from the dangerous yesir!
That the star-gazei-s, having writ on death.
May say, the plague is banish'd by thy
breath. 510
' Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips im¬
printed.
What bargains may I make, still to be seal-
iug ?
fo sell myself I can be well contented.
So thou wilt buy and pay and use good deal¬
ing ;
Which purchase if tliou make, for fear of
slips
Set thy seal-manual on my wax-red lijis.
' A thousand kisses buys my heart from me ;
A»d pay them at thy leisure, ope by ope.
What is ten hnnd'ed touches nnto thee ? 519
Are they not quickly told and quickly gone ?
Say, foi non-payment that the debt should
double.
Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble ?'
' r'air queen,' qabth he, ' if any love yoU owe
me.
Measure my strangeness with my unripe
years :
Before I know myself, seek not to know me ;
No fisher but the ungrown fry forbears :
The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks
fast.
Or being early pluck'd is sour to taste.
' Look, the world's comforter, with weary
gait.
His day's hot task hath ended in the west ;
The owl, night's herald, shrieks, " 'Tis very
late ; 531
The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest.
And coal-black clouds that shadow heaven's
light
Do summon us to part and bid good night.
'Now let me say "Good night," and so say
you ;
If you will say so, you shall have a kiss.'
'Good night,' quoth she, and, ere he says .
' Adieu,'
The honey fee of parting tender'd is : •
Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace;
Incorporate then tliey seem ; face grows to
face. 540
Till, breathless, he disjoin'd, and backward
drew
The heavenly moisture, that sweet coral
mouth.
Whose precious taste her thirsty, lips well
knew.
Whereon they surfeit, yet complain on drouth:
He with her plenty press'd, she faint with
dearth
Their lips together glued, fall to the earth.
Now quick desire hath caught the yielding
prey.
And glutton-like slie feeds, yet never filleth ;
Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey.
Paying what ransom the insulter willeth ; 550
Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price
so high, . [dry
Tliat site will draw bis lips?' rich treasure
And having felt the sweetness of the spoil.
With blindfold fury she begins to forage ;
Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth
boil.
And careless lust stirs up adesperate courage;
Planting oblivion, beating reason back, '
Forgetting shame's pure blush and honor's
wrack.
Hot, faint, and weary, with her hard embrac-
ing,
Like a wild bird being tamed With too much
haudling, (ifi
1148 VENUS
Or as the fleet-foot roe that's tired with chas¬
ing.
Or like the Iroward infant still'd with dand¬
ling,
He now obeys, and now no more reeisteth,
While she takes all she can, not all she list-
eth.
What wax so frozen but dissolves with tem¬
pering,
And yields at last to every light impression ?
Things out of hope are compass'd oft with
venturing.
Chiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commis¬
sion ;
Affection faints not like a pale-faced coward,
But then woos best when most his choice is
froward. 570
When he did frown, 0, had she then gave over.
Such nectar from his lips she had not suck'd.
Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover;
Wliat though the rose have prickles, yet 'tis
plack'd ;
Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast,
Yet love breaks through and picks them all
at last.
For pity now she can no more detain him ;
The poor fool prays her that he may depart :
She IS resolved no longer to restrain him ;
Bids him farewell, and look well to lier heart.
The which, by Cupid's bow she doth protest.
He carries thence incaged in his breast.
' Sweet boy,' she says,' this night I'll waste in
sorrow.
For my sick heart commands mine eyes to
watch.
Fell me. Love's master, shall we meet to-mor¬
row ?
>ay, shall we ? shall we 7 wilt thou make the
match 7
He tells her, no ; to-morrow he intends
To hunt the boar with certain of his friends.
'The boar!' quoth she ; whereat a sudden
pale,
y.Ike lawn being spread upon the blushing
rose,
Utoorps her cheek ; she trembles at bis tale.
And on his neck her yoking arms she throws ;
She siiiketh down, still hanging by his neck.
He on her belly falls, she on her back.
Nov/ is she in the very lists of love.
Her champion mounts for the hot encounter:
All Is imaginary she doth prove.
He will not manage her, although he mount
her ;
Tliat worse than Tantalus' is her annoy, .
To clip Elysium and to lack her joy. 600
Even as poor birds, deceived with painted
grapes.
Do surfeit by the eye and pine the maw,
even so she langnisbetb in her misbaps.
ADONIS.
As those poor birds that helpless berries saw.
The warm effects which she in him finds
missing
She seeks to kindle with continual kissing.
But all in vain ; good queen, it will not be :
She hath assay'd as much as may be proved ;
Her pleading hath deserved a greater fee ; 609
She's Love, she loves, and yet she is not loved.
' Fie, fie,' he says, ' you crush me ; let me
go;
You have no reason to withhold>me so,
' Thou hadst been gone,' quoth she, ' sweet
boy, ere this.
But tliat thou told'st me thou wouldst hunt
the boar.
O, be advised ! thou know'st not what it is
With javelin's point a churlish swine to gore,
Whose tushes never sheathed he whetteth
still.
Like to a mortal butcher bent to kill.
' On his bow-back he hath a battle set
Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes ; 620
His eyes, like glow-worms, shine when he doth
fret;
His snout digs sepulchres where'er he goes ;
Being moved, he strikes whate'er is in his
way.
And whom he strikes his cruel tushes
slay.
' His brawny sides, with hairy bristles arm'd.
Are better proof than thy spear's point can
enter;
His short thick neck cannot be easily harm'd ;
Being ireful, on the lion he will venture :
The thorny brambles and embracing bushes.
As fearful of him, part, through whom he
rushes. 630
' Alas, be nought esteems that face of thine.
To which Love's eyes pay tributary gazes ;
Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips and crystal eyne.
Whose full perfection all the world amazes ;
But having thee at vantage,—wondrous
dread !—
Would root tliese beauties as he roots the
mead.
' O, let him keep his loathsome cabin still;
Beauty bath nought to do with such fonl
fiends:
Cktrae not within his danger by thy will; 639
They that thrive well take counsel of their
friends
When thou didst name the boar, .not to dis¬
semble,
I tear'd thy fortune, and my joints did trem¬
ble.
' Didst thou not mark my face 7 was it not
white 7
Saw'st thou not signs of feavlurk in mine eye 7
Grew I not faint 7 and fell I not downright 7
Within my bosom, « hereon thou dost lie,
My boding heart pants, oeats, and takes no
rest, [breast
But, like an earthquake, shakes thee oo my
VENUS AND ADONIS.
For where Love re^s, disturbing Jealousy
Doth call himself Anection's sentinel; 6^
Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny.
And in a pes^efni hour doth cry " Kill, kill i"
Distempering gentle Love in his desire,
As air and water do abate tlie fire.
' This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy,
This canker that eats up Love's tender spring.
This carry-tale, dissentious Jealousy,
That sometime true news, sometime false doth
bring.
Knocks at my heart and whispers in mine
ear 659
That if I lovh thee, I thy death should fear :
' And more than so, presentetb to mine eye
The picture of an angry-chafing boar.
Under whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie
An image like thyself, ml stain'd with gore ;
Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being
shed
Doth make them droop with grief and hang
the head.
' What should I do, seeing thee so indeed.
That tremble at the imagination ?
The thought of it dotli make my faint heart
bleed.
And fear doth teach it divination : 670
I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow.
If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow.
' But if thou needs wilt hunt, be ruled by me;
Uncouple at the timorous flying iiare,.
Or at the fox which lives by subtlety.
Or at the roe which no .encounter dare ;
' Pursue these fearful creatures o'er the
downs.
And on thy weil-breath'd horse keep with
' thy hounds.
' And when thou hast on foot thd purblind
hare,
Mark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troub¬
les 680
How he outruns the wind and with what care
He cranks and crosses with a thousand doub¬
les ;
The many musets through the which he
goes
Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes.
• Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep.
To make the cunning hounds mistake their
smell.
And sometime where earth-delving conies
keep.
To stop the loud pursuers in their yell.
And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer:
Danger deviseth shifts ; wit waits on fear:
* For there his smell with otMbrs being min¬
gled, 691
The hot scent-snufflng hounds are driven to
doubt.
Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have
singled
With much ado the ?oId fault cleanly out;
Then do they sp.-d their mouAs; ^ho
replies.
As if another chase were in the skies. '
' By this, poor Wat, far off upon a bill.
Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear.
To harken if his foes pursue him stiii:
Anon their loud alarums he dotli hear; 700
And now his grief may bo compared well
To one sore sick tlmt hears the passiug-l<eU.
' Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled
wretch
Turn, and return, indenting with the way ;
Each envious brier his weary legs doth scratch.
Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur
stay :
For misery is trodden on by many.
And being low never relieved by any.
' Lie quietly, and hear a little more ; 709
Nay, do not struggle, for thou shait not rise :
To make thee hate the hunting of the boar.
Unlike myself thou hear'st me moralize.
Applying this to that, and so to so ;
For love can comment upon every woe.
' Where did I leave ?' ' No matter Where ;'
quoth he,
' I^eave me, and then the story aptly ends ;
The night is spent.' 'Why, what of tha^?'
quoth she.
' 1 am,' quoth he, ' expected of my friends ; '
And now 'tis dark, and going 1 shall fail.'
' In night,' quoth she,' desire sees best of all.
' But if thou fall, 0, then imagine this, 721
The earth, in love with thee, tiiy footing trips.
And ail is but to rob thee of a kiss.
Bich preys make true men thieves ; so do tliy
lips
Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn.
Lest she should steal a kiss and die forsworn.
' Now of this dirk night 1 perceive the reason:
Cvnthia for shame obscures her silver shine.
Till forging Nature be coudemu'd of treason,i
For stealing moulds , from heaven that were
divine; 7^
Wherein she framed thee in high heaven's
despite.
To shame the sun by day and her by night.
' And therefore hath she bribed the Destinies
To cross llie curious workmanship of nature.
To mingle b^uty with infirmities.
And pure perfection with impure defeature.
Making it subject to the tyranny
Of mad mischances and much misery ;
' As burning fevers, agues pale and faint, 739
Life-poisoning pestilence and frenzies wood.
The marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint
Disorder breeds by heating of the blood :
Surfeits, imposthumes, grief, and damn'd
despair.
Swear nature's death for framing thee se
1150
VKXcfs Am Aboms.
' Aud not the least of'nll these maladies
Bat In one miunte's figlit brings beauty un¬
der :
Both favor, savor, hue and qualities.
Whereat tlie impartial gazer late did wonder,
Are on the sudden %vasted, thaw'dand done.
As mouirtaiu-snow melts with the midday
sun.
' Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity, 751
Love-lacking vestals and self-loving nuns.
That on the earth would breed a scarcity
And barren dearth of daughters and of sous.
Be prodigal: the lamp that burns by night
Dries up his oil to lend the world his light.
' What is thy body but a swallowing grave,
Seeming to bury that posterity
Which by the rights of time thou needs must
have, 759
If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity ?
11 so, the world will hold thee in disdain,
Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain.
' So in thyself thyself art made away ;
A mischief worse than civil home-br^ strife.
Or theirs whose desperate hands themselves
do slay, .
Or butcher-sire that reaves his son of life.
Foul-cankering rust the hidden treasure
frets.
But gold that's put to use more gold begets.'
' Nay, then,' quoth Aden, ' you will fall again
Into your idle over-handled theme : ^770
The kiss I gave you is bestow'd in vain.
And all in vain you strive against the stream ;
For, by this black-faced night, desire's foul
nurse,
, Your treatise makes me like you worse and
worse.
' If love have lent you twenty thousand
tongues.
And every tongue more moving than your
own.
Bewitching like the wanton mermaid's songs,
Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is
blown:
For know, my heart stands armed in mine
ear.
And will not let a false sound enter there ;
' Lest the deceiving harmbny should run "781
Into the quiet closure of my breast ;
And then my little heart were quite undone.
In his bedchamber to be barr'd of rest.
No, lady, no ; my heart longs not to groan,
But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps
alone.
'What have you urged tliat I Cannot reprove?
The path is smooth tliatleadeth on to danger:
I hate not love, but your device iu love, 789
That lends embraceihents unto every stranger.
You do it for increase : O strange excuse.
When reason is the bawd to lust's abuse I
' Call it not love, for Love to heaven is fled,
Since sweating Lust on earth usuip'd hia
name; ' '
Under wliose simple semblance he loath fed
Upon fresh beauty, blotting it witli blame ;
Which the hot tyrant stauis and soon be-
reave.s.
As caterpillars do the tender leaves.
' Love comfortetli like sunshine after rain,
But Lust's effect is tempest after sua ; 800
Love's gentle spring dotli always fresh re¬
main,
Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done.
Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies ;
Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies.
' More I could tell, but more I dare not say ;
The text Is old, the orator too green.
Therefore, in sadness, now I will away ;
My face is full of shame, my heart of teen .
Mine ears, that to your Wanton talk at¬
tended,
Do burn tliemselves for having so offended.'
With this, he breaketh from the sweet em¬
brace, ' 811
Of tl-.ose fair arms which bound him to her
breast.
And liomeward through the dark laund runs
apace;
Leaves Love upon her back deeply distress'd.
Look, how a bright star shooteth from the
sky.
So glides he in the niglit from Venus' eye.
Wliich after him she darts, as one on shore
Gazing upon a late-embarked friend.
Till tiie wild waves will have him seen no
more, .[tend:
Whose ridges with tlie meeting clouds con-
So did the merciless and pitchy night 821
Fold in the object that did feed her sight.
Where.at amazed, as one that unaware
Hatli dropp'd a precious jewel iu tlio flood.
Or stouish d as niglit-wanderers often are,
Tlieir light blown out iu some mistrustful
wood.
Even so confounded in the dark she lay,
Having lost the fair discovery of her way.
And now she beats her heart, whereat it
groans,
Tliat all the ueiglibor caves, as seeming
troubled, 830
Make verbal rej^titioli of her moans ;
Passion on passion deeply is redoubled:
'Ay me!' she cries, and twenty times ' Woe,
woe !'
And twenty echoes twenty times cry so.
She marking them begins a wailing note
And sings e.xtemporally a woeful ditty ;
How love makes young men thrall and old
men dote ;
How love is wise hi folly, foolish-witty :
Her lieavy anthem still concludes in woe,
Aud still the choir of echoes answer so, WO
VENUS AND ADONIS.
1151
Her song was tedious and outwore the night,
For lovers' hours are long, though seeming
short:
If pleased themselves, others, they tliink, de¬
light
In such-like circuinstanee, witli such-like
sport:
Their copious stories oftentimes begun
End vntnout audience and are never done.
For who hath she to spend the night withal
But idle sounds resembling parasites.
Like shrill-tongued tapsters answering every
call.
Soothing the humor of fantastic wits ? 850
She says ' 'Tis so :' they answer all ' 'Tis
so
And would say after her. If she said ' No.'
Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest,
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high.
And wakes the morning, from whose silver
breast
The sun ariseth in his majesty ;
Who doth the world so gloriously behold
That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd
gold.
Venus salutes him with this fair good-mor¬
row:
' O thou clear god, and iKitron of all light, SiH)
From wliom each lamp and shining star doth
borrow
The beauteous influence that makes him
bright.
There Kves a son that suck'd an eartlUy
mother.
May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to
other.'
This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove.
Musing the morning is so much o'erworn.
And yet she hears no tidings of her love ;
She hearkens for his hounds and for his horn:
Anon she hears them chant it lustily.
And all in haste she coasteth to the cry. 870
And as she runs, the bushes in the way
Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her
face.
Some twine about her thigh to make her
stay :
She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace.
Like a milch doe, whoso swelling dugs do
ache.
Hasting to feed he^ fawn hid iu some brake.
By this, she hears the hounds are at a bay *,
Whereat she starts, like one that spies an ad¬
der
Wreathed up in fatal folds just in his way.
The fear whereof doth make him shake and
shudder; ^ 880
Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds
Appals her senses and her spirit confounds.
For now she knows it is no gentle chase.
But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud.
Because the cry remaineth in one place,
AVhere fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud c
Finding their enemy to be so curst,
They ml strain courtesy who shall cope him
first
This dUmal cry rings sadly in her ear, 880
Through which it enters to surprise her heart;
Who, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear.
With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling
part:
Like soldiers, when their captain once doth
yield.
They basely fly and dare not stay the field.
Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy ;
Till, cheering up her senses aU dismay'd.
She tells them 'tis a causeless fantasy.
And childish error, that they are afraid;
Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no
more :—
And with that word she spied the hunted
boar, 900
Whose frothy mouth, bepainted all with red.
Like milk and blood being mingled both to¬
gether,
A second fear throiqfii all her sinews spread,
Which madly hurries her she knows not
whither:
This, way ^e runs, and now she will no
further, [ther.
But back retires to rate the boar formur-
A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways;
. She treads tlie path that she untreads again ;
Her more than liaste is mated with delays, .
Like the proceedings of a drunken brain, 910
Full of respects, yet nought at all respect¬
ing ;
In hand with all things, nought at all effect¬
ing.
Here kenuell'd in a brake she finds a hound
And asks the weary caitiff for his master.
And there another licking of his wound,
'Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plas.
ter ;
And here she meets another sadly scowling.
To whom she speaks, and he replies with
. howling.
When he hath cea-sed his ill-resounding noise.
Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and
grim, 920
Against the welkin volleys out his voice ;
Another and another answer him,
Clapping their proud tails to the ground be¬
low, fgo.
Shakiiig their seratch'd ears, bleeding as they
Ix)ok, how the world's poor people are amazed
At apparitions, signs and iwodigies.
Whereon with fearful eyes they long have
gazed,
Infusing them with dreadful prophecies ;
So she at these sad signs draws up her
breath
And sighing it again, exclaims on Death. 930
1152
VENUS AND ADONIS.
' llard-favor'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean.
Hateful divorce of lovej'—thus chides she
Death,—
' Grim-grlnniiig ghost, earth's worm, what
dost thou mean
To stifle beauty and to steal his breath.
Who when he lived, his breath and beauty
set
Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet ?
' If he be dead,—O no, it cannot be.
Seeing bis beauty, thou sitouldst strike at
it :—
O yes, it may ; thou hast no eyes to see.
But hatefulij^ at random dost thou hit. 940
Thy mark is feeble age, but thy false dart
Mistakes that aim and cleaves an infant's
heart.
' Hadst thon but bid beware, then he had
spoke.
And, hearing him, thy power had lost his
power.
Tlie Destinies will curse thee for tiiis stroke ;
They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'st a
flower: [fled.
Love's golden arrow at him should have
And not Death's ebon dart, to strike him
dead.
'Dost thou drink tears, that thou provokest
such weepmg ?
What may a heavy groan advantage thee?
Wity hast thou cast into eternal sleeping 951
Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see ?
Now Nature cares not for thy mortal vigor.
Since her best work is ruin'd with thy rigor.
Here overcome, as one full of despair.
She vail'd her eyelids, who, like sluices, stojit
The crystal tide'that from her two cheeks faur
In the sweet channel of her bosom dropt;
Bnt through the flood-gates breaks the silver
rain.
And with his strong course opens them
again. 960
O, how her eyes and tears did lend and bor¬
row !
Her eyes seen in the tears, tears in her eye ;
Both crystals, where they view'd each other's
sorrow.
Sorrow that friendly sighs sought still to dry ;
But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain,
Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet
again.
Variable passions throng her constant woe.
As striving who should best become her grief;
All entertain'd, each x>assion labors so.
That every present sorrow seemeth chief, 970
But none is best: then join they all to¬
gether.
Like many clouds consulting for foul weath¬
er.
By this, far off she hears some himtsman
hollo ;
A nnrse's song ne'er pleased her babe so well:
The dire imagination she did follow
This sound of hope doth labor to expel;
For now reviving joy bids her rejoice.
And flatters her it is Adonis' voice.
Whereat her tears began to turn their tide,
Being prisou'd in her eye like pearls in glass ;
Yet sometimes falls an orient clrop beside, 981
Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should
pass, '
To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground.
Who is but drunken when she seemeth
drown'd.
0 hard-believing love, how strange it seems
Not to believe, and yet too credulous !
Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes ;
Despair and hope makes thee ridiculons:
Tlie one doth flatter thee in thoughts un¬
likely, [ly.
In likely thoughts the other kills thee quick-
Now she unweaves the web that she hath
wrought; 991
Adonis lives, and Death is not to blame ;
It was not she that call'd him,'all-to naught:
Now she adds honors to his hateful name ;
She clepes him king of graves and grave for
kings.
Imperious supreme of all mortal things.
' No, no,' quoth she, ' sweet Death, I did but
jest;
Yet pardon me I felt a kind of fear
When as I met the boar, that bloody beast,
Which knows no pity, but is still severe ; 1000
Then, gentle shaaow,—^truth finust con¬
fess,—
I rail'd on thee, fearing my love's decease.
' 'Tis not my fault: the boar provoked my
tongue ;
Be wreak'd on him, invisible commander ;
'Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee
wrong ;
1 did but act, he's author of thy slander :
Grief hath two tongues, and never woman
yet
Could rule them both without ten women's
wit.'
Thus hoping that Adonis is alive.
Her rash susjject she doth extenuate ; 1010
And that his beauty may the better thrive.
With Death she humbly doth insiuHate ;
TeUs him of trophies, statues, tombs, and
stories
His victories, his triumplis and his glories.
' O Jove,' quoth she,' how much a fool was I
To be of such a weak and silly mind
To wail his dekth who lives and must not die
Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind!
For he being dead, with him is beauty
slain, 1019
And, beauty dead, black chaos comes agaiu.
' Fie, fie, fond love, thou art so full of fear
As one with treasure laden, hemm'd thieves ;
VENUS AND ADONIS.
Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear, i
Thy coward lieart with false bethinking
grieves.'
Even at this word she hears a merry horn,
Whereat she leaps that was but late forlorn.
As falcon to the lure, away she flies ;
The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light;
And in her haste unfortunately spies 1029
The foui boar's conquest on her fair delight;
Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the
view, [drew ;
Like stars ashamed of day, themselves with-
Or, as the snail, whose tender horns being hit.
Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with
And all smother'd up, in shade doth
sit,
Long after fearing to creep forth again ;
So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled
Into the deep dark cabins of her head :
Where they resign their ofiice and their light
To the disposing of her troubled brain ; 1040
Who bids them still consort with ugly night,
And never wound the heart with looks again;
Who, like a king jwrplexed in his throne.
By their suggestion pves a deadly groan,
Whereat each tributary subject quakes ;
As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground.
Struggling for passage, earth's foundation
shakes.
Which with cold terror doth men's minds
confound.
This mutiny each part doth so surprise
That from their dark beds once more leap
her eyes ; 1050
And, being open'd, threw unwilling light
Upon the wide wound that the boar had
trench'd
In his soft flank ; whose wonted lily white
With purple tears, that his wound wept, was
drench'd :
No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or
weed,
But stole his blood and seem'd with him to
bleed.
This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth ;
Over one shoulder doth she hang her head ;
Dumbly she passions, frauticly she doteth ;
She thinks he could not die, he is not dead :
Her voice is stopt, her joints forget to bow ;
Her eyes are mad that they have wept till
now.
Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly,
That her sight dazzling makes the wound
seem three ;
And then she reprehends her mangling eye,
That makes more gashes inhere no breach
should be;
His face seems twain, each several limb is
doubled ; .
For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being
troubled.
1153
' My tongue cannot express my grief for one.
And yet,' quoth she, ' behold two Adous
dead I 1070
My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone,
Mine eyes are turn'd to fire, my heart to lead:
Heavy heart's lead, melt at mine eyes' rel
fire!
So shall 1 die by drops of hot desire,
'Alas, poor world, what treasure hast tbju
lost!
What face remains alive that's worth the
viewing ?
Whose tongue is music now? what'canst
thou boast
Of thills long since, or any thing ensuing ?
The flowers aie sweet, their colors fresh and
trim ;
But true-sweet beauty lived and died with
him. 10^
' Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear!
Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you:
Having no fair to lose, you need not fear ;
The sun doth soom you and the wind doth
hiss you:
But when Adonis lived, sun and sharp air
Lurk'd like two thieves, to rob him of his
fair :
' And therefore would he put his bonnet on.
Under whose brim the gaudy sun would
peep ;
The wind would blow it off and, being gone.
Play with his locks: then would Adonis weep;
And straight, in pit}[ of his tender years.
They both would strive who first should dry
his tears.
' To see his face the lion walk'd along
Behind some hedge, because he would not
fear him;
To recreate himself when he hath sung.
The tiger would be tame and gently hear him;
' If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his
prey
And never fright the silly lamb that day.
' When he beheld his shadow in the brook.
The fishes spread on it their golden gills; 1100
When he was by, the birds such pleasure
took.
That some would sing, some other in their
biUs
Would bring him mulberries and ripe-red
cherries ;
He fed them with his sight, they him with
berries.
'But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted
boar,
Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave.
Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that he wore ;
Witness the entertainment that he gave ;
If he did see his face, why Iben 1 know
He thought tq kiss Jiim, and hath kill'd him
so. IIIQ
78
1151
VENUS AND ADONIS.
' 'Tie true, 'tis true ; thus was Adonis slain;
He ran upon the boar with' iiis sliarp s^ar,
Who did not whet his teeth at him again,
But by a hiss thought to persuade Iiim there ;
And nuzzling in his flank, the'loving swine
Siieathed unaware the tusk in liis soft groin.
* Had I been tooth'd Uke him, I must confess,
Witli kissing him I should have kill'd him
first;
But he is dead, and never did he bless 1119
My youth with his ; the more am I accurst'
With this, she falleth in the place she stood.
And stains her face with liis congealed blood.
She looks upon his lips, and they are pale ;
She takes lum by the hand, and that is cold ;
She whispers in liis ears a heavy tale.
As if they heard the woeful words she told ;
She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes.
Where, lo, two lamps, burnt out, in darkness
lies ;
Two glasses, where herself herself beheld
A thousand times, and now no more reflect ;
Their virtue lost, wherein they late exceli'd.
And every beauty robb'd of his effect:
' Wonder of time,' quoth she, ' this is my
spite,
That, thou being dead, the day should yet
be light.
' Since thou art dead, lo, here I prophesy :
Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend :
It shall be waited ou with jealousy.
Find sweet beginning, but unsavory end.
Ne'er settled equally, but liigh or low.
That all love's pleasure shall not match his
woe. 1140
' It sliall be fickle, false and full of fraud.
Bud and be blasted in a breathing-while ;
The bottom poison, and tiie top o'erstraw'd
With sweets that shall the truest sight beguile;
The Strongest body shall it make most weak.
Strike the wise dumb and teach the fool to
speak.
' It shall be sparing and too full of riot.
Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures ;
The stadng ruffian shall it keep in quiet.
Pluck down tlie rich, enrich the poor with
treasures ; 1150
It shall be raging-mad and silly-miid,
Make the young old, the old become a child.
' It shall suspect where is no cause of fear ;
It shall not fear where it should most mistrust;
It shall be merciful and too severe.
And most deceiving when it seems most just;
Perverse it shall be where it shows mosli
toward.
Put fear to valor, courage to the coward.
' It shall be cause of war and dire events.
And set dissension 'twixtthesouandsi;'e; IIGO
Subject and servile to all discontents,
As dry combustions matter is to fire :
Sith in his prime Death doth my love de¬
stroy.
They that love best their loves shall not
enjoy.'
By tliLs, the boy that by her side lay kill'd
Was melted like a vapor from her sight.
And in his blood that on the ground lay spili'd,
A purple flower sprung up, chequeir'd with
white.
Resembling well his i>ale cheeks and the
blood
Which in round drops upon their whiteness
stood.
She bows her head, the new-sprung flower to
smell, 1171
Comparing it to her Adonis' breath.
And says, within her bosom it shall dwell.
Since he himself is reft from her by death :
She crops the stalk, and in the breach ap¬
pears
Green dropping sap, which she compares to
tears.
' Poor flower,' quoth she, ' this was thy father's
guise—
Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire—
For every little grief to wet his eyes :
To grow unto himself 'vi'as his desire, 1180
And so 'tis thine ; but know, it is as good
To wither in my breast as in his blood.
' Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast;
Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right:
Lo, in this hollow cradle take thy rest.
My tlirobbing heart shall rock thee day and
night:
There shall not be one minute in an hour
Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flow¬
er.'
Thus weary of the world, away she hies, 1189
And yokes her silver doves ; by whose swift
aid
Their mistress mounted through the empty
. skies
In her light chariot quickly is convey'd ;
Holding their course to Paphos, where their
queen
Means to immure herself and not be seen.
LUCRECE.
(written about 1593-4.) •
INTRODUCTION.
Lxicrece was entered in the Station^s' register Kiay 9, 1594, and was published the same year.
Like the Venus and Adonis, it 18 dedicated to the Earl of Southampton, having been perhaps the
'* graver labor " promised in the dedication of that poern. The two poems resemble each other in
several respects, especially in the detailed description style, which draws out at length the par¬
ticulars of a scene, an incident, or an emotion. The poem of later date, however, exhibits far less
immaturity than docs the '• lirst heiro " of Shakespeare's invention. Part of this may be due to the
fivct that the subject is deeper and more passionate ; instead of the enamored Venus we have here
the pure and noble Lucretta ; instead of the boy Adonis, the powerful figure of tbe evil Tareuin.
Lucrece was highly admired by Shakespeare's contemporaries, aitd was several times republished,
though less often than the Venus. The story of Lucretia is told by Livy and Ovid, and was versified
by Gower, and again related in Paynter's Palace of Pleasure, 1567.
TO THE
RIGHT HONORABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,
eabu op southampton, an1> baron of tichfirld. ,
The love I dedicate to your lordship is without end; Whereof this pamphlet, without beginning, is
but a superfluous moiety. The warrant I have of your honorable disposition, not the worth of my
untutored lines, makes it assured of acceptance. What 1 have done is yours ; what 1 have to do is
yours; being part in all 1 have, devoted yoUrs. Were my worth greater, my duty would show
greater; meantime, as it is, it is bound to your lordship, to whom I wish long life, snll lengthened
with all happiness:
Tour lordship's in all duty,
WlbhlAM SBAKESPEARE.
. THE ARGUMENT.
liUClus Tarquinius, for his excessive pride sumamed Superbns, after he had caused his own
father-in-law Servius l"ullius to be cruelly murdered, and, contrary to the Boman laws and customs,
not requiring or staying for the people's suffrages, had possessed himself of the kingdom, went,
accompanied with his sons and other noblemer of Rome, to besiege Ardea. Duiiug which siege the
principal men of tbe army meeting one evening at the tent of Sextus Tarquinius, the king's son, in
their discourses after supper every one commended the virtues of his own wife : among whom Col-
latinus extolled the incomparable chastity of his wife Lucretia. In that pleasant humor they all
posted to Rome; and intending, by their secret and sudden arrival, to make trial of that which evciy
one had before avouched, only Uollatlnus finds his wife, though it were late in the night, spinning
amongst her maids : tlie other ladies were all found dancing and revelling, or in several disports.
Whei-eupon the noblemen yielded Collatinus the victory, and Ids wife the fame. At that time Sextus
Tarquinius being inflamed with Lucrece' beauty, yet smothering his passions for the present, de¬
parted with the rest back to the camp ; from whmice he shortly after privily withdrew himself, and
was, according to his estate, royally entertained and lodged by Lucrece at Collatium. The same
night he treacherously stealeth into her chamber, violently ravished her, and early in the morning
speedeth away. Lucrece, in this lamentable plight, hastily dispatcheth messengers, one to Rome for
her father, another to the camp for Collatine. They came, the one accompanied with Junius Brutus,
the other with Publius Valerius; and finding Lucrece attired in mourning habit, demanded the
cause of her sorrow, .she, first taking an oath of them for her revenge, revealed the actor, and
whole manner of his dealing, and withal suddenly stabbed herself. Which done, with one consent
they all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the Tarquins •; and bearing the dead body to
Rome, Brutus acquainted the people with the doer and manner of the vile deed, with a bitter in¬
vective against the tyranny of the king : w herewith the people were so moved, that with one consent
and a general acclamation the Tarqtrins were all exiled, and the state government changed from
kiura to consuls.
(lies)
115G
LUCRECE.
Fkom the besieged Ardea all in post,
Borne by the trustless wings of false desire,
Lnst-breathed Tarquiu leaves the Roman host.
And to Collatium bears the lightless fire ,
Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire
And girdle with embracing flames the waist
Of Collatine's fair love, Lucrece the chaste
Haply that name of ' chaste' unhappily set
This Dateless edge on his keen appetite ;
When Collatine nnwisely did not let 10
To praise the clear unmatched red and white
Which triumph'd in that sky of his delight,
Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven's
beauties,
, With pure aspects did him peculiar duties.
For hd the night before, in Tarquin's tent,
Unlock'd the treasure of his liappy state ;
Wliat priceless wealth the heavens had him
lent
In the possession of his beauteous mate ;
Reckoning his fortune at such high-proud
rate, 19
That kings might be espoused to more fame.
But king nor peer to sucli a peerless dame.
O happiness enjoy'd but of a few !
And, if possess'd, as soon decay'd and done
As is the morning's silver-melting dew
Against the golden splendor of the sun !
An expired date, cancell'd ere well begun :
Honor and beauty, in the owner's arms,
Are weakly fortress'd from a world of
harms.
Beauty itself doth of itself persuade
The eyes of men without an orator ; 30
What ueedeth then apologies be made.
To set forth that which is so singular ?
Or why is Collatine the publisher
Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown
From thievish ears, because it is his own ?
Perchance his boast of Lucrece' sovereignty
Suggested this proud issue of a king;
For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be :
Perchance that envy of so rich a thihg.
Braving compare, disdainfully did sting 40
His high-pitch'd thoughts, that meaner men
should vaunt
That golden hap which their superiors vrant
But some untimely thought did instigate
His all-too-timeless speed, if none of those :
His honor, his affairs, his friends, his state.
Neglected all, with swift intent he goes
To quench the coal which in his liver glows.
O rash false heat, wrapp'd in repentant cold,
Tliy hasty spring stUl blasts, and ne'er grows
old!
Wlien at Collatium this false lord arrived, 50
Well was he welcomed by the Roman dame.
Within whose face beauty and virtue strived
Which of them both Should underprop her
lame;
When virtue bragg'd, beauty would blush for
shame ;
When beauty boasted blushes, in despite
Virtue would stain that o'er with silver
white.
But beauty, in that white intituled.
From Venus' doves doth challenge that fair
field :
Then virtue claims from beauty beauty's red,
Which virtue gave the golden age to gild (iS
Their silver cheeks, and call'd it then their
, shield ;
' Teaching them thus to use it in the fight.
When shame assail'd, the red should fence
the white.
This heraldry in Lucrece' face was seen.
Argued by booty's red and virtue's white
Of either's color was the other queen.
Proving from world's minority their right:
Yet their ambition makes them still te fight;
The sovereignty of either being so great.
That oft they interchange each other's, seat
Tlieir silent war of lilies and of roses, 71
Which Tarquin view'd in her fair face's field.
In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses ;
Where, lest between them both it should be
kill'd.
The coward captive vanquished doth yield
To those two armies that would let him go,
!^ther than triumph in so false a foe.
Now thinks he that her husband's shallow
tongue,—
The niggard prodigal that praised her so,—
In that high task hath done her beauty wrong.
Which far exceeds his barren skill to show :
Therefore that praise which Collatine doth owe
Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise,
In silent wonder of still-gazing ^es.
This earthly saint, adored by this devil,
little suspectcth the false worshipper;
For unstain'd thoughts do seldom dream on
evil ;
Birds never limed no secret bushes fear :
So guiltless she securely gives good cheer
And reverend welcome to her princely guest.
Whose inward ill no outward harm ex-
press'd : 91
For that he color'd with his high estate.
Hiding base sin in x^laits of majesty ; -
That nothing in him seem'd inordinate.
Save something too much wonder of his eye.
Which, having all, all could not satisfy ;
But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store.
That, cloyM with much, he piueth still for
more.
But she', that never coped with stranger eyes.
Could pick no meaniqg from their palling
looks, 100
Nor read tlie subtle-shining secrecies
Writ in the glassy margents of such boous :
She toucb'd no unknown baits, nor feaPd no
hooks;
LUCRECE.
116?
Kor could she moralize his wauton sight,
More tiian his eyes were open'd to the light.
He stories to her ears her husband's fame.
Won in the fields of fruitful Italy ;
And decks with praises Oollatiue's high name.
Made glorious by his manly chivalry
With bruised arms and wreaths of victory :
Her joy with heaved-np hand she doth ex¬
press, ' 111
And, wordless, so greets heaven for his suc¬
cess.
Far from the purpose of his coming hither.
He makes excuses for his being there :
No cloudy show of stormy blustering weather
Doth yet in his fair welkin once appear ;
Till Sivble Night, mother of Dread and Fear,
Uix)n the world dim darkness doth display,
And in her vaulty prison stows the Day.
For then is Targuin brought unto his bed, 120
Intending weariness with heavy spright ;
For, after snpper, long he questioned
With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night:
Now leaden slumber with life's strength doth
fight ;
And every one to rest themselves betake.
Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds,
that wake.
As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving
The sundry dangers of his will's obtaining ;
Yet ever to obtain his will resolving,
Thongh weak-built hopes persuade him to ab¬
staining : 130
Despair to gain doth traffic oft for gaining;
And when great treasure is the meed pro¬
posed,
Though death be adjunct, there's no death
supposed.
Those that much covet are with gain so fond,
For what they have not, that which they pos-
se.ss
They scatter and unloose it from their bond.
And so, by hoping more, they have but less ;
Or, gaining more, the profit of excess
Isbut to surfeit, and such griefs sustain.
That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich
gain. 1^
The aim of all is but to nurse the life
With honor, wealth, and ease, in waning age;
And in this aim there is such thwarting strife,
Tiiat one for ail, or all for one we gage ;
As life for honor in fell battle's rage ;
Honor for wealth ; and oft that wealth doth
cost
The death of all, and aU together lost.
So that in venturing ill we leave to be
Tiie things we are for tiiat whicl^ we expect ;
And this ambitious foul infirmity, 130
In having mucii, torments us with defect
Of that we have ; so then we do neglect
The thing we have ; and, all for want of wit,
Make something nothing by augmenting it.
Such hazard now must doting Tarquin make,
Pawning his honor to obtain his lust ;
And for himself himself he must forsake :
Then where is truth, if there be no self-trust?
When shall he think to find a stranger just.
When he himself hitmself confounds, betrays
To slanderous tongues and wretched hateful
days ? 161
Now stole upon the time the dead of night.
When heavy sleep had closed up mortal'eyes:
No comfortable star did lend his light.
No noise but. owls' and wolves' death-boding
cries ;
Now serves the season that they may surprise
The silly lambs: pure thoughts are dead
and still.
While lust and murder wake to stain and
kill.
And now this lustful lord leap'd from his bed.
Throwing his mantle rudely o'er his arm ; 170
Is madly toss'd between desire and dread ;
Th' one sweetly flatters, th' other feareth harm;
But honest fear, bewitch'd with lust's foul
charm.
Doth too too oft betake him to retire.
Beaten away by brain-sick rude desire.
His falchion on a flint he softly smiteth.
That from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly;
Whereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth,
Wliich must be lode-star to his lustful eye ;
And to the flame thus speaks advisedly, 180
' As from this cold flint I enforced this fire.
So Lucrece must I force to my desire.'
Here pale with fear he doth premeditate
The dangers of his loathsome enterprise^
And in his inward mind he doth debate
■y^at following sorrow may on this arise :
Then looking scornfully, he doth despise
His naked armor of still-slaughter'd lust.
And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust:
' Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not
To darken her whose light excelleth thine: 191
And die, unhallow'd thoughts, before you blot
With your uncleanness that which is divine ;
Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine:
Let fair humanity abhor the deed
That spots and stains love's modest snow-
white weed.
' O shame to knighthood and to shining arms !
O foul dishonor to my househoid's grave !
O impious act, including all foul harms!
A martial man to be soft fancy's slave ! 200
True valor still a true respect should have ;
"Then my digression is so vile, so base.
That it will live engraven in my face.
' Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive.
And be an eye-sore in my golden coat;
Some loathsome dash the herald will contrive,
To cipher me how fondly I did dote ; ■
That my posterity, shamed with the note
Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sin
To wish that I their father had not bin. 210
1168
LUCRECE.
' What win I, if I gain the thing I seek ?
A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy.
Who buys a minute's mirth to waii a week ?
Or sells eternity to get a toy ?
For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy ?
Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown.
Would with the sceptre straight be st"ncken
down ?
' If Collatinus dream of my intent.
Will he not wake, and in a desperate rage
Post hither, this vile purpose to prevent 1 220
This siege that hath engii-t his marriage.
This blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage.
This dying virtue, this surviving shame.
Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame ?
' O, what excuse can my invention make.
When thou shalt charge me with so black a
deed ?
Will not my tongue be mute, my frail joints
shake.
Mine eyes forego their light, my false heart
•bleed ?
The guilt being great, the fear doth still ex¬
ceed ; 229
And extreme fear ean neither fight nor fly.
But coward-like with trembling terror die.
' Had Collatinus kilTd my son or sire.
Or lain in ambush to'betray my life.
Or were he not my dear friend, this desire
Might have excuse to work upon his wife.
As ill revenge or quittal of such strife :
But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend.
The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end.
' Shameful it is ; ay, if the fact be known :
Hateful it is ; tliere is no hate iii, loving : 2iO
I'll beg her love ; but she is not her own :
The worst is but denial and reproving :
My will is strong, past reason's weak removing.
Who fears a sentence or an old man's saw
Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe.
Thus, graceless, holds he disputation
'Tween frozen conscience and hot-burning will.
And with good thoughts makes dispensation.
Urging the worser sense for vantage still ;
Which in a moment doth confound and kill 250
All pure effects, and doth so far proceed.
That what is vile shows like a virtuous deed.
Quoth he, ■* She took me kindly by the hand.
And gazed for tidings in my eager eyes,
Fearing some hard news from the warlike band.
Where her beloved Collatinus lies.
0, how her fear did make her color rise 1
First red as roses that on lawn we lay.
Then white as lawn, the roses took away.
And how her hand, in my hand being lock'd,
Forced it to tremble with her loyal fear ! 261
Which struck her sad, and then it faster rock'd.
Until her husband's welfare slie did hear ;
Wliereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer.
That had Narcissus seen her as she stood,
Ijelf-love had never drowu'd him in the flood.
' Why hunt I then for color or excuses ?
All orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth ;
Poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses ;
lx>ve thrives not in the heart that shadows
dreadeth ; 2'/(l
Affection is m^ caplaui, and he leadcth ;
And when his ^idy banner is display'd,
The coward fi^ts and will not be dismay'd
' Then, childish fear, avaunt! debating, die >
ResMct and reason, wait on wrinkled age !
My heart shall never countermand mine eye '.
Sad pause and deep re^rd beseem the sage ;
My part is youth, and beats tliese from the
stage :
De.sire my pilot is, beauty my prize ;
Then who fears sinking where such treasure
. lies ? ' 280
As com o'ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear
Is almost choked by unresisted lust
Away he steals with open listening ear,
Full of foul hope and full of fond mistrust;
Both which, as servitors to the unjust,
8(1 cross him with their opposite persuasion,
Tliat now he vows a league, and now inva^
sion.
Within his thought her heavenly image sits,
• And in the self-same seat sits Collatine ;
That eye which looks on her confounds his
wits: 290
That eye which him beholds, as more divine.
Unto a view so false will nut incline ;
But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart,
, Which once corrupted takes the worser part-
And therein heartens up his servile powers.
Who, flatter'd by their leader's jocund show,
Stuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours ;
And as their captain, so their pride doth grow.
Paying more slavish tribute than they owe.
, By reprobate desire thus madW led, 300
The Roman lord marchetb to Lucrece' bed,
The locks between her chamber and his will,
Ehch one by him enforced, retires his ward ;
But, as they open, they all rate his ill.
Which drives the creeping thief to some regard:
The threshold grates the door to have him
heard; '
Night-wandering weasels shriek to see him
there ;
They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear.
As each unwilling portal yields him way, 309
Through little vents and crannies of the place
The wind wars With his torch to make him
stay.
And blows the smoke of it into his face.
Extinguishing his conduct in this case ;
But his hot heart, which fond desire dotk
scorch.
Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch;
Aud being lighted, by the light he spies
l.ucretia's .glove, wherein her needle sticks:
He takes it from the tushes where it lies.
Aud griping it, the needle his finger priidtf
LUCRECL
1159
As who should say 'This glove to wantou
tricks 3*20
Is not inured j return again in haste;
Thou see'st our mistress' ornaments are
chaste.'
But all these poor forbiddings could not stay
him :
He in the worst sense construes their denial;
The doors, the wind, the glove, tliat did delay
him.
He takes for accidental things of trial; ■
Or OS those bars which stop tlie hourly dial.
Who with a lingeriug stay his course doth let.
Till every minute pays the hour his debt.
So, so,' quoth he, ' these lets attend the time.
Like little frosts that sometime threat the
spring, 331
To add a more rejoicing to the prime.
And give the sneaped birds more cause to sing.
Pain pays the income of each precious thing ;
Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates,
shelves and sands.
The merchant fears, ere rich at home he
lauds.'
Now is he come unto the chamber-door.
That shuts him from the heaven of his thought,
Which with a yielding latch, and with no more.
Hath barr'd him from tlie blessed thing he
sought. 340
So from liiraself impiety hath wrought,
That for his prey to pray he doth begin.
As if the heavens should countenance his sin.
But in the midst of his unfruitful prayer.
Having solicited th' eternal power
That his foul thoughts might compass his fair
fair.
And they would stand auspicious to the hour.
Even tliere he starts: quoth he,.' I must de¬
flower :
Tlve powers to whom I pray abhor this fact,
How can they then assist me in the act ? 350
'Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my
guide !
My will is back'd with resolution r
Tlioughts are but dreams till their effects be
tried ;
The blackest sin is clear'd with absolution ;
Against love's flre fear's frost hath dissolution.
The eye of heaven is out, and misty night
Covers the shame that follows sweet delight.'
Tliis said, his guilty hand pluck'd up the latclt.
And with his knee tlie door he opens wide.
The dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will
catch: . 360
Thus treason works ere traitors be espied.
V^o sees the lurking serpent steps aside ;
But she, sound keeping, fearing no such
thing., «
Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting.
into the chamber wickedly he stalks.
And gazeth on her yet unstained bed.
The curtains being close, about he walks,
Rolling his greedy eyeballs in his head :
By their high treason is his heart misled ;
Which gives the watch-word to his hand
full soon 370
To draw the cloud that hides the silver
moon.
Look, as the fair and fiery-pointed sun.
Rushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our
sight;
Even so, tlie curtain drawn, his eyes begun
To wink, being blinded with a greater light ;
Whether it is that she reflects so bright.
That dazzleth them, or else some shame
supposed ;
But blind they are, and keep themselves en¬
closed.
O, had they in that darksome prison died!
Then had they seen the i>eriod of their ill ;
Then Oollatiue again, by Lucrece' side, 38i
In his clear bed might have reposed still :
But they must ope, this blessed league t«
kill ;
And holy-tboughted Lucrece to their sight
Must sell her joy, her life, her world's de¬
light.
Her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under,
Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss ;
Who, therefore angry, seems to part in
sunder.
Swelling on either side to want liis bliss; 389
Between whose hills her head entombed is :
Wliere, like a virtuous monument, she lies,
To be admired of lewd uuhallow'd eyes.
Without the bed her otiier fair hand was.
On tlie green coverlet; whose perfect white
Short'd like an April daisy on the grass.
With pearly sweat, resembling dew of night.
Her eyes, like marigolds, had sheathed theii
light.
And canopied in darkness sweetly lay.
Till they might open to adorn the day.
Her hair, like golden threads, play'd with hei
breath ; 4O0
O modest wantons ! wanton modesty !
Showing life's triumph in the map of death.
And death's dim look in life's mortality :
Each in her sleep themselves so beautify.
As if between them twain there were ik
strife.
But that life lived in death, and death in
life.
Her breasts, like Ivory globes circled with
blue,
A pair of maiden worlds unconquered.
Save of their lord no beariug yoke they knew.
And him by oath they truly honored. 410
These worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred ;
Who, like a foul usurper, went about •
From this fair throne to heave the owner
out.
What could he see but mightily he noted 1
What did he note but strongly he desired ?
1160
LUCRECE.
What he be <eld, on that he firmly doted,
And in his will his wilful eye he tired.
With more than admiration he admired
Her azure veins, her alabaster skin,
Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin.
As the grim lion fawneth o'er his prey, 421
Sliarp hunger by the conquest satisfied.
So o'er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay.
His ra^e of lust ny gazing qualified ;
Slack'd, not suppress'd ; for standing by hef
side.
His eye, which late this mutiny restrains.
Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins:
And they, like straggling slaves for pillage
fighting,
Obdurate vassals fell exploits effecting.
In bloody death and ravishment delighting.
Nor children's tears nor mothers' groans re¬
specting, 431
Swell in their pride, the onset still exp^ting :
Anon his beating heart, alarum striking.
Gives the hot charge and bids them do their
liking.
His drumming heart cheers up his burning
e.ve.
His eye commends the leading to his hand ;
His hand, as proud of such a dignity.
Smoking with pride, march'd on to make his
stand
On her bare breast, the heart of all her land ;
Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did
scale, ' 440
Left their round turrets destitute and pale.
Tliey, mustering to the quiet cabinet
Where their dear governess and lady lies.
Do tell her she is dreadfull^y beset.
And fright her with confusion of their cries ;
She, much amazed, breaks ope her lock'd-up
eyes.
Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold.
Are by his flaming torch dimm'd and con-
troll'd.
Imagine her as one in dead of night
From forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy
waking, 4W
That thinks she hath beheld some gliastly
sprite.
Whose grim aspect sets every joint a-shaking;
What terror 'tis ! but she, in worser taking,
From sleep disturbed, heedfully doth view
The sight which makes supposed terror
true. -
Wrapp'd and confounded in a thousand fears.
Like to a new-kill'd bird she trembling lies ;
She dares not look ; yet, winking, there ap¬
pears
Quick-shifting antics, ugly in her eyes :
Such shadows are the weak brain's forgeries ;
Who, angry that the eyes fly from their
lights, 461
In darkness daunts them with mmre dread¬
ful sights.
His hand, that yet remains upon her breasty-r
Rude ram, to batter such an ivory wall!—
May feel her heart—poor citizen !—distress'd.
Wounding itself to deat^ rise op and fall.
Beating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal.
This moves in him more rage and lesser
To ma^e the breach and enter this sweet
city.
First, like a trumpet, doth his tongue begin
To sound a parley to his heartless foe 471
Who o'er the white sheet peers her whiter
chin.
The reason of this rash alarm to know.
Which he by dumb demeanor seeks to show ;
But she with vehement prayers urgeth still
Under what color he commits this ill.
Thus he replies : ' The color in thy face.
That even for auger makes the lily pale.
And the red rose blush at her own disgi^e.
Shall plead for me and tell my loving tale: ^
Under tliat color am I come to scale
Thy never-conquer'd fort: the fault is
thine.
For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine.
' Thus I forestall thee, if thou mean to chide:
'^y beauty hath ensnared thee to this night.
Where thou with patience must my will abide;
My will that marks thee for my earth's de-
light.
Which I to conquer sought with all my might;
But as reproof and reason beat it d^.
By thy bright beauty was it newly bred. 490
'1 see what crosses my attempt will bring ;
1 know what thorns the growing rose de¬
fends ;
1 think the honey guarded with a sting ;
All this beforehand couusel comprehends ;
But will is deaf and hears no heedful friends ;
Only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty,
Aud dotes on what he looks, 'gainst jaw or
duty.
' I have debated, even in my soul.
What wrong, what shame, what sorrow 1 shidl
breed ;
But nothing can affection's course control, 500
Or stop the headlong fury of his speed.
I know repentant tears ensue the deed,
Reproacn, disdain, aud deadly enmity ;
Yet strive I to embrace mine infamy.'
This said, he shakes aloft his Roman blade.
Which, like a falcon towering in the skies,
Concheth the fowl below with his wings' shade.
Whose crooked beak threats if he mount he
dies:
So under his insulting falchion lies
Harmless Lucretia, marking what be tells
With trembling fear, as fowl heat falcon's
bells. 511
' Lucrece,' quoth he, ' this night I must enjcy
thee;
If thou deny, then force must work my way.
LUCHECE.
1161
For in thy bed I purpose to destroy thee!
That done, some worthless slave of thine I'll
slay,
To kill thine honor with thy life's decay ;
And in thy dead arms do I mean to place
him.
Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace
him.
• So thy surviving husband shall remain
The scornful mark of every open eye520
Tliy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain,
Thy issue blnrr'd with nameless bastardy :
And thou, the author of their obloquy,
Shalt have thy trespass cited up in rhymes.
And sung by children in succeeding times.
• But if thou yield, I rest tliy secret friend :
The fault unknown is as a thought unacted ;
A little harm done to a great good end
For lawful policy remains enacted.
The poisonous simple sometimes is compacted
In a pure compound ; being so applied, 531
His venom in effect is purified.
'Thmi, for thy husband and thy children's
sake.
Tender my suit: bequeath not to their lot
The shame that from them no device can take,
The blemish that will never be forgot;
Worse than a slavish wipe or birth-hour's
blot:
For marks descried in men's nativity
Are nature's faults, not their own infamy.'
Here with a cockatrice' dead-killing eye 540
He rouseth up himself and makes a pause ;
While she, the picture of pure piety.
Like a white hind under tiie gripe's sharp
claws.
Pleads, in a wilderness where are no laws,
To the rough beast that knows no gentle
right,
Kor aught obeys but his foul appetite.
But when a black-faced cloud the world doth
threat.
In his dim mist the aspiring mountains hiding,
From earth's dark womb some gentle gust
doth get,
Which blows these pitchy vapors from their
bidding, 550
Hindering their present fall by this dividing ;
So his unhallow'd haste her words delays.
And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus
plays.
Tet, foul night-waking cat, he doth but dally.
While in his hold-fast loot, the weak mouse
panteth:
Her sad behavior feeds his vulture folly,
A swallowing gulf tliat even in plenty want-
eth : #
His ear her prayers admits, but his heart
granteth
No penetrable entrance to her plaining :
Tears harden lust, though marble wear with
fftiiilwg. 560
Her pity-pleading eyes are sadly fiz'd
In tlie remorseless wrinkles of his face :
Her modest eloquence with sighs is mix d.
Which to her oratory adds more grace.
S'ae puts the period often from his place ;
And midst the sentence so her accent
breaks,
Tliat twice she doth begin ere once she
speaks.
She conjures him by high almighty Jove,
By knighthood, gentry, and sweet friendship's
oath.
By her untimely tears, her husband's love, 570
By holy human law, and common troth.
By heaven and earth,'and all the power of
both.
That to his borrow'd bed he make retire.
And stoop to honor, not to foul desire.
Quoth she, 'Reward not hospitality
With such black payment as thou hast pre«
tended;
Mud not the fountain that gave drink to thee;
Mar not the thing that cannot be amended ;
End thy ill aim before thy shoot be ended ;
He is no woodman that doth bend bis bow
To strike a poor unseasonable doe. 581
' My husband is thy friend ; for his sake spare
me:
Thyself art mighty ; for thine own sake leave ,
me :
Myself a weakling : do not then ensnare me :
Thou look'st not like deceit ; do not deceive
me.
My sighs, like whirlwinds, labor hence to
heave thee :
If ever man were moved with woman's
moans, •
Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my
groans:
' All which together, like a troubled ocean.
Beat at thy rocky and wreck-threatening heart.
To soften it with their continual motion ; 591
For stones dissolved to water do convert.
O, if no harder than a stone thou art.
Melt at my tears, and be compassionate t
Soft pity enters at an iron gate.
' In Tarquin's lihcnes.s 1 did entertain thee:
Hast thou put on his shape to do him shame ?
To all the host of heaven I complain me.
Thou wrong'st his honor, wound'st his princely
name.
Thou art not what thou seem'st ; and if the
same, • 600-
Thou seem'st not what thou art, a god, a
king;
For kings like gods should govern every
thing.
'How will thy shame be seeded in thine age.
When thus thy vices bud before tliy spring.'
If in thy hope thou darest do such, outrage.
What darest thou not when once thou art •
king ?
0. be remember'd, no outrageous thing
1162
LUORECE.
From vassal actors can be wiped away ;
Then kings' misdeeds cannot be hid in clay.
' This deed will make thee only loved tor
fear; 610
But happy mouarchs still are fear'd for love :
With foul offenders thou perforce must bear,
When they in thee the like offences ijrove:
If but for fear of this, thy will remove ;
For princes are the glass, the school, the
book.
Where subjects' eyes do leam, do read, do
look.
' And wiit thou be the school where Lust shall
learn ?
Must he in thee read lectures of such shame ?
Wilt thou be glass whereiu it shall discern
Authority for sin, warrant for blame, 620
To privilege dishonor in thy name ?
Thou mck'st rex)roach against long-living
laud.
And makest fair reputation but a bawd.
' Hast thou command ? by him that gave It
thee,
From a pure heart command thy rebel will:
Draw not thy sword to guard iniquity,
For it was lent thee all that brood to kill.
Thy princely office how canst thou fulfil,
When, pattern'd by thy fault, foul sin may
say,
He learu'd to sin, and thou didst teach the
way ? 630
' Think but how vile a spectacle it were.
To view tliy present trespass in another.
Men's faults do seldom to thera-selves appear ;
Their own transgressions partially they
smother;
This guilt would seem deatl»-worthy in thy
brother.
O, how are they wrapp'd in with infamies
That from their own misdeeds askance their
eyes !
' To thee, to thee, my heaved-up hands ap¬
peal,
Kot to seducing lust, thy rash relier :
I sue for exiled majesty's repeal ; 640
Let him return, and flattering thoughts retire:
His true respect will prison false desire.
And wipe the dim mist from thy doting
eyne,
That thou shalt see thy state and pity mine.'
' Have done,' quoth he:' my uncontrolled tide
Turns not, but swells the higher by this let.
Small ligRts are soon blown out, hugh fires
abide.
And with the wind in greater fury fret:
The petty streams that pay a daily debt
To their salt sovereign, with their fresh
falls' haste 650
Add to his flow, but alter, not his taste.'
' Thou art,' quoth she, ' a sea, a sovereign
king;
And, lo, there falls into thy boundless flood
Black lust, dishonor,' shame, misgoverning.
Who seek to stain the ocean of thy blood.
If all these pretty ills shall change thy good.
Thy sea within a puddle's womb is hearseo<
And not the puddle in thy sea dispersed.
' So shall these slaves be king, and thon their
slave ;
Thou nobly base, they basely dignified 660
Thou their fair life, and they tiiy fouler
grave:
Thou loatlied in their shame, they in thy
pride:
The lesser thing should not the greater hide ;
The cedar stoops not to the base shrub's
foot.
But low shrubs wither at the cedar's root.
' So let thy thoughts, low vassals to thy
state'— -
' No more,' quoth he ; 'by heaven, I will not
hear thee:
Yield to my love ; if not, enforced hate,
Instead of love's coy touch, shall rudely tear
thee ; 669
That done, despitefully T mean to bear thee
tJnto the base bed of some rascal groom.
To be thy partner in this shameful, doom.'
This said, he sets his foot upon the light.
For light and lust are deadly enemies:
Shame folded up in blind concealing night.
When most unseen, then most doth tyrannize.
The wolf hath seized his prey, the poor lamb
cries ;
Till with her own white fleece her voice
controll'd
Entombs her outcry in her lips' sweet fold ;
For with the nightly linen that she wears 680
He pens her piteous clamors in her head ;
Cooling bis hot face in the chastest tears
That ever modest eyes with soitow shed.
O, that prone lust should stain so pure a bed
The spots whereof could weeping purify,
Her tears should drop on them perpetually.
But she hath lost a dearer thing than life.
And he hath won what he would lose again:
This forced league doth force a further strife ;
This momentary joy breeds months of pain ;
This hot desire converts to cold disdain : 691
Pure Chastity is rifled of her store.
And Lust, the thief, fkr poorer than before.
Look, as the full-fed hound or gorged! hawk.
Unapt for tender smell or speedy flight.
Make slow pursuit, or altogether balk
The pray wherein by nature they delight;
So surfeit-taking Tarquin fares this night:
His taste delicious, in digestion souring.
Devours his will, that lived by foul devour'
tag. 70#
O, deeper sin tiian bottomless conceit
Can comprehend in still imagination !
Drunken Desire must vomit his receipt.
Ere he can see bis own abomination. >
While Lust is in his pride, no exclamation
UJCRECE.
1163
Can curb bis heat or rein his rash desire,
Till like a jade Self-will himself doth tire.
And then with lank and lean discolor'd cheek,
With heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless
pace.
Feeble Desire, all recreant, iioor, and meek.
Like to a Imnkrupt beggar wails his case : 711
The flesh being proud. Desire doth fight with
Grace,
For there it revels ; and when that decays.
The guilty rebel for remission prays.
So fares it with this faultful lord of Rome,
Who this accomplishment so hotlv chased ;
For nowagainst himself he sounds this doom.
That through the length of times he stands
disgraced :
Besides, his soul's fair temple is defaced ;
To whose weak ruins muster trooi® of
cares, 720
To ask the spotted princess how she fares-
She says, her subjects with foul insurrection
Have batter'd down her consecrated wall.
And by their mortal fault brought in subjec¬
tion
Her immortality, and made her thrall
To living death and pain perpetual:
Which in her prescience she controlled still.
But her foresight could not forestall their
VfUI.
Even in this thought through the dark night
he stealeth,
A captive victor tluit hath lost in gain ; 730
Bearing away the wound that libthing healeth.
The scar that will, despite of cure, remain ;
Leaving his spoil perplex'd in greater pain.
She bears the load of lust he left beiiind.
And I'.e tlie burden of a guilty mind.
He like a thievish dog creeps sadly tlieuce ;
Slie like a wearied lamb lies panting there ;
He scowls and hates himself for his offence ;
Siie, desperate, with her nails her flesh doth
tear;
lie faintly Aids, sweating with guilty fear; 740
She stays, exclaiming on the direful night;
He runs, and chides his vanish'd, loathed
delight.
He thence departs a heavy convertite ;
Siie there remains a hopeless castaway ;
He in his speed looks for the morning light ;
She prays she never may behold the day,
' For day,' quoth she, • night's scapes doth
open lay.
And my true eyes have never practiced how
To cloak offences with a cunning brow.
'They think not but tliat every eye can see
Tlte same disgrace which they themselves
behold ; m 751
And tlierefore would they still m darkness be.
To have their unseen sin remain untold ;
For they their guilt with weeping will unfold,
And grave, like water that doth eat in .steel,
. Upon my diaek;' what helpless shame I feel.'
Here she exclaims against repose and rest.
And bids her eyes hereafter still be blind.
She wakes her heart by beating on her breast,
And bids it leap from thence, where it may
find 7^
Some purer chest to close so pure a mind. .
Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth
her spite
Against the unseen secrecy of night:
' O comfort-killing Night, image of hell!
Dim register and notary of shame !
Black stage for tragedies and murders fell!
V.ast sin-concealing chaos ! nurse of blame!
Blind muffled bawd ! dark harbor for defame !
Grim cave of death ! whispering conspirator
With close-tongued treason and the rav-
isher 1 770
' O hateful, vaporous, and foggy Night I
Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime.
Muster thy mists to meet the eastern light,
Make war against proportion'd course of time;
Or if thou wilt permit the sun to climb
His woiited height, yet ere he go to bed.
Knit poisonous clouds about his golden
head.
' With rotten damps ravish the morning air ;
Let their exhaled unwholesome breaths make
sick
Tlie life of purity, the supreme fair, 780
Ere he arrive his Vveary noon-tide prick;
And let thy misty vapors march so thick.
That in their smoky ranks his sf/.other'd
light
May set at noon and make perpetual night
'Were Tarquin Night, as he is but Night's
child,
Tl>e silver-shiniiig queen he would distain ;
Her twinkling handmaids too, by him defiled.
Through Night's black bosom should not peep
again;
So should I have co-partners in my pain ;
And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage,
As palmers' chat makes short their pilgrim¬
age. 791
' Where now I have no one to blush with me.
To cross their arms and hang their heads with
mine,
To mask their brows and hide tlieir infamy ;
But I alone alone must sit and pine.
Seasoning the earth with showers of silver
brine.
Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with
groans,
Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans.
' O Night, thou furnace of foul-reeking smoke.
Let not the jealous Day behold that face 800
Which underneath thy black all-hiding cloak
immodestly lies martyr'd with disgrace!
Keep still possession of thy gloomy place,
That all the faults which in thy reign ars
made
May likewise be sepulchred in thy shade t
1164
WCRECE.
' Make me not object to the tell-tale Day !
The light will show, character'd in my brow,
The story of sweet chastity's decay,
The impious breach of holy wedlock vow:
Yea, the illiterate, that know not how 810
To cipher what is writ in learned books.
Will quote my loathsome trespass in my
looks.
• The nurse, to still her child, will tell my
story.
And fright her crying babe with Tarquin's
name ;
The orator, to deck his oratory.
Will couple my reproach to Tarquin's shame ;
Feast-finding minstrels, tuning my defame,
Will tie the hearers to attend each line.
How Tarquin wronged me, I Collatine.
' Let my good name, that senseless reputa¬
tion, 820
For Collatine's dear love be kept unspotted :
If that be made a theme for disputation.
The branches of another root are rotted.
And undeserved reproach to him allotted
That is as clear from this attaint of mine
As I, ere this, was pure to Collatine.
' O unseen shame ! invisible disgrace !
O unfelt sore ! crest-wounding, private scar !
Beproach is stamp'd in Oollatinus' face.
And Tarquin's eye may read the mot afar, 830
How he in peace is wounded, not in war.
Alas, how many bear such shameful blows.
Which not themselves, but he that gives
them knows !
' If, Collatine, thino honor lay in me.
From mo by strong assault it is bereft.
My honey lost, and I, a drone-like bee.
Have no iierfection of my summer left,
Butrobb'd and ransack'd by injurious theft:
In tliy weak hive a wandering wasp hath
crept,
And snck'd the hqney which thy chaste bee
kept 840
' Yet am I guilty of thy honor's wrack ;
Yet for tliy honor did I entertain him ;
Coming from thee, I could not put him back,
For it had been dishonor to disdain him :
Besides, of weariness he did complain hira.
And talk'd of virtue : O unlook'd-for evil,
When virtue is profaned in such a devil!
' Why should the worm intrude the maiden
bud?
Or hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows* nests ?
Or toads infect fair founts with venom mud ?
Or tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts ? 851
01' kings be breakers of their own behests ?
But no perfection is so absolute,
That some impurity doth not pollute.
' The aged man that coffers-up his gold
Is plagued with cramps and gouts and pain¬
ful fits ;
And scarce hath eyes hi.s treasure to behold.
But like still-pining Tantalus he sits.
And useless bams the harvest of bis wits ;
Having no other pleasure of his gain 860
But torment that it cannot cure his pain.
' So then he hath it when he cannot use it,
And leaves it to he inaster'd by his young ,
Who in their pride do presently abuse it:
Their father was too weak, and they too
strong.
To hold their cursed-blessed fortune long.
The sweets we wish for turn to loathed
sours
Even in the moment that we call them ours.
' Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring ;
Unwholesome weeds take root with precious
flowers; 870
The adder hisses where the sweet birds sing ;
What virtue breeds iniquity devours :
We have no good that we can say is ours.
But ill-annexed Opportunity
Or kills his life or else his quality.
' O Opportunity, thy guilt is great!
'Tis thou that executest the traitor's treason :
Thou set'St the wolf where he the lamb may
get;
Whoever plots the sin, thou 'point'st the sea¬
son ;
'Tis thou that spum'st at right, at law, at rea¬
son : m,
And in thy shady cell, where none may spy
him.
Sits Sin, to seize the souls that wander bj
him.
' Thou makestthe vestal violate her oath ;
Thou blow'st the fire when temperance ia
, thaw'd;
Thou sraother'st honesty, thou murder'st
troth ;
Thou foul abettor ! thou notorious bawd !
Thou plantest scandal and displacest laud :
Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief.
Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief!
' Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame,89(}
Thy private feasting to a public fast.
Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name.
Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood taste:
Thy violent vanities can never last.
How comes it then, vile Opportunity,
Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee ?
' When wilt thou be the humble suppliant's
friend.
And bring him where his suit may be ob-
tain'd ?
When wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to
end ?
Or free that soul which wretchedness hath
chain'd ? 900
Give physic to the sick, ease to the pain'd ?
The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out
for thee;
But they ne'er meet with Opportunity.
' The patient dies while the physician sleeps ;
The orphan pines while the oppressor feeds ;
LUCRECE.
^istice is feasting while the widow weeps ;
tdvioe is spoitiug while infection breeds :
Thou grant'St no time for charitable deeds ;
Wratli, envy, treason, rape, and murder's
rages.
Thy heinous hours wait on them as their
pages. 910
'When Truth and Virtue have to do with
tliee,
A thousand crosses keep them from "thy aid :
They buy thy help ; but Sin ne'er gives a fee,
He gratis comes ; and thou art well appaid
As well to hear as grant what he hath said.
My CoUatine would else have come to me
IVnen Tarquin did, but he was stay'd by
thee.
' Guilty thou art of murder and of theft.
Guilty of i>erjury and subornation.
Guilty of treason, forgery, and shift, 920
Guilty of incest, that abomination ;
An accessary by thine inclination
To ail sins past, and all that are to come,
from the creation to the general doom.
' Mis-shapen Time, copesmate of ngly Night,
Swift subtie post, carrier of grisly care.
Eater of youth, false slave to false delight.
Base watch of woes, sin's pack-horse, vir¬
tue's snare ;
Thou uursest ali and murder'st all that are :
O, hear me then, injurious, shifting Time !
Be guilty of my death, since of my crime.
' Why hath thy servant. Opportunity,
Betray'd the hours thou gave.st me to repose,
Cancell'd my fortunes, and enchained me
To endless date of never-ending woes ?
Time's office is to fine the hate of foes ;
To eat up errors by opinion bred.
Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed.
' 'Hme's glory is to calm contending kings.
To unmask falsehood and bring truth to light.
To stamp the seal of time in aged things, 911
To wake the mom and sentinel the ni^t.
To wrong the wronger till he render right.
To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours.
And smear with dust their glittering golden
towers }
' To fill with worm-holes stately monuments.
To feed oblivion with decay of things,
To blot old books and alter their contents.
To pluck the quills from ancient ravens'
wings,
To dry the old oak's sap and cherish springs.
To spoil antiquities of hammer'd steel, 951
And turn the giddy round of Fortune's
wheel j
* To show the beldam daughteai of her daugh¬
ter,
'To make the child a man, the man a chUd,
To slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter,
To tame the unicorn and lion wild,
to Hioch the subtle in themselves beguiled,
1165
To cheer the ploughman with increaseful
crops.
And waste huge stones with little water
drops.
' Why work'st thou mischief in thy pilgrim¬
age, 960
Unless thou couldst return to make amends 7
One poor retiring minute in an age
Would purchase thee a thousand thousand
friends.
Lending him wit that to bad debtors lends :
O, this dread night, wouldst thou one hour
come back, [wrack 1
I could prevent this storm and shun thy
' Thou ceaseless lackey to eternity.
With some mischance cross Tarquin in his
flight :
Devise extremes beyond extremity.
To make him curse this cursed crimeful
night: 970
Let ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright;
And the dire thought of his committed evil
Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil.
' Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances.
Afflict him in his bed with bedrid groans ;
I,et there bechance him pitiful mischances.
To make him moan ; but pity not his moans :
Stone him with harden'd liearts, harder than
stones ;
And let mild women to him lose their mild¬
ness, 979
Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness.
' Let him have time to tear his Curled hair.
Let him have time against himself to rave.
Let him have time of Time's help to despair.
Let him have time to live a loathed slave.
Let him have time a beggar's orts to crave.
And time to see one that by alms doth live
Disdain to him disdained scraps to give.
' Let him have time to see his friends his foes.
And merry fools to mock at him resort;
Let him have time to mark how slow time
goes 990
In time of sorrow, and how swift and short
His time of folly and his time of sport;
And ever let his unrecalling crime
Have time to wail th' abusing of his time.
' O Time, thou tutor both to good and bad.
Teach me to curse hi'm that thou taught'st
this m !
At his own shadow let the thief run mad.
Himself himself seek every hour to kill!
Such wretched hands such wretched blood
should spill;
For who so base would such an office have
As slanderous death's-man to so base a
slave ? 1001
' Tlie baser is he, coming from a king.
To shame his hope with deeds degenerate:
The mightier man, the mightier is the thing
That makes him hbnor'd, or begets him hate;
For greatest scandal waits on greatest state.
1166
LUVRECE.
The moon being clouded presently is miss'd,
But little stars may bide them when they
list.
' The crow may bathe his coal-black wings in
mire,
And unperceived fly with the filth away ; 1010
But i£ the like the snow-white swan desire,
The stain uix)n his silver down will stay,
Poor grooms are sightless night, kings glori¬
ous day :
Gnats are unnoted wheresoe'er they fly.
But eagles gazed upou with every eye.
' Out, idle words, servants to shallow fools !
Unprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators !
Busy yourselves in skill-contending schools ;
Debate where leisure serves with dull deba¬
ters ;
To trembling clients be you mediators : 1020
For me, I force not argument a straw,
Since that my case is past the help of law.
' In vain I rail at Opportunity,
At Time, at Tarquin, and uncheerful Night;
In vain I cavil with mine infamy.
In vain I spurn at my confirm'd despite :
This helpless smoke of words doth me no
right.
The remedy indeed to do me good
Is to let forth my foul-defiled blood.
' Poor hand, why quiver'st thou at this de¬
cree ? 1030
Honor thyself to rid me of this shame :
For if I die, my honor lives in thee ;
But if I live, thou livest iii my defame :
Since thou couldst not defend thy loyal dame.
And wast afeard to scratch her wicked foe.
Kill both thyself and her for yielding so.'
This said, from her be-tumbled couch she
starteth.
To find some desperate instrument of death :
But this no slaughterhouse no tool imparteth
To make more vent for jrassage of her breath;
Which, thronging through her lips, so vau-
isheth 1041
As smoke from .£tna, that in air consumes.
Or tliat which from discharged cannon
fumes.
' In vain,* quoth she, ' I live, and seek in vain
Some happy mean to end a haple.ss life.
I fear'd by Tarquin's falchion to be slain.
Yet for the self-same purpose seek a knife :
But when I fear'd I was a loyal wife :
So am I now : O no, that cannot be ; 1049
Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me.
' O, that is gone for which I sought to live.
And therefore now I need not fear to die.
To clear this spot by death, at least I give
A badge of fame to'slander's livery ;
A dying life to living infamy :
Poor helpless help, the treasure stoTn away.
To the guiltless wket where it Jaj*!
' Well, well, dear Collatiue, tliou shalt not
know
The stained taste of violated troth ;
I will not wrong thy true affection so, JOOO
To flatter tlioe with an infringed oath ;
This bastard graff shall never come to growth:
He shall not boast wt.o did thy stock pol¬
lute
That thou art doting father of his fruit.
' Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought,
Nor laugh with his companions at thy state:
But thou slialt know thy interest was not
bought
Basely with gold, but stoTu from fortli Uiy
gate.
For me, I am the mistress of my fate, 1069
And with my trespass never will dispense.
Till life to death acquit my forced offence.
' I will not poison thee vdth my attaint,
Nor fold my fault in cleauly-coin'd excuses ;
My sable ground of sin I will not paiut.
To hide the truth of tliis false night's abuses :
My tongue shall utter all; mine eyes, like
sluices.
As from a mountain-spring that feeds a
dale.
Shall gush pure streams to purge my impure
tale.'
By this, lamenting Philomel had ended
The well-tuned warble of her nightly sorrow.
And solemn night with slow sad gait de¬
scended ~ 1081
To ugly hell } when, lo, the blushing mor¬
row
Lends light to all fair eyes that light will bor¬
row :
But cloudy Lucrece shames herself to see,
And therefore still in night would cloister'd
be.
Revealing day through every cranny spies.
And seems to point her out where she sits
weeping ;
To whom she sobbing speaks: ' O eye of eyes,
Why pry'st thou through my window ? leave
thy x)eeping :
Mock with thy tickling beams eyes that are
sleeping: 1090
Braud not my forehead with thy piercing
light.
For day hath nought to do what's done by
night.'
Thus cavils she with every thing she sees :
True grief is fond and testy as a ehild,
Who wayward once, his mood with nought
agrees :
Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild;
Continuance tames the one ; the otlier wild.
Like an unpractised swimmer plunging still.
With too much labor drowns lor want of
skill.
So she, deep-drenched m a sea of care, llOO
Holds disputation with each thing she views,
tp Uerppu pptow doth compare j
tUCRECn.
mi
■No object bnt her passion'is strength renews ;
And as one shifts, another straiglit ensues :
Sometime her grief is dumb and hath no
words;
Sometime tis mad and too much talk af¬
fords.
The little birds that tune their morning's joy
Make her moans mad with their sweet melo-
■■ 1 ,
For mirth doth search the bottom of annoy ;
Sad souls are slain in merry company ; 1110
Grief best is pleased with grief's society :
True sorrow then is feelingly snfhced
■yVhen with like semblance it is sympathized.
'Tis double death to drown in ken of shore ;
lie ten times piues tiiai panes beholding food;
To see tlie sailve doth make the wound ache
more;
Great grief grieves most at that would do it
good ;
Deep woes roll forward like a gentle flood,'
Who, being stopp'd, the Iwnnding banks
o'erflows ;
Grief dallied with nor law nor limit Icnows.
' You mocking-birds,' quoth she, ' your tunes
entomb .1121
Within your hollow-swelling feather'd breasts.
And in my heai-ing be you mute and dumb :
My restless discord loves no stops nor rests ,
A woeful hostess brooks not merry guests :
Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears ;
Distress likes dumps when time is kept with
tears.
' Come, Philomel, that sing'st of ravishment,
Make thy sad grove in my dishevell'd hair ;
As the dank earth weeps at thy languishment,
So I at each sad strain will strain a tear, 1131
And with deep groans the diapason bear ;
For burden-wise I'll hum on Tarquin still.
While thou on Tereus descaut'st better skill.
' And whiles against a thorn thou bear'.st thy
l>art.
To keep thy shari> woes waking, wretched I,
"To imitate thee well, again.st my heart
Will fix a sharp knife to affright mine eye ;
Who, if it wink, shall thereon fall and die.
These means, as frets upon an instrument.
Shall tune our heart-strings to true langui.sh-
ment nil
' And for, poor bird, thou sing'st not in the
day.
As shaming any eye should thee behold,
Some dark deep desert, seated from the way.
That knows not parching heat nor freezing
cold.
Will we find out; and there we will unfold
To creatures stem sad tunes, to change their
kinds: *
Since men prove beasts, let neasts bear gen¬
tle minds.'
As the poor frighted deer, that stands at gaze.
Wildly determining which way to fly, 1150
Or one encompass'd with a winding maze.
That cannot tread the way out readily ;
So with herself is slie in mutiny.
To live or die which of the twain were bet¬
ter.
When life is shamed, and death reproach'^
debtor.
' To kill myself,' quoth she, * alack, what were
it.
But with my body my poor soul's pollution 7
They that lose half with greater patience bear
1 it [fusion.
Than they whose whole is swallow'd in con-
That momer tries a merciless conclusion llfM)
Who, having two sweet babes, when death
takes one.
Will slay tlie other and be nurse to none.
' My body or my B<ful, which was the dearer.
When the one pure, the other made divine ?
AVhose love of either to myself was nearer.
When both were kept for heaven and Colla-
tine 7 ■
Ay me ! the bark pecl'd from the lofty pine.
His leaves will wither and his sap decay ;
So must my soul, her bark being peel'd
away.
' Her house is sack'd, her quiet internipted.
Her mansion batter'd by the enemy ; ' 1171
Her sacred temple spotted, spoil'd, corrupted.
Grossly engirt with daring infamy :
Then let it not be call'd impiety.
If in this blemish'd fort I make some hole
Through which I may convey this troubled
soul.
' Yet die I will not till my Collatine
Have heard tlie cause of my untimely death ;
That he may vow, in that sad hour of mine.
Revenge on him that made me stop my breath.
My stained blood to Tarquin I'll bequeath, 1181
Which by him tainted shall for him be spent.
And as his due writ in my testament.
' My honor I'll bequeath unto the knife
That wounds my body so dishonored.
'Tis honor to deprive dishonor'd life ;
The one will live, theotiier being dead :
So of .shame's ashes shall my fame be bred ;
For in my death I murder shameful scorn :
My shame so dead, mine honor is new-
bom. 1190
' Dear lord of that dear jewel I have lost
What legacy shall I bequeath to thee 7
My resolution, love, shall be thy boast.
By whose example thou revenged mayst be
How Tarquin must be used, read it in me :
Myself, thy friend, will kill myself, thy foe,
And for my sake serve thou false Tarquin
so.
' This brief anridgeraeut of my will I make :
My soul and body to the skies and ground ;
My resolution, hmsband, do thou take ; 1200
Mine honor be the knife's that makes mj
wound
1168
LVCRECB.
My shame be his that did my fame confound;
And all my fame that lives disbursed be
To those that live, and think no shame of
me.
' Thou, Collatine, shait oversee this will;
How was I overseen that thou shalt see it!
My blood shall wash the slander of mine ill;
My life's foul deed, my life's fair end shall free
it
Faint not, faint heart, but stoutly say " So be
it:"
Yield to- my hand ; my hand shall conquer
thee: 1210
Thou dead, both die, and both shall victors
be.'
This plot of death when sadly she had laid.
And wiped tlie brinish pearl from her bright
eyes.
With untuned tongue she hoarsely calls her
maid.
Whose swift obedience to her mistress hies ;
For fleet-wing'd duty with thought's feathers
flies.
Poor Lucrece' cheeks unto her maid seem so
As winter meads when sun doth melt their
snow.
Her mistress she doth give demure good-mor¬
row.
With soft-slow tongue, true mark of modesty,
-■Vud sorts a sad look to her lady's sorrow, 1221
For why her face wore sorrow s livery ; *
But durst not ask of her audaciously
Why her two suns were cloud-eclipsed so.
Nor why her fair cheeks over-wash'd with
woe.
But as the earth doth weep, the sun being set,
Fiach flower moisten'd like a melting eye ;
Even so the maid with swelling drops gan wet
Her circled eyne, enforced by sympathy
Of those fair suns set in her mistress' sky,
AYho in a salt-waved ocean quench their
light, 1231
Which makes the maid weep like the dewy
night.
A pretty while these pretty creatures stand.
Like ivory conduits coral cisterns filling:
One justly weeps ; the other takes in hand
No cause, but company, of her drops spilling:
Their gentle sex to weep are often willing ;
Grieving themselves to guess at otiiers'
smarts,
And then they drown their eyes or break
their heai^ 1239
For men have marble, women waxen, minds.
And therefore are they form'd as marble will;
The weak oppress'd, the impression of strange
kinds
Is form'd in them by force, by fraud, or skill :
Then call them not the authors of their ill.
No more than wax shall be accounted evil
Wherein is stamp'd the semblance of a
devii
Tlteir smoothness, like a goodly cbampaigB
plain,
Lays open all tlie little worms that creep;
In men, as in a rough-grown grove, remain
Cave-keeping evils that obscurely sleep : 1250
Through crystal walls each little mote will
peep :
Though men can cover crimes withhold stem
looks,
Poor women's faces are their own fault's
books.
No man inveigh against the wither'd flower,
But chide rough winter tliat the flower hath
kill'd :
Not that devour'd, but that which doth de¬
vour.
Is worthy blame. O, let it not be hild
Poor women's faults, that they are so fiilfill'd
With men's abuses r those proud lords, to
blame.
Make weak-made women tenants to their
shame. 1260
The precedent whereof in Lucrece view,
Assail'd by night witii circumstances strong
Of preseut deiith, and shame that mmht ensue
By that her death, to do her husband wrong :
Such danger to resistance did belong.
That dying fear through all her body spiead;
And who cannot abuse a body dead ?
By this, mild patience bid fair Lucrece speak
To the poor counterfeit of her complaining :
' My girl,' quoth she, ^ on what occasion break
Those tears from thee, that down thy cheeks
are raining ? 1271
If thou dost weep for grief of my sustaining.
Know, gentle wench, it small avails my
mood :
If tears could help, mine own would do me
good.
' But tell me, girl, when went'—and there she
stay'd
Till after a deep groan—' Tarquin from hence?'
' Madam, ere 1 was up,' replied the maid,
' The more to blame my sluggard negligence ;
Yet with.the fault I thus far can dispense ;
Myself was stirring ere the break of day.
And, ere I rose, was Tarquin gone away.
' But, lady, if your maid may be so bold.
She would request to know your heaviness.'
' O, peace !' quoth Lucrece : ' if it should be
told.
The repetition cannot make it less ;
For more it is than I can weU express :
And that deep torture may be call'd a hell
When more is felt than one hath power to
teU.
' Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen:
Yet save that labor, for I have them here.
What should I say ? One of my husband's
men 129J
Bid thou be ready, by and by, to bear
A letter to my lord, my love, my dear <
LUCRECE.
1169
fiid him with speed prepare to carry it;
The cause craves haste, and it will soon be
writ'
Her maid is gone; and she prepares to write)
First hovering o'er the paper with her quiJl:
Conceit and grief an et^er coinbiit fight;
What wit sets down is blotted straight with
will;
This is too curious-good, this blunt and ill:
Much like a press of people at a door, 1301
Throng her mventions, which shall go be¬
fore.
At last she thus begins; ' Thou worthy lord
Of that unworthy wife that greeteth thee.
Health to thy person ! next vouchsafe t' af¬
ford—
If ever, love, thy Lucrece thou wilt see-
Some present speed to come and visit me.
So, 1 commend me from our house iu grief:
My vt^oes are tedious, though my words are
brief.'
Here folds she up the tenor of her woe, 1310
Her certain sorrow writ uncertainly.
By this short schedule Collatine may know
Her nief, but not her grief's true quality :
She dares not thereof make discoveryy
Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse,
£re she with blood had staiu'd her staiu'd
excuse.
Besides, the life and feeling of her imssion
She hoards, to spend when he is by to hear
her:
When sighs and groans and tears may grace
the fashion
Of her disgrace, the better so to clear her 1320
From that suspicion which the world snight
bear her.
To shun this blot, she would not blot the
letter
With words, till action might become them
better.
To see sad sights moves more than hear them
told ;
For then the eye interprets to the ear .
'I'he heavy motion that it doth behold.
When every part a part of woe doth bear.
'Tis but a part of sorrow that we hear:
Deep sounds make lesser noise than sliallow
fords.
And sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of
words. 1330
Her letter now is seal'd, and on it writ
' At Ardea to my lord with more than haste.'
The post attends, and she delivers it.
Charging the sour-faced groom to hie as fast
As lagging fowls before the northern blast:
Speed me re than speed but dull and slow
sho deems: ^
Extremity still urgeth such Sctremes.
The homely villain court'sies to her low ;
And, blushing ou her, with a steadfast eye
Receives the scroll without or yea or no, 1340
And forth with bashful innocence doth hie.
But they whose guilt within their bosoms lie
Imagine every eye beholds their blame ;
For Lucrece thought he blnsh'd to see her
shame:
When, silly groom ! God wot, it was defect
Of spirit, life, and bold audacity.
Such harmless creatures have a true respect
To talk iu deeds, while others saucily
Promise more speed, but do it leisurely :
Even so this pattern of the worn-out age
Pawn'd honest looks, but laid no words to
' gage. 1351
His kindled duty kindled her mistrust.
That two red fires in both their faces blazed ;
She thought he blush'd, as knowing Tarquin's
lust.
And, blushing with him, wistlyon him gazed;
Her earnest eye did make him more amazed :
The more she saw the blood his cheeks re¬
plenish,
The more she thought he spied in her some
blemish.
But long she thinks till he return again.
And yet the duteous vas.sal scarce is gone.
The weary time she cannot entertain, 1361
For now 'tis stale to sigh, to weep, and groan:
So woe hath wearied woe, moan tired moan,
That she her plaints a little while doth stay.
Pausing for means to mourn some newer
way.
At last she calls to mind where hangs a piece
Of skilful painting, made for Priam's Troy :
Before the which is drawn the power of
Greece,
For Helen's, rape the city to destroy, 1369
Threatening cloud-kissing Ilion with amioy ;
Which the conceited painter drew so proud.
As heaven, it seem d, to kiss the turrets
bow'd.
A thousand lamentable objects there.
In scorn of nature, art gave lifeless life :
Many a dry drop seem'd a weeping tear.
Shed for tlie slaughter'd husband by the wife:
The red blood reek'd, to show the painter's
strife ;
And dying eyes gleam'd forth their ashy
lights.
Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights.
There might you see the laboring jnoner 1.380
Begrimed with sweat, and smeared all with
dust;
And from the towers of Troy there would ap¬
pear
The very eyes of men through loop-holes
thrust.
Gazing upon the Greeks with little lu.st :
Such sweet observance in this work was
had,
That one might see those far-off eyes look
sad.
In great commanders grace and majesty
I'ou might behold, triumphing in their faces ;
74 .
1170
Luaimcji..
In youth, quick beariug and dexterity ; '
And here and there the paiuter luterlaceg 1390
Pale cowarda, marching on with trembling
paces ;
Which heartless peasants did so well resem¬
ble,
That one would swear he saw them quake
and tremble.
In Ajax aud Ulysses, O, what art
Of physiognomy might one behold 1
The face of either cipher'd cither's heart;
Their face their manners most expressly told ;
In Ajax' eyes blunt rage and rigor roU'd ;
But the mild glance that sly Ulysses lent
Show'd deep regard and smiling govern¬
ment. 1400
There pleading might you see grave Nestor
stand.
As 'twere encouraging the Greeks to fight;
Making such sober action with his hand.
That it beguiled attention, charm'd the sight:
lu speech, it seem'd, his beard, all silver wTiite,
Wa,^'d up and down, and from his lips did
Thin winding breath, which purTd up to the
sky.
About him were a press of gaping faces.
Which seem'd to swallow up his sound advice;
■Ml jointly listening, but with several graces,
As if some mermaid did their ears entice, 1411
Some high, some low, the painter was so nice;
The scalps of many, almost hid behind,
'I'o jump up, higher seem'd, to mock the
mind.
Here one man's hand lean'd on another's head,
His nose being shadow'd by his neighbor's
ear ;
Here one being throng'd bears back, all bolTn
aud red ;
Another smother'd seems to pelt and swear ;
And in their rage such signs of rage they bear.
As, but for loss of Ne.stor's golden words,
It seem'd they would debate with angry
swords. 1421
For much imaginary work was there ;
Conceit deceitful, .so compact, so kind.
That for Achilles' image stood his spear.
Griped in an armed hand ; himself, behind,
W.as left unseen, save to the eye of mind ;
A hand, a foot, a face, a leg, a head.
Stood for the whole to be imagined.
And from the walls of strong-besieged Troy
When their brave hope, bold Hector, march'd
to field, 1430
Stood many 'Trojan mothers, sharing joy
To see their youthful sons bright weapons
wield ;
And to their hope they such odd action yield,
Tli.at through their light joy seemed to ap¬
pear.
Like bright things stain'd, a kind of heavy
fear.
And from the strand of Dardau, where they
fought,
To Simois reedy banks the red blood ran.
Whose waves to imitiite the battle sought
With swelling ridges ; and tlieir ranks began
To break upon the galled shore, and than 1440
Retire a^in, till, meeting greater ranks.
They join and shoot their foam at Simois'
banks.
, To this well-painted piece is Lucrece come.
To find a face where all distress is stelTd.
Many she sees where cares have carved some,
But none where all distress and dolor dwell'd,
Till she despairing Hecuba beheld.
Staring on Priam's wounds with her old
eveS;
Which bleeding under Pyrrhus' proud foot
lies.
In her the painter had anatomixcd 1450
Time's ruiu, beauty's wreck, and grim care's
reign ;
Her cheeks with chaps and wrinkles were dis¬
guised ;
Of what she was no semblance did remain ;
Her blue blood changed to black in every vein,
Wanting the spring that those shrunk pipes
had fed,
Show'd life hnprison'd in a body dead.
On this sad shadow Lucrece spends her eyes.
And shapes her sorrow to the beldam's woes.
Who nothing wants to answer her but cries.
And bitter words to ban her cruel foes : 1460
The painter was no god to lend her those ;
And therefore Lucrece swears he did her
wrong.
To give her so much grief and not a tongue.
' Poor instrument,' quoth she, ' without a
sound,
I'll tune thy woes with my lamentii^ tongue ;
And drop sweet balm "in Priam's painted
wound.
And rail on Pyrrhus that hath done him
wrong; [long ;
And with my tears quench Troy that burns so
And with my knife .scratch out the angry
eves 1469
Of alf the Greeks that are thine enemies.
' Show me the strumpet that began this stir.
That with my nails her beauty I may tear.
Thy heat of lust, fond Paris, did incur
This load of wrath that burning Troy doth
bear :
Thy eye kindled the fire tliat burneth here ;
And herein Troy, for trespass of thine eye.
The sire, the son, the dame, and daughter
die.
' Why should the private pleasure of some one
Become the public plague of many moe ?
Let sin, alone committed, light alone 1480
Upon his head that hath transgressed so ;
Let guiltless souls be freed from guilty woe ;
For one's offence why should so many fall,
To plague a private sin in general ? '
LUCRECE.
1171
I^, here weeps Hecuba, here Priain dies,
Here mauly Hector laiuts, here Tioilus
swouiids.
Here friend by friend in bloody channel lies,
And friend to friend gives unadvised wounds.
And one man's lust ti[iese many lives con-
foouds :
Had doting Priam check'd his son's desire,
Troy had been bright with fame and not
with fire.' 1401
Here feelingly she weeps Troy's painted woes:
For sorrow, like a heavy-hanging bell.
Once set on ringing, with his own weight goes;
Then little strength rings out the doleful knell;
So Lucrece, set a-work, sad tales dotli tell
To pencill'd pensiveness and color'd sorrow;
She lends them words, and she their looks
dotli borrow.
She throws her eyes about the liainting round,
And whom she finds forlorn she doth lament.
At last she sees a wretched image bound, 1501
That piteous looks to Phrygian shepherds lent:
His face, though full of cares, yet show'd con¬
tent ;
Onward to Troy with the blunt swains he
goes,
So mild, that Patience seem'd to scom his
woes.
In him the painter labor'd with his skill
To hide deceit, and give the harmless show
An humble gait, calm looks, eyes wailing still,
A brow unbent, that seem'd to welcome woo ;
Cheeks neither red nor pale, but mingled so
That blushing red no guilty instance gave,
Nor ashy pale the fear that false hearts
have.
But, like a constant and confirmed devil.
He entertiiin'd a show so seeming just.
And therein so ensconced his secret evil,
That jealousy itself could not mistrust
False-creeping craft and perjury should thrust
Into so bright a day such black-faced storms.
Or blot with hell-bom sin such saint-like
forms. 1519
Tlie well-skill'd worleman this mild image drew
For jierjured Sinon, whose enchanting story
The credulous old Mam after slew;
Whose words like wildfire burnt the shining
glory
Of rich-hnilt Ilion, that the skies were sorry.
And little stars shot from their fixed places,
When their glass fell wherein they view'd
their faces.
Tills picture she advisedly perused.
And chid tlie p.iinter fornis wondrous skill,
Saying, some shape in Slnon's was abused ;
So fair a form lodged not a mind so ill : 1530
And still on him she gazed ; and gazing still.
Such signs of truth in his plain face she
spied.
That ■jshe ?OH«lud?s the picture iva? belied.
' It cannot be,' quoth she, ' that so much
guile'—
She would have said' can lurk in such a look;'
But Tarquin's sliape came in her mind the
while.
And from her tongue ' can lurk' from ' can¬
not' took :
' It cannot be' she in that sense forsook, '
And turn'd it thus, ' It cannot be, I find,
But such a face should bear a wicked mind:
' For even as subtle Sinon here is ]>jiinted,1541
So sober-sad, so weary, and so mild.
As if with grief or travail he had fainted,
To me came Tarqnin armed ; so beguiled
With outward honesty, but yet defiled •
With inward vice: as Priam him did cherish,
So vdd I Tarquiu ; so my Troy did perish.
' Look, look, how listening Priam wets his
eyes.
To see those borrow'd tears that Sinon sheds!
Priam, why art thou old and yet not wise 1
For every tear he falls a Trojan bleeds : 1551
His eye drops fire, no water thence proceeds ;
Those round clear pearls of his, that move
thy pity,
. Are balls of quenchless fire to burn thy city.
' Such devils steal effects from lightlesshell;
For Sinon in his fire doth quake with cold.
And in that cold hot-buming fire doth dwell ;
These contraries such unity do hold.
Only to flatter fools and make them bold:
So Priam's trust false Slnon's tears doth ,
flatter, 1560
That he finds means to burn his Troy with
water.'
Here, all enraged, such passion her assails,
Tliat patience is quite beaten from her breast.
She tears the senseless Sinon with her nails,
Comiraring him to that unhappy guest
Whose deed hath made herself herself detest:
At last she smilingly with this gives o'er;
'Fool, fool!' quoth she, 'his wounds will
not be sore.'
Thus ebbs and flows the current of her sor¬
row.
And time doth weary time with her complain¬
ing. 1570
She looks for night, and then she longs for
morrow.
And both she thinks too long with her remain-
ing :
Short time seems long m sorrow s sharp sus-
fziining:
Though woe be heavy, yet it seldom sleeps;
And they that watch see time how slow it
creeps.
IVhich all this time hath overslipp'd her
thought,
That she with painted images hath spent;
Being from the feeling of her own grief
brought
By deep fsurunse of otliers' detriment;
1172
LUCRECE.
Losing her woes in shows of discontent. 1580
It easeth some, though none it ever cured,
To think their dolor others have endured.
But now the mindful messenger, come hack,
Brings home his lord and other compiny;
Wlio finds his Lucrece clad in mourning black:
And round about her tear-distained eye
Blue circles stream'd ; like rainbows in the
sky:
These water-galls in her dim element
Foretell new storms to those already spent.
Wliich when her sad-beholding husband saw,
Amazedly in her sad face he stares: 1591
Her eyes, though sod in tears, look'd red and
raw.
Her lively color kill'd with deadly cares.
He hath no power to ask her how she fares :
Both stood, like old acquaintance in a trance.
Met far from home, wondering each other's
chance.
At last he takes her by the bloodless hand.
And thus begins: ' What imcouth ill event
Hath thee bcfall'n, that thou dost trembling
stand 7
Sweet love, what spite hath thy fair color
spent 7 1600
Why art thou thus attired in discontent 7
Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness,
And tell thy grief, that we may give re¬
dress.'
Three time's with sighs she gives her sorrow
fire.
Ere once she can discharge one word of woe:
At length address'd to answer his desire.
She modestly prepares to let them know
Her honor is ta'en prisoner by the foe;
While Collatine and his consorted lords
With sad attention long to hear her words.
And now this pale swan in her watery nest
Begins the sad dirge of her certain ending ;
' Few words,' qnoth she, ' shall fit the tre.spass
best.
Where no excuse can give the fault amend¬
ing:
In me moe woes than words are now depeud-
iug ;
And my laments would be drawn out too
long.
To tell them all with one poor tired tongue.
' Then be this all the task it hath to say
Dear husband, in the interest of thy bed
A .stranger came, and on that pillow lay 1620
Where tliou was wont to rest thy weary head;
And what wrong else may be imagined
By foul enforcement might be done to me.
From that, alas, thy Lucrece is not free.
' For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight.
With sliiniug falchion in my chamber came
A creeping creature, with a flaming light,
And softly cried " Awake, tliou Rom.an dame.
And entertain my love j else lasting shame
On thee and thine this night I will inflict.
If thou my love's desire do contradict 1631
' " For some hard-favor'd groom pf thine,
quoth he,
" Unless thou yoke thy liking to my will,
ru murder straight, and then I'll slaughter
thee
And swear I found yon where you did fulfil
The loathsome act of lust, and so did kill
The lechers in their deed : this act will be
My fame and thy perpetual infamy.'*
' With tills, I did begin to start and cry;
And then against my heart he sets his sword.
Swearing, unless I took all patiently, 1641
I should not live to speak another word ;
So should my shame still rest upon record.
And never be foi^ot in mighty Rome
Th' adulterate death of Lucrece and her
groom.
' Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak.
And far the weaker with so strong a fear :
My bloody j udge forbade my tongue to speak;
No rightful plea might plead for justice there:
His scarlet lust came evidence to swear 1650
That my poor beauty had purloin'd his eyes;
And when tlie judge is robb'd the prisoner
dies*
' O, teach me how to make mine own excuse I
Or at the least this refnge let me find ;
'Though my gross blood be stain'd with this
abuse.
Immaculate and spotless is my mind ;
That was not forced ; that never was inclined
To acce.ssary yieldings, but still pure
Doth in her poison'd closet yet endure.'
Lo, here, tlie hoiieless merchant of this loss.
With head declmed, and voice damm'd up
with woe, 1661
With sad set eyes, and wretched arms across,
From lips new-waxen pale begins to blow
The grief away that stops his answer so :
But, wretched as he is, he strives in vain ;
What he breathes out his breath drinks
up agam.
As though an arch the violent roaring tide
Outruns the eye that doth behold his haste.
Yet in the eddy boundeth in his pride 1609
Back to the strait that forced him on so fast;
In rage sent out, recall'd in rage, being past:
Even so his sighs, his sorrows, make a saw.
To push grief on, and back tiie same grief
draw.
Which speechless woe of his poor she at-
tendeth.
And his untimely frenzy thus awaketh :
' Dear lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth
Another power ; no flood by raining slakcth.
My woe too sensible thy passion maketh
More feelmg-painful : let it then suffice
To drown one woe, one pair of weeping
eyes, 1^
LUCRECE.
1173
' And lor my sake,-when I miglit charm thee so
For she tliat was thy Lncrece, now attend me:
Be suddenly revenged on my foe,
Thine, mine, his own s suppose thoU dost de¬
fend nie [lend me
From what is past; the help that thou shalt
Comes all too late, yet let the traitor die ;
For sparing justice feeds iniquity.
' But ere I name him, yon fair lords,' quoth
she.
Speaking to those that came with Collatine,
' Shall plight your honorable faiths to me.
With swift pursuit to veuge this wrong of
mine ; 1691
For 'tis a meritorious fair design
To chase injustice with revengeful arras :
Knights, by their oaths," should right i)oor
ladies* harms.'
At this reque.st, with noble disposition
Each present lord began to promise aid,
As bound in knighthood to her imposition.
Longing to hear the hateful foe bewray'd.
But she, that yet her sad task hath not said,
The protestation stops. ' O, speak,' quoth
Me, 1700
' How may tliis forced stain be wiped from
me ?
' What is tlie quality of mine offence.
Being consti-ain'd with dreadful circumstance?
May ray pure mind with the foul act dispense.
My low-declined honor to advance ?
May any terras acquit me from this chance ?
The poison'd fountain clears itself again ; '
And why not I from this compelled stain ?'
With this, they all at once began to say, 1709
Her body's stain her mind untainted clears ;
While with a joyless smile she turns away
The face, tliat map which deep impression
bears
Of liard misfortune, carved in it with tears.
'No, no,' quoth .she, ' no dame, hereafter
living.
By my excuse shall claim excuse's giving.'
Here with a sigh, as if her heart would break,
She throws forth Tarquin's name ; ' He, he,'
she says,
But more than ' he' her poor tongue could not
speak ;
Till after many accents and delays, 1719
Untimely breathings, sick and short assays.
She utters this, ' He, he, fair lords, 'tis he.
That guides this hand to give this wound to
rae.'
Even here She sheathed in her harmless brea.st
A harmful knife, that tlience her soul un¬
sheathed :
That blow did bail it from the (Jpep unrest
Of that polluted prison where it breathed :
Her contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeath'd
Her winged sprite, and through her wounds
doth fly
Life's lasting date from cancell'd destiny.
Stone-still, astonisb'd with this deadly deed.
Stood Collatine and all his lordly crew; 1731
Till Lucrece' father, that beholds her bleed.
Himself on her self-slaughter'd body threw;
And from the purple fountain Brutus drew
The murderous knife, and, as it left the
place.
Her blood, in poor revenge, held it in chase;
And bubbling from her breast, it doth divide
In two slow rivers, that the crimson blood
Circles her body in on every side,
Who, like a late-sack'd island, vastly stood
Bare and unpeopled in this fearful flood. 1741
Some of her blood still pore and red re-
raain'd, i
And some look'd black, and that false Tar-
quin staiu'd.
About the mourning and congealed face
Of that black blood a watery rigol goes.
Which seems to weep ripon the tainted place :
xVnd ever since, as )iitying Lucrece' woes.
Corrupted blood some watery token shows ;
And blood untainted still doth red abide.
Blushing at that which is so putrified, 1750
'Daughter, dear daughter,' old Lucretius
cries,
' That life was mine which thou hast here de¬
prived.
If in the child the" father's image lies.
Where shall I live now Lucrece is unlived 7
Thou wast not to this end from me derived.
If children pre-decea.se progenitors.
We iire their offspring, and they none of
ours.
' Poor broken glass, I often did behold
In tliy sweet semblance my old age new born;
But now that fresh fair mirror, dim antl old.
Shows me a bare-boned death by time out¬
worn : 1761
O, from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn.
And shivered all the beauty of my glass.
That I no more can see what once I was 1
' O time, cease thou thy course and last no
longer.
If they surcease to be that should survive.
Shall "rotten death make conquest of the
stronger
And leave the faltering feeWe souls alive ?
The old bees die, the young possess their hive:
Then live, sweet Lucrece. live again and see
■Thy father die, and not thy father thee !'
By this, starts Collatine a.s from a dream,
Aud bids Lucretius give his sorrow jdace :
And then in Key-cold Lucrece' bleeding
stream
Ho falls, and bathes the pale fear in his face.
And counterfeits to die with her a space ;
Till manly shame bids him posse.'s his
breath
And lived to be revenged on her death.
The deep vexation of his inward soul 1779
Ilatli served a dumb arrest upon his tongtte ;
<174
lucrece:
Who, mad that sorrow should his use control,
Or keep him from heart-easing words so long,
Begins to talk ; but through his lips do throng
Weak words, so thick come in his poor
heart's aid,
That no man couid distinguish what he
said.
Yet sometime 'Tarquin' was pronounced
plain.
But tiirough his teeth, as if the name be tore.
This windy tempest, till it blow up rain.
Held back liis sorrow's tide, to make it more ;
At last it rains, and busy winds give o'er :
Then son and father weep with equal strife
Who should weep most, for daughter or for
wife.
The one doth call her his, the other his.
Yet neither may possess the claim they lay.
The father says ' She's mine.' ' O, mine she
is,'
Replies her husband : ' do not take away
My sorrow's interest ; let no mounier say
He weeps for her, for she was only mine.
And only must be wail'd by Colhitine.'
' O,' quoth Lucretius, ' I did give that life 1800
Which she too early and too late hath spill'd.'
' Woe, woe,' quoth Collatine, ' she was my
wife,
I owed her, and 'tis mine that she hath kill'd.'
' My daughter' and ' my wife' with clamors
fill'd
The dispersed air, who, holding Lucrece'
life,
Answer'd their cries, 'my daughter' and
' my wife.'
Brutus, who pluck'd the knife from Lucrece'
side.
Seeing such emulation in their woe.
Began to clotlie his wit in state and pride.
Burying in Lucrece' wound his folly's show.
He with tlie Romans was esteemed so 1811
As silly-jeering idiots are with kings.
For sportive words and uttering foolish
things :
But now he throws that shallow habit by.
Wherein deep policy did him disguise ;
And arm'd his long-hid wits advisedly,
To check the tears in fWlatinus' eyes.
'Tliou wronged lord of Rome,' quotb he^
' arise:
Let my unsounded self, supposed a fool.
Now set thy long-experieiicM wit to school
' Why, Collatine, is woe the cure for woe ?
Do wounds help wounds, or grief help griev*
ous deeds ?
Is it revenge to give thyself a bl6w .
For his foul act by whom tliy fair wife bleeds?
Such childish humor from weak mmds pro>
ceeds:
Thy wretched wife mistook the matter so,
'To slay herself, that should have slain her
foe.
' Courageous Roman, do not steep thy heart
In such relenting dew of lamentations ; 1829
But kneel with me and help to bear thy part.
To rouse our Roman gods with invocations.
That they will suffer tliese abominations.
Since Rome herself in them doth stand dis¬
graced.
By <n:r strong arms from forth her fair
streets chased.
' Now, by the Capitol that we adore, '
And by this chaste blood so unjustly stain'd,'
By heaven's lair sun that breeds the fat earth's
store.
By all our country rights in Rome maintain'd.
And by chaste Lucrece' soul that late com-
plain'd 1839
. Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody knife.
We will revenge the death of this true wife.'
This said, he struck his hand upon his breast.
And kiss'd tlie fatal knife, to end his vow ;
And to his protestation urged the rest.
Who, wondering at him, did his words allow :
Then jointly to the ground their knees they
bow ;
And that deep vow, which Brutus made be¬
fore.
He doth again repeat, and that tliey swore.
When they had sworn to this advised doom.
They did conclude to bear dead Lucrece
thence; 1850
To show her bleeding body thorough Rome,
And so to publish Tarauin's foul offence ;
Which being done with speedy diligence.
The Boinaiis plausibly did give consent
To Tarquin's everlasting bmishment
THE PASSIONA.TE PHHEIM
INTRODUCTION.
The Passionate Pilgrim was published bj WiUiam Jaggard, in 1699. It was a piratical bookseller'K
venture, and althou^ the popular name of Shakespeare was put upon the title-page the little
volume really consisted of a collection from several authors. Shakespeare, as Heywood tells us, w.is
much offended when Jaggard, in 1612, republished the volume, with added poems of Heywood, and
with Shakespeare's name upon the title-page : a cancel of the title-page was thereupon made, and
one printed without any author's name. Of the collection, Nos. I., II., III., V., Xil., and XVII., are
probably Shakespeare's; Nos. IV., VI., VII., IX., and XIX. are possibly Shakespeare's; and the rest
are certainly not Shakespeare's. After the fifteenth poem in the original collection occurs a second
title—Sonnets to Sundry Notes of Music,
i.
When my love swears that she is made of
truth,
I do believe her, though I know she iies.
That she miglit think me some untutor'd
youth.
Unskilful in the world's false forgeries.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young.
Although I know my years be jjast the best,
I smiling credit her false-speaking tongue,
Outfacing faults in love with love's ill rest.
But wherefore says ray love that she is young?
And wherefore say not I that I am old ? ■ 10
O, love's best habit is a soothing tongue.
And age, in love, loves not to have years told.
Therefore I'll lie with love, and love with me.
Since that our faults in love thus smother'd
be.
ii.
Two loves I have, of comfort and despair.
That like two spirits do suggest me still;
My better angel is a man right fair^
My worser spirit a woman color'd ill.
To win me soon to hell, my female evil
Tempteth my better angel from my side, 20
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,
Wooing his purity with her fair pride.
And whether thait my angel be tum'd fiend.
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell :
For being both to me, both to each friend,
I guess one angel in another's hell;
The truth I shall not know, but live in doubt,
'Till my bad angel fire my good one out
iii.
Did not the heavenly rhetoric^f thine eye,
'Gainst whom the world could not hold argu¬
ment, 30
Persuade ray heart to this false perjury ?
Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment.
A woman I forswore ; but I will prove.
Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee ;
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love ;
Thy grace being gaiu'd cures all disgrace in
me.
My vow was breath, and breath a vapor is ;
Then, thou fair sun, that on this earth doth
shine.
Exhale this vapor vow ; in thee it is :
If broken, then it is no fault of mine. 40
If by me broke, what fool is not so wise
To break an oath, to win a paradise ?
iv.
Sweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook
With young Adoni.'S, lovely, fresh, and green.
Did court the lad with many a lovely look.
Such looks as none could look but beauty's
queen.
She told him stories to delight his ear ;
She showed him favors to idlure his eye;
'To win his heart, she touch'd him here and
there,—
Touches so soft still conquer chastitj'. 50
But whether unripe years did want conceit.
Or he refused to take her figured proffer.
The tender nibbler would not touch the bait,
But smile and jest at every gentle offer :
Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and
toward :
He rose and ran away ; ah, fool too fro-
ward !
v.
If love make me forsworn, how shall I sweat
I to love ?
O never faith could hold, if not to beauty
vow'd :
Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll con¬
stant prove ;
Those thoughts, to me like oaks, to vhee like
osiers bow'd. 50
(1175)
1176
THE PASSlOxKATE PILGRIM.
his bias leaves, and wakes Ids hook thine
eyes,
Whei-e aU tliose nleasujes live that art can
CompiiehetKl. I T i ' I ' I
I£ knowledge he the itiark, toknowthtee ihall
suiiice ;
Well learned is that tongue that well can thee
commend ;
All ignorant that soul that sees thee without
wonder ;
Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts
admire :
Thine eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice
his dreadful thunder.
Which, not to anger bent, is music and sweet
fire.
Celestial as thou art, 0 do not love that
wrong.
To sing heaven's praise with such an earthly :
tongue. 70
VI.
Scarce had the sun dried np the dewy morn,
And scarce the herd gone to the hedge lor
shade.
When Cytherea, all in love forlorn,
A longing tarrianCe for Adonis made
Under an o.sier growing hy a brook,"
A brook where Adon used to cool his spleen :
Hot was the day ; she hotter that did look
For his approach, that often tliere had been.
Anon he comes, and throws his mantle by.
And stood stark naked on the brook's green
brim: 80
The snn look'd on the world with glorious eye,
Tkt not so wistly as this queen on him.
He, spying her, bounced in, whereas he
stood :
' O Jove,' quoth she, ' why was not I a
flood !'
VII.
Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle ;
Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty ; '
Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle;
Softer than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty:
A lily pale, wiWi damask dye to grace her.
None fairer, nor none falser to deface her.
Her lips to mine how often hath she joined.
Between each kiss her oaths of true love
swearing 1
How many tales to please me hath she coined,
Hreading my love, the loss thereof still Rear¬
ing 1
Yet in the midst of all her pure pretestings.
Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were
jestings.
She burn'd with love, as straw with fire
flameth ;
She burn'd out lovoj as soon as straw out-
burneth ;
She framed the love, and yet she foil'd the
framing ;
She bade love last, and yet she fell a^tnruiug.
Was this a lover, or a lecher whether ? 101
Bad in the best, though excellent in neither.
VIII.
If music and sweet poetry agree.
As they mu.st needs, the sister and the brother,
Theij must ihe Jovp be gieat'twi.xl tlieq and
me, ' ' g t i
Because thou lovest the one, and I the other.
Uowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly
touch
Upon the lute doth ravish human sense ;
Si)en.set to me, whose deep conceit is such
As, passing all conceit, needs no defence. 110
Thou lovest to heai" the sweet melodious sound
Tiiat' Phoebus' lute, the queen of music,
makes ;
And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd ,
When as himself to singing he betakes. ,
One god is god,of both, as poets feign ;
One knight loves both, and both in thee re¬
main.
IX.
Fair was the morn when the fair queen of
love,
• *«*«*«
Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove.
For Adon's sake, a youngster proud and wild;
Her stand she takes upon a steei)-up hill: 121
Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds ;
She, .silly queen, with more than love's good
will.
Forbade the boy he should not jiass those
grounds :
' Once," quotii she, ' did I see a fair sweet
youth
Here in these brakes deep-wounded with, a
boar.
Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth !
See, in my thigh,' quoth she, ' here was the
sore.'
She showed hem: he saw more wounds than
• one.
And blushing fled, and left her all alone. 130
X.
Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd,
soon vaded,
Pluck'd in the bud, and vaded in the spring !
Bright orient pearl, alack, too timely Shaded I
Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp
sting !
Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree.
And falls, through wind, before the fall
should be.
I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have ,
For why thou left'st me nothing in thy will;
And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave;
For why 1 craved nothing of thee still: 140
O yes, dear friend, I pai-dou crave of thee.
Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.
XI.
Venus, with young Adonis sitting by her
Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him :
She told the yoimgling how god Mars did try
her.
And as he fell to her, so fell she to him.
THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM.
' Even -thiw/ -quoth she, 'the warlike god
eiubraeed me,'
And then she clipp'd Adonis in her arms ^
' Even thus,''quoth lAe, ' the warlike god un¬
laced me,' 149
As if the boy should use like loving charms ;
' Eventlius,' quoth she,' he seiaed on my lips,'
And with her lips on his did act the seizure :
And as she fetched breath, away he skips,
And would not take her meaning nor her
' pleasure.
All, that I had my lady at this bay.
To kiss and clip me till I run away !
xii. i
Crabbed age and yonth cannot live together : <
Youth is full of pleasance, age is full of care ;
Youth like summer morn, age like winter
weather 5.
Youth like summer lirave, age like winter
bare. 1(10
Youth is fuii of sport, a^e's breath is short;
Youth is nimble, age is lame ;
Youth is hot and bold, age is weak and cold ;
Youth is wild, and age is fcime.
Age, I do abhor thee ; youth, I do adore thee;
0, my love, my love is young ! •
Age, 1 do defy thee : O, sweet sheplierd, hie
thee, I
For methinks thou stay'st too long,
xiii.
Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good ;
A shining gloss that vadeth suddenly ; ' 170
A flower that dies when first it gins to bud ;
A brittle glass that's broken presently;
A doubtful good, a gloss, a gla.ss, a flower, .
Lo.st, vaded, broken, dead within an hour.
And as goods lost are seld or never found.
As vaded gioss no rubbing will refresh,
As'flowers dead lie wither'd on the ground.
As broken glass no cement can redress.
So beauty blemish'd once's for ever lost,
In spite of physi-.;, painting, pain and cost.
[xvi.]
It was a lording's daughter, the fairest one of
three.
That liked of her master as well as well might
be.
Till looking on an Englishman, the fair'st that
eye could see.
Her fancy fell a-turnihg.
Long was the combat doubtful that love with
love did fight.
To leave the master ioveles% or kiU the gal¬
lant knight;
To put ill practice either, alas, it was a spite
Unto tlie silly damsel !
But one must be Refused ; more mickle was
the pain
, xiv.
' Good night, good rest. Ah, neither be my
share : : 181
She bade good night that kept my rest away ;
And daS'd me to a cabin hang'd with care.
To descant on the doubts of my decay. ,
' Farewelij' quoth she, 'andcome again to¬
morrow :' [row.
Fare well I could not, for I supp'd with sor-
• Yet at ray parting sweetly did she smile,
In scorn orfriendship, nill I construe whether:
'T may be, she joy'd to jest at my exile,
'T may be, again to make me wander thither :
' Wander,' a word for shadows like myself,
I As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.
I Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east I
My heart doth charge the watch ; the morn¬
ing rise
' Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest.
Not daring trust the office of mine eyes.
While Philomela sits and sings, I sf' end
mark.
And wish her lays were tuned like the lark;
For she doth Welcome daylight with her ditty.
And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night;
The night so pack'd, I post unto my pretty ;
Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished
sight ;
Sorrow changed to solace, solace mix'd with
sorrow ; [morrow.
For why, she sigli'd and bade me come to-
Were I with her, the night would post too
soon ;
But now are minutes added to the hours ;
To spite me now, each minute seems a moon ;
Yet not for me, shine sun to sqccor flowers !
Pack night, peep day ; good day, of night
now borrow :
Short, night, to-night, and length thyself to¬
morrow. 210
OF MUSIC.
That nothing could be used to turn them both
to gain, 2"j0
For of the two the trusty knight was wounded
with disdain :
Alas, she could not help it 1
Thus art with arms contending was victor of
the day.
Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid
away :
Then, lullaby, the learned man hath got the
lady gay ;
For now my song is ended.
xvii.
On a day, alack the day !
Love, whose month was ever May
SONI^ETS TO SUNDRY NOTES
THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM.
3178
Spied a blossom passing fair,
Flaying in the wanton air: 230
Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unseen, gan passage find ;
That the lover, sick to death,
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath,
• Air,' quoth he, ' thy cheeks may blow ;
Air, would I might triumph so !
But, alas ! my hand hath sworn
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn ^
Vow, alack ! for youth unmeet ;
Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet. 210
Thou for whom Jove would swear
Juno but an Ethiope were ;
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.*
[xviil]
My flocks feed not.
My ewes breed not.
My rams speed not.
All is amiss:
Love's denying.
Faith's defying, 260
Heart's renying.
Causer of this.
All my merry jigs are quite forgot.
All my lady's love is lost, God wot:
Where her faith was firmly fiz'd in love.
There a nay is placed without remove.
One siiiy cross
Wrought ali my loss ;
0 frowning Fortune, cursed, fickle
dame!
For now I see 260
Inconstancy
More in women than in men remain.
fn black mourn I,
All fears scorn I,
Love hath forlorn me,
Living in thrall:
Heart is bleeding.
All help needing,
0 cruel speeding,
Fraughted with gall. 270
My shepherd's pipe can sound no deal;
My wel^r's bell ring^ doleful knell ;
My curtail dog, that wont to have play'd.
Plays not at all, but seems afraid ;
My sighs so deep
Procure to weep.
In howling wise, to see my doleful
plight.
How sighs resound
Through heartless ground.
Like a thousand vanquish'd men in
bloody fight! 280
Clear wells spring not.
Sweet birds sing not.
Green plants bring not
Forth their dye ^
Herds stand weeping,
Flocks all sleeping.
Nymphs back peeping
Fearfully;
All our pleasure known to ns poor swato.
All our merry meetings on the piains, 290
All oar evenmg sport from as is fied.
All our love is lost, for Love is dead.
Farewell, sweet la%,
Tl^ like ne'er was
For a sweet content, the cause of all my
moan: /
Poor Corydon
Must live alone ;
Other help for him I see that there is
none.
xix.
When as thine eye hath chose the dame.
And stall'd the deer that tbon shouldst strike.
Let reason rule things worthy blame, 301
fAs well as fancy partial mi^t:
Take counsel of some wiser head.
Neither too young nor yet nnwed.
And when thou comest thy tale to tell.
Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk.
Lest she some subtle practice smell,—
A cripple soon can find a halt
But plainly say thou lovest her well.
And set thy person forth to sell. 310
What though her frowning brows be bent.
Her cloudy looks will calm ere night:
And then too late she will repent
That thus dissembled her delight;
And twice desire, ere it be day.
That which with scorn she put away.
What though she strive to try her strength.
And ban and brawl, and say thee nay.
Her feeble force will yield at length.
When craft hath taught her thus to say, 320
' Had women been so strong as men.
In faith, you had not had it then.'
And to her will frame all thy ways ;
Spare not to spend, and chiefly there
Where thy desert may merit praise.
By ringing in thy lady's ear:
'The strongest castle, tower, smd town,
The golden bullet b^ts it down.
Serve always with assured trust,
And in thy suit be humble true ; 330
Unless thy lady prove unjust.
Press never thou to choose anew:
When time shall serve, be thou not slack
To proffer, though she put thee back.
The wiles and guiles that women work.
Dissembled with an outward show.
The tricks and toys that in them lurk.
The cock that treads them shall not know.
Have you not heard it said full oft,
A woman's nay doth stand for nought ? 340
IThink women still to strive with men.
To sin and never for to saint:
There is no heaven, by holy then.
When time with age doth uiem attaint.
Were kisses all the joys jn bed.
One woman would another wed.
TUE PASSIONATE PILGRIM.
im
But, soft! enough, too much, I fear ;
Lest that my mistress hear my song.
She will not stick to round me i' the ear.
To teach my tongue to be so long: « 350
Yet will she blush, here be It siild,
To hear her secrets so bewray'd.
[xx.]
Live with me, and be my love.
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
And all the craggy mountains yields.
There will we sit upon the rocks.
And see the shepherds feed their flocks.
By shallow rivers, by whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals. 360
There will I make thee a bed of roses,
With a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle.
A belt of straw and ivy buds.
With coral clasps and amber studs ;
And if tliese pleasures may thee move.
Then live with me and be ray love.
Love's Answer.
If that the world and love were young.
And truth in every shepherd's tongue, 370
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy love.
[xxi.]
As it fell upon a day
In the merry month of May,
Sitting in a pleasant shade
Which a grove of myrtles made.
Beasts did leap, and birds did sing.
Trees did grow, and plants did spring ;
Every thing did banish moan.
Save the nightingale alone: 380
She, poor bird, as all forlorn.
Lean d her breast up-till a thwo.
And there sung the dolefnll'st ditty.
That to hear it was great pity:
' Fie, fle, fle,' now would she cry ;
' Tereu, tereu!' by and by ;
That to hear her so complain.
Scarce I could from tears refrain ;
For her griefs, so lively shown.
Made me thhilc upon mine own. 390
Ah, thought I, thou mourn'st in vain !
None takes pity on thy pain :
Senseless trees they cannot hear thee ;
Ruthless beasts they will not cheer thee
King Paudion he is dead ;
All thy friends are lapp'd in lead ;
All thy fellow birds do sing.
Careless of thy sorrowing.
Even so, poor bird, like thee.
None alive will pity me. ■ 1 400
Whilst as fickle Fortune smiled,
Thou and I were both beguiled.
Every one that flatters thee
Is no friend in misery.
Words are easy, like the wind ;
Faithful friends are hard to find :
Every man will be thy friend
Wliilst thou hast wherewith to spend ;
But if store of crowns be scant.
No roan will supply thy want. 410
If that one be prodigal.
Bountiful they will him call.
And with such-like flattering,
' Pity but he were a king ;'
If he' be addict to vice.
Quickly him they will entice ;
If to women he be bent.
They have at commandement: '
But if Fortiuie once do frown.
Then farewell his great renown ; 420
They that fawn'd on him before
Use his company no more.
He that is thy friend indeed.
He will help thee m thy need:
If thou sorrow, he wiil weep ; I
If thou wake, ho cannot sleep ;
Thus of every grief in heart
He with thee doth bear a part.
These are certain signs to know
Faithful friend from flattering foe. 430
SONNETS.
(written between 1595-1606.) ^
INTRODUCTION.
The Sonnets of Shakespeare snggest, perhaps, the most difficult questioDB in Shakespearean
criticism. In 1609 appeared these poems in a quarto (published almost certainly without the
author's sanction), which also contained A Lover's Complaint, The publisher, Thomas Thorpe,
dedicated them "To the onlie begetter of these ensuing sonnets, Mr. W. H." Does " begetter'
mean the person who inspired tbein and so brought them into existence, or only the obtainer of the
iSonnets for Thorpe'? Probably the former. Andwh JsMr. W. H. ? it is clear from sonnet 135
that the Christian-name of Shakespeare's friend to whom the first 126 sonnets were addressed was
William. But what William'! There is not even an approach to certainty in any answer offered to
this question. Some have supposed that W. H. is- a blind to conceal and yet express the initials
H. W. i.e. Henry Wi'iothesley,Earl of Southampton, Shakespeare's patron. Dthershold that William
Herberli, Earl of Pembroke (to whom, together with his brother, the first folio was dedicated), is
here addressed. When were the Sonnets written ? We know that Meres in 1598 spoke of Shake¬
speare's " sugred sonnets among his private friends," and that in 1699 two (138 and 144) were printed
in The Passionate Pilgrim, Some, to judge by their style, seem to belong to the lime when Itomeo
and Juliet was written. Others—as for example 66-74—echo the sadder tone whidi is heard in
Hamlet and Measure for Measure. The writing of the Sonnets certainly extended over a consider¬
able period of time, at least three years (see 104), and perhaps a longer period. They all, probably,
lie somewhere between 1595 and 1605. The Sonnets consist of two series, the first (from 1 to 126)
addressed to a young man; the other (from 127 to 154) addressed to or referring to a woman. But
both series allude to events which connect the two persons with one another and with Shakespeare.
The young friend, whom Shakespeare loved with a fond idolatry, was beautiful, clever, rich in the
gifts of fortune, and of high rank., The woman was of stained character, false to her husband, the
reverse of beautiful, dark-eyed, pale-faced, a musician, possessed of a strange power of attraction. To
her fascination Shakespeare yielded himself, and in his absence she laid her snares for Shakespeare's
fiiei.d and won him. Hence a coldness, estrangement, and for some time a complete severance
between Shakespeare and his friend, after a time followed by acknowledgment of fault on both
sides and a complete reconciliation. So the Sonnets must be interpreted if we accept the natural
sense they seem to bear. But several critics have held that they are either altogether of an ideal
sature or allegorical, or were written in part by Shakespeare not for himself but for the use d
•yhers. The natural sense, however, is probably the true one. , ■
TO THE ONLIE BEGETTER OP
THESE INSUING SONNETS
MR. W. H. ALL HAPPINESSB
AND THAT ETERNinX
PROMISED BY
OUR EVER-LIVING POET
WISHETH
THE WELL-WISHING
ADVENTURER IN
SETTING
FORTH
T. T.
1.
From fairest creatures we desire increase.
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease.
His tender heir might bear his memory :
But thoa, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
(llSOj
Feed'st thy light'st flame with self-snbstantia)
fuel,
Making a famine where abnndanee lies,
ThyseS thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou that art no# the world's fresh ovnie
ment
SONNETS.
1181
And qniy herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content
And, tender churl, makest waste in uiggard-
ing.
Ity tlie world, or else this glutton be,
o eat the world's due, by tlie grave apd
thee.
II.
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow.
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field.
Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now.
Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held :
Then being, ask'd where all tliy beauty lies.
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days.
To say, within tliiue own deep-.sunkeu ^yes.
Were an all-eatinb shame and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserved thy beauty's,
use.
It thou couldst answer ' This fair child of
miue
Shall sura my count and make my old excuse,'
Proving his beauty by succession thine 1
This were to be new made when thou art
old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st
it cold.
ni.
Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou view-
est
Now is the time that face should form an¬
other ;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest.
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some
mother. •
For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry ?
Or who is lie so fond will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity ?
Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime :
So thou through windows of thine age shall
see
Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time.
But if thou live, rememlierd not to be.
Die single, and thine image dies witli thee.
IV.
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thyself thy hcanty's legacy ?
Nature's bequest gives nothing but doth lend.
And being frank she lends to those are free.
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
The bounteous largess given thee to give 7
Profitle.ss usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live ?
For having traffic with thyself alone, • _
Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive.
Then how/wlien nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit canst thon leave ?
Thy unused beauty must be tomb'd with
thee, ■ ♦
Which, used, lives th' executor to be.
V.
Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell.
Will play the tyrants to the very same
And that unfair which fairly doth excel;
For never-resting time leads summer on
To hideous winter and confounds him there ;
Sap clieck'd with frost and lusty leaves quite
gone.
Beauty o'ersnow'd and bareness every where*
Then, were nut summer's distillation left,
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass.
Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft.
Nor it nor no remembrance what it was;
But flowers distill'd, though they with
winter meet,
Leese but tlieir show *, their substance still
lives sweet.
VL '
Then let not winter's ragged hand deface
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd;
Make sweet some vialtreasure thou some
place
With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd.
That use is not forbidden usury
Which happies tho.se that pay the willing
loan ;
That's for thyself to breed another thee,
■ Or ten times happier, be it ten for one ;
Ten times thyself were happier than thon art,
If ten of thine ten times refigured thee :
Then what could deatli do, if thou shouMst
depart,
Leaving thee living in posterity ?
Be not self-wili'd, for thou art much too
fair
To be death's conquest and make w'orms
thine heir.
ni.
Lo ! in the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
Serving with looks his .sacred majestv ;
And having clirab'd the steep-up heavenly
hill.
Resembling strong youth in his middle age.
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still.
Attending on his golden pilgrimage ;
. But when from highmost pitch, with weary
car,
Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day.
The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are
From his low tract and look another way : .
So thou, thyself out-going in thy noon,
Uulook'd on diest, unless thou get a son,
VIII.
Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly ?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in
joy-
, Why lovest thou that which thou receivest
not gladly,
: Or else receivest with pleasure thine annoy ?
If the true concord of well-tuned souink,
By unions married, do offend thine ear.
They do but sweetly .cliide thee, who eon-
' founds
1182
SONNETS.
In singleness the parts that thou shouldst
bear.
Mark how one string, sweet husband to an¬
other,
Strikes each in each by mutnal ordering.
Resembling sire and child and happy mother
Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing :
Whose speechless song, being many, seem¬
ing one.
Sings this to thee : ' thou single wilt prove
none.'
IX.
is it for fear to wet a widow's eye
That thou consumest thyself in single life ?
Ah ! if thou issueless shalt hap to die.
The world will wail thee, like a makeless
wife ;
The world will be thy widow and still weep
That thou no form of thee hast left behind.
When every private widow well may keep
By children's eyes her husband's shaiie in
mind.
Look, what an unthrift in the world doth
spend
Shifts but his plaoe, for still the world enjoys
it;
But beauty's waste bath in the world an end.
And kept unused, the user so destroys it.
No love toward others in that bosom sits
That on himself such murderous sliame
commits.
X.
For shame! deny that thou bear'st love to
any.
Who for thyself art so unprovident.
Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many.
But that thou none lovest is most evident;
For thou art so imssess'd with murderous hate
That 'gainst thyself thou stick'st not to con¬
spire,
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate
Which to repair should be thy chief desire.
O, change thy thought, that I may change
my mind
Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love ?
Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind.
Or to thyself at least kind-heai-ted prove:
Make thee another self, for love of me,
That beauty still may live in thine or thee.
XI.
As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow-
est
In one of thine, from that which thou de-
partest;
And that fresh blood which yoimgly thou be-
stowest
Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth
convertest.
Herein lives wisdom, beauty and increase :
Without this, folly, age and cold decay :
If all were minded so, the times should cease
And threescore year would make the world
away.
Let those whom Nature hath not made for
store.
Harsh featureless and rude, barrenly perish :
Inok, whom she best endow'd she gave the
more ;
Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty
cherish :
She carved thee for her seal, and meant
thereby
Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy
die.
XII.
When I do count the clock that tells the time.
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;
When 1 behold the violet past prime.
And sable curls all silver'd o'er with white ;
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd.
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves
Borne on the bier with white and bristly
beard,
Tlien of thy beauty do I question make.
That thou among the wastes of time must go.
Since sweets and beauties do themselves for¬
sake
And die as fast as they see others grow ;
And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make
defence
Save breed, to brave him when he takes
thee hence.
XIII.
O, that you were yourself 1 but, love, you are
No longer yours than you yourself here live :
Against this coming end you should prepare.
And your sweet semblance to some other
give. , Hease
So should that beauty which you hold in
Find no determination : then you were
Yourself again after yourself's decease.
When your sweet issue your sweet form
should bear.
Who lets so fair a bouse.fall to decay,
Which husbandry in honor might umold
Against the stonny gusts of winter s day
And barren rage of death's eternal cold ?
O, none but uiithrifts ! Dear my love, yon
know
Y'ou had a father: let your son say so.
XIV.
Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck ;
And yet methiiiks I have astronomy,
But not to tell of good or evil luch,
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality ;
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell.
Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind.
Or say with princes if it shall go well,
By oft predict that I in heav.eii find ;
But from thine e'^es my knowledge I derive.
And, constant stars, in them I read such art
As truth and beauty shall together thrive.
If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert;
Or else of thee this I prognosticate :
'Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and
date
SONNETS.
1188
XV.
When I consider every thing that groirs
Holds in perfection but a little moment.
That this huge stage presenteth noaj^tbat
shows
Whereon the stars in secret inflnence com¬
ment ;
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheered and check'd even by the sell-same
sky.
Taunt in their youthful sap, at height de¬
crease,
And'wear their brave state out of memory ;
Tlien the conceit of tliis inconstant stay
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay,
» change your day of youth to sullied night;
And all in war with Time for love of you,
As he takes from you, I engraft you new.
•SVL
But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Make w., upon this bloody tyrant. Time ?
And fortify yourself h vour decay
With means more blessed than my barren
rhyme ?
Now stand you on the top of happy hours,
And many maiden gardens yet unset
With virtuous wish would bear your living
flowers,
Much liker than your painted counterfeit:
So should the lines of life that life repair.
Which tiiis, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen,
Neither in inward worth nor outwani fair.
Can make you live yourself in eyes of men.
To give away yourself keeps yourself still.
And you must live, drawn by your own
sweet skill.
xvn.
Wlio will believe my verse in time to come.
If it were fill'd with your most high desert" ?
Tliough yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life and shows not half
your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes
And in fresh numbers number all your
graces.
The age to come would say ' This poet lies ;
Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly
faces.'
So should my papers yellow'd with their age
Be scom'd like old men of less truth titan
tongue.
And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage
And stretched metre of an antique song:
But were some child of yours alive that
time.
You should live twice; in it and in my
rhyme.
xvtnAl
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day ?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate :
tough winds do shiue tite darling buds of
Ma^
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven sliiues.
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd ;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course uu-
trimm'd ;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his
shade.
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see.
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.
XIX.
Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's pawS,
And make the earth devour her own sweet
brood ;
Pluck the keen teeth from tlie fierce tiger's
jaws.
And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood;
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets.
And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,
To the wide world and all her fading sweets ;
But I forbid thee one most heinous crime : ,
O, carve not with thy hours my love's fair
brow.
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique
pen ;
Him iu thy course untainted do allow
For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.
Yet, do thy worst, old Time : despite thy
wrong.
My love sliall in my verse ever live young.
XX.
A woman's face with Nature's own hand
painted
Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion;
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shiftiug change, as is false women's
fashion ;
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in
rolling.
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth ;
A man iu hue, all ' hues' m his controlling.
Which steals men's eyes and women's souls
amazeth.
And fur a woman wert thou first created ;
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a^ot-
ing.
And by addition me of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
But since she prick'd thee out for women's
pleasure,
Mine be thy love and thy love's use their
treasure.
XXI.
So is it not with metas with that Muse
Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse.
Who heaven itself for ornament doth use
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse ;
Making a conplement of proud compare.
With sun and moon, with earth and sea's r^'
gems,
1184
SONNETS.
With April's first-bora flowers, and all things
rare
That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems,
O, let me, true in love, but truly write,
Aud then believe me, my love is as fair
As any mother's cliild, though not so bright
As those gold caudles fix'd in heaven's air;
Let them say more that like of hearsay
well;
I will not praise that purpose not to sell,
xxu, ■
My glass shall not persuade me I am old,
So long as youth and thou are of one date ;
But when in tliee time's furrows I behold.
Then look I death my days should expiate.
For all that beauty that doth cover thee
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart.
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me:
How can I then be elder than thou art ?
O, therefore, love, be of thyself so wary
As I, not for myself, but for thee will;,
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so ch?ry
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.
Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain;
Thou gavest me thine, not to give back again,
XXIII.
As an imperfect actor on the stage
Who with his fear is put besides his part.
Or some fierce thing replete with too much
rage.
Whose strength's abundance weakens*his own
heart.
So T, for fear of trust, forget to say
Tlie perfect ceremony of love's rite.
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
O'ercharged with burden of mine own love's
might.
O, let my books be then the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast.
Who plead for love and look for recompense
More than that tongue that more hath more
express'd.
O, learn to read what silent love hath writ:
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.
XXIV.
Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath
stell'd
Thy beauty's fonn in table of my heart;
My body is the frame wherein 'tis held.
And perspective it is best painter's art.
For through the painter must you see his skill.
To find where your true image pictured lies ;
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still.
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes.
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have
done :
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine
for me [snn
Are windows to ray byeast, where-through the
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee ;
Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their
art ;
They draw,but what they see, knoiv uot the
heart. '
XXV.
Let those who are in favor with their stars
Of public honor and proud titles bowtv
Whilst I, whom fortune of such tri'imtdi bars,
Unlook'd for ioy in that 1 honor most,
Great princes favorites thmr fair leaves spread
But as the marigold at the sun's eye.
And in themselves their pride lies buried,
For at a frown they in their glory die.
The painful warrior famoused for fight.
After a thousand victories once foil'd,
Is from the book of honor razed quite,
And all tlie rest foigot for which he toil'd:
Then happy I, that love aud am beloved
Where I may not remove nor be removed
XXVI.
Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage •
Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit.
To thee I send this written embassage.
To witness duty, not to show my wit ;
Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine
May make seem bare, in wgntiug words to
show it.
But that I hope some good conceit of tliine
In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow
it;
Till whatsoever star that guides my moving
Points on me graciously with fair aspect
And puts apparel on ray tattcr'd loving,
To show me worthy of thy swset respect;
Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee.
Till then not show my head where tbou
mayst prove me.
XXVII.
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed.
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired ;
But then begins a journey in my head.
To work my mind, when body's work's ex¬
pired :
For then my thoughts, from far where I, abide.
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee.
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide.
Looking on darkness which the blind do see
Save that my soul's imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view.
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night.
Makes black uiglit beaut^us aud h.er old face
new.
Lo ! thus, by day my limbs, by night my
mind.
Fur thee aud for myself no quiet find. ,
xxviu.
How can I then retuni m happy plight, ,
That am debarr'd the benefit of rest ? <
When day's oppression is not eased by night.
But day by night, and uightby day, oppressed ?
And each, though enemies to either's reign.
Do in consent shake hands to torture me ;
The one by toil, the other to complain
How far I toil, still farther off from thee.
1 tell the day, to please him thoit art bright '
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the
heaven: ' <'
iSONNETS.
118,-;
t>o flatter I the s\Vart-coini>lexiou'd night,
When sparltliug stars twire not thou gild'st the
even.
But chiy doth aaily draw my sorrows longer
And night doth nightly make grief's strength
seem stronger,
XXIX.
When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
1 ail alone beweep my outcast state
.\nd trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate.
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Fe;itured like him, like him with friends pos-
sess'd.
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising.
Haply I think on thee, and then my state.
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's
gate ;
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth
brings
That then 1 scorn to change my state with
kings. '
XXX.
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembi-ance of things past,
I sigh the hick of many a thing I sought.
And with old woes new wail my dear time's
waste :
Then can I drown an eye,' unu.sed to flow.
For i)recious friends hid in death's dateless
night.
And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd
woe.
And moan the expense of many a vanish'd
sight;
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone.
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan.
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend.
All losses are restored and sorrows end.
XXXI.
Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts.
Which I by lacking have supimsed dead,
-A-iid there reigns loveand all love's loving parts.
And all those friends which I thought buried.
How many a holy and obsequious tear
Hath dear religious love stol'u from mine eye
As interest of the dead, which now appear
But things removed that hidden in thee lie !
Thou art the grave where buried love doth live.
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone.
Who all their parts of me to ttiee did give ;
That due of many now is thine alone :
Their images I loved I view in thee.
And thou, all they, hasten the all of me.
XXXII.
If thou survive my well-contented day,
When that churl Death my bones with dust
shall cover,
And shalt by fortune once more rc-survey
These poor rude lilies of thy deceased lover,
Compare them w '!. -ito oei-cerliig of the time,
And though they be outstripp'd by every pen,
Reserve them for my love, not fortheir rhyme.
Exceeded by the height of liappier men.
O, then vouchsafe me but this loving thought:
' Had my friend's Muse grown with this grow¬
ing age,
A dearer birth than this Ids love liad brought,
To march iu ranks of better equipage:
But since he died and poets better prove.
Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his
love.'
XXXIII.
Full many a glorious mondug have I seeu
Flatter the mountaiu-tops with sovereign eyfi
Kissing with goldeu face tlie meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy ,
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face.
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:
Even so my sun one early morn did shine
With all triumphant splendor on my brow ;
But out, alack ! he was but one hour mine ;
The region cloud hath mask'd him from me
now
Yet him fox this my love no whit disdaineth'
Suns of tlie work' may stain when heaven's
sun staineth.
XX.X1V.
Why didst thou promise sucli a beauteous day
And make me travel forth without niy cloak,
To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way.
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke ?
"Tis not enough that through the cloud thou
break,
T o dry the rain on my storm-beateu faoe,
For no man well of sucli a salve can speak
That heals the wound and cures not the dis¬
grace :
Nor cau thy shame give physic tc iiiy grief ;
Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss
The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief
To him that bears the .strong offence's cross.
Ah ! but those tears are pearl which thy love
sheds,
And they are rich and ransom all 111 deeds.
XXXV.
No more be grieved at that wliich t'uou liast
done :
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud ;
Clouds and eclipses staiu both moon aud sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
All men make faults, and even I in this,
Autlioriziag tliy trespass with compare,
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss.
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are ;
For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense—
Thy adverse fiarty is thy advocate—
■And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence'
Such civil war is iu my iove aud hate
!»S.
1186
SONNETS.
That I an accessary needs must be
To tliat sweet thief which sourly robs from
me.
XXXVI.
Let me confess that we two mn.st be twain,
Althongh our undivided lov^ are one :
So shall those blots that do with me remain
Without thy help by me be borne alone.
In our two loves there is but one respect,
Though in our lives a separable spite,
Which though it alter not love's sole effect.
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's de¬
light.
I may not evermore acknowledge thee.
Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame,
Nor thou with public kindness honor me,
Unless thou take that honor from thy name :
But do not so ; I love thee in such sort
As, thou being mine, mine is thy good re¬
port.
XXXVIL
As a decrepit father takes delight
. To see his active child do deeds of youth.
So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite.
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth.
For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit.
Or any of these all, or all, or more.
Entitled in thy parts dp irowned sit,
I make my love engrafted to this store :
So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised.
Whilst that this shadow doth such substance
give
That I in thy abmidance am sufficed
And by a jiart of all thy glory live.
Look, what is best, that best I wish in thee : ,
This wish I have ; then ten times happy me !
XXXVIII
How can my Muse want subject to invent.
While thou dost breathe, that poiw'st into mv
verse
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent
For every vulgar paper to rehearse ?
O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me
Worthy xierusal stand against tliy sight;
For wllo's so dumb that cannot write to thee.
When thou thyself dost give invention light ?
Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in
worth
Than those old nine which rhymers invocate ;
And he that calls-on thee, let him bring forth
Eternal numbers to outlive long date.
If my slight Muse do please these curious
days.
The pain be mine, but thine shall be the
praise.
XXXIX.
O, how thy worth with manners may I sing.
When thou art iill the better part of me ?
What can mine own praise to mine own self
bring ?
And what is't but mine own when I praise
♦hee ?
Even for this let us divided live.
And our dear love lose name of single one.
That by this separation I may give
That due to thee which thou deservest alone.
0 absence, what a torment wouldst thou
prove.
Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet
leave
To entertain the time with thoughts of love.
Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth ue-
ceive.
And that thou teachest how to make one
twain.
By praising him here who doth hence re¬
main !
XL.
Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them
all;
What hast thou then more than thou hadst
before ?
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love
call;
All mine was thine before thou hadst this
more.
Then if for my love thou my love receivest,
1 cannot blame thee for my love thou usest;
But yet be blamed, if thou thyself deceives!
By wilful taste of what thys^f refnsest.
I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief.
Although thou steal tliee all my poverty ;
And yet, love knows, it is a greater grief
To bear love's wrong than hate's known in-
jury.
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows.
Kill me with spites; yet we must not be
foes.
XLI.
Those petty wrongs that liberty commits.
When 1 am sometime absent from tliy heart.
Thy beauty and thy years full well befits.
For still temptation follows where thou art.
Gentle thou art and therefore to be won.
Beauteous tliou art, therefoig to be assailed ;
And when a woman woos, what woman's son
Will sourly leave her till she have prevailed ?
Ay me ! but yet thou mightst my seat forbear.
And chide thy beauty and thy straying youth.
Who lead thee in their riot even there
Where thou ait forced to break a twofold
truth.
Hers by thy beauty tempting her to thee.
Thine, by thy beauty being false to me.
XLn.
That thou hast her, it is not all my grief.
And yet it may be said I loved her dearly ;
That she hath thee, is of my wailing chief,
A loss in love that touches me more nearly.
Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye :
Thou dost love her, because thou kaowst I
love her;
And for my sake even so doth she abuse me.
Suffering my friend for my sake to approve
her.
SONNETS.
1187
It I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain,
And losing her, my friend hath found that
loss ;
Both find each other, and I lose both twain.
And both for my sake lay on me this cross:
But here's the joy ; my friend and I are
one ;
Sweet flattery ! then she loves but me alone.
XLin.
When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see.
For all the day they view things unrespected ;
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee.
And darkly bright are bright in dark directed.
Tlten thou, whose shadow shadows doth make
bright.
How would thy shadow's form form happy
show
To the clear day with thy much clearer light.
When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so!
How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed made
By looking on thee in the living day.
When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade
Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth
stay !
All days are nights to see till I see thee.
And nights bright days when dreams do
shew thee me.
xuv.
If the dull substance of my flesh were thought.
Injurious distance should not stop my way ;
For then despite of space I would be brought.
From limits far remote where thou dost stay.
No matter then although my foot did stand
Upon the farthest earth removed from thee ;
For nimble thought can jump both sea and
land
As soon as think the place where he would be.
But ah ! thought kills me that I am not
thought.
To leap large lengths of miles when thou art
gone.
But tliat so much of earth and water wrought
I must attend time's leisure with my moan.
Receiving nought by elements so slow
But heavy tears, badges of cither's woe
xnv.
The other two, slight air and purmng fire.
Are both with thee, wherever I Aide ;
The first my thought, the other my desire.
These present^absent with swift motion slide.
For when these quicker elements are gone
In tender embassy of love to thee.
My life, being made of four, with two alone
Sinks down to death, ofipress'd with melan¬
choly ;
Until life's composition be recured
By those swift messengers retum'd from thee.
Who even but now come b%ck again, assured
Of thy fair health) recounting it to me :
This told, I joy ; but then no long^er glad,
I send them back again and straight grow
sad.
XLVI.
Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war
How to divide the conquest of thy sight ;
Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would
bar.
My heart mine eye tlie freedom of that right.
My heart doth plead that thou in him dost
lie,—
A closet never pierced with crystal eyes—
But the defendant doth that plea deny
jVnd says in him thy fair appearance lies.
To 'cide this title is impanneled
A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart.
And by their verdict is determined
The clear eye's moiety and the dear heart's
part: [part.
As thus ; mine eye's due is thy outward
And my heart's right thy inward love of
heart.
XLVU.
Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took,
And each doUi good turns now unto the other:
When that mine eye is famish'd for a look.
Or heart in love with sighs himself doth
smother.
With my love's picture then my eye doth feast
And to the painted banquet bids my heart;
Another time mine eye is my heart s guest
And in his thoughts of love doth share a part:
So, either by thy picture or my love.
Thyself away art present still with me ;
For thou not farther than my thoughts canst
move.
And 1 am still with them and they with thee ;
Or, if they sleep, thy picture in my sight
Awakes my heart to heart's and eye's de¬
light.
XLVin.
Ilow careful was I, when I took my way.
Each trifle under truest bars to thrust.
That to my use it might unused stay
From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of
trust!
But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are.
Most worthy of comfort, now my greatest
grief.
Thou, best of dearest and mine only care,
Art left the prey of every vulgar thief.
Thee have I not lock'd up in any chest,
Save where thou art not, though I feel tliou
art,
AVithin the gentle closure of my breast.
From whence at pleasure thou maj'st come
and part;
And even theuoe thou wilt be stoTn, I fear.
For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear
x'ux.
Against that time, if ever that time come.
When I shall see thee frown on my defects.
When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum,
CalTd to that audit by advised respects ;
Again.st that time when thou shaft strangely
pass
SONNETS.
And scarcely me \Tlth that sun, thine
eye.
When lo\e, converted from the thing it was,
iihall reasons liud of settled gravity,—
Against that time do I ensconce me here
Within the knowledge of mine own desert,
And this my hand against myself uprear.
To guard the lawful reasons on thy part :
To leave poor me thou hast tlie strength of
laws,
Since why to love I can allege ito catise.
L.
How heavy do I journey on the way.
When what I seek, my weary travel's end,
Lioth teach that ease and that repose to say
' Thus far the miles are measnred from tliy
friend !'
The beast that bears me, tired with my woe.
Plods dully on, to hear that weight in me,
As if by some instinct the wretch did know
His rider loved not speed, being made from
- thee ;
The bloody spur cannot provoke him on
That sometimes anger thrusts into ids hide;
Which heavily he answers with a groan.
More sharp to me than s))urriug to ids side ;
Few that same groan doth put this in my
mind ;
My grief lies onward and my joy behind.
LI.
Thus can my love excuse the slow offence
Of my dull bearer wlren from thee I speed :
From where thou art why should 1 haste me
thence ?
Till I retuni, of posting is no need.
(J, wliat excuse will my poor beiist then find.
When swift extremity can seem but slow ?
Then sliould I spur, tliough mounted on tlie
wind ;
In winged speed no motion sball 1 know :
Tlien can no horse witli my desire keep pace ;
Therefore desire of perfect'st love being made,
Shall neigh—no dull flesh—in ills fiery race ;
But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade ;
Since from thee going lie went wilful-slow,
Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave
to go.
LII.
So am I as the rich, whose blessed key
(.an bring liim to his sweet up-locked treasure,
Tlie wiiich lie will not every liour survey,
For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure.
Tlierefore are feasts so solemn and so rare,
Since, seldom coming, in tiie long year set.
Like stones of worth tliey tliinly placed are
Or captain jewels in tlie carcanet.
So is the time that keeps you as my cliest.
Or as the wardrobe which tlie robe dotli hide,
"To make some special instant .special blest,
Bv new unfolding his imprison'd pride.
Blessed are you, whose worthiness gives
scope,
Being had, to triumph, being lack'd, to hope.
Llll.
What is your substance, whereof arc you imide,
That mlUious of strange shadows on you tend ?
Since every one hath, every one, one siiade.
And yon, but one, ciin every sliadow lend.
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit
Is poorly imitated after you ;
On Helen's cheek all art of beautj' set,
And you in Grecian tires are painted new :
Speak of the spring and foisou of the year ;
TTie one doth shadow of your beauty siiow,
The other as your bounty dotli appear ;
And you in every biessed shape we know.
In all external grace you liave some ]>art,
But you like none, none you, lor constant
heart.
LIV.
O, how mucli more doth beauty beauteous,
seem
By tliat swee*- ornament which truth doth
give !
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For tliat .sweet odor whicli doth in it live.
Tlie ciinker-biooms have full as deep a dye
As tiie perfumed tincture of the roces,
Haiig on such tiionis and play as wantonly
When summer's breath their masked buds
discloses :
But, for tiieir virtue only is their show.
They live unwoo'd and uarespected fade.
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so ;
Of tlielr sweet deaths are sweetest odors made;
And so of yoii, beauteous and los ely youth,
When tliat shall fade, my verse distills yonr
trutli.
LV.
Not marble, nor the gilded mouuments
Of princes, sliaJloutlive tiiis powerful rhyme;
But you shall .siiiue more bright in these con¬
tents
Thau uuswept stone besmear'd with sluttislii
time.
When wasteful war sliail statues ovei-tum.
And broils root out tiie work of masonry.
Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall
burn ,
Tlie living record of your memory.
'Gainst deatli and all-oblivious enmity
Shall you pace forth ; your praise shall still
find rooii.
Even in the eyes of all posterity
That wear this world out to the ending doom.
So, till the judgment that yourself arise,
You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.
LVI.
Sweet love, renew thy force ; be it not said
Thy edge should blunter be than appetite,
AVhich but to-day by feeding is allay'd.
To-morrow sharpen'd in Ins former might: .
So, love, be thou ; although to-day thou fill
Thy hungry eyes even tilt they wink with full
ness,
To-morrow see again, and do not kill
■^he spirit of love with a i>erx)etual dullness.
SONNETS.
1189
Let this sad interim like the ocean be
Whicb parts the shore, where two contracted
new
Come daily to the banks, that, when they see
Return of love, more blest may be the view ;
Else call it winter, which being full of care
Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd,
more rare. ,
LVII.
Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hoars and times of your desire ?
I have HO precions time at all to spend.
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-eud hour
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for
.you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu ;
Nor dsire X question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or yours affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stey and think of nought
Save, where you.iai-e how happy you make
tlwse.
So true a fool is Xove tliat in your will.
Though you do any thing, he thinks no iU.
LVIII.
That god forbid that made me first your slave,
1 should in thought control your times of
pleasure.
Or at your hand the account of hours to crave.
Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure!
O, let me suffer, being at your beck.
The iniprison'd absence of your liberty ;
And p.atience, tame to sufferance, bide each
check.
Without accusing you of injury.
Be where you li.st, your charter is so strong
That you yourself may privilege your time
To what you will ; to you it doth belong
Yourself "to pardon of self-doing crime.
I am to wait, though waiting so be hell;
Not blame your pleasure, be it ill Or well.
ux.
'f there be nothing new, but that which is
Hath been before, how are our brains be¬
guiled.
Which, laboring for invention, bear amiss
The second burden of a former child 1
O, that record could with a backward look.
Even of five hundred courses of the sun,
Show me your image in some antique book.
Since mind at first in character was done I ■ ■
That I might see what the old world could say
To this composed wonder of your frame ;
Whether we are mended, or whether better
they.
Or whether revolution be the same.
O, sure I am, the wits of former days
To subjects worse have given admiring
praise. m
■LX. '
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled
shore.
So do onr minutes hasten'to their end ;
Each changing place with that which goes
before.
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity, once in the main of light.
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd.
Crooked eclipses, 'gainst his glory fight.
And Time that gave doth now his gift con¬
found.
Time doth tmnsfix the flourish set on youth
And delves tbe.}»rallels in beauty's brow,
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth.
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:
tAnd, yet to tipaes in hope jny verse shall
stand,
Praising thy wortli, despite bis cruel baud
LXJ.
Is it thy will thy iraUge should keep open
My heavy eyelids to the weary night r '
! Do.st thou desire my slumbers should be bro¬
ken.
While shadows like to thee do mock my sight ?
Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee
So far from home into my deeds to pry,
To find out shames and idle hours in me,
The scope and tenor of thy jealousy ?
O, no 1 thy love, though much, is not so great;
It is my love that keeps mine eye awake ;
Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat,
To play the watchman ever for thy sake :
For thee watch 1 whilst thou dost wake else¬
where.
From me far off, with otliers all too near.
LXII.
Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye
' And all my soul and all ray every part;
And for this sin there is no remedy.
It is so grounded inward in my heai-t.
Methinks no face so gracious is as mine.
No shaiie so true, no truth of such account;
And for myself mine own worth do define.
As I all.other in all worths surmount.
But when my glass shows me myself indeed,
Beated and chopp'd with tauu'd antiquity.
Mine own self-love quite contrary I read ;
Self so self-loving were iniquity.
'Tis thee, myself, that for myself 1 praise.
Painting my age with beauty of thy days,
nxni.
' Against my love shall be, as I am now.
With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'er-
wom ;
When hours have drain'd his blood and fill'd
'his brow
With lines and wrinkles ; when his youthful
moA) '
' Hath travell'd on to age's steepy night,
i And all those beauties whereof now he's king
Are vanishing or vanish'd out of sight.
Stealing away the treasure of his spring J
For su;m a time do I now fortify
Against confounding age's cruel Icnife,
That he shall never cut from memory
' Mv sweet love's beauty, though my lover's
life :
IICO
SON]^f:TS.
His beauty shall in these black lines be seen,
And tliey shall live, and he in them still
green.
liXIV.
When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced
The rich proud cost of outworn buried age ;
When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed
And brass etenial slave to mortal mge ;
When I have seen tlie hungry ocean gain
Advantage on the kingdom of the sliore.
And tlie firm soil win of the watery main,
Increasing store with loss and loss with store ;
When I have seen such interchange of state
Or state itself confounded to decay ;
Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate,
That Time will come and take my love away.
This thought is as a death, which cannot
choose
But weep to have that which it fears to lose,
rxv.
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor bound¬
less sea.
But sad mortality o'er-s ways their power.
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea.
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out
Against the wreckful siege of battering days.
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?
O fearful meditation ! where, alack.
Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie
hid?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot
back ?
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid ?
O, none, unless this miracle have might.
That in black ink my love may still shine
bright.
LXVI.
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
As, to behold desert a beggar bom,
And needy nothing trimm d in jollity.
And purest faith unhappily forsworn.
And gilded honor shamefully misplaced.
And maiden virtue rudely strumpet^.
And right perfection wrongfully disgr^ed.
And stren^h by limping sway disabled.
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly doctor-uke controlling skill.
And simi>le truth miscall'd simplicity.
And captive good attending captain ill:
Tired with all these, from these would I be
gone.
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone
i,xvn.
Ah ! wherefore with infection should he live.
And with his presence grace impiety.
That sin by him advantage should achieve
And lace itself with his society 7
Why should false painting imitate his cheek
And. steal dead seeing of his living hue 7
Why should poor beauty indirectly seek '
Roses of shadow, since his rose is true ?
Why should he live, now Nature bankrupt is,
Beggar'd of blood to blush through lively
veins ?
For she hath no exchequer now but his.
And, proud of many, lives upon his gains.
O, him she stores, to show what wealtli she
had
In days long since, before these last so bad.
LXVllI.
Thus is bis cheek the map of days outworn.
When beauty lived and died as flowers do
now.
Before these bastard signs of fair were bom.
Or durst iuliabit on a living brow ;
Before the golden tresses of the dead.
The right of sepulchres, wete shorn away.
To live a second life on second head ;
Ere beauty's dead fleece made anotlier gay :
In him those holy antique hours are seen
Without all ornament, itself and tme.
Making no summer of another's green.
Robbing no old to dress his beauty new ;
And him as for a map doth Nature store^
To show false Art what beauty was of yore.
IJCIX.
Those pgyts of thee that the world's eye doth
view
Want nothing that the thought of hearts can
mend ;
All tongues, the voice of souls, give thee that
due.
Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend.
"Thy outward thus with outward praise is
crown'd ;
But those same tongues that give thee so tliine
oyn
In other accents do this praise confound
By seeing farther than the eye hath shown.
They look into the beauty of thy mind.
And that, in guess, tliey measure by thy deeds ;
Then, churls, their thoughts, although their
eyes were kind,
To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds:
But why thy odor matcheth not thy show.
The solve is this, that thou dost common
grow
ixx.
That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect.
For slander's mark was ever yet the fair ;
The ornament of beauty is suspect,
A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.
So thou be good, slander doth but approve
Thy worth the greater, being woo'd of time ;
For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love.
And thou present'st a pure unstained prime.
Thou hast pass'd by the ambush of young
days.
Either not assail'd or victor being charged ;
Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise,
To tie up envy evermore enlarged :
If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show,
Then thou tuone kingdoms of hearts should^
owe.
SONNETS.
1191
LXXL
No longer monm lor me when I am dead
Then you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world, with vilest worms to
dwell:
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it; for 1 love you so
That I in your sweet tnoughts would be forgot
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
O, if, I say, you look upon this verse
When I perham compounded am with day.
Do not so mucti as my poor name rehearse,
But let your love even with my life decay,
Lest the wise world should look into your
moan i
And mock you with me after I am gone.
nxxn.
O, lest the world should task y ja to recite
What merit lived in me, that you should love
After mjr death, dear love, forget me quite.
For you m me can notliiug worthy prove ;
Unless you would devise some virtuous lie.
To do more for me than mine own desert.
And hang more praise upon deceased 1
Than niggard truth would willingly impart:
O, lest your true love may seem false in this.
That you for love speak well of me untrue.
My name be buried where my body is.
And live no more to shame nor me nor you.
Fur 1 am shamed by that which 1 bring
forth.
And so should yon, to love things nothing
worth.
iixxm.
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake a^iust the
cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds
sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west.
Which by and by black night doth take away.
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such flre
That on the ashes of his youth doth liCj'
As the death-bed whereon it must expire
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd
by.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love
more strong.
To love that well which thou must leave ere
long.
IJtXIV.
But be contented; when that fell arrest
Without all bail shall cany me away,
My life hath in this line some interest,
Wliich for memorial still witlrtliee shall stay.
When thou revlewest this, th^ dost review
The very part was consecrate to thee :
The earth can have but earth, which is his
due ;
Hy spirit is thine, the better part of tne -
So then thou bast but lost the dr^s of life.
The prey of worms, my body being dead.
The coward conquest of a wretch's knife.
Too base of thee to be remembered.
The worth of that is that which it contains,
And that is this, and this with thee remains.
LXXV.
So are you to my thoughts as food to life.
Or as sweet-season'd showers are 'to the,
ground ;
And lor the peace of von I hold such strife
As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found ;
Now proud as an cnjoyer and anon
Doubting the fllching age will steal his treas¬
ure.
Now counting best to be with you alone.
Then better^ that the world may see my
pleasure ;
Sometime all full with feasting on your sight
And by and by clean starved fer a look ;
Possessing or pursuing no delight.
Save what is had or must from you be took.
Thus do 1 pine and surfeit day by day.
Or gluttouing on all, or all away.
* LXXVI.
Wliy is my verse so barren of new pride,
So far from variation or quick change ?
Why with the time do 1 not glance aside
To new-found methods and to compounds
strange ?
Why write I still all one, ever the same.
And keep invention in a noted weed.
That every word doth almost tell my nmne.
Showing their birth and where they did pro¬
ceed?
0, know, sweet love, 1 always write of you.
And you and love are still my argument;
So all my best is dressing old words new.
Spending again what is already spent:
For as the sun Is daily new and old.
So is my love still telling what is told.
LXXVU.
Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties
wear,
Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste ;
The vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear.
And of this book this learning mayst thou
taste.
The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show
Of mouthed graves will give thee memory ;
Thou by thy dial's shady stealth mayst know
Time's thievish progress to eternity.
Look, what thy memory can not contain
Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt
find
Those children nursed, deliver'd from thy
brain.
To take a new acquaintance of thy mind.
These offlces, so oft as thou wilt look.
Shall profit thee and much enrich thy book,
LXXVIII.
So oft have 1 invoked thee for my Muse
And found such fair assistance in my vers^
1192
SONNETS.
As every alien pen hath got my use
And under thee their poesy disperse.
Tliiue eyes that taught the dumb on higli to
sing
And heavy ignorance aioft to fly
Have added feathers to the iearncd's wing
And given grace a doubie majesty.
Yet be most proud of tliat whicii 1 compiie,
Wliose influence is thine and born of tiiee ;
In others' works thou dost but mend the styie,
And arts with thy sweet graces graced be ;
But thou art ail my art and dost advance
As high as learning my rude ignorance.
LXXIX.
Whilst I alone did call uix)n thy aid,
My verse alone had ah thy gentle grace,
But now my gracious numbers are deciiy'd
And my sick Muse doth give aiiotlier place.
I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument
Deserves the travail of a worthier pen,
Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent
He robs thee of and pays it thee again.
He lends thee virtue and he stole that word,
From thy behavior ; beautj^doth he give
And found it in thy cheek ; he can aferd
No praise to thee but wliat in thee doth live.
Then thank him not for that which he doth
say,
Since what be owes tliee thou tliyself dost
pay.
LXXX.
O, how I faint when I of you do write.
Knowing a better spirit doth use your name,
And in the praise thereof spends all his might.
To make me tongue-tied, speakmg- of your
fame !
But since .your worth, wide as the ocean is.
The humble as the proudest sail doth bear,
My saucy bark inferior far to his
On your broad main doth wilfully appear.
Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat,
Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride;
Or, being wreck'd, I am a worthless boat,
He of tall building and of goodly pride :
Then it he thrive and 1 & cast away.
The worst was this ; my love was my decay.
LXX-XI.
Or I shall live your epitaph to make.
Or you survive when { m earth am roUen ; .
From hence your memory death cannot take,
Although in me each iiart will be forgotten.
Your name from hence immortal Ufe shall
have.
Though I, once gone, to all the world must die:
Tlie earth can yield me but a common grave,
A/^en you entombed in men's eyes shall lie.
Your monument shall be my gentle verse,
Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read.
And tongues to ^ your being shall rehearse
When all the breathers of this worid are dead;
You still shall live—such virtue hath my
pen—
Where breath most breathes, even in the
mouths of men.
LXXXH.
I graift thou wCrt not married to my Muse
And therefore luayst without attaint o'erlook
The dedicated words which writers use
Of tlieir fair subject, blessing evei-y book.
Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue,
Finding thy worth a limit past my praise.
And therefore art enforced to se^ anew
Some fresher stamp of the time-betterhig days.
And do so, love ; yet when they have devised
What strained touches rhetoric can lend,
Tliou truly fair wert truly sympathized '
In true plain words by thy true-telling friend s
And their gross xiainting might be better
' used '>
Where cheeks need biood ; in thee it is
abused;
lixxxin.
I never saw that you did painting need
And therefore to your fair no painting set;
I found, or thought I found, you did exce^
The barren tender of a poet's debt;
And therefore have I slept in your report.
That 'you yourself being extant well might
show
How far a modem quill doth come too short.
Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth
grow.
This silence for my sin you did impute.
Which shall be most my glory, being dumb ;
For 1 impair not beauty wing mute,
When others would give life and bring a
tomb.
There lives more life in one of your fair eyes
Than both your poets can in praise devise.
liXxxrv.
Who is it that says most? which can say more
Than this rich praise, that you alone are you?
In whose confine immured is the store
Which should example where your equal
grew.
Lean penury within that pen doth dwell
That to his subject lends not some small glory;
But he that writes of you, if he can teU
That .you are you, so dignifies his story.
Let him but copy what in you is writ,
Not making worse what nature made so clear.
And such a counterpart .shall fame his wit.
Making his style admired every where.
You to your beauteous blessing add a curse.
Being fond on praise, whicm makes your
praises worse.
LXXXV.
My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her
stni.
While comments of your praise, richly Com¬
piled,
Reserve their character with golden quill
And precious phrase by all the Muses filed.
I think good thoughts whilst other write good
words,
And like unletter'd clerk still cry ' Amen'
To every hymn that able spirit affords
lu polish'd form of well-reflned pen.
Hearing you praised, I say ' 'Tis so, 'tis true,'
And to tlie most of praise add something more;
But that is in my thought, whose love to you.
Though words come liindmost, holds his rank
before.
Then otliers for the breath of words respect.
Me for my dumb thonghts, speaking in ef¬
fect.
nxxxvL
Was it the proud full sail of his great verse.
Bound for the prize of all too precious you,
That did my ripe thoughts in my brain in-
hearse.
Making their tomb the womb wherein tliey
grew?
Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write
Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead ?
Ko, neither he, nor his compeers by night
Giving him aid, my verse ast^nisheid
He, nor that affable familiar ghost
which nightly gulls him with intelligence,
As victors of my silence cannot boast;
1 was not sick of any fear from tiience :
But when your countenance fill'd up his line.
Then lack'd I matter ; that enfeebled mine.
Lxxxvii.
Farewell 1 thou art too dear for my possessing.
And like enougli thou kuow'st thy estimate ;
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;
My bonds in thee are all determinate.
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting ?
And for that riches where is my deserving ?
The cause of this fair gih in me is wanting.
And so my patent back again is swerving.
Thyself thou gavest, thy own worth then not
knowing.
Or me, to whom thou gavest it, ^e mistaking;
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,
Comes home again, on better judgment mak¬
ing. [ter.
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth dat-
lu sleep a king, but waking no such matter.
LXXXVIII.
When thou shalt be disposed to set me light
And phice ray merit in the eye of scorn.
Upon tiiy side against myself I'll fight
And prove thee virtuous, though thou' art for¬
sworn.
With mine own weakness being best ac-
auainted, i
ly part I can set down a story
Ot faults conceal'd, wherein I am attainted,
TItat thou in losing me shalt win much glmry :
And I by this wijl be a gainer too ;
For bending all my loving thoughte on thee. ,
Tlve injuries that to myself I do,
Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me
Such is my love, to thee I so belong,
That for thy right myseffi will bear all
■ wrong.
LXXXIX.
Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault.
And I will comment upon that offence} .
1193
Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt,
Against thy reasons making no defence.
Thou canst not, love, disgrace me half so ill,
To set a form upon desired change,
As I'll myself disgrace : knowing thy will,
I will acquaintance strangle and look strange,
Be absent from thy walks, and in my tongue
Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell.
Lest I, too much profane, should do it wrung
And haply of our old acquaintance tell.
For thee against myself I'll vow debate.
For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost
hate.
xo.
Then hate me when thou wilt; If ever, now;
Now, while the world is bent my deeds to
cross,.
Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow.
And do not drop in for an after-loss: '
Ah, do not, when my heart hath 'scaped this
sorrow,
Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe; *
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow.
To lingM out a purposed overthrow.
If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last.
When other petty griefs have done their spite.
But in the onset come ; .so shall I taste
At first the very worst of fortune's might.
And other strains of woe, which now seem
woe.
Compared with loss of thee will not seem so.
xci.
Some glory in their birth, some in their skill.
Some in their wealth, some in their bodies'
force,
Some in their garments, though new-fangled
ill,
Some in their hawks and bounds, some in
their horse;
And every humor liath his adjunct pleasure,
Wherein it finds a joy above the rest:
But these particulars are not my measure;
All these I better in one general best
TIty love is better than high birth to me.
Richer than wealth, prouder than garments'
cost.
Of more delight than hawks or horses be ;
And having thee, of all men's pride I boast:
Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst
take
All this away and me most wretched make.
XCIL
But do thy worst to steal thyself away.
For term of life thou art assured mine.
And life no longer than thy love will stay, ^
For it depends upon that love of tiiiue.
Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs,
'When in the least of them my life bath end.
I see a better state to me belongs
Than that which on thy humor doth depend ;
Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind.
Since that my life on thy revolt doth He.
O, what a happy title do I find,
Happ.y to have tky love, happy to die 1
1194
SONNETS.
But what's so blessed-fai: that fears no blot ?
Thou inayst be false, and yet I know it not.
XCIII.
So shall I live, supposing thon art true,
Like a deceived husband ; so love's face
May still seem love to me, though alter'd new ;
Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place:
For there can live no hatred in thine eye,
Therefore in that I cannot know tiiy change.
In niany's looks the false heart's history
Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles
strange.
But heaven in thy creation did decree
That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell;
Whate'er thy thoughts or tiiy heart's workings
be.
Thy looks should nothing thence but sweets
ness telL
How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow,
If thy sweet virtue answer not thy snow (
xciv.
They that have power to hurt and wili do none.
That do not do the thing they most do show.
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone.
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow,
"They rightly do inherit heaven's graces
And husband nature's riches from expense :
They are the lords and owners of their faces.
Others but stewards of their excellence.
The summer's flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to itself it only live and die,
But it that flower with base infection meet.
The basest weed outbraves his dignity:
For sweetest things turn sourest by their
deeds ;
Lilies that fester smell far worse than
weeds.
xcv.
How sweet and lovely dost thou make the
shame
Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose,
Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name !
O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose 1
That tongue that tells the story of thy days, ,
Making lascivious comments on thy sport.
Cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise ;
Naming thy name blesses au ill report.
O, wluit a mansion have those vices got
Which for their habitation chose out tliee.
Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot.
And all things turn to fair that eyes can see !
Take heed, dear heart, of this large privi¬
lege*.
The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge,
xcvt
Some say thy fault is youth, some wanton*
ness;
Some say thy grace is youth and gentle s) oi t;
Both grace and faults are loved of more and
less ;
Thou makest faults graces that to thee resort.
As on the finger of a throned queen
"l^e basest jewel wiU be well esteem'd.
So are those errors tltat in thee are seen
To truths translated and for true things deem'd.
How many lambs might the stem wolf betray.
If like a lamb he could his looks translate !
How many gazers mightstthou lead awav.
If thou wouldst use the strength of all thy
state 1
But do not so ; 1 love thee in such sort
As, thou being mine, mine is thy good
report
xcvn.
How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting vear !
What freezings have 1 felt, what dark days
seen!
What old December's bareness every where !
And yet this time removed was summer's
time.
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase.
Bearing the wdhton burden of the prime.
Like widow'd wombs after their lords' de¬
cease :
Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me
But hope of orphans and unfather'd fruit;
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee.
And, thou awa^, the very birds are mute ;
. Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer
That leaves ku^ pale, dreading the winter's
near.
^ xcvui.
From you have 1 been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April dress'd in all his trim
Hath put a spirit of youth in every tiling,
'I'hat heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with
him.
Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odor and in hue
Could make me any summer's story tell.
Or from th^r proud lap pluck them where
they grew ;
Nor did 1 wonder at the lily's white.
Nor praise the deep vermilion in tlie rose ;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight.
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away.
As with your shadow I with these did
play:
xcix.
Tlie forward violet thus did I chide •.
Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet
that smells.
If not from my love's breath ? The purple
pride
Which on thy soft cheek for complexion
dwells
In my love's veins thou ha.«t too grossly dyed.
The lily 1 condemned for thy hand.
And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair:
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand.
One blushing shame, another white despair ;
A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of both
And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath ;
But, for his tlieft, in pride of all his growth
SONNETS.
1195
A vengeful canker eat him up to death.
More flowers I noted, yet 1 none could see
But sweet or color It had stol'n from thee,
c.
Where art thou, Muse, tliat thou forget'st so
long
To speak of that which gives thee all thy
might ?
Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless
song,
Darkening thy power to lend base subjects
light ?
Return', forgetful Muse, and straight redeem
In gentle numbers time so Idly spent;
Slug to the ear that doth thy lays esteem
And gives thy pen both skill and argument.
Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey.
If Time have any wrinkle graven there ;
If any, bea satire to decay.
And make Time's spoils despised every where.
Give my love fame faster than Time wastes
life ;
So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked
knife.
CI.
0 truant Muse, what sliall be thy amends
For thy neglect of truth In beauty dyed ?
Both truth and beauty on my love denends ; .
So dost thou too, and therein dignified.
Make answer. Muse wilt thou not haply say
' Truth needs no color, with his color fix'd ;
Beauty no peiicilj beauty's truth to lay ;
But best Is best, if never Intermlz'd ?'
Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be
dumb ?
Excuse not silence so ; for't lies In thee
To make him much outlive a gilded tomb.
And to be praised of ages yet to be.
Then do thy office. Muse ; I teach thee how
To make him seem long hence as he shows
now.
on.
My love Is strengthen'd, though more weak In
seeming ;
1 love not less, though less the show appear ;
That love Is merchandized whose rich esteem¬
ing
The owner's tongue doth publish every where.
Our love was new and then but in the spring
When I was wont to greet It with my lays,
As Philomel In summer's front doth sing
And stops her pipe In growth of riper days ;
Not that the summer is less pleasant now
Than when her mournful hymns did hush the
night.
But that wild music burthens every bough
And sweets grown common lose their dear
delight.
Therefore like her I sometime hold my
tongue, •
Because I would not dull you with my soiig.
cm.
Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth,
Ibat having such a scope to show her pride.
The argument all bare Is of more worth
Thau when It hath my added praise beside!
0, blame me not. If I no more can write !
1.cok in your glass, and there appears a face
That over-goes ray blunt Invention quite,
DnUlng my lliies and doing me disgiace.
Were It not sinful then, striving to mend.
To mar the subject that before was well ?
For to no other pass my verses tend
Than of your gi^es and your gifts to tell; ■
And more, much more, than in my verse can
sit
Your own glass skpws vou when yon look
in it.
crv. 1
To me, fair friend, you never can be old.
For as you were when first your eye I eyed.
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters
cold
Have from the forests shook three summers'
pride.
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn
tum'd
In process of the seasons have I seen.
Three April perfumes, in three hot Junes
buni'd,
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are
green.
Ah ! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand.
Steal from his figure and no pace perceived ;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth
stand.
Hath motion and mine eye may be deceived :
For fear of which, hear this, thou age uu<
bred;
Ere you were born was beauty's summer -
dead.
cv.
Let not my love be call'd Idolatry,
Nor my beloved as an idol show.
Since all alike my songs and praises be
To one, of one, still such, and ever so.
Kind is my love to-day, to-raoiTow kind.
Still constant in a wondrous excellence ;
Therefore my verse to constancy confined.
One thing expressing, leaves out difference.
' Fair, kind and true' is all my argument,
' Fair, kind, and true' varying to other words;
And in this change is my Invention spent,
Three themes In one, which wondrous scope
affords.
'Fair, kind, and true,' have often lived
alone,
Which three till now never kept seat In one.
CVT.
When In the chronicle of wasted time
I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme
In praise of ladles dead and lovely kiilghts.
Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would have express'd
F.ven such a beauty as you master now.
So all their praises are but prophecies
1196
SONNETS.
Of this our time, all you prefiguring;
And, for they look'd out with diviuiug eyes,
riiey had )tot skill enough your worth to sing:
For we, which now behold these present
days,'
Have eyes to wonder, but laok tongues to
praise.
CVII.
Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Of the wide world dreaming ou things to
come.
Can yet the lease of my true love control.
Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom.
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured
And the sad augurs mock their own presage ;
Incertainties now crown themselves assured
And peace proclaims olives of endless age.
Now with the drops of this mo.st balmy time
My love looks fresh, and death to me sub¬
scribes.
Since, spite of him, I'll live in this poor
rhyme.
While he insults o'er dull and speechless
tribes :
And thou in this shalt find thy monument.
When t3rrauts' crests and tombs of brass are
spent.
cvin.
What's in the brain that ink may character
Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit?
What's new to speak, what new to register,
That may express my love or thy dear merit?
Nothing, sweet boy ; but yet, like prayers di¬
vine,
I must, each day say o'er the very same.
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine.
Even as when first I hallow'd thy fair name.
So that eternal love in love's fresh case
Weighs not the du.st and injury of age
Nor gives to necessary wriiikles place,
But makes antiquity for aye his page.
Finding the first conceit of love there bred .
Where time and outward form would show
it dead.
cix.
O, never say that I was false of heart,
'Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify.
As easy might I from myself depart
As from my soul, which in thy breast doth
lie :
That is my home of love : if 1 have ranged.
Like him that travels I return again.
Just to the time, not with the time exchanged.
So that myself bring water for my stain.
Never believe, though in my nature reign'd
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood.
That it could so prejiosterously be stain'd.
To leave for nothing all thy sura of good ;
For nothing this wide universe I call.
Save thou, my rose ; in it thou art my all.
ox.
Alas, 'tis true I have gone here and there
And made myseU a motley to the view,
Gored mine own thoughts, sold clieap what is
most dear, ,
Made old offences of affections new ;
Most true it is that I have look'd ou truth
Askance and strangely : but, by all above.
These blenches gave my heart another youth.
And worse essays proved tliee my best of
love. ' '
Now all is done, have what shall have no end:
Mine appetite I never more will grind
Ou newer proof, to try an older friend,
A god in love, to whom I am confined.
Then give me welcome, next my heaven the
best.
Even to thy pure and .most most loving
breast ^
CXI.
O, for my sake do yon with Fortune riiide^
The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds.
That did not better for my life provide
Than public means > which public manners
breeds.
Thence comes it that my name receives a
brand.
And almost thence my nature is subdued
To what it works in, like the dyer's hand :
Pity me then and wish I were renew'd ; ^
Whilst, like a willing jmtient, 1 will drink
Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infection ;
No bitterness that I will bitter think.
Nor double penance, to correct conection.
Pity me then, dear friend, and 1 assure ye
Even that your pity is enough to cure me.
CXII.
Your love and pity doth the impression fill
Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow;
For what care I who calls me well or ill.
So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow 7
You are my all the world, and I must strive
To know my shames and praises from your
tongue :
None else to me, nor I to none alive.
That my steel'd sense or changes right or
wrong.
In so profound abysm I throw all care
Of others' voices, that my adder's sense
To critic and to flatterer stopped are.
Mark how with my neglect 1 do dispense ;
You are so strongly in my purpose bred
That all the world bemdes methinks are
dead.
cxui.
Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind ,
And that which governs me to go about
Doth part his function and is partly blind,
Seems seeing, but effectually is out;
For it no form delivers to the heart
Of bird, of flower, qr shape, which, it doth
latcli :
Of his quick objects hath the mind no part.
Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch :
For if it see the rudest or gentlest sight.
The most aweet favor or deformed'st crea¬
ture.
SONNETS.
119.
The momitaiii or the ses, the day or night,
The crow or dove, it shapes them to* your
feature:
Incapable of more, replete with you.
My most true mind tuns m'akes mine eye
untrue. '
cxiv.
Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd ■
with you,
Drink up the monarch's plague, this flattery ?
Or wliether shall I say, mine eye saith true.
And tliat your love taught it this alchemy,,
To make of monsters aiid things iudigest .
Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble.
Creating every bad a perfect best.
As fast as objects to lii.s beams assemble ?
O, 'tis the first; 'tis flattery in my seeing,
And my great mind most kingly drinks it up:
Mine eye well knows what wiih his gust is
, , 'grwing,
And to his palate doth prepare the cup :
If it be poison'd, 'tis the lesser sin
That mine eye loves it and doth first begiiii.
cxv.
"Tho.-.e lines that I before have writ do lie, '
Cven those that said I could not love you
, dearer^: '
Tot then my judgment knerir no reason why
My most full flame should afterwards burp
clearer. ;
But reckoning time, whose million'd accidents
Creep in 'twixt vows and chairge decrees of ,
kings.
Tan sacred beauty, bluirt the sharp'st intents.
Divert strong minds to thp course of altering i
things ;
Alas, why, fearing of time's tyranny,
MigVit I irot then say ' Now 1 love you best,'
when I was certain o'er incertainty.
Crowning the present, doubting of the rest ?
Love is a habe ; then might I not say so,
To give full growth to that which still doth
. grow ?•
cxvi.
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is nut love '
Wliich alters when it alteration finds.
Or bends with the remover to remove :
O, no ! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken ;
It is the star to every wandering bark.
Whose worth's unknown, although his height
be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and
,cheeks
Withui his bending sickle's compass come :
Love alters not with his brief hours , and
weeks.
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, norpo man ever loved,
cxvn.
Accuse mc thus ; that I have scanted all
Wherein I sliould your great deserts repay.
Forgot upon your dearest love to call.
Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day ;
That I have frequent been with unknown
minds
And given to time your own dear-purchased
rigW
T-Mt I iiave hoisted sail to all tire winds
Which should transport me farthest from your
sight.
Book both my wilfulness and errors down
And on just proof surmise accumulate ;
"Bring me within the level of your frown.
But slmot not at me in your waken'd hate ,
Since my appeal says I did strive to prove
The constancy and virtue of your love.
cxvni.
Like as, to make our appetites more keen.
With eager compounds we our palate urge.
As, to prevent our maladies unseen.
We sicken to shnn sickness when we purge,
Even .so, being full of your ne'er-cloying sweet¬
ness.
To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding
And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meet-
ness
To be diseased ere that there was true need¬
ing.
Tims policy in love, to anticipate
The ills that were not, grew to faults assured
And brought to medicine a healthful state
Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be
cured;
But thence I leant, and find the lesson true,
Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you.
cxix.
What potions ha e I drunk of Siren tears.
Distill d from limbecks foul as hell within.
Applying fears to hopes and hopes to fear.«,
Sttll losing when I saw myself to win !
What wretched errors hath my heart com
mitted.
Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never!
How have mine eyes out of their spheres bees
fitted
In the di.straction of this madding fever I
O benefit of ill! now I find true
That better is by evil still made better;
And ruin'd love, when it is built anew.
Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far
greater.
So I return rebuked to my content
And gain by ill thrice more than I have
spent
cxx.
That yon were once hnkind befriend.s me now,
.\nd for that sorrow which I then did feel
Needs must I under my transgression bow.
Unless my nerves were brass or hammer'd
steel.
For if you were by my unkindness shaken
As I by yours, you've pass'd a hell of time.
And I, a"tyrant, have no leisure taken
0 weigh how once 1 suffered in your crima.
1198
0, th:itour night of m>e might have remem-
ter'd
My deepest sense, how hard trne sorrow hits,
And soon to yon, as jfou to me. then tender'd
The hnmbie salve which wounded bosoms fits!
But that yuor trespass now becomes a fee ;
Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ran¬
som me
cxxi.
Tis better to be vile than vile esteem'd.
When not to be receives reproach of being, ■
And the just pleasure lost which is so deem'd
Not by our feeling but by others' seeing :
For why should others' false adulterate eyes
(live salutation to my sportive blood ?
Or on my frailties why are frailer spies.
Which in their wiiis count bad what I think
good 1
No, I am that I am, and they that level
At my abuses reckon up their own :
I may be straight, though they themselves be
bevel;
By their rank thoughts my deeds must not be '
shown ;
Unless this general evil they maintain.
All men are bad, and in tlieir badness reign.
cxxn.
Thy gift, thy tables, ate within my brain
Full character'd with lasting memory.
Which shall ab'ove that idle rank remain
Beyond all date, even to eternity ;
Or at the least, so long as brain and heart
Have faculty by nature to subsist;
Tili each to razed oblivion yield his part
Of thee, thy record never can be miss'd.
That poor retention could not so much hold.
Nor need I tallies tliy dear love to score ;
Tlierefore to give them from me was I bold.
To trust ♦bose tables that receive thee more :
To keep an adjunct to remember thee
Were io import forgetfulness in me.
cxxm.
No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do
change :
Thy pyramids buiit up with newer might
To me are nothing novel, nothing strange ;
They are but dressings of a former sight.
Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire
Wliat thou dost foist upon us that is old.
And rather make them bom to our desire
Thau think that we before have heard them
told.
Thy registers and thee I both defy.
Not wondering at the present nor the p^t.
For thy records and what we see doth lie.
Made more or less by thy continual haste.
This I do vow and this shall ever be ;
1 will be tone, despite thy scythe and tliee.
cxxry.
If my dear love were but the child of state,
it might for Fortune's bastard be unfather'd.
As subject to Time's love or to Time's bate,
Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers
gather'd.
No, it was builded far from ac<ddent;
it suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls
Under the blow of thraUM (liscontent.
Whereto the inviting time our fashion calls :
It fears not policy, that heretic.
Which worra on leases of ^ort-nnmber'd
hours.
But all alone stands hugely politic.
That it nor grows with heat nor drowns with
showers.
To this 1 witness call the fools of time.
Which die for goodness, who have lived for
crime.
cxxv.
Were't aught to me I bore the canopy.
With my extern the outward honoring,
Or laid great bases for eternity.
Which prove more short than waste or ruin¬
ing?
Have I not seen dwellers on form and favor
Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent,
For compound sweet forgoing simple savor.
Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent ?
No, let me be obsequious in thy neart.
And take thou my oblation, poor but free.
Which is not mix'd with seconds, knows no
art.
But mutual render, only me for thee.
Hence, thou suborn'd informer ! a trae soul
When most impeach'd stands least in thy
control.
cxxvi. '
O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
Dost hold Time's flckle glass, his sickle, hour;
Who hast by waning grown, and therein
show'St
Thy lovers withering as thy sweet self grow'st;
If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack.
As thou goest onwards, will pluck thee
back.
She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill
May time disgrace and wretched minutes kill
Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure !
She may detain, but not still keep, her treas*
ure :
Her audit,though delay'd, answeFd must be^
And her quietus is to render thee.
cxxm
In the old age Uack was not counted fitir,
Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name;
But now is black beauty's successive heir.
And beauty slander'd with a bastard shame ■
For since each hand hath put on natnre's
power.
Fairing the foul with art's false borrow'd face,
Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower.
But is prefaned, if not p'-s.a in disgrace.
Therefore my mistresr are. Avt-i dhwlw
, SONNETS.
11 us
Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem
At such who, not born fair, no l^uty lack,
Slanderiii}; creation with a false esteem :
Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe,
That every tongue says beauty should look
so.
cntxvin.
How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st.
Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently
sway'st
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,
Do I envy those jacks tliat nimble leap
To kiss the tender inward of thy hand.
Whilst my poor lips, which should that har¬
vest reap, [stand!
At the wood 8 boldness by thee blushing
To be so tickled, they would change their state
And situation with those dancing chips.
O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,'
Making dead wood more blest than living
lips.
Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,'
Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.
cxxix.
The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action ; and tiil action, lust
Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame.
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust,
finjoy'd no sooner but despised straight.
Past ceasou hunted, and no sooner had
Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait
On purpose laid to make the taker mad ;
Mild in pursuit and in possession so ;
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme ;
A biiss in proof, and proved, a very woe j
Before, a joy proposed ; behind, a dream.
Ail this the world well knows ; yet none
knows well
To shun the heaven that leads men to this
h^U.
cxxx.
My mistress' eyes aiv nothing like the sun ;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red ;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are
dun ; ' [head.
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white.
But no such roses see I in her cheeks ;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Tlian iu the breath that from my mistress
reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hatli a far more pleasing sound ;
I grant I never saw a goddess go ;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the
ground :
And yet, by ueaveu, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with fals^compare.
CXXXI.
Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art.
As those whose beauties proudly make them
cruel;
For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart
Thon art the fairest and most precious jewel.
Yet, iu good faith, some say that thee behold
'Thy lace hath not the power to make low
groan:
To say tliey err I dare not be so bold,
Although I swear it to myself alone.
And, to be sure that is not false 1 swear,
A thousand groans, but tliinkiug on thy face,
One on another's neck, do witness bear
Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place.
Ill nothing art thou black save in thy deeds.
And thence this slander, as I think, pro¬
ceeds.
CXXXII.
Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me.
Knowing thy heart torments me with disdaii^
Have put on black and loving mourners be.
Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.
And truly not the morning sun of heaven
Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east.
Nor that full star that ushers in the even
Doth half that glory to the sober west.
As those two mourning eyes become thy face
O, let it then as weli beseem thy heait
To mourn for me, since mourning doth the''
grace,
And suit thy pity like in every part.
Then wili I swear beauty herself is black
And all they foul that thy complexion l^k.
cxxxiir.
Beshrew that heart that makes my heart tc
groan [me !
For that deep wound it gives my friend and
Is't not enough to torture me alone.
But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must
be?
Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken.
And my next self tliou harder hast engross'd;
Of him, myself, and thee, I am forsaken ;
A torment fhrice threefold thus to be cross'd.
Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward.
But then my friend's heart let my poor heart
bail ;
Whoe'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard;
Thou canst not then use rigor in my gaol:
And yet thou wilt; for I, being pent in thee,
Perforce am thine, and all that is in me.
oxxxiv.
So, now I have confess'd that he is thine.
And I myself am mortgaged to thy will.
Myself III forfeit, so that other mine
Thou wilt restore; to be my comfort still:
But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free.
For thou art covetous and he is kind ;
lie learn'd but surety-like to write for me
Under that bond that him as fast doth bind
The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take.
Thou usurer, that put'st forth all to use.
And sue a friend came debtor for my sak«
So him 1 lose through my unkind abuse.
Him have I lost; thon hast both him
me :
He pays the whole, and yet am I not tree.
1200
cxxxv.
Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy ' Will,'
And ' Will' to boot, and ' Will' in overplus ;
More tlian enough am I tiiat vex thee still, '
To thy sweet will making addition thus.
Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious.
Not <\"ce vouchsafe to hide my will in tliine ?
Shall will in others seem right gracious.
And in my will no fair acceptance shine ?
The sea, all water, yet receives rain still
And in abnitdanee addeth to his store ;
So thou, being rich in ' Will,' add to thy
'Wiir
One will of mine, to make thy large * Will'
more.
Let no unkind, no fair beseeoliers kill;
Tliink all but one, and me in that one
'Will.'
CXXXVI,
ff thy soul check thee that I come so near.
Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy ' Will,'
And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there ;
Thus far for love my love-suit, sweet, fulfil.
' Will' will fulfil the treasure of thy love,
Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one.
In things of great receipt with ease we prove
Among a number one is reckon'd none :
Tlien in the number let me pass untold.
Though in thy stores' account I one must be ;
For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold
That nothing me, a something sweet to thee :
Make but my name thy love, and love that
still.
And then thou lovest me, for my name is
' Will.'
cxxxvn.
Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine
eyes.
That they behold, and see not what they see ?
They know what beauty is, see where it lies.
Yet what the best is take the worst to be.
If eyes corrupt by over-partial looks
Be anchor'd in the bay where all men ride.
Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged
hooks.
Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied ?
Why should my heart think that a several
plot
Which my heart knows the wide world's com¬
mon place ?
Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not.
To pnt fair truth upon so foul a face ?
In things right true my heart and eyes have
erred,
And to this false plague are they now trans-
ferr'd.
CXXXVIII.
When my love swears that she is made of
truth
I do believe her, though I know she lies.
That she might think me some untutoFd
youth.
Unlearned in the world's false subtletiea
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me
young.
Although she knows my days are past the best.
Simply I credit her false speaMng tongue ;'
On Itoth sides thus is simple truth suppress'd.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust ?'
And wherefore say not I that I am old ?
O, love's best habit is ineeeming trust.
And age in love loves not to have years told
Therefore I lie with her and she with me.
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be
oxxxix.
O, call not me to justify the wrong.
That thy uiikindness lays upon my heart;
Wound me not witli uiine eye put jvith thy
tongue ;
Use power with jmwer and slay me not by art.
Tell me thou lovest elsewhere, but iu my
sight.
Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside ;
What need st thou wound with cunning when
thy might
Is more man my o'er-press'd defence can hide?
Let me excuse thee ; ah ! my love well knows
Her pretty looks have been mine enemies.
And therefore from my face she turns my
foes.
That they elsewhere might dart their injuries;
Yet do not so ; but since I am near slain.
Kill me outright with looks and rid ray p^
CXL.
Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press
My tongue-tied patience witli too much dis¬
dain ;
Lest sorrow lend me words and words express
The manner of my pity-wanting pain.'
If I might teach thee wit. better it were.
Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so ,
As testy sick men, when their deatlrs be near.
No news but health from their physicians
know ;
For if I should despair, I should grow mad.
And in my madness might speak ill of thee :
Now this ill-wresting woild is grown so bad.
Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be.
That I may not be so, nor thou belied.
Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud
heart go wide.
.CXLI.
In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,
For they in thee a thousand errors note ;
But 'tis my heart that loves what they de--
spise.
Who in despite of view is pleased to dote ;
Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune de¬
lighted.
Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone
Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited
To any sensual feast with thee alone :
But m'yfive wits nor my five senses can
Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee,
Wlio leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man.
Thy proud hearts slave and vassal wretch to
p- .
SONNETS.
1201
Ouly my plague thus iav I count my gakij
That she that makes me sin awards me pain.
cxui.
Love fa my sin and thy dear virtue hate, .
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving :
0, but with mine compare thou thine own
state.
And thou shidt find it merits not reproving ; •
Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine.
That have profaned their scarlet oruainmits
And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine,
Robb'd others' beds' revenues of their rents.
Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lovest those
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune
thee ;
Boot pity in thy heart, that when it grows ,
Thy pity may deserve to pitied be. .,
If thou dost seek to have what thou dost
hide,,,,
By self-example mayst thou be denied 1
CXLIII.
Lo ! as a careful housewife runs to catcli
One of her feather'd creatures broke away.
Sets down her babe and makes all swift dis¬
patch
In pursuit of the thing she would have sbiy.
Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase.
Cries to catch her whose busy care is hent
To follow that which flies before her face.
Not prizing her poor infant's discontent;
So runn'st thou after that which flies' from
thee, I
Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind ;
But if thou catch thy hope, turn biick to me.
And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind :
So will I pray that thou mayst ha—j thy
'Will,'
Tt thou turn back, and my loud ciying' still.
J CXilV.
Two loves I have of comfort and despair.
Which like two spirits do suggest me still:
The better angel fa a mar. right fair,
The worser spirit a wontan color'd ill.
To win me soon to hell, my female evil
Terapteth my better angel from my si le.
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil.
Wooing his purity with her foul pride.
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell; ■
But being both from uie, both to each friend,
I guess one angel in another's hell:
Yet this shall Ine'erknow,butlivein doubt.
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.
CXIiV.
Those lips that Love's own hand did make
Breathed forth the sound that said ' I hate'
To me that languish'd for hec sake ;
But when she saw my woeful state.
Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue that ever sweet
Was used in giving gentle doom,
And taught it thus anew to greet ■
' I hate' she alter'd with an end.
That follow'd it as gentle day
Doth follow night, who like a fiend
From heaven to bell is flown away ;
' 1 hate' from hate away she threw.
And saved my life, ^yhg' uot you.',
CXLYI.
Poor soul, the centre of my sinfnl eartli,
t these rebel powers that tliee army,
Wliy dost thou pine within and suffer dearth.
Painting tliy outward walls so costly gay ?
Why so large cost, having so short a lease.
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend 7
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess.
Eat up thy charge ? is this thy body's end ?
Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's lo.ss,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store ;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
Within be fed, without be rich no more :
So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on
men, '
And Death once dead, there's no more dying
then.
cxfcvii.
My love fa as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nursetli the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, tlie physician to my love.
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept.
Hath left me, and 1 desperate now approve
Desire is deatli, which physic did ekcept.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care.
And frantic-mad with evermore unmst ;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's
are,
.At random from the truth vainly express'd ;
For I have sworn thee fair and thought tliee
bright, I
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
cxLvm.
O me, what eyes hath Love pvit in my head,
Which .have no correspondence with true
sight!
Or, if they have, where is my jndgnvent fled,
That censures falsely what they see aright 7
If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote,
Wliat means the world to'say it is not so ?
If it be not, then love doth well denote
Love's eye is not so true as all men's' No.'
How can it 7 D, how can Love's eye be true,
That is so vex'd with watching and with tears?
No marvel then, though I mistake my view ;
The^un itself sees not till heaven clears.
O cunning Love J with tears thou keep'st
me bliud.
Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should
find.
CXLIX,
Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not.
When I against myself with thee partake 7
Do I not think on thee, when I forgot
Am of myself, all tyrant, for thy sake ?
76
1202
Who hateth thee that I do call my friend ?
On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon
Nay, if thou lour'st on me, do I uot spend
Revenge upon myself with present moan ?
What merit do I in myself respect,
That is so proud thy service to de^se.
When all my best doth worship thy defect.
Commanded by the motion of thine eyes ?
But, love, hate on, for now I know thy
mind *,
Those that can see thou lovest, and I am
blind.
ex..
O, from what power hast thou-Mils powerful
might
With insufficiency my heart to sway 7
To make me give the lie to my true sight.
And swear that brightness doth not grace the
day ?
Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill.
That in the very refuse of thy deeds
There is such strength and warrantize of skill
That, in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds ?
Who taught thee how to make me love thee
more
The more I hear and see just cause of hate 7
O, though I love what others do abhor.
With others thou shouldst notabhor my state;
If thy unworthiness raised love in me,
More worthy 1 to be beloved of thee.
CLI.
Love is too young to know what conscience is:
Yet who knows not conscience is bom of love V
Then ^<^tle cheater, urge not my amiss.
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove:
For, tliou betraying me. I do betray
My nobler part to my g.'oss body's trea-ion ,
My soul doth tell my body that ne may
Triumph in love ; flesh stays no father reason;
But, rising at thy narav., doth point out thee
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride.
He is contented thy poor drudge to be.
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.
No want of conscience bold it that I call
Her ' love' for whose dear love I rise and
fall.
CLll.
In loving thee thou know'st lam forsworn.
But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swear*
ing.
In act thy bed-vow broke and new faith torn
In vowing new bate after new love bearing.
^,^1— II III ■ I ^1—————
But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee^
When 1 break twenty 7 I am perjured most;
For all ray vows are oaths but to misuse thee
And all my honest faith in thee is lost.
For I have sworn deep oaths of thy de^kiiid*
' : ness,
Oatlis of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy,
And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness.
Or made them swear against the thing they
see;
Fori have sworn thee fair; more perjured I,
Jjf) swea^ggainst the truth so foul a lie !
dJH.
Cupid laid by his bratad, and fell asleep :
A maid of Dian's this advantage found.
And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep
iin a cold valley-fountain of th^ ground ;
Which borrow d from this holy flre of Love
A dateless lively heat, still to endure.
And grew a seething bath, which yet men
prove
Against strange maladies a sovereign cure.
But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new-
fired.
The boy for trial needs would touch my
breast;
I, sick withal, the help of bath desired.
And thither hied, a sm distemner'd guest.
But found no cure : the batn for my help
■ lies
, Where Cupid got new fire—my mistress*
eyes.
CLIV.
jRie little Tiove-god lying once asleep
(.aid by nis side his heart-inflaming brand.
Whilst many nymphs tiiat vow'd chaste lifet*
keep
Came tripping by ; but in her maiden hand
The fairest votary took up that fire
Which many legions of true hearts had
warm'd ;
And so the general of hot desire
Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm'd.
This brand she quenched in a cool well by.
Which from 1-ove's fire took heat perpetual.
Growing a bath and liealthful remedy
For men diseased ; but I, my mistress' thrall,
Came there for cure, and this by that i
prove,
, Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.
A LOVER'S COMPLAINT.
INTRODUCTION^
As already mentioned in the Introduction to the Sonnets this poem first appeared in the quarto
contaiiiin^he Sonnets published in 1609. In a letter to the Kditor of the " Leopold Shakespeare,"
Professor Oelius says; " A Lover's Complaint may belonu to the end of Shakespeare'ssecond periodt
or to the third and latest period ; so you may place it with Othello," in the chronological order.
From ofE a hill whose concave womb re¬
worded
A plaiutful story from a sisterlng vale,
My spirits to attend this double voice accorded,
And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale ;
Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale.
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,
SI jrming her world with sorrow's wind and
ram.
l^on her head a platted hive of straw,
Wiiich fortified her visage from the sun,
Whereon the thought might think sometime
it saw 10
The carcass of beauty spent and done :
Time had not scythed all that youth begun.
Nor youth all quit; but, spite of heaven's
fell rage.
Some beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd
age.
Oft did slie heave her napkin to her eyne.
Which on it liad conceited characters.
Laundering tlie silken figures iu the brine
That season'd woe had pelleted in tears.
And often reading what contents it bears ;
As often shrieking undistingulsh'd woe, 20
111 clamors of ail size, both high and low.
Sometimes her levell'd eyes their carriage ride.
As they did batte^ to the spheres nitend ;
Sometime diverted their pror bails are tied
To the orbed earth ; sometimes they do extend
•Tlieir view ri^t on ; anon their ^zes lend
To every place at once, and, nowhere fix'd,
Tlie mind and sight distractedly eommix'd.
Her hair, nor loose nor tied iu formal plat.
Proclaim'd in her a careless hand of pride 30
For some, nntnck'd, descended her sheaved
hat, IS
Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside ;
Some in her tnreaden fillet still did bide.
And true to bondage would not break from
thence.
Though slackly braided in loose negligence.
A thousand favors from a maund she drew
Of amber, crystal and of beaded jet,
Which one by one she in a river threw,
Umm whose weeping margeut she was set;
Like usury, applying wet to wet, 40
Or monarch's iiands that let not bounty fall
Where want cries some, but where excess begs
all.
Of folded schedules had she many a one.
Which she perused, sigh'd, tore, and gave the
flood ;
Crack'd many a ring of posied gold and bone
Bidding tliein find tlieir sepulchres in mud ;
Found yet moe letters sadly penn'd iu blood,
With sleided silk feat and affectedly
Euswathed, and seal'd to curious secrecy.
These often bathed she in her fluxive eyes, 50
And often kiss'd, and often 'gan to tear:
Cried ' O false blood, thou register of lies.
What unapproved witness dost thou bear!
Ink would haveseem'd more black and damned
here !'
This said, in top of rage the lines she rents.
Big discontent so breaking their contents.
A reverend man that grazed his cattle nigh-
Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew
Of court, of city, and had let go by
The swiftest hours, observed as they flew— 60
Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew.
And, privileged by age, desires to know
In brief the grounds and motives of her woe.
So slides he down upon his grained bat.
And comely-distant sits he by her side ;
Wlien he again desires her, being sat.
Her grievance with bis hearing to divide ;
If that from him there may be anght applied
Which may lier suffering ecstasy assuage,
'Tis promised in the charity of age. 70
' Father,' she says, ' though in me you behold
Tlie injury of many a blasting hour,
Let it not tell your judgment I am old ;
(1203)
1204
A LOVhR'S
COMPLAIN%.
Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power:
I might as yet have been a spreading flower.
Fresh to myseif, if I had self-applied
Love to myself and to no love beside.
' But, woe me 4 too early I attended , ^ ,
A youthful suit—it was to gain my grace-*-
Of one by nature's outwards so commended,
That maidens' eyes stuck over all his face : 81
Love iack'd a dweliing, and made him heF
place;
And when in his fair parts she did abide,
Siie was new lodged and newly deified.
' His browny locks did hang in crooked curls;
And every light occasion of the wind
Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls.
What's sweet to do, to do will aptly find :
Each eye that saw liim did enchant tlie mind,
For on his visage was in iittle drawn 90
What iargeness thinks in Paradise was sawn.
' Smail show of man was yet upon his chin ;
His phoenix down began but to appear
Like unshorn veivet on that termicss skin
Whose bare out-bragg'd the web it seem'd to
wear ;
Yet show'd his visage by that cost more dear;
And nice affections wavering stood in doubt
If best were as it was, or best without.
' His qualities were beauteous as his form, 99
For maiden-tougued lie was, and tliereof free;
Yet, if men moved him, was lie such a storm
As oft 'twi.xt May and April is to see.
When winds breathe sweet, unruly though
they be.
His rudeness so with his authorized youth
Did livery falseness in a pride of truth.
' Well could he ride, and often men would say
" Tliat liorse liis mettle from his rider takes ;
Proud pf subjection, noble by the sway.
What rounds, what bounds, what course, what
stop he makes !"
And controversy hence a question takes, 110
Whether the horse by him became his deed,
<Jr he his manage by the well-doing steed.
' But quickly on this side the verdict went:
His real habitude gave life and grace
To appertainings and to ornament,
Accomplish'd in himself, not in his case :
All aids, thera.sel ves made fairer by their place.
Came for additions ; yet their purposed trim
Pieced not his grace, but were all graced by
him.
' So on the tip of his subduing tongue 120 ;
All kind of arguments and question deep.
All replication prompt, and reason strong.
For his advantage still did wake and sleep :
To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep.
He had the dialect and different skill.
Catching all passions in his craft of will:
' That he did in the general bosom reign
Of .young, of old ; and sexes both enchanted.
To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain
In personal duty, following where Ke haunted,;
Consents bewitch'd, ere he desire, havft
granted; 13-
And dialogued for him what he would say, ''
Ask'd their own wills, and made their wills
» 1 /
' Many there were that did his picture get.
To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind ;
Like fools that in th' imagination set
The goodly objects whicli abroad they find
Of lauds and mansions, theirs in thought as-
sign'd ;
And laboring in moe pleasures to bestow them
Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe
them: 140
' So many have, that never tonch'd his hand,
Sweetly supposed them mistress of his heart
My woeful self, that did in freedom stand.
And was my own fee-simpie, not in part.
What with his art in youth, and youth in art.
Threw my affections in his charmed power.
Reserved the stalk and gave him all my flower
' Yet did 1 not, as some my equais did.
Demand of him, nor being desired yielded ;
Finding myseif in honor so forbid, 150
With safest distance I mine honor shielded :
Experience for me many bulwarks builde''
Of proofs new-bleeding, which remaiv'd the
foil
Of this false jewel, and his amorous spwl
' But, ah, who ever shunn'd by precedent
The destined ill she must lierself assay ?
Or forced examples, 'gainst her own content
To put the by-past perils in her way ?
Counsel may stop awhile what will not stay ;
For when we rage, advice is often seen IW
By blunting us to make our wits more keen.
' Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood.
That We must curb it upon others' jiroof.
To be forbod the sweets that seem so good.
For fear of harms that preach in our behoof.
O appetite, from judgment stand aloof !
The one a palate hath that needs will taste.
Though Reason weep, and cry, " It is thy
last."
' For further Icould say " This man's untrue,"
And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling ;
Heard where his plants in others' orchards
grew, 17.1
Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling ;
Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling ;
Thought characters and words merely but art.
And bastards of his foul adulteraie heart.
' And long upon these terms I held my city.
Till thus iiegan besiege me: " Gentie maid.
Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity,
And be not of my holy vows afraid :
That's to ye sworn to none was ever said ; ISO
For feasts of love I have been call'd unto.
Till now did ne'er invite, nor never woo.
A LOVERS COMPLAINT.
1206
"oy offences that abroad you see
; ™ ®rrors of the blood, none of the mind ;
M>ve made them not; with actnre they may
Where neither party is nor true nor hind :
tney sought their shame that so their shame
did find ;
And so much lesaof shame in me remains,
iJy how much of me their reproach contains.
Among the many that mine eyes have seen,
■Not one whose flame my heart so much as
warm'd, 191
Or my affection put to the smallest teen.
Or any of my leisures ever charm'd:
Harm have I done to them, but ne'er was
harm'd ;
Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free.
And reign'd, commanding in his monarchy.
' " Look here, what tributes Wounded fancies
sent me,
Of paled pearls and rubies red as blood ;
Figuring that they their passions likewise lent
me
Of grief and blushes, aptly understood 200
In bloodless white and the encrimson'd mood ;
Effects of terror and dear modesty.
Encamp'd in hearts, but fighting outwardly.
And, 10, behold these talents of their hair.
With twist^ metal amorously impleach'd,
I have received from many a several fair.
Their kind acceptance weepingly beseech'd.
With the annexions of fair gems enrich'd.
And deep-brain'd sonnets that did amplify
Each stone's dear nature, worth, and qual¬
ity. 210
' " The diamond,—why, 'twas beautiful and
hard.
Whereto his invised properties did tend ;
The deep-green emerald, in whose fresh
regard
Weak sights their .-ickljr radiance do amend ;
The lieaven-hiied sjippnire and the opal blend
With objects manifold : each several stone,
With wit well blazon'd, smiled or made some
moan.
' " Lo, all these tropiiies of affections hot,
Of peiisived and subdued desires the tender,
Nature hath charged me that I hoard them
not, 220
But yield them up where I myself must ren¬
der,
That is, to you, my origin and ender ;
For these, of force, must your oblations be.
Since I their altar, you enpatron me.
■" O, then, advance of yours that phraseless
hand.
Whose white weighs down the airy scale of
praise ;
fake all these similes to your o^ command,
Hallow'd with sighs tiiat burning lungs did
raise ;
What me ; our minister, for you obeys.
Works under you ; and to your audit comes
Their distract parcels in combined sums. 23]
'" Lo, this device was sent me from a nun,
Or sister sanctified, of holiest note ;
Which late her noble suit in court did shun.
Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote;
For she was sought by spirits of richest coat.
But kept cold distance, and did thence re¬
move.
To spend her living in eternal love.
' " But, O my sweet, what labor Is't to leave
The thing we have not, mastering what not
strives, 240
tPlaying the place which did no form receive,
Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves ?
She that her fame so to herself contrives,
The scars of battle 'scapeth by the flight.
And makes her absence valiant, not her might.
' " O, pardon me, in that my boast is true:
The accident which brought me to her eye
Upon the moment did her force subdue.
And now she would the caged cloister fly :
Religious love put out Religion's eye : 250
Not to be tempted, would she be immured.
And now, to tempt, all liberty procured.
'" How mighty then you are, 0, hear me tell'
The broken bosoms that to me belong
Have emptied all their fountains in my well.
And mine I jiour your ocean all among:
1 strong o'er them, and you o'er me being
strong.
Must for your victory us all congest.
As compound love to physic your cold breast.
' " My parts had power to charm a sacred
nun, 2(X)
Who, disciplined, ay, dieted in grace.
Believed her eyes when they to assail begun.
All vows and consecrations giving place :
O most potential love ! Vow, bond, nor space.
In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine,
lor thou art all, and all things else are thine.
' " When thou impressest, what are "precepts
worth
Of stale example ? When thou wilt inflame,
How coldly those impediments stand forth 269
Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame !
tLove's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst
sense, 'gainst shame.
And sweetens, in the suffering pang:, it bears.
The aloes of all forces, sliocks, and fears.
' " Now all these hearts that do on mine de¬
pend.
Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they
pine ;
And supplicant their siglis to you extend,
To leave the battery that you make 'gainst
mine,
I.eiiding soft audience to my sweet design.
And credent soul tc that strong-bonded oath
That shall prefer and uudeitake my troth "
lao6
A LOVER'S COMPLAINT.
' Tbis said, his watery eyea he did dismount,
Whose sights till then were levell'd on my
face ;
Each cheek a river running from a fount
With brinish current downward flow'd apace:
O, how the channel to the stream gave grace!
Who glazed with crystal gate the glowing
roses
That flame through water which their hue en¬
closes.
' O father, whafa hell of witchcraft lies
III the small orb of one particular tear I
But with the inundation of the eyes 290
AVhiit rocky heart to water will not wear ?
What breast so cold that is not warmed here ?
O cleft effect! cold modesty, hot wrath.
Both fire from hence and chill extinctnre hath.
' F<>r, lo, his passion, but an art of craft.
Even there resolved my reason into tears ;
There my white stole of chastity 1 daffd.
Shook on my sober guards and civil fears ;
Appear to him, as he to me appears,
.\il melting ; though our drops this difference
bore, 300
His poison'd me, and mine did him restore.
' In him a plenitude of subtle matter.
Applied to cautels, all strange forms receives.
Of burning blushes, or of weeping water,
Or swooning paleness; and he takes and
leaves,
In cither's aptness, as it best deceives,
To blush at speeches rank to weep at woes.
Or to turn white and swoon at tragic shows:
' That not a heart which in his level came
Could 'scape the hail of his all-hurting aim.
Showing fair nai:ure is both kind and tame ;
And, veil'd in them, did win whom he would
maim : [claim ;
Against the thing be sought he would ex-
When he most burn'd in heart-wish'd luxury.
He preach'd pure maid, and praised cold
chastity.
' Thus merely with the garment of a Grace
The naked and conceals fiend he cover'd ;
That th' unexiierient gave the tempter place.
Which like a cherubin above them hover'd.
Who, young and simple, would not be so
lover'd ? 320
Ay me! I fell; and yet do question make
What I should do again for such a sake.
' O, that infected moisture of his eye,
O, that false fire which in his cheek so glow'd
O, that forced thunder from his heart did fiy,
O, that sad breath his spongy lungs bestow'd,
O, all that borrow'd motion seeming owed.
Would yet again betray the fore-betray'd.
And new pervert a reconciled maid 1' 329
THE PHCENIX AND THE TURTLE.
INTRODUCTION.
The Phcenix and the Turtle was printed as one of the additional poems to Chester's Love's
"'^rtyr, or Jtosalind's Complaint, 1601, with Shakespeare's name appended. That it is his seems in
a high degree doubtful; Mr. Fumivall says, " it is no doubt spurious."
Let the bird of loudest lay,
On the sole Arabian tree.
Herald sad and trumi>et be.
To whose sound chaste wings obey.
But thou shrieking harbinger,
Foul precurrer of the fiend.
Augur of the fever's end.
To this troop come thou not near I
From this session interdict
Every fowl of tyrant wing, 10
Save the eagle, feather'd king:
Keep the obsequy so strict.
Let the priest in surplice white.
That defunctive music can,
Be the deatli-divining swan.
Lest the requiem laclc his right.
And thou treble-dated crow.
That thy sable gender rankest
With the breath thou givest and takest,
'Mongst our mourners shalt tliou go. 20
Here tlie anthem doth commence ;
Love and constancy is dead ;
Phoenix and tlie turtle fled
In a mutual flame from hence.
So they loved, as love in twain
Had the essence but in one ;
Two distincts, division none:
Number ttiere in love was slain.
Hearts remote, yet not asunder ;
Distance, and no space was seen 30
'Twixt the turtle and his queen:
But in them it were a wonder.
So between them love did siiiSe,
That tlie turtle saw his right
Flaniingin tlie phoenix' sight ;
Either was tlie other's mine.
Property was thus appalled.
That the self was not the same ;
Single nature's double name
Neither two nor one was called 40
Reason, in itself confounded.
Saw division grow together.
To themselves yet either neither.
Simple were so well compounded.
That it cried, How true a twain
Seemeth this concordant one 1
Love hath rea.son, reason none.
If what parts can so remain.
Wliereupon it made this threne
To the phcenix and tlie dove, 6>
Co-supremes and stai-s of love.
As chorus to their tragic scene.,
thbenos.
Beauty, truth, and rarity,
Grace in all simplicity.
Here enclosed in cinders lie.
Deatli is now the phoenix' nest;
And the turtle's loyal breast
To eternity doth rest.
Leaving no xxisterity:
'Twas not their infirmity, 60
It,was married chastity.
Truth may seem, but cannot be :
Beauty brag, but 'tis not she ;
Truth and beauty buried be.
To this urn let those repair
That are either true or fair ;
For tliese dead birds sigli a inayer.
<1207)
GLOSSARY TO SHAKESPEARE'S WORKS.
Abate, v.t. to shorten. M. N's Dr. Iil. 2. To cast
down. Cor. in. 3. To blunt. R. III. v. 4.
Abatement, »6. diminution. Lear, i. 4.
Abide, v.i. to sojouni. Wint. Tale, iv. 3. v.t. to
expiate (a corruption of 'Aby'). J. C. in. 1:
Ibfd. m. 2. '
Able, v.t. to uphold. Lear, IV. 6.
Abridgement, sb. a short play. Ham. n. 2.
Abroot v.t. to brook, abide. 2 H. VI. ii. 4.
Absey-Book, «6. a primer. John, 1.1.
Absolute, adj. positive, certain. Cym. rv. 2;
Ham. V. 2. Complete. Temp. i. 2.
Abuse, v.t. to deceive. Lear, iv. 7.
Abuse, sb. deception. M. for M. v. 1.
Aby, v.t. to expiate a fault. M. N's Dr. in. 2.
Abjrsm, sb. abyss. Temp. i. 2.
Accite, v.t. to cite, summon. 2 H. TV. v. 2.
Accuse, sb. accusation. 2 H. VI. in. 1.
Achieve, v- to obtain. H. V. iv. 3.
Acknown, p.p. ' to be acknown' is to acknowl-
edge. 0th. in. 3.
A^ulttance, sb. a receipt or discharge. Ham.
Action-taking, adj. litigious. Lear, n. 2.
Acture, sb. action. Lover's Com. 185.
Addition, sb. title, attribute. All's Well, il. 3 :
T. & Cr. L 2.
Address, v.r. to prepare oneself. 2. H. VX. v. 2:
Ham. i. 2.
Addressed, part, prepared. L's L's L. n. 1.
Advance, v.t. to prefer, promote to honor. Tim.
I. 2.
Advertisement, sb. admonition. Much Ado, &o.
v. 1.
Advertising, pr. p. attentive. M. for M. y. 1.
Advice, sb. consideration, discretion. Two Oent.
II. 4 : M. for M. v. 1.
Advise, v. sometimes nmter, sometimes reactive,
to consider, reflect. Tw. N. iv. 2.
Advised, p.p. considerate. Com. of E. v. 1.
Advocation, sb. pleading, advocacy. 0th. in. 4.
Afeard, adj. afraid. Merry Wives, in. 4.
Affect, v.t. to love. Merry Wives, il. 1.
Affeered, p.p. assessed, conflrmed. Mac. iv. 3.
Afront, adv. in front. 1 H. IV. n. 4.
Affy, v.t. to affiance. 2 H. VI. IV. 1. To trost.
T. A. 1.1.
Agazed,p.p. looking in amazement. 1 H. VI. 1.1.
Agiet-ba^, sb. the small flgure engraved on a
jewel. Tam. of S. 1.2.
Aguise, v.t. to acknowledge, coufess. Oth. i. 3.
A-good, adv. a good deal, plenteously. Two Oent.
IV. 4.
A.-hold, adj. a sea-term. Temp. 1.1.
Aiery, sb. the nest of a bird of prey. B. III. I. 3.
Aim, sb. a guess. Two Oent. in. 1.
Alder-lieCest, adj. most loved of all. 2 H. VI. 1.1.
Ale, sb. alehouse. Two Oent. il. 5.
Allow, v. to approve. Tw. N. I. 2.
Allowance, sb. approval. Cor. in. 2.
Ames-ace, sb. two aces, the lowest throw of the
dice. All's Well, ii. 3.
Amort, adj. dead, dejected. Tam. of S. IV. 3,
An, conj. if. Much Ado, 1.1.
Anchor, sb. an anchorite, hentHt. Ham. in. 2.
Ancient, sb. an ensign-bearer. 1 H. IV. iv. 2.
Angel, sb. a coin, so called because It bore the
image of an angel. Merry Wives, i. 3.
Anight, adv. by night. As you Like it, II. 4.
Answer, sb, retaliation. Cyut. v. 3.
Anthiopoidiaginiaii,s&. a cannibal. Merry Wives,
rv. 5.
Antick, s5. the fool in the old plays. B. II. ni. 2.
Autre, sb. a cave. Oth. 1.3.
Apparent, sb. heir-apparenk Wint. Tale, i. 2.
Appeal, sb, accusation. M. for M. v. 1.
Appeal, v.t. to accuse. B. II. i. 1.
Appeared, p.p. made apparent. Cor. iv. 3.
Apple-John, sb. a kind of apple. 1 Hen. IV. m.
3.
Appointment, sb. preparation. M. for M. ill. 1.
Apprehension, sb. opinion. Much Ado, in. 4.
Apprehensive, a<lj. apt to apprehend or und^
stand. J. C. in. 1.
Approbation, sb. probation. Cym. i. 6.
Approof, sb. approbation, proof. All's Well, 1.2;
'lemp. ii. 5.
Approve, v.t. to prove. B. II. i. 3. To justify,
make good. Lear, ii. 4.
Approver, sb. one who proves or tries. Cym. il. 4.
Arch, sb. chief. Lear, li. 1.
Argal, a ridiculous word intended for the Latin
ergo. Ham. v. I.
Argentine, adj. silver. Per. v. 2.
Ar^er, sb. Algiers. Temp. i. 2.
Argosy, sb. originally a vessel df Bagnsa or Ba-
gosa, a Bagosine : hence any ship of burden.
M. of V. 1.1.
Argument, sb. subject. Much Ado, ii. 3.
Armigero, a mistake for Armiger, the Latin for
Esquire. Merry Wives, 1.1.
Aroint, v.r. found only in the imperat. mood, get
thee gone. Mac. i. 3; Lear, in. 4.
A-row, adv. in a row. Com. of E. v. I.
Articulate, v.i. to enter into articles of agree¬
ment. Cor. i. 9. v.t. to exhibit in articles.. 1 H.
IV. V. 1.
Ask, v.f. to require. 2 H. VI. i. 2.
Aspect, sb. regard, looks. A. & C. I. 5.
Aspersion, «b. sprinkling; hence blessing, because
before the Reformation benediction was gene¬
rally accompanied by the sprinkling of holy
water. Temp. in. 3.
Assay, sb. attempt. M. forM. in. 1.
Assay, v.t. to attempt, test, make proof of. Merry
Wives, ii. 1.
Assinego, sb. an ass. T. St Cr. Ii. I.
Assubju^te, V.I. to subjugate. T. & Cr. II. 3.
Assurance, sb. deed of assurance. Tam. of S. IV.
2.
Assured, p.p. betrothed. Com. of E. in. 2.
Atomy, sb. an atom. As you Like it, in. 2. Used
in contempt of a small person. 2 II. IV. v. 4.
Atone, v.t, to put people at one, to reconcile. K.
II. 1.1. v.i. to agree. Cor. iv. 6.
Attach, v.t. to seize, lay hold on. Temp. in. 3 ;
Com. of E. iv. I.
Attasked, p.p. taken to task, reprehended. Lear,
i. 4.
Attend, v.i. to listen to. Temp. 1.2; M. of V 7
1.
Attent, adj. attentive. Ham. i. 2.
Attorney, eb. >tn agent. B. HI. iv. 4.
Attorney, v.i. to employ as an agent. M. for M.
V. 1. To perform by an agent. Wint. Tale, i. 1.
Audacious, adj. spirited, daring, but without any
note of blame attached to it. L's L's L. v. 1. .
Augur, sb. augury. Mac. in. 4.
Authentic, adj. clothed with authority. Merry
Wives, ii. 2.
GLOSSARY.
Avaunt, int. be goue, a word of abhorrence. Com.
of E. IV. 3. '
Ave, i;.t. xhe Latin for hail: hence acclamation.
M. for M. I. i.
Ave-Mary, sb, the angelic salutation addressed to
the B. Virgin Mary. 2. H. VI. i. 3.
Averring, ^.p. cqutirming. Cym. V. 6.
Awful, culj. worshipful. Two Qent. IV. 1.
Awkward, adj. contrary, 2 H. VI. ill. 2.
Baccare, int. keep back. Tam. of S. ll. 1.
Backward, sb. the hinder part; hence, when ap¬
plied to time, tire past. Temp. i. 2.
Balked, J).p. heaped, as on a ridge. 1H. IV. 1.1.
Ballow, sb. a cudgel. Lear, iv. 6.
Balm, sb. the oil of consecration. K. II. rv. 1; 3
H. VI. III. 1.
Ban, v.t. to curse. Lucr. 1460.
Bank, v.t. to sail by the banks. John, v. 2.
Barm, s6. yeast. M. N's Dr. ii. 1.
Barn, sb. a cliild. 1 H. IV. ii. 3.
Barnacle, sb. a shell-dsh, supposed to produce the
sea-bird of the same name. Temp. iv. 1.
Base, sb. a game, sometimes called Prisoners'
base. Cym. v. 3.
Bases, sb. an embroidered mantle worn by knights
on horseback, and reaching from the middle to
below the knees. Per. ii. 1.
Basilisk, sb. a kind of ordnance. 1H. IV. IV. 3.
Basta, int. (Italian), enough. Tam. of S. 1.1.
Bastard, sb. raisin wine. M. for M. m. 2.
Bat-fowling, pari, catching birds with a clap-net
by night. Temp. ii. 1.
Bate, r.i. to flutter, as a hawk. 1 H. IV. IV. 1.
Bate, v.t. to eaecpt. Temp. ii. 1. To abate. Much
Ado, It. 3.
Batlet, sb. a small bat, used for beating elothes.
As you Like it, ii. 4.
Battle, sb. army. 1 H. IV. iv. 1.
Bavin, sb. used as an adj. a piece of waste wood,
applied contemptuously to anything worthless.
1 H. IV. HI. 2.
Bawcock, sb. a fine fellow. Tw. N. ill. 4.
Bay, sb. the space between the main timbers of
the roof. M. for M. ii. 1.
Beadsman, sb. one who bids bedes, that is, prays
. prayers for another. Two Oent. 1.1.
Bearing-cloth, sb. a rich cloth in which children
were wrapt at their christening. Wint. Tale,
III. 3.
Beat, u.i. to flutter as a falcon, to meditate, con¬
sider earnestly. Temp. I. 2.
Beaver, sb. the lower part of a helmet. 1 H. TV.
IV. 1.'
Beetle, sb. a mallet, 2 H. IV. I. 2.
Being, sb. dwelling. Cym. i. 6.
Being, conj. since, inasmuch as. A & 0. III. 6.
Be-mete, v.t. to measure. Tam. of S. iv. 3.
Be-moiled, p.p. daubed with dirt. Tam. of S.
IV. 1.
Bending, pr. p. stooping imder a weight. H. V. v.
Chorus.
Benvenuto, sb. (Italian), welcome. L's L's L. iv.
2.
Bergomask, adj. a rustic dance. M. N's Dr. v. 1.
Beshrew, inf. evil befal. Com. of £. il. 1.
Bestraught, p.p. distraught, distracted. Induct.
to Tam. of S.
Beteem, v.t. to pour out. M. N's Dr. 1.1.
Betid, p.p. happened. Temp. I. 2.
Bezonian, sb. a beggarly fellow. 2 H. IV. V. 3.
Biding, sb. abiding-place. Lear, IV. 6.
Biggen, sb. a night-cap. 2 H. IV. IV. 6.
BilbeiTy, sb. the whortleberry. Merry Wlvea v. 5.
Bilbo, sb. a sword, from Bilboa, a town in Spain
where they were made. Merry Wives. I. !•
Bilboes, sb. fetters or stocks. Ham. v. 2.
Bill, sb. a bill-hook, a weapon. Much Ado, m. 3.
Bin=been, are. Cym. ii. 3.
Bird-bolt, sb. a bolt to be shot Brom a crossbow at
birds. Much Ado, 1.1.
Birding, part, hawking at partridges. Merry
Wives, III. 3.
Bisson, adj. blind. Cor. n. 1.
Blank, sb. the white mark in the middle of a ta^
get ^enc%^ metaphorically, that which is aimed
at. wint. Tale, ii. 3.
Blench, v.i. to start aside, flinch. M, for M. IV. 5.
BlenL p.p. blended. M. of V. ill. 2.
Blood-boltered, part, smeared with blood. Mnc.
IV. 1.
Blow, v.f. to inflate. Tw. N. u. 6.
Board, v.t. to accost. Tam. of S. I. 2.
Bob, sb. a blow, mctaph. a sarcasm. As you Like
it, II. 7.
Bob, v.t. to strike, metaph. to ridicule, or to ob¬
tain by raillery. T. & Cr. Iii. 1; 0th. v. 1.
Bodge, v. to botch, bungle. 3 H. VI. i. 4.
Bodikin, sb. a corrupt word used as an oath. 'Od's
Bodikin, God's little Body. Ham. ii. 2.
Boitier vert (French), green box. Merry Wives,
1.4.
Bold, v.t. to embolden. Lear, v. 1.
Bollen, adj. swollen. Lucr. 1417.
Bolter, sb. a sieve. 1 H. IV. iii. 3.
Bolted, p.p. sifted, refined. H. V. II. 2.
Bolting-hutch, sb. a hutch in which meal was
sifted. 1 H. IV. II. 4.
Bombard, sb. a barrel, a drunkard. Temp. ll. 2.
Bombast, sb. padding. L's L's L. v. 2.
Bona-roba, sb. a harlot. 2 H. IV. iii. 2.
Bond, sb. that to which one is bound. Lear, i. L
Book, sb. a paper of conditions. 1H. IV. ill. 1.
Boot, sb. help, use. Tam. of S. v. 2.
Boot, v.t. to help, to avail. Two Gent. 1.1.
Bootless, adj. without boot or advantage, useless.
Temp. 1.2.
Boots, sb. bots, a kind of worm. Two Gent. 1.1.
Bore, sb. calibre of a gun ; hence, metaph. size,
weight, importance. Ham. iv. 6.
Bosky, adj. covered with underwood. Temp. lii.
3.
Bosom, sb. wish, heart's desire. M. for M. iv. 3.
Bots, sb. worms which infest horses. 1 H. IV. II.
L
Bourn, sb. a boundary. Wint. Tale, i. 2. A brook.
Lear, iii. 6.
Brace, sb. armor for the arm, state of defence.
Oth. I. 3; Per. II. 1.
Brach, sb- a hound bitch. Indue, to Tam. of S.
Braid, adj. deceitful. All's Well, iv 2.
Brave, adj. handsome, well-dressed. Temp. i. 2.
Brave, sb. boast. John, v. 2.
Bravery, sb. finery. Tam, of S. iv. 3. Boastful-
ness. Ham. v. 2.
Brawl, sb. a kind of dance. L's L's L. iii. 1.
Breed-bate, sb. a breeder of debate, a fomenter
of quarrels. Merry Wives, i. 4.
Breast, sb. voice. Tw. N. il. 3.
Breathe, v.t. to exercise. All's Well, ii. 3.
Breathing, pr. p. exercising. Ham. v. 2.
Breeching, acfj- liable to be "whipt. Tam. of S.
ui. 1. .
Breese, sb. the gadfly. A. & C in. 8.
Bribe-buck, sb, a buck given sway in presents.
Merry Wives, v. 6.
Bring, v.t. to attend one on a fsumey. M. for
M. 1.1.
Brock, sb. a badger, a term oC lontempt. Tw.
N. II. 6. .
Broke, v-i. to act as a iaocuT-^ - AH's WelL
III- 5.
Broken, n.n. having lost some teeth by age.
All's Well, II. 3.
Broken music, the music of stringed instru¬
ments. T. & Cr. III. I.
Broker, sb. an agent. Two Gent. I. 2.
Brotherhood, sb- trading company. T. & Cr. I. 3.
Brownist, sb. a sectary, a follower of Brown, the
founder of the Independents. Tw. N. iii. 2.
Bruit, sb. noise, report, rumor. 3 H. VI. ly. 7.
Bruit, v.f. to noise abroad. Mac. v. 7.
Brush, sb. rude assault. 2 H. VI. v. 3; Tim. iv. 3.
Buck, sb. suds or lye for washing clothes in.
Merry Wives, in. 3; 2 H. VI. iv. 2.
Buck-basket, sb. the basket in which clothes are
carried to the wash. Merry Wives, in. 5.
Bucking, sb. washing. Merry Wives, ill. 3.
Buck-washing, sb. washing in lye. Merry Wives,
III. 3. o .. J ,
Bug, sb. a bugbear, a spectre. 3 H. VI. v. 2;
Cyin. v. 3.
Bully-rook, sft. a bragging cheater. Merry Wives,
I* 3<
Borgonet, sb. a kind of helmet. 2 H. VI. y. 1.
Burst, v.t. to break. Iiid. to Tam. of S.
Busky, nrlj. bushy. 1 H. IV. y. 1.
Butt-sb.afl, sb. alight arrow for shooting at a
butt. L's Ij's L. I. 2.
Buxom, ar/J. obedient. H. V. III. 3.
By'rlakin, mt. by our little Lady : an oath, M.
N's Dr. III. 1.
Caddis, sb. worsted galloon, so called because it
resembles the caddis-worra. Wint. Tale, ly. 3.
Cade, sb.a cask or barrel. 2 H. VI. ly. 2.
Cage, sb. a prison. Cym. in. 3.
Caln-coiored, arlj. red (applied to hair). Merry
Wives, 1.1.
Caitiff, sb. a captive, a slave : hence, a witch.
Ail's Weil, ni. 2.
Calculate, V. t. prophesy. J. C. I. 3.
Caliver, sb. a hand-gun. 1 H. IV. ly. 2.
Oailet, sb. a truii. Oth. ly. 2. .
Calling, sb. appellation. As you Like it, i. 2.
Calm, sb. qualm. 2 H. IV. II. 4.
Can, v.t. to know, be skilful in. Ham. IV. 7.
Canary, sb. a wine brought from the Canary
Islands. Merry Wives, III. 2.
Candle-wasters, sb. persons who sit up all night
to drink. Much Ado, v. I.
Canakin, sb. a little can. Oth. ii. 3.
Canker, sb. a caterpillar. Two Gent. 1.1. The
dog-rose. Much Ado, i. 3.
Canstick, sb, a candlestick. iHen. IV. Iir.l.
Cantle, so. a slice, corner. 1 H. IV. ni. 1.
(Canton, sb. a canto. Tw. N. I. 6.
Canvas, v.t. to sift; hence, metaphorically, to
prove. 2 H. IV. II, 4.
Capable,<M9.subject to. John, iii.l. Intelligent.
T. St Cr. III. 3. Capable of inheriting. Lear,
II. 1. Ample, capacious. Oth. iii. 3.
Capitulate, y.t. make head. 1 H. IV. iii. 2.
(lapocchia, sb. a simpleton. T. & Cr. iv. 2.
CJapricio, sb. (Italian), caprice. All's Well, II. 3.
Capricious, adj. lascivious. As you Like it. III. 3.
Captious, adj. capacious. All's Weli, I. 3.
Carack, sb. a large ship of burden Com. of £.
in. 2. •
Carbonado, sb. meat scotched for broiling. 1 H.
IV. V. 3.
Carbonado, v.t. to scotch for broiling. Lear, n. 2.
Card, sb. the paper on which ^e points of the
compass are marked under the mariner's
needle. Ham. v.l.
Cnreire, f9. the curvetting of a horse. Merry
Wives, • 1.
'^arV ane: >. a neoklaoe. Com. E. in. 1.
Carl, s6. a churl. Cym. v. 2i
(Jarlot, sb, a churl. As you Like it, iii. 5.
Castilian, sb.a native of Castile; used as a cant.
term. Merry Wives, il. 3.
Castiliano vulgo, a cant term, meaning, appa¬
rently, to use discreet language. Tw. N. i. 3.
Catalan, adj. a native of Cathay, a cant word.
Tw.N. II.3.
Catling, sb. cat-gut. T. St Cr. ill. 3.
Cavalero, sb. a cavalier, gentleman. 2 H. IV. y. 8.
Caviare, sb, the roe of sturgeon pickled; met-
aph. a delicacy not appreciated by the vul¬
gar. Ham. II. 2.
Caatel, sb. deceit. Ham. i. 3.
Cautelous, adj. insidious. Cor. ly. 1.
<)ease, sb. decease. Ham. ill. 3.
Cease, p.p. put off, made to cease. Tim. ii. 1.
Censure, sb. judgment. 1 H. VI. II. 3.
Censure, v.t. to wdge, criticise. Two Gent, il 2.
Century, sb. a hundred of anything, whether
men, prayers, or anything else. Cor. i. 7;
Cym. ly. 2.
Ceremony, sb. a ceremonial vestment, religions
rite, or anything ceremonial. J. C. 1.1; Mac.
III. 4.
Certes, adv. certainly. Oth. 1.1.
Cess, sb. rate, reckoning. 1 H. IV. ii. 1.
Chace, sb.a term at tennis. H. V. 1.2.
Chamber, sb. a species of great gun. 2 H. IV.
II. 4.
Chamberer, sb. an effeminate man. Oth. iii. 3.
(Chanson, sb. a song. Ham. ii. 2.
Charact, sb. affected quality. M. for M. y. 1.
Character, sb. a letter, handwriting. Lear, i. 2.
Character, v.f. to carve or engravet Two Gent
II. 7 ; Ham. i. 3.
Charactery, sb. handwriting. Merry Wives, v. 5.
That which is written. J. C. ii. 1.
Chare, sb. a turn of work. A. & C. IV. 18.
Charge-house, sb. a free-school. L's L's L. y. 1.
Charles' wain, sb. the constellation c.alled also
Ursa Major, or the Great Bear. 1 H. IV. Ii. 1.
Charneco, sb. a species of sweet wine. 2 H. VI.
II. 3.
Chaudron, sb. entrails. Mac. ly. 1.
Cheater, sb. tor escheator, an officer who col¬
lected the lines to be paid into the Exchequer..
Merry Wives, i. 3. A decoy. 2 H. IV. II. 3.
Check, v.i. a technical term in falconry; when
a falcon flies at a bird which is not her proper
game she is sidd to check at it. Tw. N. ii. 5.
Checks, sb. perhaps intended for ethics. Tam. of
S. I. I.
Cheer, sb. fortune, countenance. Temp. 1.1.
Cherry-pit, sb. a game played with cheriy-stones.
Tw. N. III. 4.
Cheveril, sb. kid leather. K. & J. u. 4.
Chewit, sb. cough. 1 H. IV. v. 1.
Chiiding, adj. pregnant. M. N's Dr. ii. 2.
Ch'ill, vulgarfor 'Iwill.' Lear, iv. 6.
Chirurgeonly, adv. in a manner becoming a sur¬
geon. Temp. II. 1.
Chopin, sb. a high shoe or clog. Ham. ii. 2.
Christom, atff. clothed with a chrisom, the white
garment which used to be put on newly-bap¬
tized children. H. V. II. 3.
Cb'.'istendom, sb. the state of being a Christian.
John, ly. 1. Name. All's Well, 1.1.
Chuck, sb. chicken, a term of endearment. Mac,
III. 2.
Chuff, sb. a coarse blunt clown. 1 H. IV. ii. 2.
<)inque pace, sb. a kind of dance. Much Ado,
II. 1.
Cipher, v.f. to decipher. Lucr. 8!1.
Circumstance, s6. an argument. Two Gent. I..' '
John. II. 1.
1212
GLOSSARY.
Cital, sb. recital. 1 Hj IV. v. 2.
Cite, V. to incite. Two Gent. li. 4; 3 H. VI. Ii. 1.
Cittern, sb. a guitar. L's L's L. v. 2.
Clack-disli, sii. a beggar's dish. M. lor M. ill. 2.
Clap i' the clout, to ^oot an arrow into the bull's
■ eye of the target. 2 H. IV. iii. 2.
Claw, v.t. to flatter. Much Ado, I. 3.
Clepe, v.t. to call. Ham. i. 4.
Olilt, sb. clef, the key in music. T. & Cr. v. 2.
Cling, v-t. to starve. Mac. v. 6-
Clinquant,arfy. glittering. H. VIII. I. 1.
Clip, v.t. to embrace, enclose. 2 H. VI. iv. 1 ;
Cor. I. 6; Oth. in. 3.
Cleut, sb. the mark in the middle of a target.
I/s L's L. IV. I.
Coast, v.i. to advance. V. & A. 870.
Cobloaf, sb. abig loaf. T. & Cr. 11.1.
Cock, sb. a cockboat. Lear, iv. 6.
Cock-andJpie, an oath. Merry Wives, i. 1.
Cock, sb. a euphemism for God. Tarn, of S. iv. 1.
Cockle, sb. tares or darnel. L's L's L. iv. 3.
Cockney, sb. a cook. Lear, ii. 4.
Cock-shut-time, sb. the twilight, when cocks and
hens go to roost. It. III. v. 3.
Cog, v.i. to cheat, dissemble. Merry Wives, iii. 3.
Cognizance, sb. badge, token. I H. VI. ii. 4.
Coign, sb. projecting corner stone. Mac. i. 3.
Coil, sb. tumult, turmoil. Temp. i. 2.
Collection, sb. drawing a conclusion. Ham. iv. 6.
Coliied, p.p. blackened. Oth. ii. 3; M. N's I)r.
1.1.
Color, sb. pretence. L's L's L. iv. 2.
Colorable, adj. specious. Ibid.
Colt, v.t. to defraud, befool. 1 H. IV. II. 2.
Co-mart, sb. a joint bargain. Ham. 1.1.
Combinate, p.p. betrothed. M. for M. m. 1.
Combine, v-t. to bind. M. for M. l» 3.
Commodity, sb. interest. proflL-M. of V. iii. 3.
Commpnty, sh. used ludicrously for comedy. In¬
duction to Tarn, of S.
Compact, p.p. compacted, composed. M. N's Dr.
V. 1.
Comparative, adj. drawing comparisons. 1 H.
IV. I. 2.
Comparative, sb. rival. 1 H. IV. III. 2.
Compare, sb. comparison. T. & Cr. iii, 2.
Compassionate, cutj. moving comparison.. S. II.
1. 3.
Competitor, sb. one who seeks the same thing,
an associate in any object. Two Gent. li. 6.
Complement, sh. accomplishment. L's L's L. 1.1.
Complexion, .ift. passion. Ham. i. 4.
Compose, v.i. to agree. A. & C. ii. 2.
Comimstion, sb. composition. Tim. iv. 3.
Comptible, adj. tractable. Tw. N. i. 5.
Con, v.t. to learn by heart. M. N's Dr. 1. 2. To
acknowledge. All's Well, rv. 3.
Conceit, sb. conception, opinion, fancy. Two
Gent. 111. 2.
Concupy, sb. concubine. T. & Cr. v. 2.
Condition, sb. temper, quality. M. of V. I. 2 ;
Lear, 1.1.
Condolement, sb. grief. Ham. i. 2.
Conduct, sb. escort. John, 1.1.
Confect, V. to make up into sweetmeats. Much
.400 IV. 1.
Conf'oind, v.t. to consume, destroy. 1 H. TV.
I. 3 ; Cor. I. 6 ; Cym. i. b.
Conject, sb. conjecture. ()th. in. 3.
Ensign, r. to sign a common bond, to confede¬
rate. 2 H. IV. iv. 1.
Consort, sb. company. Two Gent. iv. 1.
Con.sort. r.K to acnomnaiiv. L's L's L. IT. I.
Oonsiancy, .*0). consistency. M. N's Dr. v. 1.
Constant, adj. settled,determined. Temp. ii. 2 j
s-ess". V. 1.
Constantly, adv. firmly. M. for M. iv. L
Conster, v.t. to construe. Tw. N. l. 4.
Contemptible, adj. contemptuous. Much Ado,
It. 3.
Continent, sb. that which contains anything.
Lear, 111.2; M.N's Dr. ii. 2. That which Is
contained. 2 Hen. IV. ll. 4.
Continuate, a<(f. uninterrupted. Tim. 1.1.
Contraction, sb. the marriage contract. Ham.
111. 4.
Contrary, v.t. to oppose. B. & J. I. 3.
Contrive, v.i. to conspire. J. C. il. 3. v.t. to
wear away. Tam. ofS. I. 2.
Control, v.t. to confute. Temp. i. 2.
Convent, r.f. To convene, summon. H. Vlll.
V. 1. t'.i. to be convenient. Tw. N. v. 1.
Convert, v.i. to change. Tim. iv. 1.
Convertite, sb. a convert. As you Like it, v. 4.
Convey, v.t. to manage. Lear, l. 2. To filch.
Merry Wives, l. 3.
Conveyance, sb. theft, fraud. 1 H. VI. l. 3.
Convict, p.p. convicted. K. III. i. 4.
Convicted, p.p. overpowered, vanquished. John,
III. 4. A doubtful word.
Convince, v.t. to conquer, subdue. Cym. i. 5.
Convive, v.i. to feast together. T. & Cr. iv. 6.
Convoy, sb. escort. All's Well, iv. 3.
Cony-catch, v.i. to cheat. Tam. of S. v. 1.
Conv-catching, pr. p. poaching, pilfering. Merry
Wives, 1.1.
Cooling card, sb. used metaphorically for an In¬
surmountable obstacle. 1 H. VI. v. 3.
Copatabi hat, a high-crowned hat. Tam. of S. v.
1.
Cope, v,t. to reward, to give in return. M. of V.
IV. 1.
Copped, p.p. rising to a cop or head. Per. 1.1.
Copy, sb. theme. Com. of £. v. 1.
Coragio (Italian), int. courage ! Temp. v. 1.
Coram, an ignorant mistake for Quorum. Merry
Wives, 1.1.
Coranto, sb. a lively dance. H. V. 111. 6.
^rinth, sb. a cant term for a brothel. Tim. ii. 2.
Corinthian, sb. a wencher. 1 H. IV. li. 4.
Corky, adj. dry like cork. Lear, ill. 7.
Cornnto (Italian), sb. a cuckold. Merry Wives,
HI. 5.
Corollary, sb. a surplus. Temp. rv. 1.
Corporal, adj. corporeal, bodily. M. for M. nr. 1.
Corporal of the field, an aide-de-camp. L's L's L.
HI. 1.
Corrival, sb. rival. 1 H. IV. i. 3.
Costard, sb. the head. B. III. i. 4.
Coster-monger, adj. peddling, mercenary. 2 H.
IV. 1.2.
Cot-quean, sb. an effeminate man, molly-coddle.
B. & J. IV. 4.
Cote, sb. a cottage. As you Like it, lil. 2.
Cote, v.t. to quote, instance. L's L's L. iv. 3.
Cote, V t. to come alongside, overtake Ham. ii.
2.
Couchings, sb. crouchings. J. C. lii. 1.
Countervail, v.t. to counterpoise, outweigh. B. St
J. 11. 6.
Country, adj. belonging to one's country. Oth.
111. 3; Cym. i. 5.
Couplement, sb. union. L's L's L. v. 2 ; Son. 19.
Court holy-water, sb. flattery. Lear, iii. 2.
Covent,«6. a convent. M. for M. iv. 3.
Cover, v.t. to lay the table for dinner. M. of V.
Ill 5; As you Like it, ii. 5.
Count confect. sb. a nobleman composed of af¬
fectation. Much Ado, IV. 1.
Countenance, sb. fair shew. M. for M. v. 1.
Counterfeit, sb. portrait. M. of V. ill. 2. A piece
of base coin. 1H. IV. U. 4>
GLOSSARY.
1218
Counterpoint, $b. a counterpane. Tam. ot S. U. L
County, »b. count, earl. B. it J. I. 3.
Cowisn, adj, cowardly. Lear, IV. 2.
Co«d-8tafl, »b. the staff on which a vessel is sup-
ported between two men. Merry Wives, iii. 3.
Cox my passion, an oath, a euphemism for
« Ood's Passion." All's Well, v. 2.
Coy, v.t. to stroke, fondle. M. N's Pr. iv. 1. v.i,
to condescend with difficulty. Cor. v. 1.
Coystril. tb. a kestrel, a cowardly kind of hawk.
Tw. N. 1. 3.
Cozen, v.t. to cheat. M. of V. Ii. 9.
Cozenage, sb. cheating. Merry Wives, iv. 5.
Cozener, ab, a cheater, i H. iV. i. 3.
Cozier, s6. a tailor. Tw. N. ii. 3.
Crack, v.i. to boast. L's L's L. iv. 3.
Crack, sb. a loud noise, clap. Mac. nr. 1. A for¬
ward boy. 2 H. IV. m. 2.
Cracker, sb. boaster. John, it. 1.
Crack-hemp, sb. a gallows-bird. Tam. of S. v. 1.
Crank, sb. a winding passage. Cor. i. 1.
Cranking, pr. p. winding, IH. IV. III. 1.
Crants, so. garlands. Hi at. v. 1. A doubtful
word.
Crare, sb. a ship of burden. ,^m. iv. 2.
Craven, sb. a dunghill cock. Tam. of S. ii. 1.
Create, p.p. formed, compounded. H. V. ii. 2.
Credent, adj creditable. M, for M. iv. 4. Cred¬
ible. Wiut. Tale, i. 2. Credulous, Ham. i. 3.
Credit, sb. report. Tw. N. iv. 3.
Crescive, adj. increasing. H. V. 1.1.
Crestless, o^'.not entitled to bear arms, low-bom.
1 H. VI. II. 4.
Crisp, adj. curled, winding. Temp. iv. 1.
Cross, sb. a piece of monejt, so called because coin
was formerly stamped mth a cross. As you Like
it, II. 4.
Crow-keeper, sb. one who scares crows. Lear, iv.
6.
Crowner, sb. a coroner. Ham. v. 1.
Crownet, sb. a coronet. A. & C v. 2.
Ory, sb. the yelping of hounds. M. N's Dr. iv. 1.
A pack of hounds. Ibid. iv. 1. A company, used
contemptuously. Ham. iii. 2.
Cry aim, v.t. to encounme. John, ii. 1.
Cue, sb. the last words of an actor's speech, which
is the signal for the next actor to begin. Lear,
I. 2.
Cuisses, sb. pieces of armor to cover the thighs.
1 H. IV. IV. 1.
Cullion, sb. a base fellow. Tam. of S. iv. 2.
Cunning, sb. skill. Induction to Tam. of S.
Canning, adj. skilful. Ibid.
Curb, v.i. to bend, truckle. Ham. iii. 4.
Currents, sb. occurrences. 1 H. IV. ii. 3.
Curst, adj. petulant, shrewish. Tam. of S. i. 2.
Curstness, s6. shrewishness. A. & 0. ii. 2.
Curtail, sb. a cur. Com. of E. iii. 2.
Curtal, sb. a docked horse. All's Well, ii. 3.
Curtal-axe, sb. a cutlass. As you Like it, i. 3.
Custaiorum, a ludicrous mistake for Custos Bo-
tulorum. Merry Wives, 1.1.
Custard-coffin, sb. the crust of a custard-pudding.
Tam. of S. IV. 3.
Customer, sb. a common woman. 0th. iv. 1-
Cut, sb. a cheat. Tw. N. ii. 3. ' To draw cuts' is
to draw lots. Com. of E. v. 1.
Cypress, sb. a kind of crape. Tw. N. III. 1.
Daff, v.t. to befool. Much Ad^ iv. J. To put
off: this seems to be a corruption of ' doff.'
Ibid. II. 3.
Damn, v.t. to condemn. J. C. iv. 1.
Danger, sb. reach, control, power. M. of V. iv. 1.
Dansker, sb. a Dane. Ham. ii. 1.
Dare, v.t. to challenge. 3 H. VL III. 2.
Darkling, adv. in the dark. M. N's Dr. ii. 2.
Darraign, v.t. to set in array. 3 Hen. Vi. Ii. 2.
Daub, v.t, to disguise. Lear, iv. 1.
Daubcry, so. imposition. Merry Wive^ iv. 2.
Day-woman, sb. a dairy-maid. L's L's L. i. 2.
Dear, adj, dire. Tim. v. 1. That which has to dc
with the affections. B. II. 1.1; B. & J. III. 3.
Piteous. T. A. III. 1. Important. Lear, iv. 3.
Dearn, adj. lonely. Per. in. (Gower).
Deboshed, pM. debauched, drunken. Temp. iii< 2.
Deck, O.I. to bedew. Tliis is probubb-a form of
the verb ' to dag,' now a provincial word.
Temp. I. 2.
Deck, sb. a pack of cards. 3 Hen. VI. v. ].
Decline, o.I. to enumerate, as in going through
the cases of a noun. T. & Cr. ii. 3.
Declined, p.p. fallen. T. & Cr. in. 3.
Deem, sb. doom, judgment. T. & Cr. iv. 4.
Defeat, v.t. to undo, destroy. Oth. i. 3; iv. 2.
Defeat, sb. destruction. Much Ado, iv. 1.
Defeature, sb. disfigurement. Com. of E. il. 1.
Defence, sb. art of fencing. Tw. N. in. 4.
Defend, v.t. to forbid. Much Ado. ii. 1.
Defensible, adj. having the power to defend.
2 Hen. IV. Ii. 3.
Deftly, adv. dexterously. Mac. iv. 1.
Defy, v.t. renounce. 1 H. IV. I. 3.
Degrees, sb. a step. J. C. Ii. 1.
Delay, v.t. to let slip by delaying. Cor. i. 3.
Demerit, sb. merit, desert. Oth. i. 2.
Demurely, adv. solemnly. A. & C. iv. 9.
Denay, sb. denial. Tw. N. II. 4.
Denier, sb. the 12th part of a French sol. B. QL
I. 2.
Denotement, sb. marking. Oth. n. 3. Note or
manifestation. Ibid. in. 3.
Deny, v.t. to refuse. Tim. in. 2.
Depart, sb. departure. 2 H. VI. 1.1.
Depart, v.t. to part. L's L's L. n. I.
Departing, sb. parting, separation. 3 H. VI. II. &
Depend, v.i. to be in service. Lear, I. 4.
Derived, p.p. born, descended. Two Gent. v. 4,
Derogate,p.p. degraded, Lear i. 4.
Descant, sb. a variation upon a melody, henee,
metaphorieally, a comment on a given theme.
Tw.) Gent. 1.2.
Design, v.t. to draw up articles. Ham. 1.1.
Despatch, v.t. to deprive, bereave. Ham. i. 5.
Desperate, adj. determined, bold. B. & J. in. 4.
Detect, v.t. to charge, blame. M. for M. in. 2.
Determine, v.t. to conclude. Cor. in. 3.
Dich, v.i. optative mood, perhaps contracted for
' do it.' Tim. I. 2.
Diet, sb. food regulated by the rules of medicine.
Two Gent. n. 1.
Diet, v.t. to have one's food regulated by the
rules of medicine. All's Well, iv. 3.
Diffused, p.p. confused. Merry Wives, rv. 4.
Digressing, pr. p. transgressing, going out of the
right way. R. II. v. 3.
Digression, sb. transgression. L's L's L. I. 2.
Dig-you-good-den, int. give you good evening.
L's L's L. IV. 1.
Dildo, sb. the chorus or burden of a song. Wtnt.
Tale, IV. 3.
Dint, sb. stroke, J. C. III. 2.
Direction, sb. judgment, skill. B. III. v. 3.
Disable, v.t. to disparage. As you Like it, iv. 1.
Disappointed, p.p. unpreparecl. Ham. 1.5.
Disease, v.r. to undress. Wint. Tale, iv. 3.
Discontent, sb. a malcontent. A. & C. 1.4.
Discourse, sb. power of reasoning. Ham. rv. 4.
Disdained, p.p. disdainful, 1 H. IV. 1.3.
Dislimn, v.t. to disfigure, transform. A. St C. tt.
12
Disme, sb. a tenth or tithe. T. St Ct. ii. 2.
.214
GLOSSARY.
Oiapark, vj. to destroy a park. B. II. in. I.
Dispoiige, v.i. to squeeze out as from a sponge.
A. & V. IV. 9. ■
Dispose, s6. disposal. Two Gent. iv. 1.
Dispose, v.i. to conspire. A. & C. IV. 12.
Disposition, .il/. maintenance. 0th. i. 3.
Disputable, ai/J. disputatious. As you Like it,
II. 5.
Dispute, V./. to argue, examine. 0th. r. 2.
Dissembiy, sb. used ridiculously for assembly.
Much Ado, IV. 2.
Distaste, v.i. tc corropt. T. & Cr. II. 2.
Distempered, atfj. discontented. John, IV. 3.
Di.straction, sb. a detached troop or company of
soldiers. A. & C. in. 7.
Distraught, p.p. distracted, mad. E. III. nr. 5.
Diverted, p.p. turned from the natural course.
As you Like it, n. 3.
Division, sb. a phrase or jiassage in a melody.
R. & J. in. 6.
Divulged, p.p. published, spoken of. Tw. N. i. 5.
Doff, r.f. to do off, strip. Tain, of S. III. 2. To
put off with an excuse. Otli. iv. 2.
Doit, sb. a small Dutch coin. Temp. n. 2.
Dole, sb. portion dealt. Merry Wives, in. 4 ; 2
H. IV. I. 1. Grief, lamentation. M. N's Dr.
V. 1.
Don, ».<. to do on, put on. T. A. 1.2 ; Ham. iv. 5.
Done, p.p. ' done to death,' put to death. 2 H.
VI. in. 2.
Dotant, sb. one who dotes, a dotard. Cor. v. 2.
Dout, v.t. to do out, quench. Ham. i. 4.
Dowlas, sb. a kind of coarse sacking. 1 H. IV.
in. 3.
Dowie, sb. the swirl of a feather. Temp. in. 3.
Down-gyved, at/J. hanging down like gyves or
fetters. Ham. ii. 1.
Drab, sb. a harlot. TVint. Tale, rv. 2.
Drabbing, pr.p. whoring. Ham. n. 1.
Draught, sb. a privy. T. A. v. 1.
Drawn, p.p. having his sword drawn. Temp. n. 1.
Drawn, p.p. drunk, having taken a good draught.
Ibid.
Dribbling, adj. weak. M. for M. i. 4.
Drive, v.i. to rush impetuously. T. A. II. 3.
Drollery, sb. a puppet-show. Temp. in. 3.
Drumble, t'.t. to dawdle. Merry Wives, in. 3.
Dry, adj. thirsty. Temp. I. 2.
Duc-daine ; perhaps the Latin duc-ad-me, bring
him to me. As y^u Like it.
Dudgeon, sb. dagger. Mac. ii. 1.
Dull, adj. sootliing. 2 H. IV. IV. 4.
Dullard, sb. a dull person. Cym. v. 5.
Dump, sb. complaint. Two Gent. m. 2.
Dup, v.t. to do up, lift up. Ham. iv. 6.
Eager, adj. sour. Ham. I. 5. Harsh. 3 H. VI.
II. 6. Biting. Ham. I. 4.
Eanling, sb. a yeanling, u lamb. M. of V. I. 3.
Ear, v.t. to plough. All's Weil, i. 3.
Eche, t'.t. to eke out. Per. III. (Gower).
Ecstacy, sb. madness. Temp. in. 3.
Eft, adj. ready, convenient. Much Ado, IV. 2.
Eisel, sb. vinegar. Ham. v. 1; Son. lU.
Eld, sb. old age. M. for M. in. 1.
Embossed, adj. swollen into protuberances. As
you Like it, II. 7. Covered with foam. A. &
C. IV. 11.
Embowelled, p.p. disembowelled, emptied. All's
Well, I. 3.
Embrasure, s6. embrace. T. & Cr. iv. 4.
Eminence, sb. exaHed station. Mac. in, 2.
Empery, sb. empire. H. V. i. 2.
Emulaiion, sb. jealousyj^mutiny. T. & Cr. n. 2.
Emulous, adj. jealous. T. & Cr. iv. 1.
Encave. v.r. to.oiace ouesenin a cave. Otb. iv. 1.
End, sb. 'Still an end,' continually tor ever.
Two Gent iv. 4.
Enfe< If, v.t. place in possession in fee simple.
1 H. IV. Ill 2.
Engine, machine of war. T. & Cr. ii. 3.
Englut, v.t toswall w speedily. Tim. ii.2.
Engross, v.<'. to mak-gross or fat. B. HI. in. 7.
Engr. ssment sb, immoderate acquisition. 2 H.
IV. IV 4.
Enkindle, v.t. to make keen, Mac. L 3.
Enm w, v.t. to shut up, as a hawk is shut up in
a me.v, M. for M. iii. 1.
Ensconce, v.t. to cov r as with a fort. Merry
Wives, II. 2.
Enseamed,p.p. fat, rank. Ham. lii. 4.
Eushield, p.p. hidden. M. for M. il. 4.
Entertain, v.t. camunter. H. V. I. 2, Expe¬
rience. A. & C. II. 7.
Entertainment, sb. treatment. Temp. I. 2. A dis¬
position to ent-rtain a proposal. MeiTy Wives,
I. 3. Service. All's Well, iv. 1.
Entreatmento sb. interviews. Ham.i. 3.
Ephesian, sb. a toper, a cant term. Merry Wives,
IV. 5.
Equipage, sb. attendance. Meny Wives, It. 2.
Erewhile, adv. a short time since. As you Like
it, II. 4.
Escot, v.t. to pay a man's reckoning, to maim
tain. Ham. ii. 2.
Esperance, «6. hope, used as a war-cry. I. H. IV.
V. 2., T. & Cr. V. 2.
Espial, .-.O. a scou* or spy. 1. H. VI. iv.3. '
Estimation, sb. conjecture. 1. H IV. I, 3.
Estridge, sb. ostridge. 1 H. IV. iv. I.
Eteme, adj. eternal. Mac. Iii. 2.
Even, adj. coequal. Ham. v. 1.
Even, v.t. to equal. All's Well, I. 3; Cym. ni. 4.
Examine, v.t. to question. All's Well, in. 6.
Excreinetit, sb. that which grows outwardly from
the body and has no sensation like the hair or
naiis. L'sL'sL. V. 1; Ham. in. 4. Any outc
ward show. M. of V. in. 2.; Wint. Tale, IV. 3.
Executor, sb. an executioner. H. V. i. 2.
Exempt, ath". excluded. 1 H. VI. n. 4.
Exercise, sb. a religious service. B. III. in. 2.
Exhale, v.t. to hale or draw out. B, HI. I. 2;
v.i. to draw the sword. H. V. ii. 1.
Exhibitit i,s&.allowance, pension. Two'Gent.i.S.
Exigent, sb. death, ending. 1 H. VI. ii. 5.
Exion, sb. ridiculously used for 'action.' 2 H.
IV. II. 1.
Expect, sb. expectation. T. & Cr. i. 3.
Expedience, so. expedition, undertaking. A. &C.
I.2. Haste. K. II. n. 1.
Expedient, adj. expeditious, swift. John, n. 1.
Expiate, p.p. completed. B. 111. in. 3.
Expostulate, v.t. to expound, discuss. Ham. n. 2.
Exposture, sb. exposure. Cor. iv. 1.
Express, v.t. to reveal. Wint. Tale, in. 2.
Expulse. v.i. to expel. 1 H. VI. III. 3.
Exsufficate, adj. that which has been hissed oft.
contemptible. Tw. N. in. 3.
Extend, v.t. to seize. A. & C. i. 2.
Extent, sb. a seizure. As you Like it, in. 1.
Extern, adj. outward. 0th. 1.1.
Extirp, v.t. to extirpate. M. for M. ni. 2.
Extracting, adj. distracting. Tw. N. v. 1.
Extraught, port, extracted, descended. 3H. VI.
II. 2.
Extravagant, adj. foreign, wandering. 0th. 1,1.
Extremes, so. extravagance of conduct. Wint.
TuK, IV. 3. Extremities. B. & J. iv. 1.
Eyas, sb. a nestling hawk. Ham. Ii. 2.
Eyas-musket, sb. a nestling of the musket oi
merlin, the smallest species of British hawk.
Meny wives, ill. 3. ■ j
GLOSSARY.
1215
Eye, sb. a glance, celllad. Temp. i. 2.
Eye, sb. a shade of color, as in shot silk. Temp.
11.1.
Byne, sb.pl. eyes. L's L's L. v. 2.
Facinorous, adj. wicked. All's Well, II, S.'
Fact, sb. guilt. Wint. Tale, lii. 2.
Factious, '.tdj. instant, iinporfanate. ,T. 0. l. 8.
Faculty, sb. essential virtue or power. H. V. 1.1.
Fadge, v.i. to suit. Tw. N. If. 2.
Fading, sb. a kind of ending to a song. Wint.
Tale, IV. 3.
Pain, adj. glad. 2 H. VI. Ii. 1.
Fain, a<lv. gladly. Lear, I. 4.
Fair, sb. beauty. As you Like it, in. 2.
Faltor, sb. a traitor. 2 H. IV. ii. 4. , '
Pall, v.t. to let fall. Temp. il. 1.
Fallow, adj. fawn-colored. Merry Wives, 1.1.
False, sb. falsehood. M. for M. ii. 4. '
Falsing, adj. deceptive. Com. of E. ii, 2.
Familiar, s6. a familiar spirit. 2 H. VI. IV. T.
Fancy, so. All's Well, v. 3.
Fancl'-free, adj. untouched by love. M. N's Dr.
Fang, v.t. to seize in the teeth. Tim. iv. 3.'
Fantastic, sb. a fantastical person. B. & J. ii. 4.
Fap, adj. drunk. Merry Wives, 1.1.
Par, adv. farther. Wint. Tale, iv. 4.
Parced, p.p. stuffed. H. V. iv. 1.
Pardel, sb. a burden. Wint. Tale, iv. 4.
Fartuous, adj. used ridiculously for " virtuous."
Merry Wives, ii. 2.
Past, adv. assuredly. Unalterably. M. for M. i.
3 i 2 H. VT. V. 2.
Pat, adj. dull. 1 H. IV. l. 2.
Favor, sb. countenance. M. for M. rv. 2. Com¬
plexion. T. & Cr. I. 2. Quality. LetSt, i. 4.
Fear, sb. the object of fear. Ham. in. 3.
Fear, v.t. to affright. A. & C. ii. 0.
Fearful, adj. subject to fear, timorous. Temp.
I. 2.
Feat, adj. dexterous. Cym. V. 5.'
Feater, adv. comp. degree, more neatly. Temp.
II. 1.
Feat, v.t. to make fine. Cym. 1.1.
Featly, vulv. nimbly, daintily. Temp. i. 2.
Feature, sb. beauty. Cym. v. 5.
Federary, sb. confedeiate. Wint. Tale, ii. 1.
Pe<vgrief, sb. a grief held, as it were, in fee-
simple, or the peculiar property of him who
possesses it. Mac. IV. 3.
Feeder, sb. agent, servant. As you Like it, li. 4.
Feere. sb. a companion, husband. T. A. iv. 1.
Fehemently, adv. used ridiculously for " vehe¬
mently." Merry Wives, in. 1.
Fell, sb. the hide. As you Like it; in. 2.
Pence, sb. art or skill in defence. 2 H. VI. II. 1.
Feodary, sb. one who holds an estate by suit or
service to a superior lord ; hence one who acts
under the direction of another. Cym. in. 2.
Fester, v.i. to rankle, grow virulent. Cor. i. 9.
Festinately, ad». quickly. L's L's Lost, in. 1.
Pet, p.p. fetched. H. V. in. 1.
Pico, sb. a fig. Merry Wives, 1.3.
Fielded, adj. in the field of battle. Cor. i. 4.
Fig, v.t. to insult. 2 Hen. IV. v. 3.
Fights, sb. clothes hung round a ship to conceal
the men from the enemy. Merry Wives, n. 2.
File, sb. a list or catalogue. Mac. v. 2.
File, v.t. to defile. Mac. n» 1. To smooth or
polish. L's L's L. To make even. H. VIH.
III--2.
Fill-fiorse, sb. shaft-horse. M. of V. U. 2.
Pills, sb. the shafts. T. &. Cr. lU. 2.
Filth, sb, a whore. Tim. rv. L
Pine, sb. -end. Ham. v. L
Fine, v.i. to make fine or specious. H. V. L 2.
Fiueless. adj. endless. Oth. in. 3.
Firago, sb. ridiculously used for ' Virago.' Tw.
N. HI. 4. .
Fire-drake, sb. Will o' the Wisp. H. VIII. v. 3.
Fire-new, adj. with the glitter of novelty on, like
newly-forged metal. K III. i. 3.
Firk, v.t. to chastise. H. V. iv. 4.
Fit, sb. a canto or division of a song. T. & Cr.
in. 1. A trick or habit. H. VIII. i. 3.
Fitchew, sb. a polecat. Lear, iv. 6.
Fives, sb. a disease incident to hoises. Tam. of S.
Flap-dragon, sb. raisins in burning brandy. L's
L's L. V. 1.
Flap-jack, sb. a pan-cake. Per. n. 1.
Flat, adj. certain. 1 H. IV. iv. 2.
Flatness, sb. lowness, depth. Wint. Tale, in. 2.
Flaw, sb, a gust of wind. 2. H. IV. iv. 4. Metaph.
sudden emotion, or the cause of it. Mae. ill. 4;
Ai & C. III. .10.
Flaw, v.t. to make a flaw in, to break. H- VIII.
1.1.
Flecked, p.p. spotted, streaked. R. & J. n. 3.
Fleet, V.I. to float. A. &. C. in. 11. To pass
away. A. & C. i. 3. v.t. to pass the time. As
you Like it, 1.1.
Fleeting, pr. p. inconstant. R. III. i. 4.
Fleshment, sb. the act of fleshing the sword,
hence the first feat of arms. Lear, n. 2.
Flewed, adj. furnished with hanging lips, as
hounds are. M. N's Dr. iv. 1.
Flight, sb. a particular mode of practising arch¬
ery. Mu<h Ado, 1.1.
Flirt-gill, sb. a light woman. K. & J. n. 4.
Fiourish, sb. an ornament. L's L's L. iv. 3.
Flourish, v.t. to ornament, disguise with orna¬
ment. M. for M. IV. 1.
Plote, sb. wave, sea. Temp. i. 2.
Flush, adj. fresh, full of vigor. A. & C. I. 4.
Foil, sb. defeat, disadvantage. Temp. in. 1.
Foin, v.i. to fence, teht. Merry Wives, n. 3.
Foison, sb. plenty. Temp. n. 1.
Fond, adj. foolish, foolishly affectionate. Oth.
1.3; IV. 1.
Foot-cloth, sb. a saddle-cloth hanging down to
the ground. 2 H. VI. iv. 7.
For, conj. for that, because, M. for M. n. 1.
Forbid, p.p. accursed, outlawed. Mao. i. 3.
Fqrbpde.p.p. forbidden. Lover's Com. 164.
Forip, v.t. to stuff, for ' farce.' T. & Cr. v. 5.
Forced, p.p. falsely attributed. Wint. Tale, n. 3.
Fordo, v.t. to kill, destroy. Lear, v. 3. To weary.
M. N's Dr. V. 2.
Forfend, v.t. forbid. Wint. Tale, rv. 3.
Foreign, adj. obliged to live abroad. H. VIII.
n. 2.
Forepast, adj. former. All's Well, v. 3.
Foreslow, ».». to delay. 3 H. VI. n. 3.
Forgetive, adj. inventive. 2 H. IV. IV. 3.
Forked, adj. b*ned. Wint. Tale, I. 2 ; Oth. in. 3.
Formal, adj. regular, retaining its proper and es¬
sential characteristic. Com. of E. v. 1; A. ■&
C. II. 6.
Forspent, p.p. exhausted, weary. 2 Hen. IV.
1.1.
Forspeak, v.t. to speak against. A. & C. in. 7.
Forthright, sb. a straight path ; forthrights and
meanders, straight paths and crooked ones.
Temp. in. 3.
Forweary, v.t. to weary, exhaust. John, n. 1.
Fosset-seller, sb. one who sells the pipes inserted
into a vessel to give vent to the liquor, and
stopped by a spigot. Cor. n. 1.
Fox, sb. a sword; a cant word. H. V. rv. 4.
Fox-ship, sb. the euiming of the fog. Cor. nr. 2.
1216
GLOSSARY.
Frampold, adj. peevish, unquiet. Merry Wives,
It. 2.
Frank, sb. the feeding place of swine. 2 H. IV.
n. 2.
•Franked, p.p. confined. R. III. i. 3.
Franklin, $6. a freeholder, a small squire. Cym.
III. 2.
Fraught, pp. freighted. M. of V. It. 8.
Fraugbtage, sb. freight. Com. of E. iv. 1.
Fraughtiug, pr. p. of v. to fraught; loading or
constituting the cargo of a ship. Temp. i. 2.
Fresh, sb. a spring of fresh water. Temp. lu. 2.
Fret, sb. the stop of a guitar. Tain, of S. ii. 1.
Fret, v.t. to wear away. R. U. lu. 3; Lear, i. i.
To variegate. J. C. ii. 1.
Frieuci, v.t. to befriend. H. VIII. i. 2.
Frippery, sb. an old-clothes shop. Temp. iv.
From, prg). contrary to. Ham. iii. 2.
Front, v.t. to affront, oppose. A. & 0. u. 2.
Frontier, sb. opposition. 1 H. IV. i. 3.
Frontlet, sb. that whieh is' worn on the forehead.
Lear, 1.4.
Frush, v.t. to break or bruise. T. & Or. r. 6.
Frustrate, p.p. frustrated. A. & C. v. 1.
Fub off, v.t. to put off. 2 H. IV. II. 1.
Fulfill, v.t. to fill fuU. Frol. to T. & C.
Full, adj. complete. Oth. ii. 1.
Fullam, sb. c. loaded die. Merry Wives, 1.3.
Fulsome, adj. lustful. M. of V. i. 3.
Furnitor, sb. fumitory, an herb. Lear, rv. 4.
Furnished, p.p. equipped. Wint Tale, rv. 3.
Gaberdine, sb. a loose outer coat, or smock frock.
Temp. II. 2; M. of V. i. 3.
Gad, sb. a pointed instmment, a goad. T. A. iv.
1. Upon the gad, with impetuous haste, upon
the spur of the moment. I.ear, i. 2.
Gain-giving, sb. misgiving. Ham. v. 2.
Gait, sb. gmng, steps. Tw. N. I. 4.
Galiiard, sb. a kind of dance. Tw. N. i. 3.
Galiiasse, sb. a kind of ship. Tarn, of 8h. ii. 1.
Gallimaufry, sb. a ridiculous medley. Wint.
Tale, IV. 4.
Gallow, v.t. to scare. Lear iii. 2.
Gallowglass, sb. the irregular infantry of Ireland,
and the Highlands of Scotland. Mac. i. 2.
Gamester, sb. a frolicsome person. H. VIU I. 4.
A loose woman. All's Well, v. 3.
Garboil, sb. disorder,'Uproar. A. & 0. i. 3.
Garish, adj. gaudy, staring. B. III. iv. 4.
Gamer, v.t. to lay by, as corn in a barn, Oth.
IV. 2.
Gast, p.p. frightened. Lear, ii. 1.
Gaudy, a<^>. festive. A. & C. in. 13.
Gaze, sb. an object of wonder. Mac. v. 7.
Gear, sb. matter of business of any kind. M. of
V. 11. 2.
Geek, sb. a fool. Cym. v. 4.
General, sb. the generality, common people. M.
for M. ii. 4.
Generations, sb, children. Wint. Tale, ii. 1.
Generosity, sb. noble birth. Cor. i. 1.
Generous, adj. noble. M. for M. 1.1.
Gentility, sb. good manners. L's L's L. 1.1.
Gentle, sb. gentlefolk. L's L's L. IV. 1.
Gentle, adj. noble. Temp. 1.2.
Gentle, v.t. to ennoble. Hen. V. iv. 31.
Gentry, sb. complaisance, conduct becoming gen¬
tlefolk. Ham. n. 2.
German, adj. akin. Wint. Tale, it. 4. Appro-
riate. Ham. v. 2.
Germen, sb. seed, embryo. Lear, iii. 2.
Gest, sb. period. Wint. Tale, i. 2.
Gib, sb. a he-cat. Ham. iii. 4.
outs, sb. talents, endowment, Metry Wives, L 1.
Giglot, sb. a wanton girl. M. for M. v. 1.
Gilder, sb. a coin oi the value of Is. 6<i. er 2s.
Com. of E. iv. 1.
Gilt, s6. money. H. V. ii. Ch. State of wealUi,
Tim. iv. 3.
Gimmal, adj. double. H. V. iv. 2.
Gimmor. sb. contrivance. 1H. VI. i. 2.
Ging, sb. gang. Merry Wives, rv. 2.
Gird, v.i. to ^be. 2 H. IV. i. 2; Cor. 1.1.
Gird. sb. a sarcasm or gibe. Tam. of S. v. 2.
Gleek, v.i. to scoff. M. N's Dr. iii. 1.
Gleck, sb. a scoff. 1H. VI. iii. 2.
Glose, v.i. to comment; hence, to be garmlons.
K. II. ii. 1.
Glut, v. to swallow. Temp. 1.1.
Gnarl, v.i. to snarl. B. II. 1.3; 2 H. VL in. 1.
Good-deed, adv. indeed. Wint. Tale, i. 2.
Good-den, int. good-evening, contracted from
• Good-even.' John, 1.1.
Good-year or Good-jer, sb. a corruption of the
French goujere; the venereal disease. Merry
Wives, 1.1.
Gorbellied, adj. corpulent. 1 H. IV. ii. 2.
Govemment, sb, discretion. 3 H. VI. 1.4.
Gourd, sb. a species of game of chance. Merry
Wives, 1.3.
Gout, sb. a drop. Mac. ii. 1.
Gracious, adj. abounding in grace Divine. Hsuu.
1.1.
Grained, adj. engrained. Ham. in. 4.
Gramercy, tnt. grand mercy, much thanks. H. of
V. ii. 2.
Grange, sb. the farmstead attached to a monas¬
tery, a solitary farm-house. Oth. 1.1.
Gratillity, sb. used ridiculously for 'gratuity.'
Tw. N. ii. 3.
Gratulate, v.t. to coimatulate. T. A. i. 2.
Grave, v.t.do bury. Tim. iv. 3.
Greasily, adv. grossly. L's L's L. iv. 4.
Greek, sb. a bawd. Tw. N. IV. 1.
Greem adj. immature, fresh, unused. R. IlL n.
2; Tarn, of S. iii. 2.
Greenly, adv. foolishly. Ham. rv. 5.
Greet, v.i. to weep, T. A. i. 2.
Grize, sb. a step. Tw. N. iii. 1.
Grossly, adv. palpably. H. V. n. 2.
Groundling, so. one who sits in the pit of a thea¬
tre. Ham. in. 2.
Growing, pr. p. accruing. Com. of K rv. 1.
Guard, sb. decoration. M. for M. ni. 1.
Guard, v.t. to decorate. M. of V. n. 2.
Guardage, sb. guardianship. Oth. i. 2.
Guineahen, so.'the pintado, a csmt term. Oth. I.
3.
Gules, adj. red, a term in heraldry. Tim. it. 3.
Gulf, sb. the throat. Mac. iv. 1. i
Gun-stone, sb. a cannon ball.
Gust, sb. taste, relish. Tw. H. 1.3.
Gyve, v.t. to fetter. Oth. ii. l.
Hack, v.i. to become common. Merry Wives, ii.
Haggard, sb. a wild or unreclaimed hawk. Tam.
oIS. i. Iv.
Hag-seed, sb. seed or offspring of a hag. Temp.
i. 2.
Hair, sb. course, order, grain. Merry Wives, ll. 3.
Halidom, sb. holiness, sanctification. Christian
fellowship; used as an oath, and analogous to
' By my faith.' Two Gent. iv. 2.
Hall, sb. an open space to dance in. R. ft J. i. 5.
Hallowmas, so. All Hallows' Day. Two^nt. ii. 1.
Hap, sb. chance, fortune. Com. of E. 1.1.
Happily, adv. accidentally. Tam. of S. iv. 4.
Handsaw, sb. perhaps a corruption of HeroB-
shaw; a hem. Ham. u. 2.
GLOSSARY.
1217
Hardiment. tb. defiance, brave deeds- 1 H. IV.
Harlock, sb. charlock, wild mustard. Lear, iv, 4.
Harry, v.t. to annoy, harass. A. & C. ill. 3.
Having, tb. property, fortune. Tw. N. ui. 4.
Havioui, sb. behavior. Merry Wives, i. 3.
H aught, cu^'. haughty. 3 Hen. VI. Ii. 1.
Haunt, sb. company. Ham. iv. 1.
Hay, so. a tenn in fencing. R. & J. ii, 4.
Heady, culj. vioient, headlong. Com. of E. v. i.
Heat, p.p. of v.t. " to heat," heated. M. of V. 1.1.
Uebenon, sb. henbane. Ham. 1. 6.
Heft, sb. a heaving. Wint. Tale, li. 1.
Heft, p.p. furnished with a handle ; hence, meta^
phorically, finished oil, delicately formed.
Lear, it. 4.
Helm, v.t. to steer, manage. M. for M. iii. 2.
Hence, ndv. henceforward. 2 H. IV. v. 5.
Henchmui,s6. a page or attendant. M. K'sDr.
II. 2.
Hent, v.t. to seize, take. M. for M. iv. 6; Wlnt.
Tale, IV. 2.
Hermit, sb. a beadsman, one bound to pray for
another. Mac. 1.6.
Hest, sb. command. .Temp. Iii. 1.
High, adv. used in composition with adjectives
to heighten or emphasize their signification, as,
high-fantastical. Tw. N. 1.1.
Hight, p.p. called. L's L's L. 1.1.
HiTd, p.p. held. Lucr. 1257.
Hilding, sb. a paltry fellow. Cym. ii. 3.
Hint, so. suggestion. Temp. i. 2.
Hiren, sb. Qy. a prostitute, with a pun on the
word " iron." 2 Hen. IV. ii. 4.
Hit, v.i. to agree. Lear, 1.1.
Hoise, v.t. to hoist, heave up on high. 2 H. VI.
1.1.
Hoist, p.p. hoisted. Ham. iii. 4.
Holp, p.p. of the V. to help; helped. John, 1.1.
Home, adv. to the utmost. Cor. ii. 2; Cym. ill. 5;
Lear, ill. 3.
Honest, adj. chaste. 0th. iv. 2.
Honesty, so. chastity. As you Like it, ui. 3.
Honey-stalks, sb. the red clover. T. A. iv. 4.
Hoodman-blincL sb. the game now called blind-
man's-buff. Ham. 111. 4.
Horn-mad, adj. probably, ' %ar»-mad,' that is,
brain-mad. Merry Wives, 1.4.
Horologe, sb. a clock. Oth. ii. 3.
Hot-house, sb. a brothel. M. for M. li. 1.
Hox, v.t. to hamstring. Wint. Tide, i. 2.
Hugger-mugger, sb. secresy. Ham. iv. 6.
Hull, v.i. to drift on the sea like a wrecked ship.
H. VIII. II. 4.
Humorous, adj. fitful, or, perhaps, hurried. R.
& J. II. 1.
Hunt-counter, v.i. to follow the scent the wrong
way. 2 H. IV. i. 2.
Hunts-up, sb. a holla used in hunting when the
game was on foot. R. & J. iii. 6.
Hurly, sb. noioe, confusion. Tam. of S. iv. 1.
Hurtle, v.i. to clash. J. C. II. 2.
Hurtling, s6. noise, confusion. As you Like it,
IV. 3.
Husbsndry, so. frugality. Mac. Ii. 1. Manage¬
ment. M. of V. III. 4.
Huswife, sb. a jilt. Cor. 1.3.
Ice-brook, sb. an icy-cold brook. Oth. v. 2.
I'fecks, inf. in faith, a euphemism. Wint. Tale,
1.2. • .
Ignomy, sb. ignominy. 1 H. IV. V. 4.
Image, sb. representation. Ham. iii. 2.
Imbare, v.t. to bare, lay open. H. V. 1.2.
Immediacy, sb. close connexion. Lear, v. 3.
immomeut, adj. UBimportaat. A. & C. T. 2,
Imp, v.t. to naft, to splice a falcon's broken fea
thers. R. n. II. 1.
Imp, sb. a scion, a child. 2 H. IV. v. 6.
Impawn, v.t. to stake, compromise. H. V. I. 2.
Impeach, v.t. to bring into question. M. H's Dr.
II. 2.
Impeach, sb. impeachment. C. of K. v. 1.
Inmeachment, sb. cause of censure, hindrance.
Two Gent. i. 3.
Imperceiverant, adj. dull of perception. Cym.
IV. I.
Irapeticos, v.t. to pocket. Tw. N. II. 3.
Importance, sb. importunity. Tw. N. v. 1.
Important, cujj. importunate. C. of E. v. 1; Lear,
IV. 4.
Importing, adj. significant. All's Well, v. 3.
Impose, so. imposition, meaning command or task
imposed upon any one. Two Gent. iv. 3.
Imposition, sb. command. M. of V. I. 2.
Imprese, sb. a device with a motto. B. II. iii. 1.
Impress, v.t. to compel to serve. Mac. IV. 1.
Incapable, adj. unconscious. Ham. iv. 7.
Incarnardine, v.t. to dye red. Mac. ii. 2.
Incensed, p.p. incited, egged on. R. III. in. 1.
Inch-meal, so. by inch-raeal,by portions of inches.
Temp. II. 2.
Inclining, adj. compliant. Oth. xi. 3.
Inclining, sb. inclination. Ham. ii. 2.
Inclip, v.t. to embrace. A. & C. II. 7.
Include, v.t. conclude. Two Gent. v. 4.
Incony, adj. fine, delicate. L's L's L. iii. 1.
Incorrect, adj. ill-regulated. Ham. I. 2.
Ind, sb. India. Temp. II. 2.
Indent, v.i. to compound or bargain. 1 H. IV.
I. 3.
Index, sb. a preface. R. III. iv. 4; Ham. in. 4.
Indifferent, adj. ordinary. Ham. ii. 2.
Indigest, adj. disordered. Son. 114.
Indite, v.t. to invite. R. & J. ii. 4. To convict. .
Ham. II. 2.
Induction, sb. introduction, beginning. 1 H. IV.
III. 1.
Indurance, sb. delay. II. VIII. v. 1.
Infinite, sb. infinite power. Much Ado, il. 3.
Ingraft, part of v. to cngraff, engrafted. Oth. Ii,
3.
Inhabitable, adj. uninhabitable. R. II. 1.1.
Inherit, v.t. to possess. Two Gent, m, 2.
Inhooped, p.p. penned up in hoops. A. & C. n. 3.
Inkhorn-mate, sb. a contemptuous term for sui
ecclesiastic, or man of learning. 1 H. VI. HI. 1.
Inkle, s6. a kind of narrow filiet or tape. Wint.
Tale, IV. 3.
Inland, aJJ. civilized, well-educated. As you Like
it. III. 2.
Inly, adj. inward. Two Gent. Ii. 7.
Inly, adv. inwardly. Temp. v. 1.
Inquisition, sb. enquiry. 'Temp. 1.2.
Insane, adj. that which causes insanity. Mac. i. 3.
Insconce, v.t. to arm, fortify. Com. of E. ii. 2.
Instance, sb. example. Tw. N. iv. 3. Informa¬
tion. 2 H. IV. in. 1. Reason, proof. H. V. ii.
2; Merry Wives, II. 2.
Intend, v.t. to pretend. Tam. of S. IV. 1.
Intending, pr. p. regarding. Tim. ii. 2.
Intendment, so. intention. Oth. iv. 2.
Intentively, adv. attentively. Oth. i. 3.
Interessed, p.p. allied. Lear, 1.1.
Intermission, sb. pause, delay. Mac. iv. 3.
Intrenchment, adj. not capable of being cut,
Mac. V. 7.
Intrinse,.ad7. intricate. Lear, II. 2,
Intrinsicate, adj. intricate. A. & C. V. 2.
Invention, sb. imagination. Mac. Iii. 1.
Inward, sb. an intimate friend. M. for M. IIU
adj. in^niatq, JL UL m, 4,
77
1218
Inwardness, sb. intimacy. Much Ado, IT. 1.
Irregulous, atlj. lawless, licentions. Cym. iv. 2.
Iteratior., sb. reHeratioii. 1 H. IV. l. 2.
Jack, sb. a mean fellow. B. III. I. 3.
Jack-a-leiit, sb. a puppet thrown at in Lent. '
Merry Wives, v. 6.
Jack gnardant, sb. a Jack in oSice. Cor. v. 2.
Jade, v-t. to whip, to treat with contempt. H,
VIlI.in.2: A. &C. Jil. 1.
Jar, sb. the ticking of a clock. Wint. Tale, i. 2.
Jar, v.i. to tick as a clock. R. II. v. 5.
Jaunce, v.i. to prance. R. II. v. 5.
Jess, sb. a strap of leather attached to the talons
of a hawk, by which it is held on the list. Oth.
lit. 3.
Jest, «>.t. to tilt in a tournament. R. II. I. 3.
Jet, v.i. to strut. Tw. N. li. 5.
Jovial, adj. appertaining to Jove. Cym. v. 4.
Journal, adj. daily. Cym. iv. 2-
Judicious, adj. critical. Merry Wives, i, 3.
Jump, v.i. to agiee'. 1H. IV. i. 2. v.t. to hazard.
Cym. V. 4.
Jump. sb. hazard. A. & C. iii. 8.
Jnmp, cdv. exactly, nicely, oth. it. 3.
Justicer, sb. a judge, mamstrate. Leaf, lit. 6.
Jut, v.i. to encroach. B. III. it. 4.
Jutty, sb. a projection. Mac. i. 6.
Jutty, v.i. to jut out beyond. H. V. lit. 1.
Juvenal, sb. youth, young man. L's L's L. i. 2.
Kam, adj. orooked. Cor. iii. 1.
Kecksy, sb. hemlock. H. V. v. 2.
Keech, s j. a lump of tallow. H. VIII. 1.1.
Keel, v.t. to skim. L's L's L. v. 2.
Keep, v.r. to restrain. Two Gent. iv. 4.
Keisar, sb. Csesar, Emperor. Merry Wives, r. 3.
Kem, sb. t]ie rude foot soldieia of the Irish. Mac.
1. 2.
Kibe, sb. a chilblain. Temp. ir. 1.
Kickstow, sb. a made dish. 2 H. TV. v. 1.
Kicksy wicksy, sb. a wife, used in disdain. All's
Well, II. 3.
Kilu-hole, sb. the ash-hole under a kiln. Merry
Wives, IV. 2.
Kind, sb. nature. A. & C. v. 2; T. A. ii. 1.
Kii. Je, v.i. to .bring forth young; used only of
ists. As you Like it, iii. 2.
KindlesS, adj. unnatural. Ham. ii. 2.
Kindly, adj. natural. Much Ado, iv. 1.
Rirtle, sb. a gown. 2 H. IV. Ii. 4.
Knave, sb. a boy. J. C. iv. 3. A serving-man.
All's Well, II. 4.
Knap, v.t. to snap, crack. M. of V. in. 1.
Knot, sb. a figure in garden beds. H. II. in. 4.
Know, v.t. to acknomedge. Mac. ii. 2.
Labras, sb. lips. Merry Wives, 1.1.
Laced-mutton, sb. a coiutezan. Two Gent. 1.1.
Lag. sb. the lowest of the people. T. A. in. 6.
Lag, adv. late, behindhand. B. III. n. 1; Lear,
I. 2.
Lakin, n. ladykin, little lady, an endearing term
appued to the Virgin Maiy in the oath, " By
ourlakin." Temp. in. 3.
land-damn, v.t. perhaps to extirpate ; Hanmer
thinks it means to kill by stopping the urine.
Wint. Tale, n. 1.
lapsed, p.p. taken, apprehended. Tw. N. in. 3.
Large, tmj. licentious, free. Much Ado, iv. 1.
Largess, sb. a present. Tarn, of S. I. 2.
Lass-lom, adj. deserted by a mistresa Temp. iv.
Latch, v.t. to smear. M. H's Dr. ni. 2. To catch.
Mao. IV. 3.
tated,i>,p. belated. A. & C. III. 9.
Latten, adj. made of brass. Merry Wives, 1.1.
Laund, sb. lawn. 3 H. VI. in. 1.
Lavolta, sb. a dance. H. V. in. 6.
Lay, sb. wager. Oth. ii. 3.
League, s6. oesieging army. All's Well, ni. 8.
Leasing, sb. lying. 'Tw. N. 1.6.
Leather-coats, so. a kind of apple. 2 H. IV. V. 3.
Leech, sb. a physician. T. A. v. 4.
Leer, sb. countenance, complexion. As you Like
it, IV. 1; T. A. IV. 2.
Leet, sb. a manor court. Oth. in. 3.
Legerity, sb. lightness. H. V. iv. 1.
Lege, v.t. to all^e. Tam. of S. I. 2.
Leiger, sb. an ambassador resident abroad. M.
for M. III. 1; Cymb. I. 6.
Leman, sb. a lover or mistress. 2 H. IV. v. 3.
Lenten, aJJ. meagre. Ham. ii. 1. That which
may be eaten in Lent. R. &. J. ir. 4.
L'envoy, sb. the farewell or moral at the end of a
tale or poem. L's L's L. in. 1.
I.et, v.i. to hinder. Tw. N. v. 1. v.t. to hinder.
Ham. I. 2.
Let, sb. hindrance. H. V. v. 2.
Lethe, sb. death. J. C. in. 1.
Level, v.i. to aim. M. of V. I. 2 ; R. III. iv. 4.
Level, sb. that which is aimed at. U. VIII. i. 2.
Lewd, adj. ignorant, foolish. K. III. i. 3.
Lewdly, adv. wickedly. 2 H. VI. Ii. 1.
Lewdster, sb. a lewd person. Merry Wives, v. 3.
Libbard, sb. a leopard. L's L's L. v. 2. - '
Liberal, adj. licentious. Two Gent. ni. 1; Oth.
II. 1.
Liberty, sb. libertinism. T. A. iv. 1.
License, sb. licentiousness. M. for M. in.2.
Lief, adj. dear. 2 H. VI. in. 1.
Lifter, sb. a thief. T. & Cr. i. 2.
Light 'o love, sb. a tune so called. Two Gent. 1.2.
Lightly adv. easily, generally. Com. of E. iv. 4 ;
Like, v.t. to please. R. III. nr. 4; Lear, ii. 2.
Like, v.t. to liken, compare. 1 H. VI. iv. 6.
Like, mlj. likely. M. tor M. v. 1.
Likellhr^, sb. promise, appearance. B. III. III. 4.
Liking, sb. condition. 1 H. IV. in. 3.
Limbeck, sb. an alembick, a still. Mac. i. T.
Limbo, or Limbo patrum, sb, the place where
food men under the Did Test, were believed to
e imprisoned till released by Christ after his
crucifixion. All's Well, v. 3; H. VIII. v. 3.
Lime, sb. bird-lime. Temp. iv. 1.
Line, v.t. to entangle as with bird-lime. Tw. N.
in. 4. To smear with bird-lime. 2 11. VI. i. 3.
To mix lime with beer or other liquor. Merry
Wives, I. 3.
Limn, vJ, to draw. As you Like it, II. 7.
Line, v.t. to cover on the inside. Cymb. ii. 3. To
strengthen by inner works. 1 H.lV. n. 3; 2 H.
IV. I. 3.
Linstock, sb. a staff with a match at the end of it,
used by gunneis in firing cannon. H. V. in.
Chorus.
List, sb. a margin, hence a bound or enclosure.
Tw. N. III. 1; 1 H. IV. IV. 1.
Lither, adj. lazy. 1 H. IV. iv.T.
Little, sb. miniature. Ham. II. 2.
Livelihood, sb. appearance of life. All's Well, 1.1.
Livery, sb. a law phrase, sigiiiiying the act of de¬
livering a freehold into the possession of the
heir or purchaser. R. II. n. 3.
Living, adj. lively, convincing. Oth. iii. 3.
Loach, sb. a fish so called. 1 H. IV. ii. 1.
Lob. sb. a looby. M. N's Dr. ii. 1.
Lockram, sb. a sort of coarse linen. Cor. Ii. 1.
Lode-star, sb. the leading-star, pole-ster, M. ITs
Dr. 1.1.
Lofle, v.i. to laugh. M. Dr. n. 1
GLOSSART.
1219
ZtO^ats, sb. the game called lune-pius. Ham. V- !•
Lonsly, adv. longingly. Tam. of S. l. 1.
Loot, v.t. to luff, bring a vessel up to the wind.
A. & C. III. 8.
Loon, sb. a low contemptible fellow. Mac. v. 3.
Lot, sb. a prize in a lottery. Cor. v. 2.
Lottery, so. that which falls to a man by lot. A.
& C. n. 2.
Lowt, »b. a clown. Cor. iii. 2.
Low^ v.t. to treat one as a lowt, with contempt.
1H. VI. IV. 3. .
Lozel, sb. a spendthrift. Wint. Tale, ii. 3.
Lubber, sb. a leopard. 2 H. IV. If. 1.
Luce, n. the pike or jack, a fresh-water fish.
Merry Wives, 1.1.
Lumpish, adj. dull, dejected. Two Gent. iii. 2.
Lunes, sb. fits of lunacy. Wliit. Tale. ii. 2.
Lurch, v.t. to defeat, to win. Cor. ii. 2.
Lurch, v.i. to shift, to play tricks. Merry Wives,
Lure, sb. a thing stuffed to resemble a bird with
which the falconer allures a hawk. Tam. of S.
IV. 1.
Lush, adj. juicy, luxuriant. Tern. ii. 1.
Lustig, adj. lusty, cheerful. All's Well, ii. 3.
Luxurious, adj. lascivious. Much Ado, iv. 1.
Luxury, sb. lust. Lear, iv. 6.
Lym, sb. a limer or slow bound. Lear, iii. 6.
Made, p.p. having his fortune made. Tw. N. in.
4.
Mg^ifico, sb. the chief magistrate at Venice.
Magot-pie, sb. a magpie, a pie which feeds on
magots. Mac. in. 4.
Mailed, p.p. covered as with a coat of mail. 2 H.
VI. 11.4.
Main-course, sb. asea-tmm. Temp. 1.1.
Make, v.t. to do up, bar. Com. of £. in. 1. Todo.
L's L's L. rv. 3; R. III. i. 3.
Malkin, sb. a familiar name for Mary; hence a
servant wench. Cor. n. 1.
Mallecho, sb. mischief. Ham. in. 2.
Mammering, pr. p. hesitating. Oth. in. 3.
Mammets, sb. a woman's breasts. 1 H. IV. ii. 3.
A doll. B. Sc J. III. s.
Mammock, v.t. to break, tear. Cor. i. 3.
Man, v.t. to tame a hawk. Tam. of S. iv. 1.
Manage, sb. management. Temp. i. 2.
Mandraeora, sb. )
ikfAnarftkA jtb \ supposed to resemble a
JuanaraKe, so. j ni. 3; 2 H. IV. i. 2.
Mankind, cu^'. having a masculine nature. Wint.
Tale, II. 3.
Marches, sb. frontiers, borders. H. V. i. 2.
Marchpane, sb. a kind of sweet biscuit. B. &. J.
I. 5.
Margent, s6. margin. L's L's L. n. 1.
Many trap, int. an oath. Merry Wives, 1.1.
Maxtlemas, sb. the Feast of St. Martin, which oc¬
curs on the 11th of Nov. when the fine weather
generally ends: hence applied to an old man.
2 H. IV. II. 2.
Match, sb. an appointment. 1 H. IV. i. 2.
Mate, v.t. to confound, dismay. Mac. v. 1.
Meacock, adj. tame, cowardly. Tam. of S. il. 1.
Mealed,p.p. mingled. M. for M. iv. 2.
Mean, so- instrument used to promote an end.
Two Gent. iv. 4.
Mean, sb. the tenor part in a harmony. Two Gent.
1.2. a
Mean, sb. opportunity, power. H. VIII. v. 2.
Measure, so. reach. Two Gent. v. 4. A stately
dance. Much Ado, ii. 1.
Meazel, sb. a leper, spoken in contempt of a
mean person. Cor. iii. 2.
Medal, sb. a portrait in a locket. Wint. Tale, i. 2.
Medicine, sb. a physician. All's Well, II. 1.
Meed, sb. reward, hire. Two Gent. ii. 4. Merit.
3 H. VI. II. 1.
Mehercle, int. by Hercules. L's L's L. iv. 2.
Meiny, sb. retinue. Lear, II. 4.
Mell, v.i. to mix, to meddle. All's Well, iv. 3.
Memorize, v.t. to cause to be remembered. Mac.
1. 2.
Mephistophilus, sb. the name of a familiar spirit.
Merry Wives, 1.1.
Mercatante, sb. (Italian), a foreign trader. Tam.
of S. IV. 2.
Merely, adv. simply, absolutely. Temp. 1.1.
Mess, sb. a company of four. L's L's L. iv. 3 ; v.
2.
Metaphysical, a^j. supernatural. Mac. i. 6.
Mete-yard, sb. measuring-wand. Tam. of S. iy.3i
Mew up, v.t. to confine. B. III. 1.1.
Micher, sb. a truant. 1 H. IV. ii. 4.
Mickle, adj. much. Com. of E. ill. 1,
Mill-sixpence, sb. a milled sixpence. Merry
Wives, 1.1.
Mince, v.t. to do any thing affectedly. H. V. v. 2.
Mincing, adj. affected. 1 H. IV. III. 1.
Miscreate,p.p. illegitimate. H. V. I. 2.
Misdoubt, v.t. to suspect. 3 H. VI. v. 6. '
Misery, sb. avarice. Cor. ii. 2.
Misprise, v.t. to despise. As you Like it, 1.1. To
mistake. M. N'sDr. iii. 2.
Misprision, sb. mistake. Much Ado, rv. 1.
Missive, sb. messenger. A. & C. ii. 2.
Mistempered, adj. angry. John, v. 1.
Misthink, v.t. to think ill of. 3 H. VI. 6.
Mistress, sb. the jack in bowling. T. tc Cr. m. 2.
Mobled, p.p. mumed. Ham. ii. 2.
Modern, adj. commonplace. John, ni. 4.
Module, sb. a model, image. John, v. 7.
Moe, adj. and adv. more. Of frequent occurrence.
Moiety, sb. a portion. Lear, 1.1.
Mome, sb. a stupid person. Com. of E. in. 1.
Momentany, adj. momentary. M. N's Dr. 1.1.
Months-mind, sb. a monthly commemoration of
the dead, but used ludicrously to mean a great
mind or strong desire. Two Gent. I. 2.
Mood, sb. anger. Two Gent. iv. 1.
Moon-calf, so. a nick-name applied to Caliban,
Temp. II. 2 ; III. 2.
Moonish, adj. inconstant. As you Like it, in. 2.
Mop, sb. nod. Temp. in. 3.
Morisco, sb. a Moor. 2 H. VI. in. L
Morris-pike, sb. Moorish-pike. Clom. of E. rv. 3.
Mort, so. death, applied to animals of the chase,
Wint. Tale, i. 2.
Mort-du-vinaigre, int. (French), a ridiculous oath.
All's Well, II. 3.
Mortal, adj. fatal, deadly. Oth. v. 2. Murderous.
Mac. I. 5.
Mortified, p.p. ascetic. Mac. v. 2.
Mose, v.t. a doubtful word, applied to some disease
in ahorse. Tam. of S. in. 2.
Motion, sb. solicitation. Com. of £. 1.1. Emo¬
tion. Oth. I. 2.
Motion, sb. a puppet. Two Gent. n. 1.
Motive, sb. one who moves. All's Well, IV. 4.
That which moves. T. & Cr. iv. 5.
Motley, adj. used as sb. the many-colored coat of
a fool. As you Like it, n. 7. A fool. Ibid. in.
3.
Motley-minded, adj. foolish. As you Like it, y. 4.
Mouse-hunt, sb. a weasel. B. & J. rv. 4.
Mow, v.i. to make grimaces. 'Temp. ii. 2.
Moy. sb. a coin, probably a moidore. H. V. rv. 4.
Much. int. significant of contempt. 2 H. IV. n.4.
Much, adj. used ironically. As you Like it, iv. 3.
Afure, sb. a wall. 2 H. IV. rv. 4.
1220
GLOSSARY.
Must', sh. a Ecramble. A. & 0- iii. 11.
Mutiiic, r.i. to mutiny. Ham. lit. 4.
Alutine, sb. a mutineer. Ham. v. 2.
Kapkin, sb. a handkercUef. As you Hike it, rv. 3.
Katural, sb. an idiot. Temp. ill. 2.
Kay ward, adv. towards denial. W'int. Tale, II. 1.
Kayword, sb. a cateli-word, by-word. Merry
Wives, 11. 2.
Neb, sb. the beak. Wint. Tale, I. 2.
Neeld, sb. a needle. M. N s l>r. iii. 2.
Neif, sb. band. M. N's Dr. IV. 1.
Nephew, sb. a grandson. UtU. 1. 1.
Nether-stocks, sb. stoekings. Lear, II. 4.
Next, adj. nearest. 1 Hen. IV. ill. 1.
Nice, adj. fooUsli. Tarn, of S. in. 1.
Nick, sb. score or reckoning. Two Gent. rv. 2.
Nick, v.t. to brand with folly. A. & 0. ill. 11.
Nigbted, P.p. black as night. Ham. i. 2.
Night-rule, sb. nightly solemnity. M. N'sDr. iii.
2.
Nine men's morris, sb. a place set apart for a
Moorish dance by nine men. M. N's Dr. ii. 2.
Ninny, sb. a fool, jester. Temp. in. 2.
Nobility, sb. nobleness. Ham. i. 2.
Noble, sb. a coin, worth 6s.%d. It. II. 1.1.
Noddy, sb. a dolt. Two Gent. 1.1.
Nonce, sb. for the nonce, corrupted from ' for
then once,' for the occasion, 1 H. IV. i. 2.
Nook-shotten, adj. indented with bays and creeks.
H. V. HI. 5.
Nourish, sb. a nurse. 1 H. VI. 1.1.
Novum, sb. a game at dice. L's L's L. v. 2.
Nowl, sb. head. M. N's Dr. in. 2.
Nutliook, sb. a hook forpulling down nuts, hence
a thief. Merry Wives, 1.1.
O, sb. a circle. M. N's Dr. in. 2.
Oar, v.t. to row as with oars. Temp. ii. 1.
Obsequious, adj. behaving as becomes one who
attends funetal obsequies. Ham. 1. 2.
Obsequiously, adv. funereally. R. III. I. 2.
Obstacle, adj. ridiculously used for ' obstinate.'
1 H. VI. V. 4.
Occupation, sb. persons occupied in business.
Cor. IV. 6.
Oocurent, sb. an incident. Ham. v. 2.
Od's body, interj. 1 H. IV. ii. 1.'
Od's heartlings. Merry Wives,
in. 4.
Od's pittikins. Cym. iv.2.
Od's plessed will. Merry Wives,
1.1.
Oeilliad, sb. an amorous glance. Merry Wives
I. 3.
O'erparted, p.p. having too important a part to
act. L's L s L. V. 2.
O'er-raught, p.p. overreached. Com. of E. i. 2.
Oveitasked. Ham. in. 1.
Offering, p.p. challenging. 1 H. IV. iv. 1.
Office, sf>. benefit, kindness. All's Well, iv. 4 ;
use, function. H. V. n. 2.
Old, ailj. a cant term for great, as we say fine, or
pretty. Merry Wives, i. 4 ; M.ac. ii. 3.
Once, adv. some time. Merry Wives, in. 4.
Oneyer, sb. a banker. 1 H. IV. ii. 1. A doubtful
word.
Ope, adv. open. Com. of E. in. 1.
Opc, v.i. to open. 3 H. VI. 11. 3. v.t. to open. M.
of V. I. 1.
O^n^adf. plain. M. for M. n. 1. Public. H.
Open, v.i. to give tongue as a hound. Merry
Wives, IV. 2.
Operant, adj. active. Tim. IV. 3.
'Od's in these
and all similar
exclamations is
a euphemism
for' God's.'
Opinioned, p.p. used ridiculeusly for pinioned.
Much Ado, iv. 2.
Opposite, sb. adversary. Tw. N. III. 4.
Opposition, sb. combat. Cym. iv. 1.
Or, adv. before. Mac. iv. 3.
Order, sb. measures. Com. of E. v. 1; H. V. IV. 6.
Ordinance, sb, rank, order. Cor, in. 2.
Orgulous, adj. proud. Prol. to T. & Cr.
Ort, sb. leaving, lefuse. Tim. iv. 3.
Ostent, sb. show, appearance. M. of V. n. 2.
Ostentation, sb. show, appearance. Much Ado,
IV. 1 ; Cor. I. 6.
Ounce, sb. a beast of prey of the tiger kind. M.
N's Dr. n. 3.
Ouphe, sb. a fairy. Merry Wives, iv. 4.
Ousel-cock, sb. the blackbird. M. N's Dr. in. 1.
Out, adv. all out, fully. Temp. I. 2.
out-look, v.t. to face down. John, v. 2.
Outward, adj. not in the secret of affairs. All's
Well, in. 1.
Outward, sb. outside. Cym. 1.1.
Owe, v.t. to own. Temp. I. 1.
Pack, v.t. to practice unlawful confederacy.
Much Ado, V. 1; Tarn, of S. v. 1.
Pack, sb. a number of people confederated. It.
HI. nr. 3.
Paddock, sb. a toad. Mac. 1.1.
Paid, p.p. punished. Cym. v. 4.
Palabras, sb. words, a cant term, from the Span¬
ish. Much Ado, in. 5.
Pale, v.t. to enclose. A. & C. n. 7 ; H. V. v. Ch.
Pall, v.t. to wrap as with a pall. Mac. i. 6.
Palled, p.p. impaired. A. & C. il. 7.
Palmer, sb. one who bears a palm-branch, in
token of having made a pilgrimage to Pal¬
estine. R. & J. 1. 6.
Palmy, a<Jj. victorious. Ham. 1.1.
Parcelled, p.p. belonging to individuals. B. III.
II. 2.
Pard, sb. the leopard. Temp. iv. 1.
Pai itor, sh. iin impai-itor. L's L's L. in. 1.
Parle, sb. talk. Two Gent. 1.2.
Parlous, adj. perilous. As you Like it. In. 2j
keen, shrewd. Rich. lit. in. 1.
Parted, p.p. endowed, gifted. T. & Cr. in. 3.
Partisan, sb. a pike. R. & J. I. 1.
Pash, sb. the face. Wint. Tale, I. 2.
Pash, v.t. to strike violently, to bruise, crush.
T. & Cr. n. 3.
Pass. v.i. to practice. Tw. N. in. 1; Lear, in. 7.
To surpass expectation. Merry Wives, iv. 2. '
Passant, pr.p. a term of heraldry, upplied to
animals represented on the shield as passing
by at a trot. Merry Wives, 1.1.
Passing, adv. surpassingly, exceedingly. M. N's
Dr. II. 1
Passion, t'.i. to have feelir^. Temp. v. 1.
Passionate, v.t. to suffer. T. A. in. 2.
Passy-measure, sb. a kind of dance. Tw. N. v. 1.
Pastry, sb. the room where jmstry was made. R.
& J. IV. 4.
Patch, .sb. a mean fellow. Temp. in. 2.
Patched, p.p. dressed in motley. M. N's Dr. iv. 1.
Patchery, sb. trickery. T. & Cr. il. 3.
Path, v.i. to walk. J. C. n. 1.
Pathetical, adj. affected, hypocritical. As yon
Like it, iv. 1.
Patient, v.r. to make patient, to compose. T. A.
I. 2.
Patine, .sb. the metal disc on which the bread is
placed in the administration of the Eucharist.
M. of V. V. 1.
Pattern, v.t. to give an example of. Wint. Tale,
ni. 2. Afford a pattern for. M. for M. ii. 1.
Puuca verba, few words. Merry Wives, i. 1.
GLOSSARY.
1221
Paucas, adj. tew, a cant word. Ind. to Tam. of S.
Paviu, tb. a dance. Tw. N. v. 1.
Pax, ab. a small image ot Cbrlst. H. V. iii. 6.
Pay, v.t. to despatch, i H. IV. n. 4.
Peat, »b. a term of endearment for a child. Tam.
of S. I. 1.
Pedascule, ab. a pedant, schoolmaster. Tam. of
S. III. 1.
Peer, o.i. to peep out. B. &. J. 1.1.
Peize, a.f. to balance, weigh down. John, II. 2:
K. III. V. d. • s-
Pelting, adj. paltry. M. for M. ii. 2.
Perdu, adj. lost. Lear, iv. 7.
Perdurable, adj. durable. H. V. iv. 6.
Perdy, int. a euphemism for Par Uieu. Com. of E.
IV. 4.
Perfect, a4j. certain. Wlnt. Tale, in. 3.
Perfect, v.t. to inform perfectly. M. for M. iv. 3.
Periapts, s6. charms worn round the neck. 1 U.
VI. v. 3.
Perjure, ab. a perjured person. L's L's L. iv. 3.
Persever, o. to persevere. Two Oent. in. 2.
Perspective, ab. a telescope, oi some sort of
optical glass. Tw. K. v. 1.
Pew-fellow, ab. a comrade. B. ITT. iv. 4.
Pheeze. v.t. to comb, fleece, curry. Ind. to Tam.
of S.; T. & Or. ii. 3.
Pia-mater, ab. the membrane covering the brain,
the brain itself. Tw. N. i. 5.
Pick, v.t. to pit'h, throw. H. VIII. v. 3.
Picked, adj. chosen, selected. John, 1.1.
Pickers (and stealers), ab. the Angers, used ridic¬
ulously. Ham. in. 2.
Picking, atlj. inslgniflcant. 2 H. IV. I. 1.
Pickt-hatch, ab. a place noted for brothels. Merry
Wives, ii. 2.
Pied, adj. motley-coated, wearing the motley coat
of a jester. Temp. in. 2.
Pieled, p.p. shaven. 1 H. VI-1. 3.
Piglit, p.p. pitched. T. & Or. v. 11.
Pileher, ab. a scabbard. B. & J. in. 1.
Pill, v.i. to pillage. Tim. iv. 1.
Pin, ab. a malady of the eye. Lear, nr. 4. The
centre of a target. L's L's L. iv. 1; B. & J.
II. 4.
Pinfold, ab. a pound, a place to confine lost cattle.
Two Gent. I. 1;
Pioiied, p.p. digged. Temp. in. 3.
Placket, ah. a petticoat-front. Wint. Tale, iv. 3.
Plain song, ab. a simple air. H. V. in. 2.
Plaited, p.p. intricate. Lear, 1.1.
Planched, adj. made of boards. M. for M. iv. 1.
Plantation, ab. colonizing, planting a colony.
Temp. II. 1.
Plausive, adj. plausible. All's Well, i. 2.
Pleached, adj. interwoven. Much Ado, i. 2.
Point, ab. a lace furnished with a tag by which
the breeches were held up. 1 H. IV. ii. 4.
Point-de-vice, adj. derived from the French,
faultless. Tw. N. n. 5-
Poise, ab. balance. M. for M. ii. 4. Doubt. Leart
II. 1.
Polled, p.p. bare. Cor. iv. 5.
Pomander, s6. a perfumed ball. Wint. Tale, IV. 4.
Pomewater, ab. a kind of apple. L's L's L. iv. 2.
Poor-john, ab. a herring. Temp. ii. 2.
Popinjay, s6. a parrot. IH. iV. i. 3.
Port, ab. pomp, state. Tam. of S. 1.1.
Port, ab. a gate. 2 H. IV. iv. 4.
Portable, adj% bearable. Mac. iv. 3.
Portance, ab, conduct, beha\^r. Cor. n. 3.
Possess, v.t. to inform. Tw. N. II. 3.
Potch, v.i. to push violently. Cor. 1.10.
Potent, ab. a potentate. John, li. 2.
Pouttcet-box, ab. a box for holding perfumes, 1
H.IV.1.3.
Power, ab. forces, army. 2 H. IV. 1.1,
Practice, ab. wicked stratagem. Tw. N. v. 1.
Practisant, ab. a confederate. 1 H. VI. iii. 2.
Prank, v.t. to dress up. Wint. Tale, iv. 3; Cor.
III. I.
Precept, ab. a justice's summons, 2 H. IV. v. 1.
Preciously, adv. in business of great impoi-tance.
Temp. 1.2.
Pregnancy, ab. fertility of invenUon. 2 IT. IV.
1.2.
Pregnant, adj. fertile of invention. M. for M. i.
I. Beady. Ham. iii. 2. Obvious. M. for M.
II. 1.
Prenominate, v.i. to name beforehand, to proph¬
esy. T. & Cr. IV. 5. ,
Pre-ordinance, sb. old-established law. J. C. iii. 1,
Presence, ab. the presence-chamber. H. VIII.
III. 1. High l>earing. M. of V. III. 2.
Prest, adj. ready. M. of V. 1.1.
Pretence, ab- design. Wint. Tale, iii. 2.
Pretend,».«. to portend. 1H. VI. iv. 1. To intend,
Mac. II. 4.
Prevent, v.t. to anticipate. J. C. v. 1.
Prick, ab. the mark denoting the hour on a dial.
B. &. J. II. 4.
Prick, v.t. to incite. Tam. of S. III. 2. To choose
by pricking a hoie with a pin opposite the name.
J. C. III. 1. •
Prick-song, ab. music sung in parts by note. B. &
J. II. 4.
Pricket, ab. a stag of two years. L's L's L, iv. 2.
Pride, ab. heat. Oth. iii. 3.
Prig, v.t. to steal. Wint. Tale, I v. 2.
Prime, adj. rank, lecherous. Oth. ill. 3.
Primer, adj. more-important. H. VIII. i. 2.
Primero, ab. a game at cards. H. VIII. v. 1.
Principality, ab. that which holds the highest
place. 'Two Gent. ii. 4.
Princox, ab. a coxcomb. B. & J. I. 5.
Priser, ab. a prize-fighter. As you Like it, ii. 3.
Procure, v.t. to bring. B. & J. III. 5.
Proface, interj. much good may it do you. 2 H.
IV. v. 3.
Profane, adj. outspoken. Oth. il. 1.
Progress, ab. a royai ceremonial journey. Ham.
I. 3.
Project, v.t. to shape or contrive. A. & C. v. 2.
Prompture, ab. suggestion. M. for M. Ii. 4.
Prone, culj. ready, willing. Cym. v. 4: M. for
M. I. 3.
Proof, sb. strength of manhooti. Much Ado, iv. 1.
Propagate, v.t. to advance, to forward. Tim. 1.1.
Propagation, sb. obtaining. M. for M. I. 3.
Proper-faise, ab. iiaturai laisehood. Tw. N. II. 2
Propertied, p.p. endowed with the properties of.
A. & C. v. 2
Properties, ab. scenes, dresses, &e. used in a
theatre. Merry Wives, IV. 4.
Property, v.t. to take possession of. John, v. 2.
Propose, v.t. to suppose, for the sake of argu¬
ment. 2 H. IV. V. 2. To converse. Much
Ado, III. 1.
Propose, ab. conversation. Much Ado, III. 1.
Prorogue, v.t. to defer. B. & J. II. 2.
Provand, ab. provender. Cor. II. 1.
Provision, ab. forecast. Temp. i. 2.
Pucelle, sb. a virgin, the name given to Joan ot
Arc. I H. VI. V. 4.
Pudency, sb. modesty. Cym. ii. 5.
Pugging, adj. thieving. Wlnt. Tale, iv. 2.
Pun, v.t. to pound. T. & Cr. ii. 1.
Purchase, v.t. to acquire, win. As you Like it.
in. 2.
Purchase, sb. gain, winnings. 1 H. IV. 11.1.
Put, v.t. to compel. M. for. M. i. 1.
Putter-on, sb. an instigator. H- VIII. I. 2
1222
GLOSSARY.
Putter-out, sb. one who lends money at interest.
Temp. 111. 3.
Putting-on, sb. instigation. M. for M. iv. 2.
Puttock, sb. a kite. Oym. i. 2.
Quail, v.i. to faint, be languid, be afraid. As you
Like it, II. 2. v.t. to cause to quail. A. & U.
V. 2.
Quaint, adj. curiously beautiful. Temp. i. 2.
Quake, v.t. to cause tp quake or tremble. Cor.
I. 9.
Qualify, v.t. to moderate. Much Ado, v. 4.
Quality, sb. those of the same nature. Temp. 1.2.
Rank or condition. M. for M. II. 1; 2 H. IV-
• v. 2.
uarrel, sb. a suit, cause. 2 H. VI. in. 2.
uarry, sb. game, ^ heap of game. Ham. v. 2;
Cor. i. 1.
Quart d'bcu, sb. a quarter crown. All's Well,
IV. 3.
Quarter, sb. the post allotted to a soldier. Tim.
v. 5.
Quat, sb. a pimple; used in contempt of a person.
0th. V. I.
Queasy, adj. squeamish, unsettled. Much Ado,
ii. 1; Lear, ii. 1.
Quell, sb. murder. Mac. I. T.
Quench, v.i. to grow cool. Cym. i! 6.
Quern, sb. a hand-mill. M. N'e Dr. ii. 1.
Quest, sb. enquiry, search, inquest, jury. M. for
M. IV. 1; R. 111. I. 4 J Ham. v. 1.
Questrist, sb. one who goes in search of another.
Lear, in. 7.
Quick, adj. so far gone in pregnancy that tlje
child is alive. L's L's L. v. 2.
Quicken, v.i. to come to life. Lear, in. 7.
Quiddit, I sb. a subtle question. Ham. v. 1;
Quiddity. ) 1 H. IV. I. 2.
Quillet, sb. quidlibet, a- subtle case in law. L's
L's L. IV. 3.
Quintain, sb. a post for tilting at. As you Like
it, I. 2.
Quip, sb. sharp jest, a taunt. Much Ado, ii. 3.
uire, t'.i. to sing in concert. M. of V. v. 1.
uit, v.i. to requite, respond. Lear, ill. 7 ; Ham.
v. 2.
Quit, v.i. past tense of the verb to quit, quitted.
Cym. 1.1.
Quitancc, sb. requital. H. V. il. 2.
uiver, adj. active. 2 H. IV. iii. 2.
note, v.t. to note. R. & J. i. 4.
Rabato, sb. a ruS. Much Ado, ni. 4.
Rabbit-sucker, sb. a weasel. 1 H. IV. Ii. 4.
Race, sb. breed; inherited nature. Temp. i. 2.
Rack, sb. wreck. Temp. iv. 1.
Rack, v.t. to enhance the price of anything.
Much Ado, IV. 1; Cor. v. 1. v.i. to drive as
clouds. 3H. VI. II. 1.
Rag, sb. a term .of contempt applied to persons.
Tim. IV. 3.
Rake, v.i. to cover. Lear, iv. 6.
Rapt, p.p. transported with emotion. Mac. i. 3.
Rapture, sb. a fit. Cor. ii. 1.
Rascal, sb. a lean deer. ,J. C. iv. 3.
Rash, cutj. quick, violent. Wint. Tale, i. 2.
Rate, sb. opinion, judgment. Temp. ii. 1.
Rate, v.t. to assign, to value. A, & C. ill. 6;
Cym. I. 5. To sceld. M. of V. I. 3.
Ratolorum. a ludicrous mistake for Rotulorum.
Merry Wives, i. 1.
Ravin, adj. ravenous. All's Well, iii. 2.
Ravin, v.t. to devour. Mac. ii. 4.
Raught, past tense of v. to reach. H. V. rv. 6.
Rawly, cMv. inadequately, H. V. iv. 1.
Rawness, sb. unprovided state, Mae. ly. 3.
Rayed, p.p. arrayed, served. Tarn, of S. it. 1.
Razed, p.p. slashed. Ham. III. 2.
Rear-mouse, sb. the bat. M. Ifs. Dr. it. 3.
Rebate, v.t. to deprive of keenness. M. for M.
1.6.
Rebeck, sb. a three-stringed fiddle. R. &. J. iv. 6.
Receipt, sb. money received. R. II. 1.1.
Receiving, sb. capacitw. Tw. H. iii. 1.
Recheat, sb. a point of the chase to call back the
hounds. Much Ado, 1.1.
Record, v.t. to sing. Two Gent. v. 4.
Recorder, sb. a flute. Ham. in. 2.
Becure, v.t. to cure, recover. B. III. in.
Red-lattice, adj. suitable to an ale-house, because
ale-houses had commonly red lattices. Merry
Wives, ii. 2.
Red-pla^e, sb. erysipelas. Temp. i. 2.
Reduce, v.t. to bring back. R. HI. v. 4.
Reechy, adj. smoky, dirty. Cor. n. 1.
Befell, v.t. to refute. M. for M. v. 1.
Refer, v.r. to reserve to. M. for M. ni. L
Regiment, sb. government. A. & C. in. 6.
Regreet, sb. a salutation. M. of V. n. 9.
Regreet, v.t. to salute. B. II. 1.3.
Reguerdon, sb. requital. 1 H. VI. in. 1.
Relative, adj. applicable. Ham. n. 2.
Remember, v.t. to remind. Wint. Tale, in. 2;
M. for M. n. 1.
Remorse, sb. pity. M. for. M. v. 1.
Remorseful, adj. full of pity, compassionate.
Two Gent. rv. 3.
Remotion, sb. removal. Tim. rv. 3.
Removed, adj. sequestered, remote. M. for M.
1.4; As you Like it, in. 2.
Render, v.t. to describe you. As you Like it, iv.3.
Render, sb. account. Cym. iv. 4.
Renege, v.t. to renounce, to deny. A. & C. 1.1;
Lear, n. 2.
Repair, v.t. to renovate, comfort. All's Well, 1.2.
Repeal, v.t. to reverse the sentence of exMe. Two
Gent. V. 4.
Reproof, sb. confutation. 1 H. IV. i. 2.
Repugn, v.t. to resist. 1 H. VI. iv. 1.
Requiem, sb. mass for the dead, so called because
it begins with the words. Requiem etemam
dona eis, Domine. Ham. v. 1.
Resolve, v.t. to satisfy. 3 H. VI, in, 2. To dis¬
solve. Ham. I. 2.
Respect, sb. consideration. Much Ado, n. 3.
Respective, adj. respectful, thoughtful. M. of V.
V. 1.
Respective, adj. corresponding. Two Gent. rv. 4.
Respectively, adv. respectfully. Tim. hi. I.
Retailed, p.p. handed down. R. III. in. )
Retire, sb. retreat. 1 H. IV. n. 3.
Retire, v.t. to draw back. R. II. n. 2.
Reverb, v.t. to echo. I.ear, 1.1.
Revolt, sb. a rebel- John. v. 4.
Rib, v.t. to enclose as within ribs. M. of V. n. 7.
Rid, v.t. to destroy. Temp. i. 2.
Rift, v.i. to split. Wint. Tale, v. 1. v.t. to split.
Temp. v. 1.
Rift, sb. a split. Temp. i. 2.
Biggish, adj. wanton. A. &. C. ii. 2.
Rigol, sb. a circle. 2 H. IV. iv. 4.
Ripe, adj. drunk. Temp. v. 1.
Rivage, sb. the shore. H. V. in. Chorus.
Rival, sb. a partner. Ham. 1.1.
Rivality, sb. equal rank. A, & C. in. 5.
Rive, v.t. to fire. 1 H. VI. iv. 2.
Road, sb. the high road, applied to a common
woman (traviata). 2 H. 1V. n. 2.
Roisting, adj. roistering, violent. T. A Cr. n. 2.
Bomage, sb. unusual stir. Ham. 1.1.
Ronyon, sb. a term of contempt applied to a
woman. Mac. i. 3.
GLOSSARY.
1223
Rood, sb. the crucifix. B. & J. i. 3.
Rook, $b, a cheater. Merry Wives, i. 3.
Ropery, sb. roguery. K. & j. h. 4.
Rope-tncks. so. tricks such as are played by a
rope-dancer. Tain, of S. l. 2.
Round, v.i. to whisper. Oth. i. 3. To become
treat with child. Wlnt. Tale, ii. 1. v.t. to
nish off. Temp. iv. I.
Rj^ad, sb. a diadem. Mac. i. 5.
K^id, adj. unceremonious. Mac. I. 5.
Roundel, sb. a dance or song. M. N's Dr. ii. 3.
Roundure, sb. an enclosure. John, ii. 1.
Bouse, sb. carousal. Ham. i. 4.
Roynish, adj. mangy. As you Like it, ii. 2.
Rubious, o<«. rud<v. Tw. N. r. 4.
Ruddock, so. the rMbreast. Cym. iv. 1.
Rush, v.t. to push. R. & J. III. 3.
Bushling, adj. rustling. Merry Wives, ii. 2.
Sacrificial, adj. reverent, as words used in relig¬
ious worship. Tim. 1.1.
Sacring-beli, sb. the little bell rung at mass to
give notice that the elements are consecrated.
H. Vm. III. 2.
Sad, adj. serious. Two Gent. l. 2.
Sadly, adv. seriously. Much Ado, ii. 3.
Sadness, sb. seriousness. B. & J. i. 1.
Safe, v.t. to make safe. A. & C. iv. 6.
Sag, v.i. to hang down. Mac. v. 3.
Salt, adj. lascivious. Oth. ii. 1; nr. 3.
Salt, sb. taste. Mernr Wives, li. 3.
Sanded, adj. marked with yellow spots. M. N's
Dr. IV. 1.
Sans, prep, without. Temp. I. 2.
Saucy, adj. lascivious. All's Well, iv. 4.
Saw, sb. a moral saying. L's L's L. v. 2.
Say, adj. silken. 2 H. vl, iv. 7.
Say, sb. assay, taste, relish. Lear, v. 3.
Scaffoidage, sb. the gallery of a theatre. T. & Cr.
I. 3.
Scald, a<(j. scurvy, scabby. Merry Wives, ni. 1.
Scale, v.t. to weigh in scales. Cor. ii. 3.
Scaii, sb. a scab, a word of reproach. Merry
Wives, HI. 1.
Scamble, v.i. to scramble. H. V. 1.1.
Scamei, sb. probably a misprint for searmel, sea^
mew. Temp. ii. 2.
Scan, v.t. to examine subtly. Oth. in. 3.
Scant, v.t. to cut short, to spare. M. of V. iii. 2.
Scant, <uL'. scanty, short. Ham. v. 2. adv. scarce-
' ly. R. & J. I. 2.
Scantling, sb. a small portion. T. & Cr. l. 3.
Scape, v.t. to escape. Much Ado, 1.1.
Scape, sb. a sally. M. for M. 1.1.
Scathe, sb. injury. 2 H. VI. II. 4.
Scathe, v.t. to injure. R. & J. i. 5.
Scathful, (uH. destructive. Tw. N. v. 1.
Sconce, sb. the head. Ham. v. 1.
Scotch, v.t. to bruise or cut slightly. Mae. m. 2.
Scrimer, sb. a fencer. Ham. iv. 7.
Scroyle, sb. a scabby fellow. John, ii. 3.
Scull, sb. a shoal of fish. T. & Cr. v. 5.
Scurvy, adj. scabby : metaph. mean. Temp. ii. 2.
Seal, v.t. to set one's seal to a deed; hence, to
confirm. Cor. ii. 3.
Seam, sb. fat. T. Ss Cr. ii. 3.
Seamy, adj. showing the seam or sewing. Oth.
IV. 2.
Sear, adj. scorched, withered. Mao. v. 3.
Sear, v.t. to stigmatise. Ail's Well, ii. 1.
Search, v.t. to probe; hencejpto apply a healing
remedy. Two Gent. i. 2.
Seated, adj. fixed, confirmed. Mac. i. 3.
Sect, sb. a slip or scion. Oth. i. 3. A politioal
party. Lear, v. 3.
Securely, adv. Inconsiderately. T. & Cr. rv. 5.
Seel, v.t. to close. Oth. III. 3.
Seeling, pr.p. closing, blinding. Mac. iii. 2.
.Seeming, ailv. seemly, becomingly. As you Like
it, V. 4.
Seeming, sb. outward manner and appearance.
Wint. Talc, IV. 4.
Seen, a<lj. veised, instructed. Tam. of S. I. 2.
Scld, adv. seldom. T. & Cr. IV. 5.
Self-bounty, sb. native goodness. Oth. ill. 3.
^inblably, adv. alike, i. H. IV. v. 3
Soniory, sb. seniority. K. 111. IV. 4.
Sennet, sb. a tloiirisli of trumpets.
Sepulchre, v.t. to bury. Two Gent. IV. 2.
Sequestration, sb. separation. Oth. i. 3.
Sere, adj. dry. Com. of E. iv. 2.
Serjeant, sb. a bailiff. Ham. v. 2.
Serpigo, .sb. a cutaneous disease. M. for M. III. 1.
Serviceable, adj. ' serviceable vows,' vows that
you will do her service, or be her servant. Two
Gent. III. 2.
Setebos, sb. the name of a fiend. Temp. i. 2.
Setter, sb. one who watches travellers to give in¬
formation to thieves. 1 H- IV. ii. 2.
Several, sb. land which is not common but appro¬
priated. L's L's L. II. 1.
Shame, v. i. to be ashamed. Cor. ii. 2.
Sliame, sb. modesty. Com. of E. III. 2.
Shards, sb. shreds, broken fragments of pottery.
Ham. V. 1.
Shards, sb. the wing cases of beetles ; honce
' sharded.' Cym. in. 3; and' shard-bome.' Mac.
III. 2.
Sharked, p.p. snatched up, as a shark does his
prey. Ham. 1.1.
Sheen, sb. brilliancy. M. N's Dr. ii. 1.
Sheer, ail/, pure. It. 11. v. 3. Uiuuixed. Ind. to
Tam. ot S. 2.
Shent, p.p. rebuked, blamed. Cor. v. 2. Hurt.
Ham. III. 3.
Sheriff's-post, sb. a post at the door of a sberilT,
to which royal proclamations were fixed. Tw. N.
1. 5.
Shive, sb. slice. T. A. ii. 1.
Shot, sb. the reckoning at an ale-house. Two
Gent. II. 5.
Shoughs, sb. shaggy dogs. Mac. in. 1.
Shouldered, p.p. B. 111. in. 7. A doubtful
word.
Shovel-board, sb. game played by sliding metal
pieces along a board at a mark. Merry Wives,
1.1.
Shrewd, adj. mischievous. All's Well, in. 5.
Shrift, sb. confession. It. III. in. 4. Absolution.
M. for M. IV. 2.
Shrive, v.t. to confess. M. of V. i. 2.
Shriving-time, sb. time for confession. Ham. v. 2.
Shroud, v.r. to enshroud oneself, cover oneself
up. Temp. II. 2.
Side-sleeves, sb. loose hanging sleeves. Much
Ado, in. 4.
Siege, sb. seat. M. for M. IV. 2. Stool. Temp,
n. 2. Hank. Ham. IV. 7.
Sight, sb. an aperture in a lielmet. 2. H. IV. i v. 1.
Sightless, adj. invisible, Mae. i. 5. Unsightly.
John. III. 1.
Sign, r.i. to give an omen. A. & C. IV. 3.
Silly, adi. simple, rustic. Cym. v. 3.
Simular, adj. counterfeit, feigned. Cym. v. 5.
Singie, adj. feeble. Mac. I. 3.
Sir. sb. a title applied to a bachelor of arts at
the Universities. Tw. N. iv. 2.
Sith, eonj. since. Two Gent. I. 2.
Sithence, conj. since. Cor. in. 1.
Sizes, sb. allowances. Lear, n. 4.
Skaing-mates, sb. scapegraces. B. & J. n. 4.
Skill, v.i. to be of importance. Tam, of S. in. 2.
122 i
GLOSSARY.
Skilless, adj. ienorant. Temp. iii. 1.
Skimble-skamEle, adj. rambUiig, disjointed. 1 H.
IV. nr. 1.
Skiiiker, sb. a drawer of liquor. 1 H. IV. ii. 4.
Skirr, v.i. to scour. Mac. v. 3.
Slack, v.t. slacken. Oth. iv. 3.
Slave, v.t. to turn to slavish uses. Lear, iv, 1.
Sleave, sb. floss-silk. Mac. ii. 2.
Sledded, p.p. sledged. Ham. 1.1.
Sleide^ p.p. untrmted, raw, applied to silk. Per,
IV. (Gower).
Sleights, sb. artifices. Mac.iii.5.
Slice, int. Merry Wives, 1.1.
Slipper, adj. slippery. Oth. u. 1.
Slips, sh. a kind of noos^or leash. H. V. nr. 1.
A piece of base money. E. & J. II. 4.
Sliver, v.t. to slice. Lear, iv. 2.
Sliver, sb. a slice. Ham. iv. 7.
Slops, sb. loose breeches. Much Ado, nr. 2.
Slubber, ». <. to slur over. M. of V. li. 8.
Smirched, p.p. smearecL soiled. Much Ado, iv. 1.
Smooth, v.t. to flatter. Per. i. 2.
Smoothed, p.p. flattered, fawned upon. Tim.
IV. 3.
Sneap, sb. taunt, sarcasm. 2 H. IV. II. 1
Sneaped,p.p. pinched. Lucr. 333.
Sneaping. L's L's L. I. 1.
Sneck-up, int. go hang! Tw. N. ii. 3.
Snulf, so. anger. L's L's L. ' To take in snufl ' is
to take offence.
Softly, adv. gently. Wint. Tale, iv. 2; Ham.
IV. 4.
Soil, sb. spot, taint. Ham. i. 3. i
Solicit, sb. solicitation. Cym. ii. 3.
Solidare, sb. a small coin. Tim. m. 1.
Solve, so. solution. Son. 69.
Sometimes, adv. formerly. M. of V. 1.1.
Sooth, sb. truth. Wint. Tale, iv. 3. Conciliation.
E. II. m. 3.
Sooth, adj. true. Mac. v. 5.
Sorel, sb. a buck of the third year. L's L's L. iv. 2.
Sorriest, adj. most sorrowful. Mac. in. 2.
Sorry, a^j. sorrowful, dismal. Com. of E. v. 1.
Sort, sb. a company. M. H's Dr. in. 2. Eank,
condition. E. II. iv. 1. Lot. T. & Cr. i. 3.
< In a sort,' in a manner. Temp. n. 1.
Sort, v.t. to choose. Two Gent. in. 2. v.i. to
suit. Much Ado, V. 2. To consort. 2. H. IV.
II. 4.
Sot, sb. fool. Cym. v. 5.
Soul-fearhig, adj. soul-terrifying. John, n. 2.
Sowl, vd. to lug, drag. Cor. iv. 5.
Sowter, sb. name of a dog. Tw. N. n. 6.
Specialty, sb. a special contract. Tam. of S. II. 1.
Sped, p.p. settled, done for. E. & J. ui. 1.
Speed, so. fortune. Wint. Tale. in. 2.
Sperr, v.t. to bolt, fasten. T. & C. proL
Spial, sb. spy. 1. H. VI. I. 4.
Spill, v.t. to destroy. Lear, in. 2.
Spilth, sb. spilling. Tim. n. 2.
Spleen, sb. violent baste. John, n. 2; v. 7,
Used of the lightning flash. M. N's Dr. 1.1.
Sprag, adj. quick. Merry Wives, iv. 1.
Spring, so. shoot, bud. V. & A. 656. Begimiing.
M. N's Dr. n. 2; 2 H. IV. iv. 4.
Springhalt, sb. stringhalt, a disease of horses. H.
VIII. I. 3.
Sprited,p.p. haunted. Cym. n. 8.
Spurs, so. roots of trees. Temp. v. 1; C.vm. iv. 2.
Squandered, p.p. scattered. M. of V. i. 3.
Square, v.t. to quarrel. M. N's Dr. n. 1. ■
Square, sb. the front part of a woman's dress,
stomacher. Wint. Tale. IV. 3.
Square, aifi. equitable. Tim. v. 1.
Squarer, so. quarreller. Much Ado, 1.1.
Squash, sb. an unripe peascod. Tw. N. i. 5.
Squier, sb. a square or ruie. L's L's L. T. 2.
Squiny, v.i. to squint. Lear, iv. 6.
Staggers, sb. a <iisease in horses, attended with
giddiness: hence any bewildering distress.
Cym. V. 5.
Stain, v.t. to disiigure. Temp. i. 2.
Stale, sb. a decoy. Temp. iv. 1. A gull. Tam.
of S. I. 1. A prostitute. Much Ado, II. 2.
Stale, v.t. to make stale, deprive an3r1hiiig of its
freshness. T. & Cr. ii. 3.
Stand upon, to be incumbent on. E. II. IV. 2.
Staniel, sb. an inferior kind of hawk. Tw. N.
II. 5.
Stark, adv. stiff. Cym. iv. 2.
Starkly, adv. stittiy. M. for M. iv. 2.
State, so. a canopied chair. Tw. N. ii. 5.
Station, sb. attitude. Ham. in. 4. Act of stand¬
ing. A. & C. III. 3.
Statist, sb. a statesman. Cym. Ii. 4.
Status, sb. a statue. E. IIL iii.7<
Statue, sb. image, picture. Two Gent. iv. 4.
Statute, sb. security, obligation. Son. 134.
Statute-caps, sb. woollen caps worn by citizens.
L's L's L. V. 2.
Stay, sb. a check. John, ii. 2.
Stead, v.t. to profit. Temp. i. 2.
Stelled, p.p. (a doubtful word) set or fixed. Lucr.
1444. Son. 24.
Sternage, sb. steerime, course. H. V. in. Chorus.
Stickler, s6. an arbitrator in combats. T. & Cr.
V. 9.
Stigmatic, sb. a deformed person. 2 H. VI. v. L
Stigmatical, adj. deformed. Com. of E. iv. 2.
Stin, adj. constant. T. A. in. 2.
Still, ado. constautN. Temp. i. 2.
Stilly, adv. softly, H. V, iv. Chorus,
Stint, v.t. to stop, H, VIII. i. 2. v.i. To stop
E. & J. I. 3.
Stithy, sb. a smith's forge. Ham. in. 2.
Stithy, v.t. to forge. T. & Cr. iv. 6.
Stoccado, sb. a stoccata,. or thrust in fencing.
Merry Wives, n. 1.
Stock, sb. a stocking. Tam of S. in. 3.
Stomach, sb. courage, stubbornness. Temp. i. 2.
Appetite, inclination. Temp. ii. 1.
Stone-bow, sb. a cross-bow for throwing stones.
I'w. N. II. 5.
Stoup, sb. a cup. Tw. N. n. 3.
Stout, adj. strong, healthy. Tim. iv. 3.
Stover, so. fodder. Temp. ni. 8.
Strachy, sb. A word of doubtful meaning. Tw.
N. n. 5.
Straight, adv. immediately. Ham. v. 1.
Strain, sb. lineage. Much Ado, ii. 1. Disposi¬
tion. Merry Wives, n. 1.
Straited, p.p. straitened. Wint. Tale, rv. 4.
Strange, adj. foreign. L's L's I., ly. 2. Coy,
reserved. B. & J, n. 2. Marvellous. Oth. v. 2.
Strangeness, sb. coyness, reserve. T. & Cr.
III. 3.
Stranger, sb. foreigner. H. VIII. n. 3.
Strappado, sb. a kind of punishment. 1H. IV.
II. 4.
Stricture, sb. strictness. M. for M. i. 4.
Strosaers, sb. trowsers. H. V. III. 7,
Stuck, sb. a thrust of a sword. Ham. iv. 7.
Stuck in, sb. corruption of stoccata. Tw, N,
III. 4.
Stuff, sb. baggage. Com, of E, rv. 4. Material,
substance. Oth. i. 1.
Stuffed, p.p. filled, stored. Much Ado, 1.1.
Sty, v.t. to lodge as in a sty. Temp. i. 2.
Subscribe, v.t. to yield, . Lear, i. 2. o,i, to suc¬
cumb. T. & Cr. IV. 6.
Success, sb. issue, consequence. Much Ado, I, 3,
Succession. Wlut. Tale, t, 2.
GLOSSAEY.
1226
SuccessiTe, adj. succeeding. 2 H. VI. i:i. 1.
SuccessiTcly, ado. in succession. 2 H. IV. iv. 4.
Sudden, adj. basty, rash. As you Like it, ii. 7.
Suddenly, adv. hastily. K. 111. iv. 1.
Snlierance, sb. suffering. M. for M. ill. 1.
Suggest, v.t. to tempt, entice. All's Well, iv. 5.
Suggestion, s6. temj^tion, enticement. Mac. i. 3.
Suited, p.p. dressed. All's Well, 1.1.
Sullen, adj. doleful, melancholy. John, 1.1.
Sumpter, tb. a horse that carries provisions on a
journey. Lear, ii. 4.
Suppose, »b. a trick, imposition. Tarn, of S- v. 1.
Supposed, p.p. counterfeit. Tarn, of S. ii. 1.
Surcease, u.t. to cease. Cor. iii.'2.
Surcease, sb. cessation, end. Mac. i. 7.
Surprise, v.t. to capture by surprise. 3 H. VI.
IV. 2.
Sur-reined, p.p. over-worked. H. V. iii. 5.
Suspect, sb. suspicion. U. III. I. 3.
Suspire, r.i. to breathe. 2 H. IV. iv. 4.
Swabber, sb. a sweeper of the deck of a ship.
Temp. 11. 2.
Swarth, adj. black, John, iii. 1.
Swarth, adj. black. T. A. 11. 3.
Swarth, sb. quantity of grass cut down by one
sweep of the scythe. Tw. N. ii. 3.
Swasher, sb. swaggerer. H. V. iii. 2.
Swashing, pr.p. dashing, smashi^. R. & J. 1.1.
Swath, so. The same as 'swarth.' ^ & Cr. v. 5.
Swathling, adj. swaddling. 1 H. IV. ill. 2.
Sway, v.i. to move on. 2 H. IV. rv. 1.
Swear, v.t. to adjure. Lear, 1.1.
Swear over, v.t. to out-swear. Wint. Tale, i. 2.
Swift, adj. ready, quiuk. Much Ado, in. 1.
Swinge-buckler, sb. a bully. 2 H. IV. in. 2.
Table, sb. a tablet, note-book. Ham. 1. 2.
Table-book, sb. note-book. Wint. Tale, iv. 3.
Tables, sb. the game of backgammon. L's L's L.
V. 2. A note book. Ham. i. 5.
Tabor, sb. a small side-drum. Temp. iv. 1.
Taborer, sb. a player on the tabor. Temp. in. 2.
Tabourine, sb. tambourine, drum. T. & Cr. iv. 3.
Tag, sb. the rabble. Cor. in. 1.
Tafnt,p.p. tainted. 1 H. VI. v. 3.
Taintnre, sb. defilement. 2 H. VI. ii. 1.
Take, v.t. to infect, blast, bewitch. Merry Wives,
IV. 4; Ham. 1.1.
Take in, v.<. to conquer. A. & C. in. 7; Cor.
I. 2.
Take out, v.t. to copy. Oth. in. 4.
Take up, v.t. to borrow money, or buy on credit.
2 H. VI. 'V. 7. To make up a quarrel. As you
Like it, v. 4.
Taking, sb. infection, malignant influence. Lear,
III. 4-
Taking up, sb. buying on credit. 2 H. IV. i. 2.
Tall, adj. strong, valiant. Tw. N. i. 3.
Tale, sb. counting, reckoning. Mac. i. 3.
Tallow-catch, sb. a lump of mlow. i. H. IV. ii. 4.
Tang, sb. twang, sound. Temp. n. 2.
Tang, v.t. to sound. Tw. N. ii. 5.
Tanling, sb. anything tanned by the sun. Cym.
IV. 4.
Tarre, v.t. to excite, urge on. John, iv, 1,
Tarriance, sb. delay. Two Gent. li. 7.
Tartar, sb. Tartarus. H. V. ii. 2.
Task, v.t. to tax. 1 H. IV. iv. 3. Challenge. U.
II. iv. 1.
Tasking, sb. challenging. 1ILIV. v. 2.
Taste, v.t. to try. Tw. N. iii. 4.
Tawdry-lacei sb. a rustic necklace. Wint. Tale,
iv. 3.
Taxation, sb. satire, sarcasm. As you Like it, i. 2.
Taxing, sb. satire. As you Like it, ii. 7.
Teeii, sb. grief. Temp. i. 2.
Tell, v.t. to count. Temp. 11.1.
Temper, v.t. to mix. Cym. v. 6.
Temperance, sb. temperature. Temp. IL L
Tempered, p.p. mixed. Ham. v. 2.
Tend, v.t. to attend to. 2 U. VI. 1. L
Tender, v.t. to hold, to esteem. Temp. ii. L
To have consideration for. Two Gent. iv. 4.
Tent, v.t. to probe as a wound. Cor. iii. 1. ,
'Tent, sb. a probe for searching a wound. Cym.
iii. 4.
Tercel, sb. the male of the goshawk. T. Sc Cr.
iii. 2. 1
Termagant, sb. a ranting character ih old (days.
Ham. iii. 2.
Tested, p.p. pure, assayed. M. for M. ii. 2.
Testern, v.t. to reward with a tester, or sixpence.
Two fient. 1.1.
Tharborough,s6.(corruptedfrom' third-borough')
a constaUe. L's L's L. 1.1.
Theorick, sb. theory. All's WelL iv. 3.
Thewes, sb. sinews, mnsdes. 2 H. IV. in. 2.
Thick, adv. rapidly. 2 H. IV. ii. 3; Cym. in. 2.
Thick-pleached, p.p. thickly intertwined. Much
Ado, 1. 2.
Third-borough, sb. a constable. Ind. to Tam. of
S. I.
Thought, sb. anxiety, grief. Ham. iii. 1; A. &
C. iv. 6. So ' to twe thought' is to give way '
to grief. J. C. ii. 1.
Thrasonical, adj. boastful. As you Like it, v. 2.
Three-man beetle, sb. a wooden mallet worked
by three men. 2 H. IV. i. 2.
Three-man-song-men, sb. singers of glees in three
parts. Wint'Tale, iv. 3.
Three-pile, s6. three-piled velvet. Wint, Tale,
iv. 3.
Threne, sb. lament. Ph. &. T. 49.
Thrid, sb. thread, fibre. Temp. IV. 1.
Throe, v.t. to put in agonies. Temp. ii. 1.
Thrum, sb. the tufted end of a thread in weaving.
M. N's Dr. v. 1.
Thrummed, p.p. made of coarse ends or tufts.
Merry Wives, iv. 2.
Tickle, a(h'. ticklish. M. for M. i. 3.
Tight, adj. nimble, active. Tam. of S. ii. 1: A.
& C. IV. 4.
Tightly, adv. briskly, promptly. Merry Wives,
1.3; II. 3.
Tike, sb. a cur. H. V. ii. 1.
Tllly-vally, inf. an exclamation of contempt.
Tw. N. ii. 3.
Tilth, sb. tillage. Temp. ii. 1.
Timeless, adj. untimely. R. II. iv. 1.
Tinct, sb. stain, dye. Ham. ill. 4.
Tire, sb. attire, head-dress. Two Gent. iv. 4, <
Tire, v.i. to tear as a bird of prey. 3 H. VI. 1.1.
Hence, metaphorically, to feed. Cym. lu. 4.
Tire, v.t. to atlire, dress. Com. of E. ii. 2. .
Tod, f.i. to yield a tod of wool. Wint. Tale, iv.3.
Tokens, sb. plague spots. L's L's L. v. 2.
Tokened,p.p. marked with plague spots. A. &. C.
iii. 8.
Toll, v.i. to exact toll. 2 H. IV. iv. 4. To pay
toll. All's Well, V. 3.
Too too, adv. excessively. Two Gent. I. 4; Ham.
1. 2.
Topless, adj. supreme, without superior. T. &
Cr. 1. 3.
Touch, sb. touchstone for testing gold. R. IH.
IV. 2. Trait. As you Like it, ill. 2. An acute
feeling. Cym. 1.1.
Touched, p.p. pricked. T. A. iv. 4.
Touse, v.t. to pull, drag. M. for M. v. 1.
Toward, ado. nearly ready. M. N's Dr. lU. L
Towards, adv. nearly ready. R. &. J. i. 5.
1226
GLOSSARY.
Toys, «6. trifles, foolish tricks. 2 H. IV. H- 4.
Trade, sb. beaten path. H. Vill. v. 1.
Tranect, sb. a ferry. M. of V. iii. 4.
Trash, v.t. to cheek, as a huntsman his hounds.
Temp. I. 2; Oth. ». 1.
Translated, p.p. transformed. M. N's Dr. III. 1.
Travail, »b. labor, toil. 1II. VI. v. 4.
Tray-trip, sb. an old game played with dice. Tw.
N. II. 6.
Treachers, sb. traitors. Lear, I. 2.
Treaties, sb. entreaties. A. & C. iii. 9.
Trenched,p.p. carved. Two Gent. m. 2.
Trick, sb. technically, a copy of a coat of arms;
hence, any peculiarity which distinguishes
voice or feature. Lear.iv. 6; Wint. Tale, ii. 3.
Trick, r.t. to dress up. H. V. lii. 6.
Tricked, p.p. blaisoned. Ham. ii. 2.
Tricking, so. ornament. Merry Wives, iv. 4.
Tricksy, adj. elegantly quaint. Temp. v. 1.
Triple, adj. third. A. & 0.1.1.
Trojan, sb. a cant word for a thief. 1 H. IV. ii. J.
Trol.niy-dames, sb. Fr. Inmrnadame; the name
of a game; also called pigeon-holes. Wint. Tale,
IV. 2.
Troth-plight, adj. betrothed. H. V. il. 1.
Trow, v.i. to trust, think. H. VIII. 1.1.
True, adj. honest. Cym. ii. 3.
Trundle-tail, sb. a long-tailed dog. Lear, iii. 6.
Tucket-sonanee, sb. a flourish on the trumpet.
H. V. IV. 2.
Tundish, sb. a funnel. M. for M. iii. 2.
Turlygood, sb. a name adopted by bedlam-beg¬
gars. Lear, ii. 3.
Turn, v.t. to modulate. As you Like it, ii. 5.
Twangling,pr.p. twanging. Temp. iii. 2.
Twiggen, adj. made of twigs, wicker. Oth. ii. a
Twilled, p.p. Temp. in. 3. A doubtful word.
Twink, so. a twinkling. Temp. in. 3.
Twire, v.i. to peep, twinkle. Son. 28.
Vade, v.i. to fade. P. P. 131,170.
Vail, v.t. to lower. M. for M. v. 1.
Vailing, pr.p. lowering. M. of V. 1.1.
Vainness, so. vanity. H. V. v. Chorus.
Valanced, p.p. adorned with a valance or fringe;
applied to the beard.- Ham. ii. 2.
Validity, sb. value. All's Well, v. 3.
Vantage, sb. advantage. Two Gent. r. 8.
Vantbraee, sb. armor for the front of the arm.
T. & Or. I. 3.
Varlet, sb. a servant, valet. T. & Or. 1.1.
Vast, sb. properly a waste-place, metaphorically,
the dead of night. Temp. i. 2. A gulf. Wint.
Tale, 1.1.
Vastidity, sb. immensity. M. for M. in. 1.
Vastly, ado. like a waste. Luc. 1740.
Vasty, adj. vast, waste. 1H. IV. in. 1.
Vaunt, sb. the van, that which precedes. T. &
Cr. Prol.
Vaunt-couriers, sb. forerunners. Lear, in. 2.
Vaward, sb. the van, vanguard, advanced guard
of an army. H. V. iv. 3. Hence, metaphori¬
cally, the first of anything. M. N's Dr. iv. 1.
Vegetives, sb. herbs. Per. in. 2.
A'elure, sb. velvet. Tarn, of S. in. 2.
Velvet-guards, sb. literally, velvet trimmings; ap¬
plied metaphorically to the citizens who wore
them. 1 Hen. IV. in. 1.
Venew, sb. a bout in fencing, metaphoricjilly ap¬
plied to repartee and sallies of wit. I.'s L's L.
V.I.
Veney, sb. a bout at fencing. Merry Wives, 1.1.
Venge, v.t. to avenge. H, V. i. 2.
Ventages, sb. holes in a flute or flageolet. Ham.
in. 2.
Verbal, adj. wordy. Cym. ii. 3.
Very, adj. true, real. Two Gent. ni. 1.
Via, int. off with you 1 Merry Wives, n. 2.
Vice, v.t. to screw. Wint. Taie, i. 2.
Vice, sb. the buffoon in the oid morality plays.
Ham. 111. 4.
Vie, v.i. to challenge; a terin ateards. A & C. v.
2. To play as for a wager. Tam. of 8. n. 1.
Viewless, adj. invisible. M. forM. in. 1.
Villain, sb. a lowborn man. As you Like it, i. I.
Vinew^, p.p. mouldy. T. & Cr. n. 1.
Viol-de-ganiboys, sb. a bass viol. Tw. N. l. 3-
Virginalling, pr. p. playing as on the virginals, a
kind of a spinet. Wint. Tale, 1.2.
Virtue, sb. the esseutiai excellence.. Temp. i. 2.
Valor. Lear, v. 3.
Virtuous, ad/, excellent. M. N's Dr. nr. 2. En¬
dowed with virtues. As you Like it^ i. 3.
Vi'zament, sb. advisement. Merry Wives, 1.1.
Voluble, adj. fickle. Oth. n. 1.
Voluntary, sb. volunteer. John, n. 1.
Votari ,t, sb. votary, one who has taken a vow.
M. forM. I. 5.
Vulgar, sb. the common people. L's L's L. i. 2.
Vulgar, arfj. common. John, n. 2.
Vni^rly, ado. publicly. M. for M. v. L
Umbered, p.p. stained, dark, as with umber. H.
V. IV. Chorus.
Unaneied,p.p. without extreme unction. Ham.
1.5.
Unavoided, adj. unavoidable, R. III. iv. 4. •
Unbarbed, p.p. untrimmed. Cor. in. 2.
Unbated, p.p. unblunted. Ham. iv. 7.
Unbol^ v.t. to disclose. Tim. 1.1.
Unbolted, p.p. unsifted, unrefined. Lear, n. 2.
Unbreathed,p.p. unpractised. M. N's Dr. v. i.
Uncape, v.t. to throw off the hounds. Slerry
Wives, III. 3.
Uncharged, p.p. undefended, applied to the gates
of a city. 'Tim. v. 4.
Unclew, v.t. to unravel, undo. Tim. 1.1.
Uncoined, p.p. unalloyed, unfeigneil. H. V. V. 7.
Undergo, v.t. to undertake. Tim. in. 5.
Undertaker, sb. one who takes up another's quar¬
rel. Tw. N. III. 4.
Under-wrought,p.p. undermined. John, n. 1.
Uneath, ado. hardly. 2II. VI. in. 4.
Unexpressive, adj. inexpressible. As you Like it,
in. 2.
Unfair, v.t. to deprive of beauty. Son. 5.
Unhappily, ado. censoriously. II. VIII. i. 4.
Unhappy, adj. mischievous. All's Well, iv. 5.
Unhatched.p.p. undisclosed. Oth. in. 4.
Unhouseled, p.p. without receiving the sacra¬
ment. Ham. 1.5.
Unimproved, p.p. unreproved. Ham. 1.1.
Union, sb. a pearl. Ham. v. 2.
Unjust, adj. dishonest. 1II. IV. rv. 2.
Unkind, orfj. unnatural. Lear, in. 4.
Unlived, adj. bereft of life. I.ucr. 1754.
Unmanned, p.p. untamed, applied to a hawk. R.
& J. 111. 2.
Unowed, p.p. unowned. John. iv. 3.
Unpregnant, a/tj. stupid. JI. for JI. iv. 4.
Unproper, ad/, common to all. Oth. iv. 1.
Unquestionable, oJJ. not inquisitive. As you Like
it, in. 2.
Unready, ad/, undressed. 1 IT. VI. n. 1,
Unrespective, adj. inconsiderate. R. III. iv. 2.
Unsisting, adj. unresting. M.forM. iv.2.
Unstanehed, p.p. incontinent. Temp. 1.1.
Untempering, adj. unsoftening. H. V. v. 2.
Untented, ad/, unsearchable. I.ear," i. 4.
Untraded,orf/. unused, uncommon. T. & Cr. rv. 5.
Untrimmed, p.p. similed of grace or ornament.
Sou. 13.
GLOSSARY.
1227
Cntrue, sb. untruth. Son, 113.
Unvalued, adj. invaluable. K. ni. i. 4.
Upspriug reel, sb. a boisterous dance. Ham. i. 4.
• Urchin, sb. the hedge-hoz. Temp. I. 2.
Usance, sb. usury. M. of V. I. 3.
Use, sb. interest. M. for M. 1.1.
Utis, sb. riotous merriment, vrhich accompanied
the eighth day of a festival. 2 H. IV. ii. 4.
Utter, v.t. to expel, put forth. Much Ado, v. 3.
Utterance, sb. extremity. Mac. nr. 1; Cym.iii.l.
Waft, v.t. to wave, beckon. Ham. i. 4. To turn.
Wint. Tale, i. 2.
Wattage, sb. passage. T. & Cr. nr. 2.
Wafture, sb. waving, beckoning. J. C. II. 1.
Wage, v.t. to reward as with wages. Cor. v. 6.
Wailful, adj. lamentable. Two Gent. m. 2.
Waist, sb. the middle of a ship. Temp. i. 2.
Waunion, ' With a wannion' = ' with a venge¬
ance.' Per. II. 1.
Wappened, p.p. withered, overworn. Tim. IV. 3.
Ward, sb. guard. Temp. i. 2. Prison. 2 H. VI.
V. 1.
Warden, sb. a large pear used for baking. Wint.
Tale, IV. 2.
Warder, sb. truncheon. E. II. i. 3.
Warn, v.t. to summon. R. III. i.3.
Wassail, sb. a drinking bout. A. & 0.1.4. Fes¬
tivity. Ham. I. 4.
Wat, a famiiiar word for a hare. V. & A. 697.
Watch, sb. a watch light. R. III. v. 3.
Watch, v.t.U) tame by keeping constantly awake.
Oth. III. 3.
Wateivgall, sb, a secondary rainbow. Lucr. 1588.
Water-work, sb. painting in distemper. 2 H. IV.
II. 1.
Water-rug, sb. a kind of dog. Mac. in. 1.
Wax, v.i. to grow. H. V. v. 1
Waxen, v.i. perhaps, to hiccough. M. N's Dr.
II. 1.
Wealth, sb. weal, advantage. M. of V. v. 1.
Wear, sb. fashion. As you Like it, ii. 7.
Weather-fend, v.t, to defend from the weather.
Temp. V. 1.
Web and pin, sb. the cataract in the eye. Lear,
III. 4; Wint. Tale, I. 2.
Wee, adj. small, tiny. Merry Wives, i. 4.
Weed, sb. garment. Tw. H. v. 1.
Wee, v.i. to think. 1 H. VI. Ii. 5.
Weet, v.t. to wit, know. A. & C. 1.1.
Weigh out, v.t. to outweigh. H. VIIL III. 1.
Welkin, sb. the sky. Merry Wives, i. 3.
Welkin, adj. sky-blue. Wint. Tale, I. 2.
Well-liking,, odj. in good condition. L's L's L.
V. 2.
Weil said, int. well done I 2 H. IV. m. 2.
Wend, v.i. to go. M. for M. iv. 3.
Wesand, sb. the wind-pipe. Temp. in. 2.
Whelk, sb. a weal. H. V. iii. 6.
Whelked, p.p. marked with whelks or protuber¬
ances. Lear, IV. 6.
When as, adv. when. Son. 49.
Where, adv. whereas. 2 H. VI. in. 2 ; Lear, i. 2.
Where, sb. a place. Le.ar, 1.1.
When, an exclamation of impatience. Tam. of S.
IV. 1.
Whiffler, sb. an officer who clears the way in pro¬
cessions. H. V. V. Chorus.
Whiie-ere, a<lv. a little while ago. Temp. in. 2.
Whiles, adv. until. Tw. N. iv. 3.
Whip-stock, sb. handle of • whip. Tw. N. n. 3.
Whist, adj. hushed, silent. Temp. i. 2.
White, sb. the centre of an archery butt. Tam. of
S. V 2.
Wbiiting^time, sb. bleaching time. Merry Wives,
in. 3.
Whitster, sb. bleacher. Merry Wives, in. 3.
Whitely, adj. pale-faced. L's L's L. in. 1. A
doubtful word.
Whittle, sb. a clasp knife. Tim. v. 3.
Whoo-bub, sb. hubbub. Wint. Tale, iv. 4.
Whoop, V i. to cry out with astonishment. H. V.
II. 2. Comp. As you Like it, in. 2.
Wicked, adj. noisome, baneful. Temp. i. 2.
Widow, v-t. to give a jointure to. M. for M. v. I.
Widowhood, sb. widow's jointure. Tam. of S. n. 1.
Wight, sb. person. Oth. n. 1.
Wild, sb. weald. 1 H. IV. n. 1.
Wilderness, sb. wildnes.s. M. for M. in. 1.
Wimpled, p.p. veiled, hooded. L's L's L. in. 1.
Window-bars, sb. lattice-work across a woman's
stomacher. Tim. IV. 3.
Windring, pr. p. winding. Temp. in. 3.
Winter-ground, v.t. to protect (a plant) from
frost. Cym. iv. 2.
Wis, in the compound ' I wis,' certainly. R. III.
I. 3.
Wish, v.t. to commend. Tam. of S. 1.1.
Wistly, adv. wistfully. R. II. v. 4.
Wit, sb. knowledge, wisdom. M. of V. n. 1; J. 0.
ni< 2.
Without, prep, beyond. M. N's Dr. iv. 1.
Wits, five, the five senses. Much Ado, 1.1.
Wittol, sb. a contented cuckold. Merry Wives,
II. 2.
Witty, adj. intelligent. 3 H. VI. i. 2.
Woman-tired, adj. hen-pecked. Wint. Tale, II. 3.
Wondered, p.p. marvellously gifted. Temp. iv.2.
Wood, adj. mad. Two Gent. n. 3.
Woodcock, sb, a simpleton. Tam. of S. I. 2.
Woodman, sb. a forester, huntsman. Cym. in. 6.
A cant term for a wencher. M. for M. iv. 3.
Woolward, adj. shirtless. L's L's L. v. 2.
Word, v.t. to flatter or put off with words. A. &
C. V. 2. To repeat the words of a song. Cym.
IV. 2.
World. ' To go to the world' is to get married.
Much Ado, n. 1. So 'a woman of the world'
is a mai-ried woi'an. As you Like it, v. 3. .
Worm, sb. a serpent. M. for M. in. 1.
Worser, adj. worse. Temp. iv. 1.
Worship, v.t. to honor. H. V. i. 2.
Worth, sb. wealth, fortune. Tw. N. in. 3.
Worts, sb. cabbages. Merry Wives, i. 1.
Wot, v.t. to know. Two Gent. iv.4.
Wound, p.p. twisted about. Temp. ii. 2.
Wreak, sb. vengeance. Cor. IV. 5.
Wreak, v.t. to avenge. T. A. iv. 3.
Wreakful, adj. revengeful,avenging. Tim. rv. 3.
Wrest, sb. an instrument used for tuning a harp.
T. & Cr. nr. 3.
Writ, sb. gospel, truth. Per. n. (Gower).
Writhled,p.p. shrivelled. 1 H. Vl. ii. .3.
Wroth, sb. calamity, misfortune. M. of V. il. 9.
Wry, v.i. to swerve. Cym. v. 1.
Wrung, p.p. twisted, strained. 1 H. IV. Ii. 1.
Tare, adj. ready. Used as an int., ' be' being
understood. Temp. i. 1.
Tarely, adv. readily. Temp. 1.1.
Y-cIad, p.p. clad. 2 H. VI. 1.1.
Y-cleped, p.p. called, named. L's L's L. v. 2.
Yearn, v.t. to grieve, vex. Merry Wives, in. 5 ;
R. II. V. 6.
Yellowness, «ft. jealousy. Merry Wives, i. 3.
Yellows, sb. a disease of horses. Tam. of S. in. 2.
Yeoman, sb. a sheriff's officer. 2 H. IV. n. 1.
Yield, v.t. to reward. A. & C. iv. 2. To report.
A. & C. II. 5.
Tond, adj. and adv. yonder. Temp. i. 2.
Zany, sb. a clown, gull. L's L's L. v. 2.